#As the tree of names that would have made such a thing failed

[jeanystillbeany]

BillFord Fic

I haven’t gotten invited to ao3 yet so I’ll just post it here anyway. It doesn’t have a name so I’ll just post a teaser or whatever. Idfk. It’s a billford fic ig. As soon as I get ao3 I’ll post it on there. I do have more written. I’m just taking the first part for a test drive. Let me know ur thoughts! (Literally anything- name suggestions scene suggestions, if i should post it on ao3, explanations etc.)

Entry 167: Series 6

  Out of all the curiosities I’ve studied in my travels, this has to be one of the most shocking enigmas yet.  This timeline had the bottom story of the shack left with two gaping holes at the top.  In fact, it’s as though the shack grew legs and walked away.  Which is completely bizarre- even for a weirdness magnet such as Gravity Falls, Oregon.  The countless timelines I’ve visited so far were nowhere near this level of insanity.  This level of… intrigument.  The state of the timeline has this enrapturing effect on me.  

  Recently the timelines I’ve been traveling through have had a different variable.  Two in fact.  As it turns out, me and my brother have a great-grandniece and nephew.  Dipper and Mabel.  While I’ve been careful to not interact with any timelines I’ve found myself caught up in (especially after that incident with the Time Police), I still somehow find myself growing attached to the two.  For the past few months I’ve been observing them through the different timelines I’ve traveled to.  There has also been the reoccurring pattern of their other ‘Gruncle’ re-emerging from the same portal I find myself appearing from every few days.  I’ve been waiting… counting down the days til it’s my turn.  And yet, I still don’t understand why I continue to keep that false hope in my pocket.  The multiverse is infinite.  The chances of me ever finding my home universe is nearly pointless.  While I could always take the place of another Stanford… The Time Police would be on my case in a second.  I also understand that the multiverse I was sent to wasn’t the same one as the other Stanfords.  While I’m dealing with infinites of my brother, they were dealing with beasts beyond basic human comprehension… and yet I’d much rather that than to be cursed knowing I’d never get home.  To see Dipper and Mabel fail… over and over… with myself unable to assist… sometimes I thought it was driving me mad.  

  I’ve certainly spent more time reciting the last few entries than I should’ve.  So I shall continue with the present.  The shambles of my lab have made for an adequate shelter.  (Save for the 2 overgrown hairless mole rats I’ve needed to fight off for my rations).  The sky appears to be a blood red, many of the familiar surrounding trees were reduced to brambles, probably by some larger species I’d like to take the time to investigate at a later hour.  This area has been intensely modified compared to the other Gravity Falls I’ve been in.  I have a hunch this is due to the large vortex that ripped through the dimension.  (That was in fact sarcasm my dear reader).  So far I’ve studied and dissected one of those overgrown Eye-Bats that can turn a person to stone just by looking at them.  From memory; I will promise they were much smaller and could not turn one to stone in my own timeline.  Why would anyone feel the need to weirdify these anomalies?  Some sort of apocalypse has settled over this world.  Whether or not it was always like this is unknown.  I’m leaning towards the latter though.  I shortly ran out of things to do after examining my last two specimens and I itched for more information on these preternatural creatures. 

Ford sat in what was left of his desk chair and kicked his feet up.  He would kill for a mug of coffee right now.  

Ford ran a hand through his hair.  Since the portal incident, he’s grown it out. He’s grateful he didn’t cut it when he could.  It more than likely would’ve exaggerated the up and coming gray hair.  Though… he shouldn’t exactly care how he looks because he’s not supposed to be seen in other timelines according to the Time Police.  In the end, he still does get a fond satisfaction of knowing he’s at least well kept.  And mistakes happen.  He continues to have the same clothing pattern of turtle necks- though he only ever wears them underneath his long coat.  It proved to be very useful when traveling timelines.  The amount of pockets he had to keep so many samples in almost seemed like cheating.  He also always had his bag with him.  Most of his pockets aren’t big enough for his journal, and he’s filled up a couple while he was traveling timelines.  His love of pockets also extended to his lower half making sure to have maximum pockets on his cargo pants.  He even bothered with a hidden one in his shoe for an emergency lock pick.  If that wasn’t enough, his obsession with Sci-Fi led to him wanting to live it to its full extent, so naturally he put knives in both heels of his boots as well.  

  Normally he’d care that there were some contaminated combat boots being rubbed all over his desk.  But now?  He thought he might as well embrace the end of the world.  He loved his family to death, but if any of them saw him in a timeline other than his origin the whole universe would collapse in on itself, and they would be the ones dead.  Ford could always scramble back to his portal and go to the next timeline.  According to the Time Police that is.   Though there have been many instances where he has intervened in his earlier days with no consequence.  

  The man mindlessly fiddled with his gun on the inside pocket of his coat.  He wanted to study more.  Maybe the giant gash in the sky was the root of his greatest mystery!  He unhooked his heels from the edge of his desk and swung them around towards the bunker hatch.  He pushed himself off from the armrests of the chair.  Stanford climbed up the ladder and popped his head out of the bunker.  He supposed the first step would be to find a lookout point.  If he was lucky he might be able to stay in one place long enough to do a quick sketch of this timeline’s situation.  The first place Stanford’s mind drifted was his abandoned UFO- though it was identified and no longer flying, so he dubbed it the alien spacecraftt.  It gave a perfect view of the entire town and was rather close to his current position.  Ford gave a once over of everything in his satchel.  He plucked out his journal in order to sift through the small bit of food, water and any other trinkets he had before neatly replacing it and went on his way.  

  As Ford traveled he kept a hand on his gun.  Aside from the terrors the scientist was getting antsy to encounter, he was the only other sound he heard.  His boots trudged along the ground -making distinct squishing sounds- as though he were walking in his own wet socks.  The ground beneath him was unnaturally wet causing the uncomfortable feeling.  There was the occasional shuffle as he adjusted his jacket to the odd temperatures.  Ford made a mental note to journal about the seemingly miniature air masses that drastically changed the temperatures in as little as every few feet he walked.  The long coat was currently adjusted to be draped over his shoulders, as Ford found this to be a happy medium and made a constant grip on his gun easier.  

  A rumble struck the ground just as Ford’s own foot hit the earth.  The man felt a jitter course through him, crawling up his spine.  

  “Another weirdness wave!”  The man exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than anyone else trapped in this hell bubble ever would.  He licked the first two of his fingers and raised them up in the air, turning them at different angles until he found the direction that gave his moistened fingers the most chill.  After finding the wind direction he quickly hid behind a tree and scrambled through his bag.  His six-fingered hand reemerged with a sort of hand made device.  It was made from old lab parts created during his first few days in this timeline.  It allowed him to calculate the intensity of the weirdness wave and further study its properties.  He carefully placed the machine away from the cover of the tree and braced himself for things to get weird.  

  The wave passed over Stanford relatively easily and he observed no mutations to himself.  Stanford went to pick up his wave reader when- 

  “Oh.  How peculiar… Shit.”  The man’s handmade invention had grown to compete with the surrounding forest’s pine trees.  For a moment the Author thought that he would be unable to run.  For a moment the Author believed he was frozen in time.  For a moment he saw himself as a child.  For a moment he saw his brother.  For a moment he saw the twins.  

  Stanford found the right gears that made the joints in his legs move.  This was no longer his invention.  It had grown six legs of its own.  The calculator screen that was once used as a makeshift reader display was its mouth and the antenna was its tongue.  Ford was tempted to take a picture, though he doubted such would be worth his life.  He raced through the forest.  It was almost as if its size grew due to this oddity apocalypse.  The scientist didn’t have a chance.  Every time he heaved himself over a log, the creature could bash itself right through it after him.  He needed to think of something… he’d kill to meet his niece and nephew.  

  The Author took out his loaded gun as he ran through the brambles.  He took a sharp turn, causing the monster to slide in an effort to regain its balance.  Ford began to aim as the creature was tipped onto its side.  It landed with a loud thump, causing multiple mutated birds to fly away startled.  Stanford lowered his gun and stood stunned in front of his creation, as its legs flailed about, damaging the surrounding shrubbery.  

  “Intriguing!”  Ford quickly snapped a picture.  As much as he’d like to inspect the helpless thing more, he deemed it safer to continue with his original task.  He would’ve stayed longer if one of the monster’s legs didn’t reach out and claw at his coat, tearing it down its side.  A bit closer and the scientist would’ve been seriously injured.   He jumped back and continued with his task of sketching this new timeline.  He also made a mental note to log his encounter in the journal when he was in the clear.  

~

  He finally made it to the spacecraft.  Ford would definitely consider using this as a hideout in this world.  Contrary to Ford’s belief, the state of this timeline was only in Gravity Falls.  He remembers studying the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism as a younger man, but he never believed it could affect anything to this extent.  Ford sat down atop the spacecraft.  He snapped a picture of the surrounding scene.  

Entry 167 B. Series 6

  There seemed to be a large barrier encasing Gravity Falls.  More than likely the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism.  I’ve studied the topic before and have come up with a simple equation to break it.  The scene before me is both exhilarating and dread ensuing.  To even think about the situations my brother and the kids have gone through haunts me.  I want nothing more than to be able to talk with them.  Even if it’s not my universe.  I want to hear their stories and watch them grow up… I wish for my own universe.  I’ve traveled the timelines for much too long.  I’ve watched them.  But I want to see them.  To meet my Mabel, my Dipper, my Stanley.  I want to meet my family.  But where would I even start?  The time police?

  I looked off to the sunless horizon and noticed a large pink orb sitting dead center of the train tracks with Mabel’s zodiac on it.  My breathing sputtered.  Just what were these kids into this timeline?  I decided it’d be best to head back to the lab.  I’d like to be there when the portal reopens.  

   Maybe… maybe I can try one more time.  My sentence is already high enough as it is with the Time Police… I want to help my niece and nephew… no matter what universe they’re in.  There has to be a reason the Time Police aren’t on my tail by now… especially after that monster was created.  I’ll spend the night at the lab again and work on relocating to the spacecraft tomorrow.  Then I’ll find my brother.  

  Ford replaced his bookmark into his journal and brushed himself off.  He stood up on the roof of the dead spaceship and gave one last glance at the world he found himself in before beginning the few hour trek to where the Mystery Shack once stood.  Stanford was nearly to his hideout. About where he left the wave reading monster.  There was one problem that had unnerved the Author for more than one reason.  A question that bubbled out of his mouth as soon as he seen the large clearing in the trees where the monster had been discarded.  

  “Where is it?” His question was shortly answered as a screech was heard not too far behind him.  

  “Fuck!  Are you Serious?!”  The scientist grumbled and quickened his pace.  It was following him.  Either it had extremely sensitive hearing or it was tracking him by scent.  Whatever the case was, his hands itched to jot it down in his journal.  He didn’t have much time for that as he found himself being chased by the beast once again.  Ford continued to race to the lab and attempted to slide into the underground space.  The mechanical creature’s claw lurched out and nicked his back, sending him flying forward and creating another large hole in the roof.  He landed ungraciously on the floor of his lab with a groan.  As a last resort Ford turned over on his back and began shooting wildly through the crack.  The mechanical anomaly screeched as it was shot at, retreating immediately.  Ford felt the back of his coat begin to soak and his vision blur.  The tips of his finger began to numb as his arm fell to the ground. 

   With one last screech, a fourth hole was punctured into the top of the lab, right over the portal, leaving Ford’s escape in shambles.  He would’ve screamed, or yelped with his hand held out dramatically as any Author such as himself would, but that was the last sight seen before he passed out completely.  

~

  “Do you think it’s dead?”  

  “I say we eat it”

  “Dudes.  Is it just me?  Or does it kinda look like Mr. Pines.” 

  “Soos.  It has SIX FINGERS!  SIX!  It had to be some sort of clone… or- or… imposter.”  Pages began to flip in the background of the following commotion.  Quiet muttering was also heard following each turn of paper- though it was mostly blocked out by the pounding in Ford’s head.  

  “Mr. Pines… do you… know anything about this?”  Ford was becoming conscious enough to pick out voices.  This seemed to be the only female among the group.  

  “Stanford…?” This was a new voice.  Much older than the others.  It wavered as it said his name- effectively snapping him out of the painful slumber he was in.  

  Ford started with a groan and his eyes squinted shut, adjusting to the abnormal light- even for the living world.  In this universe that is.  

  “Dudes.  It’s waking up.”  Ford mumbled and rubbed his head.  Thankfully the wound on his back didn’t go that deep into his back.  Though the semi-dried blood latching the fabric of his coat to himself was very uncomfortable.  

  “Sixer!”  Stanford opened his eyes just in time to see the back of a tacky red hat by the side of his head.  Arms enveloped his shoulders partially helping Ford keep himself up.  

  “Stanley…”  The scientist just barely breathed out.  

  “STANLEY?!”  Ford couldn’t be bothered to look up from his brother’s shoulder at the other’s exclaimation

  “Is anyone else confused right now?  Cause I’m confused.” Soos commented.  Stanley sighed before releasing his disoriented brother.  

  “Kids, Soos, I want you to meet… the author of the journals.”  Stan was hesitant to let go of his brother, as though if he let go of his brother’s shoulder he’d disappear back into the fabrics of existence.  Dipper did an excited squeal and almost ran up to properly greet his practical obsession, but Wendy put a calm hand on his shoulder to stop him from ruining the two brothers' moment.  She decided she needed more context with her boss’ secret twin before Dipper butted in.  

  “Stanley.  I need- I need to tell you something.”  Stanford’s voice wavered with guilt.  As multiple scenarios ran through his head.  More than likely this wasn’t his universe.  He doesn’t know what happened to his own timeline, or this one… though it’s not like he can continue traveling timelines with the portal busted.  Ford opened his mouth to speak- but no sound came out as a thought surfaced to his head.  

  ‘…what if this is my timeline?  What if the portal busted for a reason?  Maybe… I can stay a while.  They need my help…’

  “Yeah?”  Stanley asked- a small smile almost suppressed on his face.  

  “…I missed you.” Ford sighed out.  He pulled Stan back into him.  The other man slapped his back playfully with a goofy grin.  Ford winced and let out a small yelp.  

  “Oh… forgot about that.  Welp.  I smiled too little in the past 3 weeks to smile this much now.  Let’s get back to the shack.”  As if on queue, an ominous roar shook the ground under them. 

  “Agreed.” Wendy said.  

  “Yup, yup, yup, let’s go!”  Soos hauled Dipper over his shoulder and sprinted out of the Lab and everyone else followed.  Ford found himself lingering for a moment- his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the remains of his portal.  It’s gone.  It’s all gone.  

  “Hey, bro.  Let’s get out of here, ‘k?”  Stanley put his hand on Ford’s shoulder, offering a hopefully comforting smile.  

  “We have a lot to talk about Stanley…” Similar to any other earth tremble, the earth shook following the signs of a beast approaching.  

  “Yeah, yeah.  Can we do that later?”  Stanley tugged his brother along by the back of his coat leading him out of the lab.  Stanford followed behind- occasionally wincing from the pulling on his jacket.  

[probably-a-fae]

As we near the apogee solstice in c3 with all the stuff with the moon and the imprisoned god eater, I can't help but think back to the last time we saw the solstice. In EXU: Calamity. Now the thing that comes to mind when I consider these two solstices isn't actually about the solstices themselves, but a different parallel. Let me explain:

So in Calamity we learn that as Avalir travels the leylines, the Tree of Names that the Gau Drashari placed in the city is working to enscribe a spell that will protect Exandria. Protect from what you may ask? Well if the wiki is to be believed, it is to protect Exandria from "those things beyond which should not come." Which I interpreted as meaning things from the Far Realm, or basically Aliens.

Now here we are in c3 learning of Predathos, a being from beyond that came to Exandria to consume it's gods. After it was captured in Ruidus, knowledge about is was eventually lost/hidden away. Only just now is that knowledge being revealed.

Now, back to the Gau Drashari. Them wanting to protect Exandria is all well and good, but protect it from what? When I first watched calamity I assumed the "things from beyond" were probably things like illithids or other creatures of the Far Realms, but now I wonder if the Gau Drashari knew, maybe not directly, of Predathos or that such a threat from beyond could exist.

Makes me wonder if the Tree of Names had been able to complete it's work before getting Blighted, if that would effect the events of c3. Like, would that spell over the world have prevented the Reiloras from interacting with Exaltant Ruidusborn? Would there even be Exaltants or would those protections prevent them somehow?

[chlorinecake]

I was thinking about illegalracer!jungwon as your bf. He takes you for late night rides on his motorcycle that finish with him fucking u on his place, it's like a normal routine now...

Imagine Illegal Racer Jungwon…

Who had a frisky side since the day you met him, living for the thrill of the night and earning himself a name of admiration and infamy on the streets as an underground racer…

Illegal racer Jungwon who turned every road into his personal racetrack, drowning out his thoughts with the roaring pulse of his motorbike engine.

Illegal racer Jungwon who never expected you to become a part of this side of his world, but enjoyed having you around regardless… internally smirking at the startled look on your face whenever his wheels took off in a race, or the labored breaths you’d let out once he returned to greet you with a victory kiss in front of every one watching.

Illegal racer Jungwon who made you sit on the back of his bike one day, inviting you to fully understand his love for the wild life, and you’ve been hooked ever since.

“If you hang on tight enough, I might reward you with something once we get to my place,” he’d say, revving the engine but refusing to take off until your arms were wrapped securely around his waist, nearby neon lights blurring into both your peripheral visions as the smoky wind whipped through your exposed hair.

Illegal Racer Jungwon whose eyes sparkled like onyx as these late night joy rides became a part of your normal routine, adoring how you learned to trust him when he’d speed down narrow alleyways, or come a mere centimeter from colliding into destruction.

You two had even been chased by the police before, but Jungwon always had a way of outrunning them, especially when he had a certain goal in mind to get you alone with him for the night…

Illegal racer Jungwon who with every harsh drift, loved it when you held onto him tighter, stealing kisses at red lights as silver rain painted the streets and your dewy leather jackets.

Illegal racer Jungwon who would park his motorbike under a tree, helping you take your helmet off with his protective hand at your hips, finger playfully linking in the hoops of your jeans as he buried his face in your neck, kissing you desperately in between whispering how badly he had missed you…

Illegal racer Jungwon who usually left the back door to your little secret place unlocked, mostly because it was reserved for one thing and one thing only.

Illegal racer Jungwon who always looked especially attractive in his damp biker suit, watching with lust-ridden eyes as you stripped him of his leather layers to grant you better access to his broad shoulders.

“Love it when I take you out just so I can fuck you, huh?,” he teased, almost cooing at the way you rushed to take off his belt.

Illegal racer Jungwon whose sultry voice tantalized your ears whenever he spoke dirty to you, taking your face in his free hand to force your glossy eyes back on him.

“That’s my good girl- shit… keep fucking yourself on my cock,” he’d grunt in between having you bounce in his lap, sounds of skin against skin filling the room, “does it feel good, baby?… hmm?”

“Feels s-so good, Wonie,” you hummed with a broken moan, throwing your head back as he continued guiding your hips, “gonna come… f-fuck- gonna come so hard for you, baby…”

Illegal racer Jungwon who let his eyes roll in the back of his head every time you clenched around him, his pouty mouth leaning forward to suck, bite, and lick on your skin anywhere he could.

Illegal racer Jungwon who would always finish on your stomach because he never remembered to bring a condom, once again, enjoying the subtle risk of potentially forgetting to pull out of you.

Illegal racer Jungwon whose soft “I love you’s” after a reckless night never failed to make your heart flutter, taking a short cut to bring you back home even if it was past two in the morning.

Illegal racer Jungwon who liked kissing you goodnight at your doorstep on nights like this, his hand playfully smacking your ass as he whispered in the cool air, “You better call me first thing in the morning, alright?”

Illegal racer Jungwon who chuckled to himself whenever you waved at him like he wasn’t the guy you fucked every night, driving off into the distance with his final thoughts being your pretty face, a flushed red hue from the love he made to you...

took me forever and a day to answer this ask (my sincerest apologies, anon), but hopefully you get to read it sometime soon !!

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @addictedtohobi @ot7sevenlvr + the link to my masterlist ~

[bayjaruchel]

Strawberry Blond

－－－

Pairing: Peeta Mellark/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Late one night, you get a call. (4.7k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

－－－

You know that your relationship can never be normal. 

Even now, when you technically should have peace of mind— and you're out of the arena, out of the Games— there's still the ugly truth that lies beneath it all. The Victor's Village is beautiful in comparison to the rest of District Twelve, but because of the reason why you earned a residence here, you're not sure if you'll ever truly enjoy it. Brick houses with plenty of room, and yet yours is still far too empty, even if you have your family to keep you company. 

Peeta lives alone in his. 

There's always smoke coming from the chimney, and he keeps most, if not all of the lights on. The only room that occasionally has its lights off is his, which is on the second floor. You've woken up in the middle of the night many times and glimpsed the shining evidence that he's still awake. It's not like you get perfect sleep yourself— but you worry, sometimes. 

You do visit him, sometimes. But you've never knocked on his door when it's nighttime. You're not entirely sure why that is; maybe it's because you're afraid of what the cool silence will bring. Maybe it's too intimate. Neither of you are strangers to intimacy, and you've definitely maintained a little of that, but … There's still a certain distance. Away from the cameras, you still struggle to discern what's real and what's not. 

The way he looks at you is certainly real. 

You don't know if you'll ever feel exactly the same way towards him. 

Sure, you do like him. A lot. He makes it easy. He's the type of guy that you could bring home to your parents. He's the type of guy that one would want to come home to every day. Of course, he's a little more reserved, and his eyes are duller, but— he's still Peeta. He's still the baker's boy. Deep down, he'll never lose what made you— and all of the Capitol— fall in love with him. 

Is it really love, though? Or is it just admiration? 

It's something that you think about a lot. You've never said those three words to him when not in front of an audience. And he knows that on those specific occasions, it wasn't real. It was just an act. Maybe when he kissed you, he wasn't acting. Maybe when he looked at you and said those lovely things to you, he wasn't acting. 

You can dream. You can hope. 

However, most of your actual dreams nowadays are just nightmares.  

No golden boy is holding you, shielding you from the awful weather. There's no bright, happy future in which everything turned out right. And there's none of those strange, albeit interesting dreams where your house is upside down and your teacher at school is telling you that somehow, you've suddenly graduated and you're being sent off to the Capitol to become one of them. 

Instead, there's just fire. 

Tonight, you dream of fire. 

Burning bodies that fall from the highest trees. You can vaguely make out who they are— there's a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, a primal guilt. Everything around you is blazing, and you know you should try and get out, but your feet are frozen, rooted to the spot. You can't move, even as the flames begin to lick around your ankles. Even if you did run, you wouldn't be able to escape. This has been a long time coming, hasn't it? 

Despite the almost blinding brightness emanating from the fire, everything else is foggy and dark. The only thing you can focus on is the corpses, the trees, and everything coming down around you. Someone shouts your name, but it's muffled like you're underwater. You fail to register it fast enough. 

A scream, crystal-clear. 

You whip around, and there it is. The evidence of your failure. You're helpless to do anything— you can only watch— more screaming, more yelling, more pleads for help— 

There is so, so much blood— 

You're awake, and the blistering heat is gone. 

Gasping, you sit up, struggling for breath. It keeps catching in your throat. Your heart's pounding at a pace that makes your head spin. Dizzy, disorienting. But it used to be worse than this. 

At least you don't wake up sobbing anymore. 

This is still awful, though. Trembling, you wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to regain control. In, out. In, out. Your lungs shudder with the effort, but you keep going. Despite the comfortable warmth of the house, there's still goosebumps prickling up and down your bare skin. Your arms. Your neck. The sheets are tangled around your waist and legs; you almost feel trapped. 

There's no point in closing the curtains, since virtually nobody is in the streets, and the other inhabitants of the Village couldn't possibly look through your windows. When you glance out of the one nearest to your bed, it's almost pitch-black outside. There are no street lamps, after all. You try to focus on the cold, empty houses to distract yourself. 

Finally, your breath slows. Your pulse calms. 

You're still shaking, faintly, but your knees don't give out when you detangle yourself from your blankets and slip out of bed. You consider that a minor victory. 

Taking care not to make too much noise, you head downstairs. The polished stone is cold underneath your feet, but it's grounding, in a way. It settles you back down to earth. For a short while, you frequently lost your way due to the sheer size of the house, but now you know the quickest route to the kitchen by heart. Even when half-asleep, you know exactly where to go. 

The light flicks on with a quiet buzz when you gently press the switch. 

Quietly, you wonder if the ultimate prize for winning the Games was running water. It's cold, as it splashes over your fingers and into the basin. There are plenty of pristine, artisan glasses and whatnot in the overhead cabinets— probably made in District One— but you always reach for the mugs you had before. The ones with a couple of cracks and dents littering their bodies— evidence of their long lifespans. 

You lean against the counter as you take a long gulp of water. It's pleasant, the feeling pooling low in your chest. 

The silence used to be unnerving, but now, you welcome it with open arms. 

You take another, smaller sip from your mug. Maybe you'll be able to sleep for another few hours. Until the sun rises, at least. Then, you can take a walk. You can wander around all you like here, provided that you don't stray too far. Regardless, you're sure nobody will be too concerned about that. Haymitch is the sole man responsible for the lax rules concerning the victors. 

You're still not sure if you like him or not. 

Slowly, you finish your drink. But, just as you're ready to set it into the sink and head back upstairs—

—the phone's ringing. 

You can hear it pretty clearly, even if it's muffled. 

Who could be calling at this hour? Furrowing your brow, you put down the mug and start heading down the hallway, towards the study. You're well aware that Haymitch tore his phone out of the wall ages ago, so it couldn't be him. Nobody from your District calls you, either. And if you get any calls from outside the District, they're usually during the daytime. Not at two-ish in the morning. The Capitol may be invasive, but they're not that invasive. They need their beauty rest, you figure.  

So, taking all of that into consideration, that only leaves— 

"Peeta?" You mutter, upon picking up the phone. 

There's a beat of silence. 

"Hello," he replies. 

It's a bit hard to tell over the line, but he sounds nearly as groggy as you. Delicately, you shut the door of the study behind you with a quiet click. Just in case. 

"Is something wrong?" You allow yourself to be a little louder, now that there's a barrier between you and the rest of the house. "Couldn't sleep?" 

"Something like that." There's a slight rustling. "I mean— nothing new, right?" Even though you know he meant it as a joke, the grim truth makes it fall flat. 

Still, you breathe out a quiet laugh. "Nothing's changed." Affixing your gaze on one of the chairs sitting around the mahogany table, you fiddle with the telephone cord. "Did you, uh— did you need something, though?" 

Peeta hesitates again. 

"I just—" He cuts himself off. "I'm sorry for calling you so late." He's entirely earnest in a way that makes you ache. "Did I wake you up?" 

He's also dodging the question, even if he is genuinely worried about your sleep schedule. 

"No, you didn't," you assert, "don't worry about that. It's fine." 

"Okay," he responds, relief palpable despite the crackly quality. 

The telephone cord is somewhat cold where it rests on your knuckles. You continue to twist it around your idle hand. 

"You still haven't answered my question, by the way."  

Peeta audibly exhales. 

"Oh." More rustling. "Yeah. I, um—" he clears his throat, "—yeah, I do need something, actually." 

That could mean a lot of things. Does he just need to talk? You know he does, sometimes. Or maybe he just needs some more flour, and is too embarrassed to admit it. He does seem like the type of guy to stress-bake in the wee hours of the morning. However, you seriously doubt that he wants anything related to that. 

"What is it?" You ask, finally. 

His next words are rushed, as if he's afraid that if he says them slowly, he'll never get them out. 

"Could you come over? I just—" it's only a momentary gap, "—don't wanna be alone right now." 

Ah. 

The thing is, you understand. You know what it's like. And there's only one possible response that you can give right now. Vividly, you can see him— the cave—  his face, shining with a cold sweat, his eyes scrunched tightly in pain— 

"Okay." You're already mentally mapping out where to go. "I'll be there in a few." 

-- 

When he opens the door, Peeta looks exhausted. 

But when he smiles at you, there's still that light in his eyes. That look he gets whenever you're around. It used to make you feel sick to your stomach, but now— now, you're not quite sure how to feel. You've been told that in comparison to him, you're rather good at keeping your feelings hidden underneath the surface. It's been necessary, after all. 

"You're here," he says after a beat, as if he expected anything else. 

"I'm here," you echo. 

Wordlessly, he steps aside to let you pass by. Somehow, although the layout of his house is exactly the same as yours, his still feels different. Warmer. A little cozier. The remnants of something sweet are still floating through the air, and you glance back at him. Maybe you were right about the possibility of him making cookies— or apple turnovers. Or those little cakes. 

"Been baking?" You ask. 

"Earlier," he clarifies, shutting the door behind you. 

"Smells nice." 

Peeta lingers by your side. "Want some?" 

"If that's okay." 

"It's always been okay." He raises his eyebrows. "How many times have I told you that you don't even need to ask?" 

You shoot him a look. "Doesn't hurt to ask." 

Flawlessly, he copies your expression. "How do you know that?" 

"It's called being polite, Peeta." 

"Polite," he repeats. "Polite…" 

You let out a short sigh. 

"Just show me where they are." 

He gives you a shit-eating grin. "And there it is." 

You don't even bother trying to respond; he's already padding past you, anyway. It's a short trip to the kitchen. His is more cluttered than yours— recently-used, more lived-in. There are more dishes in the sink, more stuff on the counter. But your eyes are drawn to the two wire baking racks on the stovetop. On top of them sit around two dozen pastries. They're prettily decorated with pink, blue, and white icing, and you take some time to admire them as you join him in front of the stove. 

"You've outdone yourself," you can't help but murmur. "Wow." 

At your compliment, Peeta instantly turns bashful. 

"Oh, thanks." Of course, he can't let those words sit. "It's— it's not my best work, but I—" 

His volume drops, and he pauses. 

"Well— my hands were shaking, so…"

Abruptly, you turn your attention away from the pastries. 

He notices, interrupting you before you can even open your mouth to speak. 

"I know what you're gonna ask," he says, softly. "And, yeah, I do want to talk about it. Just—" Peeta sucks in a breath. "Just not now, okay? Give it a little while." The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he gestures towards the racks. 

"Eat." 

You consider pressing the question. You consider urging him— did it happen again? Was it worse this time? It had to have been worse, considering that he wanted you over in the first place. Just thinking about it makes your stomach perform an uneasy flip. You can read Peeta. And right now, you can read the bags under his eyes. The tiredness he's trying to fight away. 

However, you don't want to push him. You don't want to break him down. Not again. 

So, you take a pastry. 

It's really, very good. 

Peeta takes one for himself, too, and you eat in silence. You know that despite your frequent approval of his various baked goods, he's still carefully watching your reaction; you make sure to look pleased, and it isn't hard at all. He seems satisfied. You're also satisfied. Once you've finished your pastry, you lick the remnants of the icing off your fingers. 

You pretend not to notice the way he stares— briefly, before forcing his gaze away. 

You pretend to ignore the way your heart skips. 

Mercifully, he breaks the awkward tension. 

 "Do you— would you want to take some home?" He asks, after swallowing. "We both know that I'm not gonna eat 'em all." 

"Oh, yeah, I'll take some," you answer. Thinking for a second, you add, "Were you going to risk bringing some to Haymitch, or—" 

He snorts. "Not this time." 

"More for me, then." 

"And your family, you mean?" 

You smile. There's no way that you're going to give up those pastries without a fight. 

"Sure. And my family."

Peeta doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he returns your smile all the same. 

-- 

He always keeps his bedroom windows open at night. 

You're not exactly sure why, but you suppose it's because he runs warm. Always. 

The duvet's soft on your bare skin, and his hands are gentle. With the way your head is positioned, if you move your ear just so, you can hear his heartbeat thumping through his chest. A steady rhythm. He's calm, and so are you. You're certain that you could fall asleep like this— if it weren't for the fact that you have other, more important priorities right now. 

When you look up at him, shifting an increment closer, he talks. 

"I thought things were getting better." His Adam's apple bobs as you watch. "I thought that— that things were gonna start improving. That I'd— " He trails off, for a second. 

"That I'd start going back to normal, I guess. But I should've known that it's… It's impossible." His gaze is focused on the ceiling. "It was hopeless to try and believe that I could just keep on going like nothing happened at all." 

You find your voice. 

"But you still tried?" 

The chuckle he lets out is completely humorless. 

"Yeah, I tried." 

He's always been optimistic— he's always trying to see the best in people. And seeing him like this makes you feel hopeless. You know what he's going through. It's essentially the same thing that you're going through. However, it's not like you can read minds. He knows the right words to say, but you don't. Even though you wish you could. Words— even though actions can speak louder than them— still mean a lot. You turn that word over in your head a couple of times. Actions. 

"What happened?" You ask, quietly. 

 A beat. 

"I let down my guard," he starts, volume barely a whisper. "I was confident in my stability. I thought that I wouldn't— break down, or anything. Because it had been a few weeks, and—" 

His eyes shut. Tightly. "God, I'm stupid." 

"You're not," you rush to interject, "don't say that." 

Peeta lets out another huff. "But it was stupid. To assume that I'd be okay, I mean. I should've— I should've expected it, at least." He quickly carries on. "Even after everything, I still let myself fall into a routine." 

I still let myself fall back into a routine, you know what he means. The bad dreams pale in comparison to the real monsters that loom over the both of you. Haymitch is a living example of what can happen; what will happen, if you don't hold on to tight control of the hypothetical reins. You ache. 

"Don't blame yourself for any of this," you murmur, "please. It's not your fault. Not in the slightest." You have to speak slowly, pace yourself. Keep yourself from everything you want to say. "Even if you tried to— I don't know, stay hyper-aware of everything— it would still come crashing down eventually." A breath. "It's inevitable, Peeta. It's always going to be here." 

"But I don't want it to be here," he chokes out, "I really, really don't!" 

You push yourself up from your previous position. His eyes are open now, wide and looking up at you. 

When you move backward and open your arms, he's on you in an instant. 

You rock back and forth, gently. You're not sure which one of you is holding onto the other tighter. Clinging would be a better word. His face is pressed firmly into your shoulder. You can feel him shaking. 

Despite everything, he won't let himself make any noise when he cries. 

You don't know how long you stay like this. It could be minutes. Hours, even. All you can feel and register is him. Peeta. He's trembling. The barely-there sensation, combined with the undeniable tightness of his arms. His hands. It's almost like he thinks that if he loosens his hold, even by just the slightest fraction, you'll suddenly disappear. 

That you'll cease to exist. 

That you'll become not real.  

When you finally draw back— slowly, tentatively, and only because he does it first— 

He sniffs, eyes red. They're not brimming with unshed tears, but they're still wet. You can't help but thumb away what little remains on his lower lids, even though you know that you probably look about the same. 

Peeta returns the gesture. 

Unlike you, though, he lingers, hand dropping to cup your cheek. 

There's a moment. 

You've done this before, of course. You've held each other. Comforted each other, brought each other back down. But since the end of the Games— since you've gotten away from the clamoring audiences desperate for a romance despite the sick circumstances— you haven't done anything more than that. 

You haven't kissed him since the end of the Games. 

But right now, you realize that you want to. More than anything. Anyone could see that Peeta wants it, too. Maybe even more than you do. 

So, when he leans in— just barely— closing the distance— 

It's practiced, at first. Familiar. Almost nostalgic. 

But then he melts, and it's suddenly something completely different.  

Peeta lets you softly maneuver him down onto the mattress, up against the pillows that are still too soft for your liking. He kisses you in the way those terrible poets describe— it's all excessively large bouquets, a clear starry night, longing looks across a crowded room, and—  

It's real. 

He gives. You take, and exchange it for everything you have in return. His hand stays on your cheek, the other behind your head, pulling you down. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. You lose yourself in the feeling. Whenever you part, it's only out of necessity, and you're soon leaning back in. You're making up for lost time— you're making up for every action you didn't mean, every word that was too sugary-sweet. 

Soon, your kisses grow deeper. And neither of you wants to stop. 

It's only when his hands are trailing down your body, down to the hem of your shirt, that you bother addressing it. Even if you want this— so, so desperately— you don't want to force anything in a situation that doesn't require it. Just kissing is nice. It's very nice. Nice enough that it takes a little while for you to regain control of your mouth. 

"Is this—" 

—and he's already speaking. Hushed, like you. 

"Please." 

It's almost embarrassing, what that single word does to you. But you barrel on. 

"It's okay?" You ask, "Just say if it's not, and I'll stop—" 

"—I just," Peeta visibly struggles with what to say for a moment, before settling on: 

"Need you," he says. "Please." 

It's more than enough, and you're in no place to deny him for much longer. You recapture his lips, welcoming his touch. His hands on your back, then your waist, then your hips again. His grip is firm, but not overly so. He would never hurt you, after all. Especially not here. Especially after what he's witnessed. 

His hands are warm and calloused on your bare skin. Strong, with all the work he's done since he was old enough to knead dough. You have to sit up in order to take off your nightshirt, and he takes the opportunity to do the same with his. You've already seen him shirtless, and at close proximity, too— but it wasn't like this. You couldn't trail over every little detail with your lips, back then. 

Peeta shivers, letting out a short giggle when you press a kiss to his stomach. He's sturdy, that's for sure. Impressive biceps, a toned chest. He's beautiful, and you tell him so. You think he blushes, but it's difficult to say for certain from your position. You're too focused on finding all the little freckles you can. 

He likes it when you kiss his neck, breath audibly hitching when you do so. 

But even though he lets you entertain yourself for a decent while, he makes sure to return the favor. He's never liked being in the spotlight for long, after all. And he wants. 

He finds all of your scars, from the arena. From before the arena, too. He maps them out, painstakingly, mimicking the way you'd kissed him all over earlier. Sensitive, he notes, when you make a small noise when his thumbs find your nipples. Soft, he observes, as his fingers slip underneath your waistband, moving lower. 

Soon, you're completely exposed, and he is too. 

Peeta pays more attention to certain parts of you— your thighs, your chest— but he doesn't skip over anything in particular. He wants to know everything; he wants to learn everything. And he's eager to learn. By the time he reaches the spot between your legs, you're already wanting for him. You've grown needy from his kisses, his caresses. You can feel him against your thigh— he's just as needy as you. 

His fingers are clumsy, at first. But they're strong, and you guide him. One, then two. Then another. His breath is loud, and he hums, biting his lower lip at your quiet moan after you tell him how to crook his fingers. You jolt when he finds your clit, paying careful attention to it while he works you open. 

At your whispered insistence, he grips himself by the base— already having put on protection— you don't care enough to ask exactly how he obtained it— and he pushes in. The groan he lets out sounds like it's been punched from his gut. 

He sets a slow, measured pace. Almost awkward at first, but he's a fast learner. He learns what angle makes you spread your legs wider for him. You wouldn't even use fucking to describe what you're doing— somehow, that word's too rough. He kisses you, nose bumping against yours. Most of your noises are muffled against his lips, but he takes them all the same. He absorbs them, and drinks them in. Drinks you in. 

"Peeta," you sigh, and he breathes your name in return, before ducking to kiss your shoulder. Your collarbone. Your neck. 

He comes first, twitching, pulsing deep within you. He stifles his whimper by tucking his face into the divot between your shoulder and your neck— but you can still feel it. You help him ride it out, until his thrusts falter, and his hips still. 

It's a few moments of limbo, in which he catches his breath. He meets your eyes. His are hazy, half-lidded. He kisses you. 

Then, he pulls out— disposes of the garbage, of course— and wastes no time in making his way down your body, to where you need him most. 

You're certain that he's never eaten anybody out before, but he's a natural. He's enthusiastic— much more so than when he was inside you. This is just for your pleasure, now. When you thread a hand through his tousled hair, he moans into you, increasing his efforts tenfold. He doesn't care for the mess— or the noise, as he laps at you. He doesn't even care for his own need to breathe. Peeta just wants to give. 

His brow is furrowed in concentration as he rapidly pulls you closer to orgasm. You can do little but take. And when you finally topple over your peak— 

"—that's so good, ah— Peeta, I'm gonna— ohh—" 

You cry out, heat rolling low in your abdomen— gathering, passing through your entire body. 

You float on blissful waves, and he licks at you through it all. For a single, brief moment, your mind is perfectly calm. 

When you relax, the warmth steadying to a hum, he notices and stops working at you. He wriggles a little, and leans forward to rest his chin on your stomach while you catch your breath. You can feel his, too, and it's hot on your skin. Peeta seems reluctant to take his eyes off you just yet. 

It's quiet, you register. You're reluctant to ruin it, but he looks pretty messy. 

"I should get you a towel or something," you say. 

He cracks a smile, his eyes softening. "Should you?" 

"Yeah." You're powerless not to return it. "But, you know, for me to get the towel, you have to get off me." 

"So demanding." 

You let out a short, offended sound. "Hey, that's just—" 

"I'm getting up." And he does. 

It doesn't take long to clean up, and the obnoxious white fluorescent lights of the bathroom don't blind you for long. Again, Peeta looks on while you wipe off his face— this close, you notice how brilliantly blue his eyes are. You notice the precise angles of his jaw. His cheek. He's probably doing the same to you— tracing the contours of your face. 

To your relief, you're back in his bed a few minutes later. He completely shuts off the lights, flicking off his bedside lamp, and then crawls under the duvet with you. You're not sure if it's creepy or weird to enjoy it, but everything here smells like him. A sort of earthy, warm scent. Even though you're both well aware of the multiple floral shampoos that the Capitol has to offer— he still retains that one thing. 

You're comfortable. You're safe. 

Peeta wraps his arms around you from behind. 

You're not sure if you should say something or not, but he does it first. 

"You'll stay?" Whispered, into the stillness. 

"Of course." Without hesitation. 

His grip tightens, almost imperceptibly. 

"Thank you," he breathes.  

The words are stuck in your throat. 

You can't bring yourself to say them, even though you know you'd mean them. Every single syllable. 

But you have time. You can tell him tomorrow, even. Or the day after that. Tonight, you didn't say it aloud, but you still told him all the same. 

You understand exactly how you feel, just before you drift off. 

You love him. 

[flamingpudding]

I'm back with a part 4 if you want to do it it's kind of more of a crack write I just need Klarion trying to explain the family tree

But not explaining how he was made at all So Young Justice and the Justice League are now convinced that a the Ghost King was a teenage parent who is now 27 years old and just passed college with a degree in astronomy and machinery

Klarion's other parent is a a crazy fruit loop 64 year old millionaire who went to college with Klarion's Mom parents who had an emotionally unhealthy obsession with his mom's mother and then it passed on to his mom.

And he has an older sister who is technicality a clone of his mom but also has the bastards DNA so fundamentally making Ellie Vlad Master and Mom's first born kid but there's six other siblings that Klarion had that died back a while back but Mom got granddad who's apparently the time lord AKA Cronos which is a whole another long story to go back in time and save those kids get them fixed up and now Klarion technicality has seven older siblings which all do their own things

And then he starts mentioning his uncle who is a 9 ft yeti his technicality auntie who is a medieval ghost princess who can turn into a dragon his auntie Pandora and his his grandfather cronos

My names for the six other clone children are Donald (he/him), Cecelia (they/she), Bartholomew(Them/They), Kyle AKA Bite(He/It), Brutus(He/They), and then there's Danna (She/Her) who actually really like the name Dan and asked Klarion if could have it when Klarion changed his name

Sorry if this is a little bit too much I've just really been thinking about au for this after the last part you made I hope this helps you with your writing or at least makes you laugh but I really love the idea of Danny's AKA somewhat clone children and finding their own personalities and and fighting themselves out of just being failed clone of their mom also I love the idea of Danny going back in time to save the rest of the clone kids cuz now he's a mature adult who wants to save their lives and wants them to grow into their own people.

(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

I probably did way to much research into all the fandoms I am in to see what I could tie into this... And yet this feels shorter than it should but I also currently lack the time to add more. But for now I hope this will be satisfactorily.

Also this family tree idea especially the part of saving the melted clones. LOVE IT!

So even though it took me a while! here is Part 4 you inspired! Thanks so much for the ask!

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

"Dude, you are making us only curious!" Impulse spoke up as he sat down next to Klarion who had his head in his hands. "Like you and your mom can't just drop your family lore like that!"

The witch boy on the other hand looked up with narrowed eyes at the speedster. "What lore?"

"Let's see, the part that apparently a Vlad tried to kill your Grandpa to make friends several time. That your mom is 'ghost' adopted by the lord of time Cronos and Pandora, which makes us family too by the way, and that you have a sister that apparently is even crazier than what we got to know of your family so far." Wonder Girl counted off her fingers next to him grinning as she mentioned the part of probably being a part of his 'crazy' family too. Which hell yea, that sounded like a lot of fun to be explored she would have to talk with Wonder Woman about that as soon as possible.

"Also..." Red Robin added as he flipped through the photo album that apparently no one remembered he had. He was turning it around and pointed at a particular photo with a wild bunch of people in it that varied between more human and well... less humanoid people. One of them definitely was a Yeti and there was also what looked like living armor as well as Teekly (they knew that demon cat at least), a giant green dog and for some reasons there was a green aggressive looking Octopus in the background too. "...how are you related to a Yeti?"

"Hey that man there and those other teens in the picture actually have some resembles with you! Do you have older brothers too?" Superboy additionally asked as he moved around Red Robin to see the photo better pointing at a man that appeared to be in this late twenties, blue eyed, black haired and a little on the buffer side. If he didn't know any better and the fact that he should keep his mouth shut about their actual identities he would have jokingly asked Red Robin if his family would like to add more kids considering Klarions family apparently had a bunch of black haired blue eyed members too, judging by the photo at least.

"What are you talking about. That man is my mom and yes the others are actually my older brothers and that Yeti is uncle Frostbite who also happens to be the best medic in the Infinite Realms" The four teen heroes looked stunned at the picture and then back at the Ghost King that was smiling at them, still seated by the dinner table with their mentors. Who by the way were now perking up at the change of topic and the information they could gain with it, well Wonder Woman was more interested in the apparently extended family she had.

"Oh I remember we took this photo last year, it was such a hassle to get everyone into one place with them all being busy doing their own things." Danny mused for a moment, remembering fondly how he had to literally drag some of the kids home through a portal.

"It was more annoying than anything too since I was declared to be the youngest...." Klarion muttered also remembering that day not as fondly as his mother.

"Wait, wait, wait! That is a picture of your family? I need an explanation buddy!" Impulse cut in without shame, quickly removing the picture from the photo album to get a better look at it before holding it out to Klarion so he could explain all the individuals. "Plus why does your mom look soooo.... human?"

The witch boy on the other hand stared at him for a couple of seconds before looking over towards his mother as if waiting for something. After a moment the teen heroes as well as their mentors saw Danny nod with a little smile. "This dimension doesn't have the GIW so its fine, the Justice League Dark won't be a problem either, right?." Constantine flinched at the smile the Ghost King was giving him, muttering something under his breath as he had hoped his presence had been forgotten.

"Since mom is giving his okay...." Klarion mutter sitting crosslegged on the ground as he snatched the photo album from Red Robin and flipped through it. "Lets start with the easiest stuff to explain."

Danny chuckled noticing that not only the teen heroes but their mentors as well showed an interest. He choose to stay quiet letting the adults listen in on the kids, and if things went bad he would just ask Clockwork if they could revert time back to this moment and he would change his nod of permission to a shake of denial.

"Okay first of, this is my mom and his sister Jasmine, this is Danielle my older sister and that hulk with flaming white hair and blueish skin is me. That was before I got deaged because of destabilising." Klarion explained flipping to a photo of him, Danny, Jazz and Danielle. "Mom was around fifteen, Aunt Jazz about seventeen and Ellie should have been about a year old but she was aged up to twelve. They look human in this one because well they are. Mom was originally human and became what you call in this dimension a Meta through an accident."

"Wait... that would mean your mom... How could he have two kids at that age of fourteen? You look like an adult and your sister was aged up?" Wonder Girl couldn't help but ask as she looked from the photo and back to Danny at the dinner table again.

"That's cause Vlad was a fu-"

"Language Klarion!"

"Vlad was a fruitloop. That photo was taken shortly after Vlad and I sort of redeemed our selfs. Plus, mom didn't really have my sister and me willingly.... we were kind of forced upon him in a way." Klarion explained shrugging. "Old Man Vlad had an obsession with his mom that then turned on mom, which resulted in my oldest sister Danielle first. Actually, a lot of my elder siblings resulted from that, but they didn't survive it the first time, Mom got Old Man Clocks help to save them once he got used to being the Ghost King. I got added to the mix shortly after my sister, but... i wasn't in the best state of mind at first, kind of went through a redemption phase in which mom had to fix the timeline of our original home dimension, too."

Danny chuckled again at the disturbed looks the teens were giving his son as well as the looks their mentors sent him. He probably should correct Klarion's wording... but being one of the gremlins of his family he just smiled on, not commenting. He really understands now why Pops Clockwork liked watching the chaos he used to cause as teen, and still sometimes causes as adult.

"Klarion... how old is this Old Man Vlad?" Red Robin asked grimacing as his eyes under the mask flicked up to the Ghost King and then back to the witch boy both seemingly unbothered by the disturbing information they were sharing.

"In human years... probably around 67? You stop counting age at some point if your a halfa." Klarion shrugged, not noticing the grimaces of the teens around him. "Anyway, Ellie is sort of the first born. I came in after that, with my core being a mix of Mom and Vlad. Not DNA wise though since I came to be because of their ghost cores. That's why I look like that in this photo. Though human DNA wise I am probably now mostly Moms, we never bothered to ask the old man."

Danny muffled another chuckle, coughing as Superman sent him an incredulous look of shook while he felt Batmans burning gaze on him.

"You... mentioned more siblings?" Red Robin asked carefully sharing a look with his team, feeling like there was a whole lot of trauma in Klarions family he wasn't sure they should address or not. So asking after his siblings was probably, hopefully the safest option. They didn't know that while there was trauma in the witch boy's family it was not the kind they were imagining.

"Yea I got a bunch more brothers, Vlad was a evil crazy fuitloop, before he redeemed himself. They all kind of melted in one timeline but mom and Grandpa Clock found a way to save them." Klarion nodded flipping to another photo containing him, as he looked now, and all his siblings.

"So, Ellie you know about already. The one with the sunglasses and died hair is Bartholomew, second oldest. They made themselves a home in other dimension, barely at home cause he has to much fun messing with something called a 'Starstream' by being a 'Constellation' and throwing gold coins at 'Incarnations'. Don't ask me what that means, I barely pay attention when he gushes about his favorit 'Incarnation'. They spent like all their money and pocket money there. Aunt Jazz thinks he might develop a gambling addiction if we don't stop his spendings." The teen heroes eyed the teen that looked like a young adult grinning in the photo as the witch boy pointed at the one next to them. "The one with the vile is my elder brother Bite, most responsible one of this bunch. Mom even allowed him to take care of a couple of dimensions by taking the role of being their God of Death. I think he messed them up more than helped but he is doing a somewhat good job, even if he is sort of obsessed with making some red head his saint or something..."

"One of your sibs is a God?" Impulse gabbed and Klarion just blinked at him with a shrug. "My Grandfather is the ruler of Time, your point is? Wonder Girl is also related to a God of your dimension."

"Never mind him, moving on." A yelp resounded as Superboy pushed Impulse head down leaning in more to see the photo better. "You got one emo looking brother there!"

"Oh that's Yamikumo, he is like a year or two older than me right now, in human years. He barely got any of mom's powers so he choose to try to life a somewhat normal life but weirdly enough he choose a dimension that is ruled by people who have powers and abilities, you know like the Meta Humans of this dimension. Now that I think about it, he is also the only one who actually is studying on how to be a Hero."

"Do you end up fighting with him if he studies to be a hero?" Wonder Girl whisper asked him with a quick glance towards their mentors, to which Klarion shook his head. "As long as we leave the dimensions one of us choose to live in alone we usually don't fight about stuff like that, aside from the usual sibling fights that is. Then again I do have some siblings that like to make bets like who is better at ruling as demon lord, or who can safe a dying timeline quicker."

Danny chuckled again as he watched the kids, Klarion had definitely caused some misunderstandings with his wording. Then again it wasn't like Klarion said anything that wasn't true, but then again his son loved chaos. So there was a suspicion that Klarion intentionally choose the way he worded the explanation about how he and Ellie came to be as well as the rest of siblings.

"So....." Superman slowly started wondering how he should bring up the topic. "...you became a mom at 14?"

"Say Danny is there a way for me to meet this Vlad? You know since we are family." Wonder Woman also asked smiling in a certain way that reminded Danny of Valerie when she was mad but didn't want to show right away how mad she was, to which the Ghost King on reflex could do nothing but gulp for a moment. Not noticing that a green post it note appeared on the table before him.

[mattatouilletkachuk]

Can you write for Quinn with the “Can I sleep with you?” Prompt pls

Oliver The Orca || Quinn Hughes

Part of The Hockey Babies AU

Prompt: 29. “Can I sleep with you?”

Warnings: anxiety, fear of the future

WC: 6.8k

A/N: This was meant to be short and sweet jfc lol. I decided because it’s so long that I’d make this the origin for them in my Hockey Babies Au.

Summary: Since moving to Michigan as a child, you’ve been annoyed by the eldest child that lived next door. Neither of your parents care and insist on a camping trip before every school year.

Camping trips were not for you. You were meant for the city or at least a relatively mid-sized town. Not trees, bugs, and a tent that you had to put together yourself. Well, that last part was only somewhat true because after failing to put your tent together three times and watching it collapse Quinn had come over to help you. By help, it meant that you stood back and made sure not to touch anything, per his request. 

It happens every year. With your parents being friends with Ellen and Jim Hughes there was always a Summer camping trip before school started. When you asked your mother why she insisted that you go she simply told you that as you grow up life moves by fast and that close friends you once had growing up may not be around when you get older. Hence, the camping trip. 

You didn’t know much about your mom before your family moved to Michigan. In your defense, how much was a six-year-old supposed to know about their parents? 

Even when you were young, your mom liked to talk about her childhood and the one thing and person that was always a constant in her stories was a woman named Ellen. According to your mom, she and Ellen had gone to high school and college together. When they parted ways after graduation their communication slowly died out that was until you moved into your brand new house in Michigan. 

As your dad drove the van down the suburban streets filled with large houses, you couldn’t help but think that Michigan didn’t seem all that much different from anywhere else you had lived in your short six years. Your younger brother was excited enough for both of you. You weren’t easily annoyed by your brother but his nonsensical 4-year-old ramblings about everything he saw made you roll your eyes. He didn’t get it. He wasn’t leaving behind any friends or starting at a new school. If your family stayed here this is all he would ever remember, not the home or neighborhood you lived in before. 

Your dad seemed to notice your sour mood and tried to point things out that would usually catch your attention. He talked about how there would be more room for you to play, and that there was a lake nearby where you could swim in the summer. Your mom even suggested that you could learn how to ice skate during the winter when the lake froze over. None of it interested you until your dad told you that you would finally have your own bedroom. 

That made you perk up. At some point, you were sure that you had to have had your own bedroom at some point. You didn’t remember it because for as long as you could remember you shared a bedroom with your brother. For the rest of the drive, you sat back in your booster seat, thinking about how you would decorate it and if you could somehow convince your parents to let you have your own television. When you started school you could have sleepovers whenever you wanted!

That sounded nice. You’ve been trying to tell them since the few months since your birthday that you were a big girl now and six-year-olds are too old to share a bedroom with their brothers, especially a snot-nosed tattle tale like your brother.

The rest of your family chatted merrily, talking about all the great things living in this neighborhood would have, and how your dad’s new job would be great for the family because he’d be around a lot more. Your parents didn’t try to pull you back into the conversation, knowing that a neutral mood from you would be better than a grumpy one. 

Finally, when you pulled up to what was to be your new house, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp. It was large and white and there was even a porch. It was like one of those houses you saw in movies or on the covers of the magazines your mom read while waiting in line to buy her groceries. 

You refused to let yourself feel too excited about it, though. Your parents had to know that you didn’t approve of this move and that you were still upset about leaving your friends behind and your old home, and the fact that you had to get rid of half of your stuffed animals to make room in the van for a move you didn’t even want! 

You flinched when suddenly you heard your mother shriek and nearly jump out of the car, even though your dad had yet to put it into park. You watched in confusion as your mother waved her arms about to get some other woman’s attention. It seemed to work because the other woman turned away from what you presumed were her three sons, who had to be around the same age as you and your brother and embraced your mother in a tight hug. 

Finally pulling into the driveway slowly and parking the car, your dad went over to unbuckle your brother from his seat and just like your mother he scrambled out of the car to meet the children who were standing behind the woman mom was talking animatedly to. You watch from your seat as your mom introduces your brother to this strange new woman - you wonder if it’s Ellen, the one whom your mom has pictures of from when they were young. She looks similar, taller than your mom, leaner, and with the build of an athlete, and her blonde hair is a stark contrast to your own mom’s darker shade.

Even her smile is the same. You were told you were moving to be closer to your dad’s new job but now you can’t help but wonder if your mom knew that she would somehow be neighbors with her old friend. 

When your dad comes around to help unbuckle your booster seat, you sit back and let him, now eyeing the three boys in roller skates and hockey sticks. It’s the middle one you think that your brother is mainly talking to. Mainly because the youngest, either still a toddler or just a little bit older is holding onto his mom’s leg as he takes in the new people. The other one has to be the oldest, you think, with the way his face is set into a serious mask, and is the only one that has seemed to notice you. 

You don’t like that he’s watching you. You don’t know him but at that same time, that’s why you don’t put up resistance to being unbuckled, where normally you would have. You didn’t want to seem like a loser so quickly after moving here. You haven’t even stepped foot into your new house yet. 

When your dad helps you clamber out of the car, you make sure to grab your favorite stuffed animal that you were allowed to bring on the trip. When your parents had brought you to Build-a-Bear, they probably thought you’d get a regular bear or an expensive dog but instead, you picked an orca. An orca that you named Oliver who never once left your side. 

“Do I have to meet them?” you pulled on your dad’s shirt so that you could be face-to-face with him. You could see that he was trying to hold back a laugh but a light smile still found its way onto his lips. He wasn’t fooling you, though. With as much seriousness as you could muster on your small round face, you continued, “Can’t we see the house first and see these people tomorrow?”

Your dad sighed and replied, “Your mom and brother are already over there. Your mom is catching up with an old friend and your brother, it looks like is making a new friend himself.”

You grumbled something under your breath but your dad ignored it.

“We won’t stay out here for long and it’s nice to get to know you’re neighbors.” He added. “If you get too nervous or you want to leave squeeze your stuffed animal or hand him to me and I’ll get the message that it’s time to go.”

“Oliver,” you muttered. “His name is Oliver.”

He patted down your hair which had gotten more messy as the day went on and hummed apologetically, “I’m sorry, will you tell Oliver that?”

You nodded and with Oliver tucked under one arm, you grabbed your dad’s hand with the other and walked over to the others. You dropped his hand but remained close by, even when he moved closer to your mom and threw his arm around her.

When your mom finally noticed you she introduced you to everyone, “This is my daughter,” your mom announced. 

After telling them all your names, the other woman laughed. It was bright and kind. “You always did say if you had a daughter one day, that’s what you would name her.”

They shared one more laugh before your mom continued, “Darling, this is Luke,” he was still holding onto his mom’s leg and you noticed his hair was the brightest. Up close you realized that your original guess of four was wrong. He was barely three years old. You waved shyly at the younger boy and smiled, “This is Jack, he claims to like hockey more than his brothers,” which made the tallest one huff a breathy laugh. “He’s the same age as your brother, isn’t that nice?”

You weren’t sure what to say to that so you just nodded.

“This one, right here,” your mom said with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes that you couldn’t decipher, “is Quinn. He’s the oldest and just so happens to be around your age.”

You took him all in now that you were only standing a few feet away. His hair was much darker and his complexion was pale, you couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like in the winter. He didn’t smile but his eyes weren’t unkind. 

He broke the silence well by holding up his hand for you to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he politely said. You replied, saying the same thing and holding Oliver closer to you. 

You wouldn’t consider yourself a shy child but it was the way that everyone was so engrossed in the conversation the adults were having while Quinn kept his eyes on you the whole time. You couldn’t pinpoint how it made you feel. You were annoyed that you were singled out but at the same time, a warm buzzing feeling hummed through you as you were the sole focus of someone’s attention. 

It all felt like too much, though, and eventually, you handed your stuffed animal to your dad. He was a man of his word and in less than five minutes your mom was wrapping up her conversation with Ellen.

You thought the interaction was over but as you had turned to walk away Ellen shouted one last thing that made your mom’s ears perk up. She turned around and Ellen said, “Every summer before school begins we go on a camping trip. We go for about three days. We leave in a week, I’d love it if you could all come.”  

Without looking at your brother or you, or your father for that matter, your mother agreed happily. You know that meant that before you were even unpacked she would drag everyone to the store to buy camping gear. 

This time you truly thought you were done because now your parents had started to walk out of earshot and Ellen had started to help Luke take off his roller skates. 

However, loud enough for you to hear but quiet enough for everyone else not to, you heard Quinn utter the words, “Don’t forget to bring your orca on the trip.”

You didn’t stop, exactly. You tripped on an uneven part of the sidewalk and managed to catch yourself before falling flat on your face. You looked back at the oldest Hughes and saw that he was gone. 

You weren’t a drama queen, no matter how many relatives tried to tell you you were. You were picky and you knew what you liked but you never expected others to understand, that would have been rude. However, how had Quinn known that Oliver was an Orca? Nobody knew, especially children your age. You only knew because one day your dad fell asleep watching a documentary about sea life. Every time someone would guess what your stuffed animal was they often guess a whale, which was a common misconception. One time you heard someone call it a narwhal. You were offended on Oliver’s behalf but secretly found it a little funny. 

You stopped letting it bother you but the surprise and shock you felt when someone knew what Oliver was made you radiate happiness. It probably seemed ridiculous to most people but Oliver was important to you. All the grumpiness in the car from earlier had disappeared. That didn’t mean you actually liked the eldest of the three brothers. He was quiet and seemed sort of grumpy and acted like he wanted nothing to do with you. 

Your first family camping trip was filled with highs and lows. Jim Hughes taught you how to fish, and you soon realized that you hated it but he seemed to enjoy it so you went along with it. You taught Luke how to make a flower crown. Your mom and Ellen gossiped about their time in school and all the time in between that they missed. 

Quinn on the other hand, barely spoke to you. It wasn’t subtle either, everyone was aware and thought the two of you would work it out by the end of the trip. It’s not like you were avoiding him. Maybe a little but not as much as he was trying to avoid you. 

All of it made any little spark inside you that wanted to be his friend die. So you vowed for the rest of the trip to ignore him. It felt better to be the one doing the ignoring and not the one being ignored. 

When school started you were put into different classes so thankfully the only time you had to see Quinn was lunch time and even then the two of you would sit across the cafeteria to sit with your friends.

For years it had worked. You were cordial as neighbors and put on pleasant smiles for your parents when they decided to have a dinner night with both families. At school you didn’t talk, sometimes you would catch him glancing over at you but you never brought it up. If he had a staring problem that would have to be something he would have to deal with on his own.

The camping trips usually went smoothly. At least up until this last year. There was always so much to do that it was easy to shrug off any attempts anyone made for you to hang out with Quinn. You were nineteen and he was turning the same age in a month. 

This could very well be the last camping trip you spent with everyone and sometimes, late at night, the feeling of not seeing Quinn again hurt but then you remembered his judgemental stares and how pretty, skinny, blonde girls would fawn over him once he became a hockey player in the NHL.

Your own thoughts startle you. What do you care if a bunch of girls threw themselves at Quinn while you were away? You especially didn’t care if he took an interest in any of them. He already went to and played hockey at the University of Michigan. You couldn’t think of one instance where he didn’t have several different options for who he spent the night with. When he goes to play for the NHL, nothing will have changed. 

(Other than everything. In Michigan, you knew you would see him again. When he moved he wouldn’t be there when you came to visit.)

This was one of the reasons you couldn’t stand Quinn most of the time. He jumbled up your thoughts and you didn’t know what to do with them. With Jack and Luke, it was different,

they had become like a second set of brothers with how often they were over at your house. Quinn, even though the offer was extended to him by every one of your family members, he still never came over. 

From the get-go, it was clear that ignoring Quinn for the entire trip wasn’t going to happen.

On the first night, you followed the routine that you had developed over the several years of camping. There was one problem, though, and that was since your first camping trip to now, you had never gotten the hang of putting your tent together. You tried! But someone would always have to help you in the end. You looked around for your brother or your dad but when you turned back to the pile of what was meant to be your tent on the ground, Quinn had come over and silently helped to put it together.

Few words were exchanged, such as, “Can you stand over there?”“Don’t touch that.” and “Hold onto that for a second.”

When your tent was all propped up and ready for you, you went to say ‘thank you’ but Quinn was already walking off to help your dad unload bags from his car. 

By the time you had everything all laid out, your sleeping bag, an extra blanket, a flashlight, and of course Oliver the Orca, the sun had begun to set. Jim called for everyone to come gather around the campfire. You pulled a hoodie over your t-shirt and claimed a spot on the log near the fire. You weren’t the last to arrive, as you waited for Jack, your brother, and Quinn to arrive you stared into the crackling campfire. 

The camping trip had been pushed back this year so now it was late September and there was a little chill in the air and the warmth from the fire was enough to warm you up. 

Luckily for you, in a week you would be heading back to school for your second year at the University of Oregon. It wasn’t your first choice and you knew it would get cold there too, but when you toured the school before your first year, you fell in love with the area. It was lush and green and had everything you wanted. 

Quinn gave you what had to have been a sarcastic smile when he finally plopped down on the log on the other side of the fire. You made a show of rolling your eyes at him in return. The little grin that wanted to come up was swallowed back down when you realized that you would miss this. The playfulness that snuck in between both of your two soured your mood.

Looking at Quinn brought back another thought that you’ve recently been thinking about. It was something that would nag at you as you packed up your room and took late-night walks around the neighborhood. You were afraid of getting homesick. You got homesick the first year you went away to college but you were expecting that. It was different, though, you were aching for some type of freedom. You loved your friends and family, and for the first time in your life, you would be free to do whatever you wanted without someone hovering over you. 

This year felt different. Your friends from home had started to settle in the cities and towns that they chose to move to. Your little brother was looking at colleges on the East Coast and even Jack was going into the NHL draft this year. With Quinn going to Vancouver to play for the Canucks, he would be the one that you would be the closest to but Vancouver was still a distance from Eugene, Oregon. There was no chance that you would ever just accidentally cross paths with him. 

For a second, you felt of pang of sadness. You’ve known Quinn since you were six and it won’t be like last year when you left for school and you would FaceTime or Skype your friends and family and Quinn would be in the background. Quinn was such a fixture in your life and now he was going to be gone too. Quinn loved Michigan, so you would probably see him in the Summers but what if after you graduate you get a job somewhere else? Somewhere where you know no one. 

You're jolted out of your spiraling emotions when Jack and your brother plop down on the log next to you, fighting over a bag of unopened marshmallows. You could thank the heavens for their timing because it feels like you’ve been having more and more thoughts about Quinn, your future, and Quinn being a part of your future.

The bag that Jack and your brother were fighting over tears in half, just like anyone could have predicted. The marshmallows go flying everywhere. Some land in the fire and melt quickly but mostly they land amongst the forest floor.

What you weren’t expecting was Jack jumping up from the log and hopping around screaming in a pitch that could rival a little girl’s. 

“Oh shit! Oh shit! OH SHI-!”

No one can hold back their laughter as they watch him frantically move about. Your brother nearly falls off of his log in a fit of laughter and you think you hear Quinn snort. 

“Jack Rowden Hughes!” Ellen scolds but when you look at her you can see the laughter she was trying her hardest to suppress. 

“Sorry, mom,” Jack mumbles but still doesn’t stop hopping around looking for the marshmallows.

“What the hell are you even doing?” Quinn asks, and unlike his mother, he’s not trying to hide his amusement. 

When he laughs you feel your chest get tight. You look briefly at him when he speaks and see that he’s already looking at you. He’s not smirking or glaring. No, he’s just smiling at you. There doesn’t seem to be any hidden meaning or mocking in his eyes. He’s happy and you’re the one he’s showing it to unabashedly. 

“Don’t you read?” Jack snaps, his hands overflowing with the marshmallows he’s grabbed from the floor, your mom kindly hands him a bag of garbage for him to throw away the dirt-covered sticky treat.  “Bears love Marshmallows!”

“Wasn’t that a SpongeBob episode?” You inquire with a laugh, shortly followed by Luke and Quinn. 

“Dear, we’ve been camping here for thirteen years.” Your mom tries to soothe Jack but everyone, including her, knows it’s futile. “No one has ever seen a bear around here.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t lurking around waiting to pounce,” Jack argues but he slowly calms down. Well, as calm as Jack can manage. 

“What does “waiting to pounce” even mean? Do you think Winnie The Pooh is hiding behind that tree over there?”

“Shut up, Quinn,” Jack grumbles and is shoved down to sit back on the log by his dad.

After everyone is calmed or close enough to calm your dad pulls out another bag of marshmallows and chocolate from a bag while Ellen grabs graham crackers. Jim finds the sticks for you all to toast the s’mores with all while your mom sits back in her chair, drinking out of a thermal cup, and by her lazy smile and pink cheeks, you’re starting to think that perhaps it’s not coffee or hot chocolate. 

Everyone quickly falls into the easy chatter that only forms after years of knowing one another. You hold your s’more over the fire as you sit quietly, listening to all the conversations happening around you. 

You're pretty sure that whatever is in your mom’s mug she shared with Ellen because the two of them are quietly giggling after every other word. Jim and your dad are talking to Jack about his future and what the draft might be like when it comes around soon. You feel bad for the kid. You’ve heard almost every adult close to Jack give him the same speech. It’s not like he won’t have a future. You’ve seen him play hockey, both for fun and for competition, and know that he’s better than good. Every team is looking at him right now and with his charisma and the way he moves on the ice, he’s guaranteed to become a star almost immediately after being drafted. 

Luke and your brother have given up on eating the s’mores altogether and are taking turns throwing marshmallows back and forth to see who can catch the most with only their mouths. After a minute of watching, you can safely say they’re both terrible and that ‘the bear’ coming out to eat the marshmallows is more likely than one of them catching one of them in their mouths.

You stayed quiet, not feeling like participating in any of the conversations. It wouldn’t raise any suspicions, since this annual trip began you were always worn out by the end of the day. Not talking to anyone, eating whatever your dad decides to barbecue, and falling asleep on your mom’s lap. So no one questioned you as you tried to not set your campfire snack on fire and thought about how everything was about to change after you all left the camping grounds and how you weren’t ready for it. 

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed that Quinn was quiet himself. Not staring down his burnt marshmallow like you put sneaking curious glances your way and silently hoping you would catch him. 

With a loud slap on his knee and a groan that only fathers seemed to know how to make your dad stood from his lawn chair. 

“It’s been a long day, I think I’ll try to get some sleep so I can wake up early to catch some fish.”

Jim nodded enthusiastically at the prospect of fishing in the morning and stood up as well. Both of the men helped their wives up from their seats, you smiled as they made it difficult for their husbands to walk them to their tents. The swaying a giggling never died down, even when they were inside and the tent was zipped. 

You were never one for fishing and why people liked to do it so early in the day perplexed you. You had attempted fishing twice in your life, once with your dad and brother which resulted in you being pushed into the lake by your brother and the other time was on a camping trip where Jim was convinced he could change your mind about fishing. It didn’t work. So now your plans for tomorrow are to lay down a beach blanket near the water and read one of the books you brought with you. 

The next ones to stray towards their tents for the night were Luke and your brother. You knew they were going to be next. They enjoyed fishing and spending time with their respective dads. 

“Maybe I’ll even catch dinner for us tomorrow!” your brother exclaimed. 

You wanted to gag at the idea but you saw the excited look on his face and decided against it. Instead, you gave him a thumbs up and mustered up a, “I’ll wish you luck!”

Jack didn’t say goodnight to anyone but you all saw him run behind one of the trees to vomit all of the sugar he consumed. By now he was most likely in his tent groaning or trying to get a signal on his phone. Probably both. 

It didn’t take long for Quinn to stand and bid you goodnight after the other boys left. Your eyes followed him as he walked with his head down to his tent. He had no real reason for leaving. You had watched him sporadically throughout the night and he didn’t seem tired. Perhaps he just didn’t want to stay out here alone with you. You murmur a quiet goodnight back, not sure if he heard it or not but not wanting to say it again. 

You weren’t ready for sleep yet. Your mind was still racing and when your thoughts came back to coming home for the holidays and everyone not being there a knot formed in your throat. You had made friends in Oregon and this upcoming year you would likely start networking, which meant meeting new people, and even though you haven’t met them yet, you knew they weren’t going to be better than the people sleeping in the tents less than ten feet away from you. 

If it hadn’t been for the chilly early September breeze you probably wouldn’t have noticed the tears on your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly. Everyone had already gone to sleep so you could cry as much as you wanted to and no one would know. No one but you, and you didn’t want to deal with all of those emotions right now. You were only feeling like this because it had been a long day and what you needed was a good night's rest. 

You watched the fire die down and when it was only embers left you sprinkled some sand on it to make sure it wouldn’t set the forest ablaze as you all slept. When you were done with that you crawled into your tent and tried to get comfortable in your sleeping bag. 

It was futile. The extra blanket didn’t warm you up and the sleeping bag was old and had small holes in it that you didn’t notice when you had packed it. Not even pulling Oliver close to your chest made you feel better. 

The tent was cold and hard and despite the rustling leaves and wind outside, it felt silent. You weren’t built to be alone and with your recurring thoughts of everyone leaving and not coming back once school starts up again, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay in your tent tonight. 

You grabbed your extra blanket and Oliver and paused when you were outside. Who could you share a tent with without them making a big deal of it? Your brother and Jack were immediately scratched off that list. They had the biggest mouths known to man. You could seek out the comfort of your parents, similar to when you were little and afraid and you would crawl into their much bigger bed and cuddle between the two of them. They would worry if you did that now and you didn’t want to worry them on the first night of the trip they had come to love.

There was nothing wrong with going to Luke but your body itched to turn the other way and go to Quinn’s tent. He wouldn’t tell anyone and even if he wasn’t sharing the same thoughts out loud, perhaps he was thinking them silently, after all, he was in the same predicament.

Before you could stop yourself you tapped gently on the tent and whispered his name. 

Nothing happened, so you continued just a little louder and perhaps with a slight whine. “Quinn! Quinn, open your tent. Quinn, are you asleep?”

Finally, the zipper was tugged down and a disheveled Quinn appeared. Despite his look of annoyance, you could tell that he wasn’t really upset with you. If he was he would have told you to go away by now or never opened the tent.

“What’s wrong?” His words slurred from sleep but his tone was serious. 

With a weak smile, you replied, “I think there’s a bear outside my tent that thinks I’m a marshmallow. Can I sleep with you?”

To your surprise, Quinn shuffled to the side of his sleeping bag to make room for you. When you continued to look at him dumbstruck he sighed and waved at the tent flap and said, “Can you come in here already? Also make sure you zip that up. I’m pretty sure that any bear with a sweet tooth will be dissuaded by a zipper.” 

You did as he asked and once you did you climbed into the sleeping bag with him. He grunted when you accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and when you kept trying to readjust in the small sleeping area that was only really meant for one Quinn grabbed your waist and rolled you so that your back was against his front. You felt breathless being so close to Quinn, no that wasn’t it, being held so close to him. The two of you grew up together so it didn’t feel strange to sleep in the same area. Sometimes you had to share a bed because your brother and Jack wanted to share one instead. One time when you were sharing an air mattress, it popped and you both had to sleep on the floor after that. You still held firm that the popping was Quinn’s fault. 

This was different, though. Out of all the times you had to sleep near Quinn, he never seemed like a cuddler and yet, here you were with his arm slung tightly around you, with his forehead pressed against your neck. Slowly and without saying anything you grabbed his hand that was on your waist, holding you to him, and intertwined your fingers. It felt grounding. How could you spiral when he was so solidly here? 

“So are you sticking with the bear story or are you actually going to tell me why you're in my tent?” Quinn said into the quiet darkness. 

You didn’t want to answer his question. You wanted to lay here and be held and take up all of his warmth and fall asleep. You also knew that if you didn’t vocalize your fears they would only get bigger and bigger until one day you would simply combust and find yourself living in a cardboard box outside of your childhood home.

You squeezed Oliver with the hand that wasn’t holding Quinn’s and whispered shyly, “I’m afraid of what happens after this. I’m afraid that once I go back to school everything will change and I’ll come home and nothing will be how it was.”

You let out a breath of relief. Even though you couldn’t help but still fret over everything it still felt nice to get all of that off of your chest. 

Quinn had remained quiet the whole time and for a moment you thought he was falling asleep until he squeezed your hand and moved his arm under your head to grab Oliver. Quinn wasn’t taking him from you but he held him gently. Almost stroking the worn fuzz on the stuffed orca.

“Things are gonna change,” he finally said. “All of our parents will still be in Michigan and so will your brother and when he goes to college I’m sure he’ll call to annoy you every day.”

You smiled sadly, it was true. Your little brother was like you. He aches for space but needs to know that the people he loves will still be there. 

“Doesn’t it scare you?” It’s a whisper, you can barely hear yourself over the pounding of your heart and the blood rushing in your ears. 

You didn’t know why you felt scared right now, this was Quinn, the same boy you’ve known nearly all your life. On the other side, though, this is Quinn, the same guy that annoys you more often than not. Who on most days you think he might hate you and you might hate him. Your thumb rubs circles on the hand that’s holding yours. What was it that your mom always said? There’s a thin line between love and hate.

It takes a minute and then two before you think he might not answer. Had his lips not been so close to your neck you wouldn’t have heard him. His words would have been lost with the wind outside. 

“Of course I’m scared.” He finally says and before you can cut in he continues. “I’m scared that I won’t be as good as people are hoping I will be when I finally get to play. I’m afraid to be so far away from my family.” He paused again but kept quiet, there was a tension in the air and you knew he wanted to say more. “I know my family will always be there, though. I also know that my friends will be too. I just don’t know about you.”

You went to turn around so that you could see his face and hear his words when he says them. His arms around your waist stop you, though.

“Whether or not I like it, you know everything about me.” You reply, the next part you look at your stuffed Orca so it feels like you're talking to it rather than him. “I think you might be the only person who knows everything about me. You’re always paying attention.”

“Of course, I’ve been paying attention.” 

You don’t hesitate and you don’t let yourself think before saying what you want to.

“Why?”

Quinn sighs your name and it sounds like a prayer. It sounds like he’s begging you to just know. Quinn is a man of few words and you want him to say it. 

“When I was six a stubborn girl with a stuffed Orca moved in next door to me. You watched me, you saw me, first before you finally looked at my family. For as long as I can remember I’ve been an afterthought to everybody.” Quinn says and his words make you hurt. “I did things to annoy you just so you would notice me because I wanted /your/ attention.”

“That’s very playground of you.” You say lightly, trying to ease the suffocating air in the tent. 

Quinn laughs lightly and it tickles your neck. “Then, and here’s the kicker, I get drafted to the Vancouver Canucks, and team far away from everything I know and then I remember that this girl that I’ve been annoying on purpose for years has what can only be described as an emotional support Orca. People have stuffed bears, ducks, or literally anything else. I’ve never seen someone with an Orca and for the first time everything I had and everything I’ve ever wanted became so clear.”

“And what is it that you want?” 

He lets go of your hand and sits up on his elbows just so he can look at you when says, “You. Since you got out of that car gripping that stuffed animal in one hand and your dad’s hand in the other all while giving the meanest glare I think I’ve ever seen from a kindergartner.”

“I thought you hated me.”  

“I thought you hated me.”

A small smile tugs at the side of your lip, “I thought I did too. If I’m being honest, though, I don’t think I could ever actually hate you.”

The kiss is a surprise. It’s not on your lips or your neck, Quinn simply leans down and places his lips to your forehead. After that, he lays back down behind you and wraps his arm around your torso. You waste no time grabbing his hand and sinking into his embrace. 

He’s solid and warm and for the first time in months, your mind doesn’t feel like it’s running a mile a minute. 

“Do you believe in fate?” 

The question catches you off guard. Fate? Quinn was so practical it seemed like a weird thing for him to ask. Did you believe in it though? If you were asked ten years ago, you would have said yes. If you were asked four years ago you would have said no, but lying in Quinn’s tent and in his arms, you can’t but wonder if maybe you do?

“I don’t know.” You say honestly. “Do you?” 

Quinn is quick to answer, “Oh yeah, how else can I explain that the girl I fell for at six would have a favorite stuffed animal that is an Orca, while I’m about to play for Vancouver whose mascot is an orca?” 

You smile at that. It did seem rather fate-like if you thought about it like that. 

“Well, when you put it like that,” you laugh, as does Quinn. “When you’re off being a hotshot hockey player in Canada you have to promise me something.”

“Hmm, depends on what it is that I have to promise.”

You bit your lip and let your eyes slide down to Oliver. You hoped that Quinn would hear the true meaning of your words when you said them because you doubted you could say them out loud yet. “Just remember that Oliver is your favorite Orca when you’re out there.”

You waited with bated breath. Quinn’s breathing had slowed and for a moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep. 

That was until he pulled you closer to himnand said directly in your ear, “Oliver will always be my favorite no matter where I go.”

[totaly-obsessed]

Rory

Leah Williamson x reader

-> A teenage squabble over a plant turns into a heartwarming symbol of family as two best friends prepare to embark on the journey of motherhood together.

-> Happy (a little late) Birthday @alotofpockets!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“What the fuck is that?”

“Leah Williamson, Language! Or I will call Amanda!” Your mum’s voice was shrill as she scolded a thirteen-year-old Leah for her cursing. Leah just had a smug smirk on her face, she got her potty mouth from her mum, who always acted outraged when her eldest swore in front of other people.

“That is my favorite plant, Lee! My sister gave it to me.”

Your best friend didn’t even have the audacity to look guilty or lie. “Well that’s fucking hideous thing, I’ll tell you that.”

“Leah!” Oh shit. She just got first-named.

“W- Well you can’t tell me that’s a pretty plant! What is it even called? Tree Tumbo?

Now that she saw the tears brimming your eyes she knew she had fucked up. Her hand that had flown, trying to defend herself slowly sank.

“No, it’s called Dracaena. But I named it Rory, short for Aurora.”

Just last week Leah and you had talked about names for future children, or rather your future children. The blonde was already sure that she liked girls, so kids were out of sight for now. Aurora was a name that stuck with her though, and you had promised to name your first kid Aurora if your husband would agree.

“Oh… Darling, I’m so so-”

“I think you should go home now.” Your teary eyes nearly killed the teen, but with one last kiss on your forehead, she left the room, saying goodbye to your very confused mother.

—

“No way.”

“Yes, Leah! I am not leaving her behind!”

The blonde defender tried to barricade the door and deny you access, but with just a gentle nudge she moved, even picking up the heavy plant for you.

“I can’t believe you’re taking that fucking thing with you.”

After that eventful first day of having Rory, Leah had properly apologized with chocolate, flowers, and a hand-knitted little sweater for a plant pot. She obviously didn't make it herself. God, that would have been a disaster. Her Granny, Berny, had made it for her.

“Well she’s my daughter and as long as I am alive I will take her with me. Either deal with it or go.”

Leah was stunned standing in the hallways “OH! You wouldn’t dare, darling! What would you do without me? Who carries the grocery bags for you?”

“You haven’t carried anything yet!”

The two of you had just signed your first senior contract with Arsenal for a year - and to live closer to the facilities you were moving into a house with Emma Mitchell and Emma Byrne. Both of them were experienced players and filled with excitement they had agreed to take two young talents in.

But seeing you call a plant your daughter, and Leah hating it with such passion surely was a sight to see and just a teaser for the coming year.

—

“You can’t be serious?”

Leah had been busy over the day, doing media stuff. So with having the new house all to yourself, you brought Rory back in, much to your girlfriend's demise.

She had just re-signed her arsenal contract for the foreseeable future while you had signed with the London City Lionesses last year, working part-time as a librarian at your closest school - a dream of yours.

After multiple failed relationships with men, you had come to the realization that the real thing was right in front of you, in the form of your best friend.

Now you had moved out of the old, small apartment into your very own first home, and Leah apparently liked to ignore the time plans you had made. So now you stood there, Rory still in your hands as your girlfriend got out of the car.

“I thought we talked about this Darling!”

Quickly she had walked over, taking the now huge plant out of your hands, and carried it into the house.

“Where do you want it then?”

She already knew that you couldn’t leave Rory behind, you had looked so sad when you promised her not to take the Dracaena with you.

“Next to the couch please!”

“Of course darling…”

—

The nerves picked at you as you made a little sign with ‘big sister’ on it. It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise to Leah that you are pregnant, the road here was long after all. But you would never know.

Rory would officially be a big sister in the making, in just a few more months, and then a little baby would share the place with your loved plant.

After leaning the sign next to the ultrasound and the pregnancy test you sat back down at the dining table, now you just needed to wait until your wife was home.

It was as if you were in a trance, looking at your book but not actually taking anything in from it when the blonde entered your home.

“I’m home darling!” Her first act of service once entering was greeting you with a kiss - but she was a little taken aback by your nervous expression. You had been home the entire day, what could have happened?

“I’m gonna shower, my love. I’ll leave the door open for ya!”

Hastily you stood up, pulling Leah back by her arm, ignoring the cocky smirk on her beautiful face. “Can you water Rory please?”

Her nose scrunched up in confusion. You, letting her near your beloved plant? unheard of, but she’d take it any day if it would make you happy.

“Yeah! Sure!"

Your wife nearly skipped through the living room, a half-full watering can in one hand, a müsli riegel in the other. 

“How much does she need?”

No answer.

“Darling, What’s up? You’ve been we- Oh.”

She saw it.

the watering can and food forgotten she picked up the hints you had positioned, looking at the positive test and the picture.

“It worked! We’re gonna be mothers!”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Scorched Earth.

A Grab Bag For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Warrior x Reader.

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of War/Death, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Kidnapping.

You saw the torchlight hours before he reached your cottage.

Bright and brilliant, a red stain ebbing through the trees and bleeding into the dark sky. The forest was dense, the canopy stifling, yet somehow, the light he and his soldiers carried was awful enough to pierce through it all, to burn away every behind them and fill the open air with thick, choking smoke. You could’ve tried to flee, it wasn’t as if you couldn’t guess what was coming for you, but you didn’t keep a horse, and you knew better than to stave off the inevitable. He’d catch you, no matter how far you ran, no matter how many times you refused him. He’d promised as much, the first time he declared that you’d be his.

Rather than escape, you stayed where you were, perched on the rotting wooden steps leading up to your door and watching the oncoming flare. His scouts, dressed in black and prone to circling your meager home like vultures, reached you before he did, then sergeants, piling in by the dozen, well-armed and jeering and carrying his insignia with a sort of heady arrogance. Finally, he emerged from the growth, surrounded by his lieutenants and mounted on a sleek, grey steed larger than any you’d ever seen before. He was a far cry from how you’d seen him last – his bandages gone, his pitch-black hair grown down to his shoulders, the rags you’d been able to lend him traded out for shining armor clean enough to catch the torchlight and glow scarlet. A great-sword sat at his hip, two more curved blades crossed over his back, but you couldn’t seem to find much joy in his fortune. Not when you’d soon be counted among one of his many, many precious things.

As he dismounted, the movements practiced to the point of thoughtlessness, you rose to meet him, hyper-aware that this would likely be the last time you’d be able to stand on equal ground. “Wren.”

It wasn’t his name. You’d misheard him, the first time you asked; made what you could out of the slurred syllables he’d been able to spit out and never found the time to look back. Even when he started to recover, when he was able to hold onto consciousness for longer than a minute at a time and more than just your clumsy stitching held the jagged cut stretching from his shoulder to his hip shut, he always failed to correct you. His real name – Wyvern, given to him as an unknown orphan after he slayed his namesake and delivered its head to a king who’d let him massacre armies and rampage through the countryside as he pleased – was something you had to learn the day he left, the day he told you who he was and why you’d found him bleeding out in a stream all those months ago. He’d asked you to come with him, back to the castle, and through tears, you’d told him that you wouldn’t have helped him if you’d known you were saving the life of a murderer. He’d tried to kiss you, and you slapped him and told him to get out of your cottage.

It wasn’t his name, but he smiled like it was, taking a step toward you. His soldiers started to close in, but he held up a hand, keeping them at bay. “Beloved.” It was a familiar petname. It used to make you blush, stammer, want to make flower crowns and kick your feet and learn to play some ridiculous stringed instrument. Now, it just made your stomach turn, your vision dim at the edges with rage. “I’m sorry I took so long to return to you. I had to gather a few friends – thought you should meet the future guests of our wedding.”

There was cheer from his soldiers, a flash of a grin from Wren. You stiffened, squaring your shoulders, but he remained unaffected, his expression only softening as you forced yourself to respond. “I meant what I said. I could never love a man with blood on his hands.”

If he heard you over the milling of his soldiers, the crackling of his torches and the distant sounds of the forest’s nightlife, he clearly wasn’t listening. Rather he closed the remaining space between you and him and took you in his arms. Your feet were off the ground in a moment, your chest against his chest in another, being spun idly as he let out a throaty laugh. “God,” he sighed, when he finally came to a stop. The sharp corners of his plated armor dug into your skin at odd angles, and his hold on your waist was tight enough to bruise. You’d had to ask him to be gentle before, to mind his inhuman strength when he touched you, but it was a lesson he just couldn’t seem to take to heart. “I missed the sound of your voice. I’ll have to take you with me on my next campaign - I don’t know if I could stand to leave you at court for all that time.”

“Put me down,” you hissed, hitting his shoulders with as much force as you could manage. He abided you, but didn’t let go of you – just moving his hold from your hips to your hands, taking them in his own before you had time to pull away.

“I couldn’t. I absolutely couldn’t. Most of the knights are absolute bastards, and you’re too sweet – they’d try to take you for themselves in a heartbeat. No, I can’t let you out of my sight for a moment, can I?” He paused, his face lighting up with apparent zeal. “You’ll adore the castle. I’ve already secured a cottage on the edge of the grounds, and you’ll have full reign of the gardens. We won’t have to—”

“Stop.” You attempted to wrench yourself out of his vice-grip, and when that failed, let out a ragged groan, tears already forming in the corners of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s not true.” His smile didn’t so much as waver. “You saved my life. You told me that you loved me, and I love you, too. How would either of us ever be happy if we were seperated?”

Something deep in your chest ached. It was impossible to look at him and not picture the countless mornings you’d woken up by his side, the countless days you’d passed teaching him how fish and tend to a garden, the countless nights you’d spent bundled beside a fire sharing stories with a man you thought you’d loved. It was impossible not to think about what he’d done and wish you’d driven that knife into his stomach yourself.

“I can’t love someone like you,” you said, finally, because you couldn’t bear to say anything else. “And I’m not leaving my home.”

At that, you could’ve sworn you saw something register in his dark eyes. He was quiet, his enthusiasm fading, and for a second, you thought he might’ve understood. For a second, you thought he might call away his soldiers, get back on his horse, and leave you to your quiet suffering.

Then, he leaned forward, his lips coming to rest against the top of your head. “Beloved,” his voice was low, stifled your skin. “You don’t have a home. Not without me.”

Abruptly, he pulled away from you, raising a hand and looking toward his soldiers. While you were left in the dark, they knew their signal, surging forward in a chaotic wave of yelling and footsteps. You pressed your form against Wren’s side, clenching your eyes shut and bracing yourself, but there was only a burst of heat, a sudden visible even through your eyelids. Another kiss, this one pressed into your cheek and chased with a soft chuckle.

When you could bring yourself to look, you found not a volley of arrows or a hundred swords all pointed at your neck, but your cottage engulfed in flame, shining golden in the oppressive night. Your shoulders fell, your mouth opening, but you failed to make a sound. Wren wasn’t as stunned, grinning as he pulled you close and pressed his lips into yours, the kiss delicate and tortuous all at once.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered as he pulled away, his tone so soft and so gentle, you could almost tell ignore the blood-soaked cruelty lingering just underneath it.

“The only home you need is with me.”

[pseudowho]

Infiltration, Chapter One: Introduction

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento waited in Yaga's office, pacing, restless. He hadn't wanted you invited into Jujutsu High under these circumstances, knowing you needed time after your trauma, but he couldn't deny that his heart was pounding in anticipation. He had only approved of you being called because the mission you had, if you chose to accept it, would be shared. Together. With him.

He heard three short taps on the door and his heart leapt into his throat, feeling your cursed energy approach. He contained himself, outwardly unaffected, and walked to the door to let you in.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You were overwhelmingly anxious before even entering the school grounds. You would visit your best friend's grave today, for the first time since losing her, and you would see...him. The man who was...what, to you? Your other best friend? Your confidante? The man composed of the same formula from which your own soul was made? Or just your lunch buddy? You didn't know. Whatever had been blooming between you had surely died in your absence.

Your numb feet had carried you across the frosted grass, under Torii gates and past effigies, down a short winding staircase to where graves-- too many graves -- nestled under the shadows of the trees' bare branches. Winding past the long sleep of names known and unknown, your hand brushed lovingly over Yuu Haibara's headstone, the tears already starting to blur your vision as you stopped in front of the grave of your own best friend. Just three months old, frost decorated the white stone like diamonds, and you sat heavily in front of it, knees drawn up and arms holding them to yourself as you wept bitterly into your jeans. You had promised to hold yourself together, to make a proper apology for failing to save her, but you poured garbled nonsense between your sobs, stroking the headstone as if it were her hand in yours.

Enough, you told yourself after ten minutes had passed, she deserved better and she still deserves better, so sort yourself out. Rising up, the back of your jeans damp and muddy, you proceeded to tend to the grave, cleaning and polishing, replacing flowers and leaving a small bottle of her favourite drink. In silence, you walked away, another brush of your hand bidding Haibara goodbye, and made your way up the many steps, to Principal Yaga's office.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento opened the office door, and immediately met your eyes. Thousands of unspoken words passed between you both; Kento hesitated only briefly before stepping aside in invitation, and, upon closing the door, gently pressed a cup of tea into your hands. You had been crying, and smelled faintly of the cold forest floor, and you were the most beautiful thing Kento had ever seen. He had never had the chance to hold you, but now was not the time or place-- if he pulled you to him now, he ran the risk of never letting you go.

"How...how are you...Kento?" you asked weakly. Your words seemed flat and small, so utterly unlike you. Kento's heart creaked, a child's footsteps on old floorboards, and he ached to tell you how little his own wellbeing mattered to him now.

Kento sighed, gripping the back of a chair and leaning forwards. Your eyes drank in his thick, corded forearms, the way his navy shirt stretched over his back, the lick of fringe that hopped forwards over his forehead. God, I've missed you so much. The words turned to a cold drink as they slipped off your tongue and down into your stomach.

"I'm...better than you are, I'm sure. I'm sorry Yaga is asking for you back like this, you deserved more time. I don't know what they want from us. But I know it's together and some distance away. If you have any reservations, please speak up. I won't let them take advantage of you."

You sighed into your steaming mug, the vapour clouding your glasses for a moment-- Kento's heart thumped fondly-- and answered him.

"I feel like...if I'm not dragged back, I won't come back. And I know what you're going to say--" you raised your hand to Kento in a soothing gesture as he stood, ready to argue your case even against yourself, "-- but I want to be back. I miss the students. I miss the camaraderie. I miss...god, I even miss Gojo, idiot though he is. And if anyone in this place understands what I've been through, it's you."

A flash of pain crossed Kento's face, haunted by the memories of his dead friend, and you stepped to him, hand instantly placed over his harsh grip on the chair. You felt the tendons of his hands soften under yours.

"So I'll hear him out," you continued gently, "because I owe it to her, to all of you, and to myself to try this again."

Kento nodded, folding just one digit over the back of your palm to swipe against it in wordless communication. You blushed lightly, pleased he was looking at the floor. Hearing the click of the door behind you, you stepped apart from each other, caught in shared vulnerability. Yaga greeted you both, and the meeting began.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Seven short days later, you stepped down from your front door, locking up with a shaky outward breath. Turning to Kento, waiting for you by his car, he returned your hesitant smile with one of genuine warmth, brown eyes twinkling with affection.

"It suits you," he teased, putting your suitcase into the car as you twiddled your new ring nervously. You punched the top of his arm playfully.

"I could say the same to you...darling." Kento buried his head in the car, pretending to organise the suitcases as he blushed, alarmed by how natural a wedding ring already felt on his hand. Stepping back, he looked down at you, stern and unamused, but opening your door for you nonetheless. His heart soared at the first natural smile he had seen from you in months. Closing your door, he stepped to his own, feeling teenagerishly proud to have you in his passenger seat.

"Let's go over things just once more on the way?" You asked him. Kento hummed affirmingly, turning the heating on, and gently clasping your hands in his own against the air vents.

"Warm up," he ordered as the car rumbled to life. Bringing one arm up around the back of your seat, your breath caught in your chest as he turned backwards, thin eyebrows raised and one arm outstretched on the wheel as he made the car glide backwards out of the driveway. A waft of his cologne, familiar and woody, hit your nose as he passed his arm back, his fingertips (accidentally?) grazing your shoulder, and he began to drive.

"So," you started, trying not to stutter, "we are the...Tsuda family." Kento hummed his affirmation again. "Mr and Mrs." A short cough, and another hum. "Married for two years, but together..."

"Forever, basically," Kento interjected quickly-- too quickly, he cursed himself-- before clearing his throat and continuing, "All I mean is...it has only ever been me and you. Us. Easier than...messy exes." His ears crept with crimson as your laughter twinkled through his car.

How the fuck am I going to get through this without completely giving myself away? Kento felt utterly tortured, trapped between the divinity of your company and the agony of not knowing it more intimately.

You talked for hours, barely needing to fill each other in on the details of your lives-- you had had so many late lunches, so many late-night post-mission calls-- and instead focused on the upcoming plans.

"So, our informants are certain this cult is at the centre of a significant increase in skilled and armed curse-users, but they only seem to accept married couples as new members, both of whom should display significant jujutsu sorcery skills or the potential to do so," Kento mused, "which I have a theory for."

"Breeding," you both said, shooting each other a sideways glance and blush. Kento cleared his throat.

"Quite. It's certainly one way to grow your cult's power."

"It's eugenics in the making," you spat, "I'm sure Suguru Geto approves."

A rumble which went straight to your core came from Kento's chest, and he spoke, "Or, we end up with a Curse-user turf war. Either way, they've already been responsible for dozens of deaths and disappearances. We take them out."

Eyeing Kento admiringly, you didn't fancy the curse-users' chances against him. Your own ability, to compel the thoughts or desires of others, had some application in combat, but largely lent itself to support and reconnaissance. The cursed-energy tumbling off the giant beside you was in no way second to his commanding physique or quick mind. Unaware, you unashamedly stared at Kento, eyes taking in his thick thighs, tan trousers stretched enticingly over them and the subtle bulge between his legs, and up to his cheekbones, razor sharp and framing such a handsome face--

Before you could murmur your agreement, you caught yourself, turning swiftly to look out the window, blush creeping across your cheeks.

Unbeknownst to you, Kento stole glances while he drove, taking you in...the gentle curve of your breasts into your waist, the bow of your lips, bright eyes behind curtained lashes. He swallowed, bidding his blood to rush elsewhere. He focused on the road.

"Regardless...we've been accepted, pending Face-to-Face interview. Ijichi and the team built our false profiles, all we have to do is prove our cursed techniques, and we're part of the cult."

"I'm delighted," you chirped, "what a lovely anniversary gift, my love."

"Only the best for my girl," Kento rumbled, playing along. Neither of you knew how delighted the other was by the charade.

But, while you felt completely safe, reassured by Kento's presence, Kento felt that his heart had been removed from his chest, and walked away from him, directly into battle. He did not have his blade, too much of a giveaway, and instead planned to imbue his energy into his fists. You, however, had to rely purely on your wiles and intellect to survive. Kento knew he would punch a hole through a god to keep you safe.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Ornate compound gates surrounded a beautiful traditional Japanese village, nestled between mountain ranges and clear rivers. As Kento crawled the car skillfully around peaks and narrow roads, you felt trepidation sink into you as, on approaching the entrance, you felt the thrum of Cursed energy seep, cold and unwelcome, into your belly.

Kento pulled up to vast gates, taking a deep, calm breath and pressing the intercom; a tinny buzz, a click, and--

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Tsuda Kento. I'm here with my wife," Kento lied smoothly. Silence.

"Come in," said the voice, accompanied by the heavy creak of the automatic gates swinging open. Kento's chin dipped, clench-jawed and staring intently ahead as he pulled forwards into an expansive driveway of pale grey gravel, a temple lying quiet and still in the distance.

Now afraid, suddenly full of doubt, you grasped at the potential consequences of your decision to return to Jujutsu High. You felt Kento's hand reach for yours, anchoring you. You turned to him, eyes full of fear.

"I won't let anything happen to you. I promise you this. I'd die to get you out alive." You squeezed Kento's hand between your own, warm and strong, unable to tell him that the loss of him would drive you past the edge of despair.

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Chapter 2: Pillow talk link HERE!

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

The Game Informer article approximately covered the first 4 hours of the game. [source]

--

Twitter user: "Please please please let me make a feminine shaped body with no chest, begging for non-binary to be something I can present not just a pronoun slap" Saira: "this will be entirely possible with the body sliders!" [source]

--

''the characters you don’t romance WILL romance each other which can showcase different straight and queer relationships.'' [source] (So it's not only Harding/Taash, but more companion-companion pairings will be possible, and these will be diverse? ^^)

--

the game will have Brazilian Portuguese subtitles [source].

the community Council, which had long-term fans of the series on it, also had folks on it who had never played a DA game before [source] (this is good! a good mix)

another detail was that they ranged in age from 20s-40s, unfortunately I can't recall the source for this rn but yea.

"Last names are based on your faction. You can customize your first name, however." [source: the BioWare Discord]

"In-world - Rook is a nickname you're given before the events of the game, and it's what everyone refers to you as. It allows for other characters to refer to you in dialogue without awkwardly having to write around not having a defined title, while still allowing for name customization." Also, in the game, it is explained why we got the nickname Rook in the past. [source: the BioWare Discord]

"There are specific lines and dialogue options for different lineages, as well as different backgrounds, and classes, including at least a handful that are unique to lineage/background combinations. No specifics but we wanted to make sure the game felt reactive to the choices you made in creating your Rook." [source: the BioWare Discord] (lineage as in: human, elf, dwarf, qunari)

A user asked whether elven Rook is Dalish or City. Answer: "It'll depend on your background. As mentioned previously, certain lineages will have variations of that background that go into more detail where appropriate." [source: the BioWare Discord]

"Every faction is, ultimately, made up of people. Some good, some bad, and some trying (and failing) to do their best. So it's fair to say that different people in the world might have a different perspective on how the various factions fit in and what they're trying to do." [source: the BioWare Discord]

"Without getting into spoiler territory - Rook's a hero because they chose to be, not because they were chosen. Your choice of background fills in some of the details - and you get opportunities to define it further - but some things we leave up to you to fill in." [source: the BioWare Discord]

A user asked "In what capacity is the Inquisitor going to return? Can we expect something similar to Hawke’s return in Inquisition?" Answer: "This one you'll just have to wait and see as this is well into serious spoiler territory. But more generally, as I said in the Q&A - the Inquisitor's been part of this story all along, and it would be very strange for them to suddenly fall out of it."

"Much of what would have been abilities or “spells” in the past are now accessed in real-time from the core buttons on the controller! Mana Shield, Mage Beam, Bolts, Magical Blasts, Orb Toss, and Elemental Bomb. Not to mention the elemental types change depending on your weapon. It very much feels like casting spells, but don’t just take my word for it. I’m excited to show more Mage gameplay as we get closer to launch." [source] There will be quick buttons on the keyboard for PC people too. [source]

The Veil Ranger spec can be built around charged ranged attacks, lightning damage, and stagger [source]

Many builds are possible in the game and this is highly variable with gear and companion-set up [source]

At some point this summer, they will be showing more of the skill trees [source]

The music score has variation, flourishes, and great tavern songs [source]

Corinne: "everyone at EA has been incredible in their support for the game and commitment to quality. Hopefully we’ll have a chance to do it [Discord Q&A] again. In the meantime I watch the Discord comments fairly regularly, even if I don’t respond often." [source]

A user asked about cameos of previous characters. "Seeing the surprise appearances for the first time is half the fun! There are some good ones, but I’ll leave the discoveries to you all" [source]

On a post of the table team gathering picture - Corinne: "The moments where you gather the whole team like this are some of my favorites." [source]

When Solas shot Bianca during the prologue during SGF, "Some of the journalists in the live demo audibly gasped!" [source]

In combat there are primers and detonators [source]

Lots of beloved elements from previous DA games inspired the combat of DA:TV [source]

[icekkeugf]

pairing: co-worker!jake x intern!reader (afab)

genre: porn without any plot, really...

warnings: jake is reader's work senior, breach of professional boundaries, impatient unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, use of the names "baby" and "babe", no apparent d/s dynamics

wordcount: 1,500ish words

note: koko engene era and writer era comeback >_< i can NOT for the life of me build on a plot but i hope this is to the enhablr residents' liking :P

a soft rustle of the sheets as his knees, clad in slacks, scrape against the silk. fingers, calloused and normally familiar, coming to rest on your thighs, thumb pressing into the side of it before painting a few circles deftly. an erratic sigh of your name slips past the confines of his mouth, his wet, pink tongue prodding out of its home to lick at his bottom lip that was previously tugged onto by his teeth. "jake...please!" head spinning, you suddenly deem it to be the perfect moment to recall what really propelled the two of you to disregard the boundaries that you once gave too much concern to.

it was a chilly evening, with dried and brown-leaved trees withering from the apparent breeze, creating a sullen atmosphere. not to mention that you had no interest in attending your internship work hours, but you were also carefully made the scapegoat for the irresponsible mistake of your direct supervisor. now having to clean up the spilled milk and possibly gather it back to its purest form, you push yourself against the backrest of your chair. id card hanging loosely over the button that conceals your pink bowed bralette, you squint at it, tears threatening to wash out at the very next and slightest inconvenience. 

that's exactly when sim jake, a senior of yours at the internship, prances in, seemingly in the brightest mood possible. jake and you haven't really had the chance to interact much, holding yourselves to the occasional formal greetings and polite smiles in passing. however, neither of you could deny the instant attraction you'd felt upon your first meeting and the gradual increase in the tension that lingers in the air, on the verge of jeopardizing both of your jobs. of course, this does not tempt either of you to breach the lines of your professional lives. 

"jake. there you are! our intern would appreciate your guidance." to your luck, you find him immediately walking to you, a quirk of his brows while his head tilts to the side. mustering up the last of your confidence, you nod hesitantly at jake, not failing to notice how his tie had been loosened to the point it almost seems fashionable. you don't comment, however, for the loosened tie provides you with an uninterrupted view of his milky skin and the expanse of his chest while he leans over you.

the gawking doesn't go unnoticed, his lips forming a thin line with a raise of his fingers to push his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "is that what you need help with?" you, at first, only seem confused—a sweet little deer caught in headlights—but when his gaze lingers over your face, then your shoulders, swerving left to your collarbones—then, to the little skin exposed above your blouse, you know you're doomed. because, how are you to explain to him the reason behind the very visible clench of your thighs, now pressed flush together?

it doesn't take long for the day to go by; it's a blur, really, filled with the vivid memories and sensations of jake's fingers that barely hover above yours as he maneuvers your handling of the desktop. the fleeting eye contact coupled with heaving chests when one catches the other staring a little longer than what is professional or normal makes you fuzzy. so, it's no surprise that things finally escalate when jake conveniently lets himself into the elevator that is otherwise empty except for you.

there's no need to exchange words as he backs you into a corner, his hips pressing against yours gently while his palms reach around your waist, caressing your lower back through your shirt. it's all teeth and tongue when his lips finally crash into yours. a desperate groan that he allows you to swallow resounds in the elevator that indicates a stop on the 14th floor. you frantically push him away while he fixes the one messy strand of his hair, his glasses fogged up by the minimal contact. 

you can't recall how you had to sneak into jake's backseat while he drove you two out the office parking. constantly teased by your toying hands, his resolve completely slipping, his hips pathetically rutting into the air while his knuckles whiten at the tight grip he had on the steering wheel. now, back in his lush apartment, glowing gold, an erratic sigh of your name slips past the confines of his mouth, his wet, pink tongue prodding out of its home to lick at his bottom lip that was previously tugged onto by his teeth. "jake...please!"

the said man lets out a short gasp, his name sounding so sweet when rolled off of your honeyed tongue. he reasons that he can't wait anymore, unzipping his slacks in a go, waiting for you to do the same with your pencil skirt. with difficulty, you do so, fleshy thighs bulging against his mattress, making his cock twitch in its place. not letting you speak another word, he pulls on your thighs, manhandling you into laying your lower half below his. no thought in his head, only the primal urge to fuck you into oblivion, and with that controlling his mind, he lifts your hips with a singular hand while the other tugs at your panties, letting its thin strip sit at the side to display your cute, puffy folds. 

he almost moans at the sight of your glistening pussy, the pretty gem visibly begging him to dip his tongue in for a taste. "you're perfect, baby. look at you, so pliant under my touch, your pussy's so pretty. all for me, yeah?" he asks, not really intending for you to respond to him, just blabbering whatever at this point. with a swivel of his hips, there's a sudden intrusion that has you cussing instead, your walls shamelessly clenching onto him like vice.

jake grits his teeth at the sensation, pistoning his veiny cock into your cunt with a certain force that has your eyes rolling back. “god, would've fucked you sooner if i knew your pussy was this good, baby.” he cries out, his hands finding home around your arms and pulling you onto him as he kneels down behind the mattress. even as you sit atop him, he doesn't stop rutting into you, fucking you like a rabbit in heat.

nipping at the skin right above your chest, jake rolls his hips to try and find a different angle. you kiss him on the mouth in appreciation, spit mixing together. you're driven far enough to tear up at the sensation of his cock lodging itself so deliciously inside you. you allowed yourself to rest your nose against his, lips parting while you unconsciously drool like a puppy, pavlov's theory, you suppose.

jake moans while you sink your head into the crook of his neck, licking and sucking at his unmarked skin, almost as if you're setting your claim on him. “you’re making such a pretty mess, babe.” he whispers after a long while of just the sounds of the bed springs squeaking and headboard rattling against the wall. this is just before he is delivering one final thrust and then spilling his seeds into your warm cavern. the warmth from his release has you clenching around his slowly softening dick, a tidal wave of orgasm crashing and making you thrash against him. jake breathes out, panting against your lips, before inviting yours to meet his one last time for the night.

[calumfmu]

Could…uh…we ever get a part two of Fgirlxsteve?

My love, my sweet, sweet love. Here it is. <3 Steve x Fuckgirl!Reader (part one here) 18+ mdni; smut, unprotected sex, cream pie, sweet!Steve, his idea of dirty talk is sweet nothings, fingers, eating out (female receiving), aggressive men (not Steve), 4.5k+ words

Avoiding the Family Video had been easy for you, it was just another place you had marked on your bed post. With all the pick in Hawkins, it was just another spot you had learned to add to your 'avoid-at-all-costs' list, along with the bowling alley, library down on 17th, and even the post office.

You occupied yourself with the other picking of men in the town, going after whatever you could get your hands on. They weren't as good as Steve, but you couldn't think about him. Whatever had happened between the two of you shouldn't have even been a topic of conversation, it should've been the last thing on your mind.

Yet that's how you found yourself arguing in the middle of the street, barefoot, shoes in hand with the new conquest of the week.

He was clingy, desperate to get you alone at any second he could, getting snappy when it came to other men even looking at you. It was toxic to say the least, but nothing that wasn't new to you. Toxic was your love language, but when it came to him, it was something else.

"This isn't how it works!" You yelled at him, your bag slipping off of your shoulder. The thing leather strap of it caught at the bend of your wrist, swinging in the air as you became more heated.

Taking a few steps away from him, you attempted to lean down to slide your shoes on, hopping a little in your movements.

"Babe, come on, just get in the car," the annoying man pleaded, hands waving in the air as he followed you. The two of you were walking down the middle of this road, residential area that was a little too quiet for the events that were taking place.

"Don't call me that!"

You didn't even turn to look at him, quickening your footsteps as you looked both ways to find peace away.

"Babe!" Another call of the word that made your stomach flip, eyes roll in annoyance.

The streets looked unfamiliar to you, parts of Hawkins you had yet to make your way around. Green lawns, green trees with leaves that were just starting to fall at the end of summer, abandoned children toys in the front of houses, a maroon beemer that looked oh, so familiar. The sight of it had your movements faltering, feet stumbling on the pavement.

The man that you were avoiding had time to catch up with the stumble in your gait, his hands coming up to grab at your upper arm.

"Come on," he said your name smoothly, milky white teeth shining behind the words in a smile. "Just get in the car, and we'll work it out."

All you saw was red, his handsome features turning up to make himself look foolish. You tried shaking your arm out of his grip, but it was no use, his fingers digging into your skin. Baring your teeth at him, you hissed at him, wanting to lean into a more primitive side that was clawing to get out.

"Let. Go," the anger in your words soured the taste of your mouth. He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you up and down. "No-"

The call of your name had you looking at a house a bit of the ways down, Steve standing in the yard, looking at the scene in front of you. He questioned you again, the sound of his voice calling out and down the street.

"Steve?" You repeated back, not believing that of all places you would find yourself right in front of his house. The eye roll you tried so hard to fight was beginning to come out, a situation for disaster bubbling up.

This situation was just what you needed.

"Are you okay?" His voice drew nearer as he took a few steps towards the two of you. Your failed date still had his fingers glued to your arm, your skin turning a few shades lighter from where they dug in. "What's going on?"

"Who are you?" You attempted taking a step back away from him, but didn't make it far, his grip pulling you right back into his side.

"I'm Steve."

"He's Steve."

The two of your voices blended together as Steve arrived in front of you. His eyes dropped to the grip on your person, brow furrowing slightly as he noticed the discomfort in your face. He gave you a slight nod of his head, checking in with you to see if he was reading this situation in the way that it truly was.

You wanted to be stubborn, wanted to not see him after the last moments that you shared together. It was awkward enough that the man had called your house a few times after you left him high and dry, you didn't want him to see the down side of the lifestyle you chose. With a slight nod back to him, he understood the message clearly.

"Hey, buddy, why don't you go back in your house with mommy and daddy, and leave the two of us alone?" The man by your side huffed out his chest a little, trying to intimidate Steve into fleeing the scene.

It made the two of you give him a side eye, lips turned up in disgust at him.

"I think I'm good," Steve nodded, hands stuffed into his pockets. Taking a step closer towards your other side, you could see the gears turning in his head as he scuffed his shoes along the pavement.

"So... what are you? Her knight in shining armor?" His hand finally left your arm, your fingers coming up to rub the bruise that was already starting to form. He took a step towards Steve, eyes squinting up at him from the few inches short he was.

"Yeah, something like that," Steve bit back a laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, raising his eyebrows.

Your date took a long look at him, gritting his teeth before glancing at you. As if he thought about it, he turned on his heel away from the two of you, waving an absent hand in your direction.

"You're not even that hot anyways," he yelled at you before angrily marching to his car. The door closed with a slam, tires screeching on the pavement before he swerved off in your direction, narrowly missing the two of you before Steve grabbed your shoulder, urging you out of the way.

The air was filled with the stench of burnt rubber and gasoline as the sound of his engine grew quiet as he sped off.

"Ouch," you whispered, grimacing at the burning of your arm and the comment he left you with. It shouldn't hurt as much coming from the biggest asshole of Hawkins, but the ache was still there.

"Are you okay?"

Steve's hand was still on your shoulder, rubbing small circles on the skin. The sleeve of your top was wrinkling under his touch, the thin material scratching at your skin. It was all too domestic for you, a new desperation filling your stomach to flee the situation.

Taking a step away from him, you fixed your hair, dabbed under your eyes, and tried to collect your composure.

"You don't have to act all nice to me, Steve," your voice was shaky as you felt as if you were under a microscope. You didn't have to look at him to recognize the confusion on his face.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, attempting to get closer again only to stand in place at the dramatic step you took back. "I'm not-I'm being a decent person right now, especially with what just happened. What?"

"Nothing just happened." You remained firm in your denial, it was the only way to maintain face.

He looked down at his shoes, awkwardly tilting his feet from side to side as he debated the situation. His hair was running wild in the wind that was just starting to pick up, his tattered grey hoodie with 'Hawkins Basketball' printed on the front rippled as he sighed deeply, faded denim on his legs lengthening him.

You couldn't keep your eyes off of him no matter how much you wanted to flee the situation, him being the most appetizing thing that you've laid your eyes once since the first day you met him. It wasn't what you should've been thinking about after the events that occurred, but he was tempting you in a way that scared you a little.

"Why don't you come inside? I could take you home-"

Your eyes cut to him quickly, narrowing as he raised his hands in defense. He nodded quickly, clearing his throat to continue his next few sentences carefully.

"-Or I could call you a cab or... something," he finished, chewing on his bottom lip. You could see the nerves eating away at him, his eyes trying not to stare at you in your baby tee and short shorts, skin prickling with goosebumps. If he asked, you would tell him it was because of the weather, not him.

You let out a bitter laugh, "Like there's cabs on this side of town."

The only sound that could be heard was the wind blowing through the trees, a far child's laughter from the nearest house to you, a barking of a dog.

"Come on," he whispered, his hand leaving his pocket. Slowly, he reached up to grab your hand. You didn't know why you did, let him grab your fingers into his grip. There was a slight clamminess to his hands, his nerves showing dominance over his posture. "Please."

With a slight nod of your head, you let him lead you two his house, a few hundred feet away from the remnants of the dramatic scene. The entry way was grand and huge, something that had you giggling to yourself over how much money this kid seemed to have.

"Nice place, Steve," you muttered, allowing him to hold the door open for you, take your bag from your shoulder, place it on a table in the foyer. It was a little too domestic for you, even if you wanted to welcome it. "Bet you have a nice trust fund to match it."

"Ha." His eyebrows raised with dry humor even as his face stayed the same. Sensitive topic, you noted.

With his hand on the small of your back, he led you up the stairs and into his room, his grid work wallpaper screaming at you as soon as the door opened. You whistled long and low, taking an exaggerated look around the room, before you turned to face him, plopping down on the mattress.

You bounced on the plush comfort of it, your palms splaying out beside you as you felt his comfort beneath your fingers.

"Already taking me to bed, I see," you wiggled your eyebrows at him, small smirk coming up to the corners of your mouth. He rolled his eyes at you, his own smile coming up to his face as he closed the door behind him.

"There she is," he laughed, moving to sit next to you. He bumped your hip with his own as he gestured for you to make room for him.

You laid down back on his bed, your hands coming up to feel the mattress cover above your head. With the lift of your arms, you felt your abdomen become exposed, the cool air of his room hitting your skin. His eyes ran over your figure, not lingering on the exposure of your skin, but settling on your eyes. It was the most naked you had ever felt in front of someone.

"So..." One of your hands reached down to grab at the hoodie he adorned, slightly lifting it to show the tan skin underneath. "What am I here for, handsome?"

The flush in his cheeks came and went quickly, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

"You don't have to-" He began before you sat up to lean into his side. Your hand came to his cheek, feeling day old stubble underneath your touch. With the closeness, you could see the different shades of brown behind his eyes, warmth that you had yet to see in the men you slept with.

"What if I want to, Steve?" You whispered, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. He gulped, Adam's apple bobbing before leaning into the kiss you pressed to his mouth, his lips molting with yours.

He tasted as sweet as last time, only seemed to get better at kissing than your last touch. It was short and sweet, mouths moving into one as you began to run your hand down his abdomen. His chest was firm beneath your touch, his teeth were a dull tug at your bottom lip, tongue asking for entrance.

"Wait-" He pulled away from you, eyes fluttering open as a small whine left your lips. "Is this going to be like last time?"

An unfamiliar ache formed in your chest at his words, your eyes bulging slightly at the hurt on his face. It was almost like his words hurt you, the idea of him being hurt by the last time hurting you. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you thought of what to say.

This could count as the first time a man left you speechless.

"I don't know what to... say," your hand left his body, your eyes looking everywhere but him. Everything in you wanted to run for the hills, look for that cab that he promised earlier.

He nodded, his own eyes wandering around his room. "I understand, maybe I should call some-"

"No," you said, turning to look at him as he went to raise off the bed.

He turned to look at you, glancing away every couple of seconds.

"No-don't... it won't be like last time," you said, cursing at yourself internally for the words that left your mouth. You didn't know what had gotten into you, maybe it was the promise of what was about to if you stayed a little longer and promised him something. He still looked unsure as you reached to grab his hand this time. "I promise."

"Are you lying to me?" He asked, placing his own hand on your cheek this time. His fingers smoothed the hair at your hairline, thumb running over the delicate skin. "Just to sleep with me?"

Shaking your head, your instincts screamed at you, no matter what your mind was set on.

"Promise."

You expected a clash of lips, but he came in soft and slow, nipping at your lips as the two of you moved to lay down on the bed. He was heavy over you, firm muscle and the broadness of his shoulders pining you down, pressing you into his bed.

Your hands snuck underneath his hoodie, feeling the expanse of his back under your fingertips, little bits of textured skin where you imagined his constellation of moles to be. In a swift movement and a brief separation of lips, he slid it off, revealing himself shirtless underneath.

You wanted to stare at him, run your hands over his chest, become familiar with each and every one of the beauty marks adoring his skin, but his lips proved to be more appetizing. The plush skin of them knew what they were doing, licking into your mouth and pulling at your own. He was languid in his movements, passionate kisses shared between the two of you as his hands tried to slip off of the shirt you wore, tangled up right beneath your chin as he didn't want to separate from you yet again.

Your bra exposed, he pulled away to press kisses to the globes of your boobs, sucking marks into the kiss. Blindly, his hand reached down to unbutton your shorts, fingers moving expertly as you helped take off the rest of your shirt, slipping it over your head. His free hand slipped into the other cup of your bra, toying with your nipple. You began to see stars, both of his hands and mouth busy.

With one hand dipping beneath the cotton of your panties, the other pinching your nipple slightly and his mouth nipping closer to your other one, you began to see stars. This couldn't have been the same nervous boy you saw a few months ago, his moves beginning to outshine your own.

A gasp left your mouth as his thumb caught your clit as his fingers began to dip lower, his index collecting the wetness of your cunt. It was a teasing motion, the way he teased dipping the tip of his finger in and switching back to running it along your wet seam.

Leaving your breast shining with his spit, he came back to your face, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You okay?" He asked, intently watching you fall apart beneath him. He had barely even touched you, but you were loving the way he made you feel.

Nodding, a moan fell from you as his finger pushed in further than he attempted before, a slight wiggle of the digit before he pulled it out again. He imitated the nod you gave him, a small smirk on his lips as he placed his hand on your forehead, thumb brushing across your eyebrow. You leaned into the touch, whining as his finger returned pressing all the way down to the knuckle.

He pumped it in once, twice before removing it all together, hand leaving your shorts.

"Good, baby, now take these off for me."

He saw the hesitation in your face as the word hit you, your eyes widening as you looked at him. You didn't give him or even yourself time to process it before you were kicking off the denim, waving your ankles as your shorts got caught. He laughed at your movements, unbuttoning his own jeans to ease up the pressure in his pants with his growing hard on.

Your underwear and bra followed suit, your nakedness feeling like so much in the room. Reaching for his pants, you wanted to see him naked, see him again.

"Tonight's about you," he said, moving you up the bed so you rested against his pillows. They were plush, your palms coming up to rest beside your head, as he settled over you. "My treat."

With a nod, you let him take over, let him press kisses to your body. He was treating you like you were a work of art, cherishing you with a trail of his love as he led down your body: a kiss to your right boob, then left, a kiss down to your belly button, a glance to you to make sure that you felt okay, a nod given to him. A kiss to your pubic bone, the spread of your legs wider before he settled down, thumb catching your clit.

He began small circles, leaning up on his elbows as his other hand ran up and down your slit. Looking down at him, he was focused on your cunt, eyes intently watching the wetness that began to pool more and more. He looked so casual, like he was filing his damn taxes as he stared down at you.

"Steve," you drawled out, hips twitching as the tease became too much. Glancing up at you, he gave a shift of his head before he leaned down to press a kiss to your folds.

It had you groaning, your eyes fluttering shut as his mouth made contact. As many men as you slept with, it had been a while since anyone had gone down on you.

He was just as slow and passionate as he was kissing you, his mouth making stake somewhere else. His tongue darting out to lick at you, kitten licks running up your folds, running over your hole, thumb still rubbing those damn circles into you.

You felt yourself dripping at the way he was working you, your fingers digging into the pillows around you.

"F-fuck."

He took it as encouragement, his tongue entering you. Moving one of your legs over his shoulder, he got closer to you, removing his thumb to replace it with his mouth.

A jolt ran through your spine as he sucked at you, loud slurping noises filling the room accompanied by your moans. Your hips were grinding down on his face, one of your hands reaching down to grip at his hair.

He was insatiable, tongue running flatly over you, fingers slipping inside to massage at your wet walls. He found that spot inside of you, spongy wall sucking him in even further. A few moans of his own sounded out against you, the vibration urging a new wave of wetness.

"Steve- I'm gonna-" you barely could warn him before you were pulsating around him, a gush of wetness soaking his mouth. He moaned even louder against your clit, the feeling of it having you pull him closer to your cunt.

He continued licking at you, another finger entering you as you fell apart. The over stimulation earned a yelp from you, your hips raising off the bed to get away from his tongue.

"St-steve, it's too much-"

He left you, fingers still pumping in and out of you as you peered up at you.

"That's all you got?" His smile was devious as he continued finger fucking you, curling them at just the right time. It felt like you were a teenager again with his fingers inside of you, your stamina keeping up like nothing ever before.

Rolling your eyes, you reached down to rub at your own clit, slightly wincing at the sensitive feeling.

"I need you," you whined, spreading your legs further.

He moved quickly before he was removing himself, towering over you while kicking off his jeans. It would've been comical if you weren't so horny, the way he was trying to hold himself up and tug his pants off, boner poking out so strong, you thought it was hurting him.

Once free, he reached around you, digging into his bedside drawer as he searched for something. A few curses left him as he came up short, items clattering around as his movements became more hurried. You could read his mind.

"It's okay, we don't have to use one," you said, placing a hand on his chest from where he hovered above you. Caught off guard, he looked down at you, confusion on his face.

"You don't-?"

"It's okay, Steve," you nodded at him, the gesture becoming a language between the two of you with multiple meanings. Your own way of trusting each other.

He returned to you, leaning on his elbow as he pressed a kiss to you. "I could find one for you, if you're unsure, I'm sure they're som-"

"Steve," you said, pulling him down for another kiss. "I promise it's okay."

With a look into your eyes, he got his confirmation, pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss was slow as he reached down between you to line himself up with your entrance. Pushing in, you both groaned into each other's mouths at the stretch, your brains becoming clouded with each other.

It was a lot, bigger than you'd taken before, the girth of his cock making up for everything you've never had before. Getting choked up, you clawed at him, wanting to bring him closer than he was, even if it wasn't possible.

Pressing to the hilt, he couldn't wait before pulling out, pushing in again with a slight force that had you moving up the bed. You couldn't help the noises falling from your mouth, your eyes squeezed shut as he fucked into you, one of his legs pushing up to lift your own up.

His mouth kissed every part of yourself that it could find, your head moving side to side as he cherished you. This was all too perfect, your chest full of an emotion you were quite unfamiliar with.

"Steve."

The tone in your voice had his hips stuttering, fucking into you a little quicker. You could tell he was close by the fast movement of his hips, jerks that threw off his rhythm, pushing into you a little too far, the press of your cervix that had your back arching with the twinge of pain. It was all too good though, the pain quickly merged into pleasure as his body covered your own.

"Fuck baby, you're so perfect."

His words had your back arching further, fingernails digging into the skin of his ass, pulling him even deeper.

"I could fuck you all day."

With a moan, you pulled your leg even higher, whining at the way his dark thatch of hair was rubbing against your clit. You saw stars behind your eyelids, his words only fueling the fire building in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm gonna make you mine, gonna cum all in you, make you mi-"

A high pitched whine left your mouth as you came around him, throbbing at the feeling of his dick deep inside. You would like to say it was the sex itself that made you tip over the edge, the feeling of him hitting your spot over and over. But the two of you knew that it was the promise of his words, the feeling of being wanted by him, needed by him hitting you in just the right spot.

Worked up and spent, you took his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his nose, then his forehead.

"Make me yours, baby," you whispered at him, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut and feeling his hips press into you once more before he paused, warmth filling you. You felt the twitch of his cock inside of you, throbbing deep as he filled you with his seed.

Groaning, he pulled out of you with a loud squelch that filled the air, one of his eyes closing in a grimace. He laid beside you, turning on his side as he stared at you.

You felt his eyes on you as you stared at the ceiling, feeling cock drunk to a whole different level. It should've had you feeling scared, but the only thing that you could feel was the warmth of him, comforting you.

His thumb rested on your hip, running small circles over the skin. The two of you watched his hand make the small movement, droplets of perspiration being wiped away.

"You could leave if you want," he whispered, voice breaking the quiet of the air. "I'm probably making you uncomfortable."

Looking up at him, you leaned up to press another kiss to his lips. His eyes found you again, shock behind the irises.

"I think I'm going to stay," you matched his low tone, smiling once his own came across his face. "I was playing hard to get at first, but now I promise I'll be hard to get rid of."

He made a dramatic face at you, a fake groan leaving his lips. "Ooo, talk dirty to me, baby."

You laughed at him as he leaned over you, pressing several kisses to your neck and chin, slathering you in his love. It still made you a little uncomfortable at the gestures, all of this a foreign concept to you. His touches began to feel a bit more like home to you, something that had been missing in all of the men that came before.

Masterlist. Inbox and requests are open! <3

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

🎁🎄Christmas Elf - Lando Norris

<word count - 2512>

You'd been at McLaren for two weeks, so that meant unfortunately (or not so much) that you were unable to participate in secret santa with them this year. Everyone had gathered in the break room, leaving you at your desk to carry on working. 

You didn't really mind, since it would have been hard for you or whoever got you if you had taken part. As you stared at you screen, you mindlessly fiddled with the charms on your bracelet. No one else was working, so you didn't feel bad that you weren't. 

It would've been nice to celebrate some of the Christmas cheer, but it was fine. "Hey Y/N?" someone called. You looked up, seeing your boss stood in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Someone left this under the tree for you," he smiled, bringing the small bag and setting it down on your desk. "But my name wasn't pulled?" 

"I know, but someone was feeling the Christmas spirit," he lightly chuckled, disappearing back into the break room. You looked at it for a moment, pulling it closer to you so that you could peer inside. All you could see was a small white box, and you were curious, to say the least. 

Reading the tag attached, it only made you more curious. 'Dear Y/N, I know you weren't included in secret santa this year, but I figured you deserved a gift as well. I saw this, and thought it would fit perfectly with your collection. Merry Christmas, X'

Reaching your hand in, you pulled the box out and placed it in front of you, trying to figure out what it was before you opened it. You gave in pretty quickly, lifting the lid of the box. You couldn't help but smile as you saw the tiny race car charm for your bracelet. 

You failed to notice the pair of eyes watching you as you grinned, holding it between your fingers. It was absolutely lovely, even the tiniest details were perfectly etched onto it. It was like a like-for-like replica of the cars that were in the show room downstairs, and you loved it. 

You quickly clipped it to your bracelet, and it was instantly one of your favourites that you had. As the whole day went by, you found your eyes wandering down to the charm on your wrist, and you couldn't help but smile at it every time. 

You wanted to know who to thank for the overwhelmingly thoughtful gift, since no one had signed off the card, or left any indication as to who they were. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to figure it out, since someone was bound to have seen the gift be put under the tree. 

Throughout the day, you were still being watched by the person, and he felt that the look on your face was absolutely priceless. His note was just a little white lie, as well. Yes, he had wanted you to be included in secret santa, but that was simply a front. 

He would have gotten the charm for you regardless, but the gift giving in the office provided the perfect way for him to secretly gift it to you. He had been brainstorming the present ever since you stepped foot in the office, and it was not something that was on the every day market. He had to use some connections, but the smile of pure joy on your face was worth it. 

Meanwhile, you had been asking around the office, seeing if anyone had seen the gift when they put theirs down. It took a while, but you eventually located the first person who had put their present down. "Hey Jim, are you free for a minute?" you asked, approaching Jim in the breakroom. 

"Sure Y/N, what's up?" he replied, turning to face you. 

"Were you the first person to put down your secret santa gift?"

"No, there was already one under the tree. They must've been in early," he told you.

"Did it happen to look like this?" you asked, placing the bag that your charm was in down on the table in front of him. "Yeah, that was the only thing under the tree when I went,"

"Did you see anyone else around? Do you know who else was there?" you pressed, desperate to know who had bought you the present. "Sorry, I didn't see anyone else. The first person that I saw was Lando, but that was just after one of the meetings downstairs." Jim explained. 

"But there weren't any meetings today, well, none that Lando had to be in," you eyed him skeptically. "That was just what he said,"

"OK, thanks Jim. Merry Christmas," you smiled as you walked away. Why would Lando lie? He must've had his reasons, but you couldn't think of any point in it. He was Lando Norris, if he wanted to be here, then he was allowed to be. 

He was the star of the show in this place, he didn't need a reason to hang around, he just could. Anyway, your search that had lead to Jim had proven fruitless, so you headed back to your desk after your lunch break had been spent on a wild goose chase. 

After finally engrossing yourself in your work, you noticed someone stood in front of your desk. "Hey Lando," you said, without even looking up from your computer. He had probably just come to ask if you could cancel his meetings for tomorrow or something. 

"Hey Y/N, how are you doing?" he smiled, leaning over your desk with his arms propping him up. You found the grin on his face slightly suspicious, but Lando always had a hidden agenda. He was always up to something. 

"Not bad thanks, you?"

"Yeah, I'm good, I'm good." you replied, bring your hand to your face to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.  "Nice bracelet. I like the car, very apt," he said, grabbing your hand to inspect your wrist. His hands were warm, his fingertips gentle on the skin of your wrist.

"Oh yeah, it's really pretty, isn't it? I'm trying to figure out who gave it to me, you have any ideas?" you asked, failing to see the glint of mischief in his eye. You were completely oblivious, and he was thoroughly enjoying it. 

"No, sorry, not a clue. But I'm sure they'll reveal themselves at some point. See you later, good luck on your quest," he grinned, pushing himself away from the desk and walking away from you. 

"Bye Lando," you replied, and he was gone as quickly as he had gotten to you. You found the nature of his visit slightly odd, but you didn't think anything of it. 

The rest of your day was spent without knowing a single thing about the mystery sweetheart who had given you your gift, and you desperately wanted to thank them for their efforts. You'd spend time just staring at it, as if you were hoping it would reveal its previous owner. 

You were still being watched, the person having a smug smirk plastered on his face. He could see the cogs turning in your head, confusion written all over your features. He'd let the scepticism simmer for a while, and then he'd tell you. 

Or maybe not. He'd see. 

--

The next morning, you walked into the office to see your desk was different. The best kind of different. Your computer had a string of multi-coloured Christmas lights draped over the monitor, and there was a mini Christmas tree sat to the side of it. 

It was decorated with mini baubles, and had an adorable little star on the top. On the surface of your desk, fake snow had been sprinkled around and it looked like a small winter wonderland right on your desk. 

Placed on your keyboard was another note: 'Dear Y/N, the whole office is decorated, so I thought that your desk could be too. I hope you like it, X'. You put the note in your desk drawer along with the other, hoping you could use them to find out who had given you the gift and decorated your desk.

"Jim? Did you see?" you called out to Jim, who was sat at his desk, typing away at something.

"It was like that when I got here," he said with a smile, quickly turning his attention back to his computer. Nobody arrived to work before Jim, absolutely nobody. And even if someone had, he surely would have seen them near your desk and mentioned it to you. 

"Nice decorations, Y/N," Lando said, appearing at your side, and scanning his eyes over your desk. "Was it the mystery Christmas elf again?"

"Yeah, and it is so cute. I love it," you beamed, "I don't know who they are, and I need to thank them for this. It's just so lovely," you rambled, your eyes shining with delight. 

"Still not close to figuring it out?" 

"No, my best guess is Jim at the moment, but I don't know," you shook your head, Jim being the only logical person. "Jim?!" Lando spluttered, his eyes widening in shock. Out of all the people in the office, you came to the conclusion it was Jim.

"He's the only one who is here when stuff happens. He was here when my gift was put under the tree, and he was here when my desk was decorated," you explained your conclusion to deciding Jim was your mystery Christmas elf.

"He doesn't seem like the type to me, if I'm being honest," Lando diverted his shock and slight worry away from Jim.

"Why not? You know something I don't, Norris?" you teased, nudging him.

"I, uhm, no. I just don't want you getting the wrong idea, that's all," he said, trying to hide the panic in his voice. He didn't want you to know just yet. He liked seeing you all frazzled, confused, unknowing. He was proud of himself for having pulled it off. 

"Don't worry Lando, I know you would've told me if you knew," you smirked, turning your attention back to the people around the office. Not a single on of them looked like the people who could be your mystery Christmas elf, and you were at a loss. 

"Yeah, I would've," he nodded, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact instead of genuinely believing it. "You're coming to the party tonight, right? The end of year thing?" Lando asked, changing the subject. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," you nodded, looking forward to your first McLaren Christmas party, hopefully, of many. "You coming?"

"I sure will be," he smiled, "I'll see you later,"

--

The festive spirit enveloped the office as twinkling lights adorned the words and tinsel sparkled around every corner. Your first of many annual Christmas parties was now in full swing, and your office suddenly didn't seem so bad as your colleagues filled the air with laughter. 

"Lando, you'll never guess what," you said, leaving out any sort of greeting when you approached Lando after finding him in the middle of the party. He had to do a double take when he saw you, for once the lack of papaya bringing him pure joy. 

He couldn't put a word to your appearance in his mind that quite did it justice, but the closest he could find was perfect. Just... everything about you was simply perfect, and the beaming smile plastered on your face was more dazzling than the star atop the Christmas tree. "What?"

"I got a package in the mail from my Christmas elf the minute I arrived home," you excitedly told him.

"Oh really? What did they send you this time?" he asked, glad the plan had been pulled off to perfection. He was very proud of himself, he had been doing a great job over the past couple of days to get everything that he needed to be done, done. 

"Aren't they the prettiest?" you giggled, pulling your hair back to show off the dangling, golden Christmas tree earrings that had arrived at your door. 

"They really are," he nodded, thoroughly satisfied with the results of his Christmas escapade. While Lando's brain was being smug, you couldn't help but stare at him. Yes, he always looked good, that was a given, but he was looking extra snazzy tonight.

Something about that man in suit just hit different. A very good different indeed.  "This person must really like you then, huh?"

"Yeah, and I'd really like to know who they are," you grinned, wanting to know who this mystery person was. They had brought so much light and joy to you in the past couple days, and you wanted to be able to thank them.

"I mean, decorating your desk, sending stuff in the post, making sure yours was the first gift under the tree. That's dedication," he nodded, hoping you'd take the bait and talk about how amazing he- sorry, I mean your Christmas elf was. 

"How'd you know it was the first under the tree? I never told you it was," you said, the pieces clicking together in your head. 

"Did you not? Huh, lucky guess," Lando nervously chuckled, trying to dig himself out of the suddenly deep hole he had found himself in. 

"You didn't have a meeting yesterday morning, did you Lando?" you pressed, finally settling on the idea that it was indeed not Jim, but Lando Norris himself. 

"No..." 

"So why were you in the office early?" you further poked, wanting to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. 

"To put your present under the tree," he admitted, looking right into your eyes. Surely you wouldn't change your mind on the graciousness of your Christmas elf just because it was Lando, right? He just loved bringing joy to you, and seeing you so happy made him joyous beyond belief. 

With a beaming smile, you couldn't stop yourself as you leant in, closing the distance between the two of you. Time seemed to slow as your lips met, a gentle kiss that carried the spirit of Christmas, the joy of the season, and perhaps the hint of something more. 

Your surrounding co-workers pointed and were shocked, but they didn't find it unusual. Lando had been sneaking around the place a lot recently, and they all clocked on a lot quicker than you did. 

As you pulled away, your eyes were locked together, and you couldn't help but share a knowing smile. Looking to your left, you saw Jim stood there, a mischievous smirk dancing on his lips. Over your heads, he held a sprig of mistletoe. "Really Jim?" you laughed. 

"Merry Christmas," he chuckled back, leaving you and Lando stood there. The party continued around you, but it might as well have just been you and Lando in the room. 

"Thank you, so much," you breathlessly said.

"What else is a Christmas elf for?" he softly chuckled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

"Merry Christmas," you smiled, kissing him on the cheek. This was, without a doubt, the best secret santa gift you had ever gotten, and would probably ever get. 

A/N - Merry Christmas part 2! I have so many Christmas ideas, but there is only one joyful season per year, and I have a lot of other stuff that needs writing, so it may be saved until next year... We'll see. Would you guys mind getting Christmas stuff in the middle of the year? Lmk! Requests are open, love you loads 💖

|masterlist|

[ironmandeficiency]

the fellowship + romance

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin

word count: 1177

summary: just some soft shit bc these men are all sappier than any tree in the greenwood

a/n: there’s still an overwhelming lack of gimli content that needs to be fixed and i will do my part

aragorn 🗡️

aragorn’s quiet presence is the warmest blanket on a cold night, the first bite of a meal you slaved over for hours, every comfort you’ve ever experienced

he’s never been one for overwhelming displays of his affections; instead, he shows you in simple ways that add up - giving you the more full bowls of broth, laying his blanket over you if he notices you shivering during night watch, sharpening your weapons (this one had gimli nearly brought to tears by the devotion it spoke of), anything that helps your days pass easier

he grew up around stories of elves who committed astounding feats in the name of those they loved, fighting wars and risking their lives with alarming frequency. but none of them ever talked about the everyday ways they showed love. his mother taught him what she could about those things, stories of his father’s steady presence and stalwart love for his family. a young aragorn took these lessons to heart and used them when the time was right

it was why, when he caught his heart skipping beats around you, he let his actions do the speaking for him. without fail you would thank him with a soft smile, slowly coming to realize that aragorn felt something much deeper for you than camaraderie. when you woke up early one morning to find your weapons sharper than they were the day before (not for the first time), you went straight to aragorn and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. he nearly dropped your bowl of stew in his flustered state

having your affections secured didn’t mean he stopped his small acts of kindness, it did quite the opposite. it just made him bolder and more confident in his actions

boromir 🍻

this man is so damn tactile it’s ridiculous

if you’re the cuddly type like he is, it makes him all the more eager to always have some form of physical contact with you, no matter where you may be

unless you tell him to back off, he is always touching you one way or another. a gentle hand on the small of your back, your pinkies interlocked, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, anything to keep you close to him

his favorite time of day eventually becomes the end of it, because that’s when he can hold you close and whisper soft words of love in your ear while he holds you. he makes it his goal to give you a goodnight kiss every night you spend together

the best cuddle position in his mind is you leaning your back against his chest, one of his hands resting on your hip where his thumb rubs small circles above the bone, and his chin resting on your shoulder just right to where he can turn his head to kiss your cheek or burrow his face into your neck

gimli 🛡️

valiantly is the best way to describe how gimli approaches any situation he comes upon, including (and especially) matters of the heart

this is a dwarf who says what he means & means what he says, who does nothing that he wouldn’t be proud of the next day. because of this, you couldn’t find it in you to not believe him when he professed his love for you with such unwavering confidence you were nearly brought to tears. gimli never said anything just because his lips could move so you simply had to believe him

will do you favors big and small simply because he wants to help you however possible. you can’t remember the last time you carried your own pack or made your own bowl of soup. if you encouraged him (which you wouldn’t), this romantic fool would not let you lift another finger for as long as you both live

he grew up watching his parents with keen eyes, his adad showing him by example how a true dwarf treats their one. he embodies these lessons with every interaction with you, striving to be the one you deserve him to be. it ranges from the ferocity of his protection to opening doors for you. may mahal strike him down if he ever hurts you

he just wants to be a dwarf you’re proud to love, proud to call yours

legolas 🏹

physical affection can be difficult for him, but one thing legolas is good at doing is speaking his mind and his heart

if you thought his regular speaking pattern was overflowing with poetic descriptors, you’ve heard nothing compared to when he’s being truly romantic. no one you’d been with before had ever described you with such beautiful prose, never whispered soft poetry about your eyes to lull you to sleep

and he’s a cheeky bastard about it too! it’ll be a regular conversation between friends, nothing important, then BAM! he’s making quippy one-liners about your overwhelming skill/beauty/personality that catch you off guard and has your friends cackling at your flustered reaction to his flattery

even better, his praise will often include sindarin and on the off chance you don’t speak it, you’ll have to gauge the meaning from the silent looks shared between your dear elf and aragorn (doesn’t really work). eventually legolas tells you what some of them mean; after all, he needs to have an element of intrigue about him or his name isn’t legolas thranduillion

he carries a lot of pride for you and will brag about you to anyone who listens, his melleth being one of unparalleled skill and beauty and bright laughter that carries his soul on great wings

pippin 🥕

his already strong need to be silly and foolish grows exponentially when he finds out how happy it makes you

pip doesn’t care what it is you ask of him, he will do anything to hear your laugh. he’ll put baby carrots in his nostrils, respond to conversations exclusively in farm animal noises, he will even do his spot-on impressions of the rest of the fellowship and make them say all sorts of silly things

the best one to date is him doing an aragorn impression that consists of all the different ways he says legolas’s name

you’ve never heard such astounding colloquialisms from anyone until you met pippin - “don’t eat half the berries and say the pie shell’s too big,” “his cornbread isn’t done in the middle,” “if brains were leather, he wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug” - and each time he says one, there’s always a not-so-subtle look to you so he can see your reaction. the ones that get the most laughs are used a little bit more, just enough to not lose their appeal but enough to hear your laughter all the more often

there is a single-minded determination to hear your snort when you laugh at something he says, and he will not rest until you do. his personal goal to do this resets each time you do actually snort, him now aiming for the next joke or prank that will bring it out again

[after-witch]

Run Rabbit [Sukuna x Reader]

Title: Run Rabbit [Sukuna x Reader]

Synopsis: You were the first one in your village chosen to be a sacrifice to Ryomen Sukuna. But you won't accept your fate so willingly.

Word count: 2000ish

notes: obsessiveness, reader is set to be a sacrifice, non-graphic injuries, non-graphic sexual assault threat, 

There are two types of desperation beating inside your breast

The desperation to live, to not be torn to pieces by some beast, to keep going another day and walk down the path of life, wherever it may take you.

And perhaps the worst of the two, the desperation of knowledge: the fact that you can’t deny that you understand why they’re doing this to you, why you’ve been tied to the tree at the entrance of your village. 

Why they have chosen you as a sacrifice to Ryomen Sukuna.

He had slaughtered so many people already, in your village and many more besides. Men, women, children. It made no difference to him--no, you think, perhaps it did. From what tales you’ve heard, he seemed to enjoy killing women and children most of all. 

Your own parents had been killed by him while they were traveling to a nearby village to visit your mother’s pregnant friend. Perhaps that’s why the village chose you as the easiest sacrifice--you had no family left to stand up for you.

You were just some orphaned daughter. You couldn’t carry on the family name. You would be a burden, if you were married off, and who wanted to take the time to create a match for you amidst the current heavy fear enveloping the village? 

So they took you in the early hours of the morning, when the air was misty and cool, and dragged you from your bed to this very tree that leads to the main path to your village. The tree itself was considered sacred. Or it had been, once. Scattered around you are broken charms, no doubt laughingly scattered by Sukuna himself; failed protections against his horrors. 

But you? You were going to be the village’s salvation. Surely he would accept their offering and kill you (perhaps more, beforehand) and spare the village. At least for a while. At least until they had to drag some other pretty thing to the tree, and hope he would take them and spare their village for another day. 

That’s what they hoped for, anyway. 

But you? You were not going to be a good sacrifice. That is why you have spent the better part of the day sawing at the rope binding your wrists to the tree, using one of the broken charms as a sharp edge. 

And as the sun begins to slip beneath the horizon, and the warmth in the air seeps away and leaves a clammy cold in its wake, you feel the rope finally fray to a fragile husk--

Just as every insect in the night suddenly ceases their droning calls, and the night birds in the weaving lakes no longer cry out. 

Just as the sound of footsteps approaching the tree replaces them.

You have never seen the demon, curse, monster Sukuna in person before. You had only heard the stories, at first huddled together with your family, and then alone. 

He is, above all things, overwhelming. Eyes upon eyes, arms upon arms.Two of each, and faces like halves.  He is… 

Inhuman. Unnatural. 

Without realizing it, you are frozen--a doe in the flickering lamplight of a weary traveler. No, for this is no weary traveler who smiles indulgently at the sight of a frightened deer. You are more like a doe trapped in the unmistakable sight of a hunter’s bow.

“Well,” the monster says, his voice like a rough purr that sends goosebumps creeping up arms. “This is a first… surprisingly.” His eyes look you over, and the sight of the multiple pairs moving sends your empty stomach lurching. “Usually villages try to sacrifice their weakest first. The children… the elderly.” 

The way his gaze rakes over your form sends your limbs trembling, and you begin to rub your wrists together, willing the rope to give way to nothing in time for you to have some sort of chance. 

If he notices, he says nothing. Instead, he steps closer and looks down at you. “But oh, you’re a precious thing, I would think. A lovely woman.” He calls you precious but nothing in his tone or demeanor suggests he thinks you so. 

“Shall I kill you outright? Or have my way with you first?” There’s a laughter in his words, and you’re not sure if he means them, but they create a hard knot in your belly all the same. 

It doesn’t matter. Because the rope has split.

“Neither,” you spit out, and you don’t wait for his reaction--you simply run.

The primal part of your brain expects to hear his footsteps behind you. Instead, you hear laughter, barking, harsh--but delighted. 

“I’ll give you a head start, girl!” He calls out. You don’t dare look behind you to see if he’ll hold true to his words. 

--

The forest is familiar and unfamiliar all at once, for you never went into it during the night, and certainly never alone--and definitely not with a demon at your heels.

Dark greenery whizzes by, punctuated with scratching branches and your own terrified, panting breaths. Some of the branches catch the fold of your robe and you stumble, pulling until the fabric tears or the branch lets you go. 

A branch catches your clothing again, but when the fabric tears this time,  you don’t regain your footing. You fall to the ground and your body aches, unused to running and injuries--

And then you hear those footsteps again. Loud. Confident. As if whatever creature makes them knows he is entitled to be exactly where he is, doing exactly what he does. You don’t doubt a demon who has slaughtered countless, seemingly for sport, might feel that way.

Hot tears fall down your face, dripping on the ground, almost in time with the footsteps.

“Are you done already? How boring.”  His voice above you (for you don’t dare look up at his face) has lost the delight it held earlier, replaced with something you keenly sense is far more dangerous: a loss of interest.

He’ll kill you. If you don't run now, he’ll kill you.

Some noise, grunting and animal-like, escapes your lips. And then you’ve propelled yourself upward, riding on adrenaline, running into the darkness again.

Behind you, Sukuna laughs.

“Keep going! Don’t give up!”

The mockery in his voice lands and slides off you like raindrops. You don’t have the resources to care about anything but getting away from him.

So you run and run and run.

--

Your fingers taste of sweat and dirt, but you keep them pressed to your lips, muffling your ragged breathing as best you can. 

Sukuna is somewhere behind you. His every movement rustles leaves, snaps twigs. He doesn’t need to hide his presence--why would he? He could kill anyone or anything he came across.

If he finds you tucked inside the hollow of this tree, he’ll kill you. Maybe worse than that, because you can; or because he feels an inclination for it.

“Brat.”

Your muscles turn to ice. He found you. He found you and this is it and now--

But pain does not come, death does not come. Instead,  you realize, slowly, that he wasn’t addressing you. He’s talking to himself.

“She’s made it this far, huh? If she crosses that stream…” He sighs, and your mind provides the image of his face, pinched with irritation. “I can’t follow. It’s been blessed. Damn sorcerers.” 

Hope, fragile but alive, flutters in  your breast. The charms on the tree didn’t work… but evidently something did work against this creature. And you were close--so close you could hear the water bubbling--to reaching it.

And like a miracle, his footsteps recede, and the soft sound of the night returns. The insects, hesitantly chirping; the soft crunch of a fox scurrying out of a burrow.

After a time, long enough to make sure he has truly gone, you slowly, carefully crawl away from the hollow of the tree. 

The stream. If you can make it across the stream, you’ll be safe.

With your muscles aching and your feet bleeding from the terrain of the forest, you run towards the sound of quietly bubbling water that will be your only chance of salvation.

--

You have never appreciated the moonlight as much as you have on this night. The moon is not quite full, but it’s large and bright enough to illuminate the man made rock path lodged across the stream, giving easier (but no less slippery) access to those who want to cross it.

Just get across, you think. Just get across and be safe. Be free. Start over. Find somewhere you can live and settle down and--

You take a deep breath and force yourself not to race too far ahead. You don’t want to get distracted, not now. 

Not when every footsteps matters. You go as slow as the panic in your breast allows, keeping your arms straight out like you used to as a child, begging your parents to help guide you across. 

On the last stone, you hear him approach. Hear the rumble of his chest as he hums. Feel the oppressiveness of his presence.

But you leap to the wet, mossy ground on the bank of the stream and you turn and your heart beats fast with fear and relief in turn. You made it. You’re safe. 

Your face breaks into a sobbing smile just as Ryomen Sukuna takes an easy, sauntering step onto the stepping stone. 

His laughter hurts your ears.

“Did you really think I couldn’t cross water?” His four eyes blink down at you, and it’s like your soul wants to drop to the ground and run away. “Country bumpkin…”

The smile cracks, but the sob on  your lips pushes its way out as you whirl around and run.

But your body has other ideas. It’s too tired. You were not used to such physical strain, and the stress from being tied to the tree and chased and chased--and chased--like some animal has finally overruled the adrenaline pumping through your body.

Your legs collapse, and you fall to the ground. You’re on your knees, aching and bleeding though they are, and you gulp down terrified, sobbing breaths.

This is it. This is when he kills you. You can only hope it will be fast. 

“Finally run out of steam, girl?” Sukuna hums, and you feel his foot press down on the small of your back. It doesn’t take any effort for your body to crumple beneath it, but he keeps his foot on the dirty, frayed fabric of your robe.

There’s an uncomfortable flush of humiliation, but you chide yourself for even feeling it. Does it matte, what he does, if he’s just going to kill you now?

“You lasted longer than I thought you would. Though you were stupid to think I was serious about the river.” His voice is low and lazy. You almost wish he sounded angry, annoyed that he’d had to chase you through the woods.

But then  you realize that this chase which has worn your body to its limit was like a relaxing stroll for him. 

You were running for your life--and it was nothing to him.

“Just…” Your voice is hoarse, and you would drag yourself to the stream and gulp it down like a wild animal, if you could. What is water, though, when you’re going to die at any moment? “Just kill me already,”  you finish.

There is a rustling sound, and you don’t know what it means until you’re flipped harshly on your back. You cry out as you’re flipped, body aching, and hurting even more when you feel rocks digging into your tired muscles.

It was better to be staring at the ground, you think. Better to look at that than up at the face of the monster who will end your life. 

He tilts his head at you--the two faces, you think, are not just grotesque but otherworldly and very, very wrong. They shouldn’t exist, and he shouldn’t exist, and you hope that somewhere, somehow, some day, there will be a person who knows how to destroy the thing above you. 

He hums again. And after a while, he grins, as if he’s pleased with himself. “No, I don’t think I will, girl.”

His words take a while to sink in. And the question forms on your lips before you have time to wonder if you really want the answer. 

“Why--why not?” 

Sukuna leans down and grips you by the ruined fabric of your robe. He hauls you to your aching feet, and keeps his grip on you even as your legs try to buckle  underneath you from fear just as much as the physical strain of the night. 

One of his four hands grabs your chin, and none-too-gently forces you to look at him. His pairs of eyes study you, and your stomach twists and turns as you’re made to stare into his face. 

“You were given to me,” he says, voice back to that low, growling purr from when he first saw you tonight. “And I’m going to appreciate this little present.” 

[avocad1s]

Bring Back What Once Was Mine

Chapter Summary: Your presence on Teyvat becomes more apparent. While in Liyue’s Chasm, you notice someone following you.

Characters Mentioned: Multiple Characters Mentioned

Content Warning: Cult and Religious themes ahead! You've been warned.

Reader is the true creator of Teyvat. GN! Reader

Part Two Part Three (You are here!) Part Four

This probably has some inaccuracies of genshin lore but this is all to fit the narrative of the story :>

You’re assuming that the False Creator didn’t show their face much.

Even though you didn’t want to, you had to cut through a village to get to Liyue but it seemed that no one noticed you. Not by face at least, your clothing was the most evident thing about you.

You let out a sigh of relief, if they showed their face before, it clearly was lost to time. Even the statues that were built in your name were faceless which made things easier.

Liyue wasn’t much further now, you were deep into the forest of Sumeru and once you had reached the clearing you knew there would be a tunnel that would lead to the Chasm.

“Hey you there!” A voice from above called out. “Please help me! I’m slipping!”

In the tree above you, there was someone gripping tightly onto a branch that was cracking. They weren’t that high up, you could assume that if they were to fall they would survive. Although they could be gravely injured if that were to happen.

The branch cracks more and their grip begins to loosen. You look around the wooded area seeing if there was something that would help but you failed to find anything.

“Hold on!” You call out, “I’m going to run back and get something to break your fall!”

They shake their head quickly, “there’s no use, I can’t hold on any longer.” Before the branch could snap fully, their grip fails and they come plummeting to the ground. Without thinking you use the power of Anemo and they land softly in the grass.

They pat themselves a few times, maybe checking if they were actually safe before jumping to their feet running up to you.

“You saved me!” They exclaim a large smile on their face, “thank you! I didn’t know you had a vision! Ahh, you’re so lucky.” You give them an awkward smile but they don’t seem to notice as they continue talking.

“I always prayed for a vision and I think that one day I’ll have one! Then I’ll be able to join the Adventures Guild.”

You tilt your head to the side, “you want to join the Guild? Is that why you were in a tree?”

They rub the back of their neck as their face grows red, “well-er… no. Not really. I was actually looking for this plant that one of the Forest Rangers wanted! I thought that maybe if I found it first I could sell it to them.”

You nod slowly and their eyes widen, “don’t get the wrong idea! I wouldn’t just do anything this shallow just because I want to, it’s just… I really need the Mora.”

You put your hands up, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m just happy that you are safe now. What I am curious about is do you need a vision to join the Guild?”

The give you a weird look, “huh? You don’t know? I’m not sure where you’re from but no you don’t. It does make it easier if you have one though!”

You acknowledge their explanation with a nod.

“Thank you for saving me,” they say softly, “if I were to get hurt or even… then no one would be able to care of her.”

“Her?

“My sister…” they reply, “she’s really sick and I’m the only one who’s able to care for her. I tried praying to Their Grace to save them but I think they want me to figure this out myself!”

In other words, their prayers were never answered.

You felt your stomach twist and a frown crosses your face but their hopeful look never leaves.

“That’s the main reason I want a vision, if I can get Mora from the Guild I’ll be able to get enough money for her treatment.”

You smile forcefully nodding at their words, “you’re very selfless for that.”

They give you a bashful look, “well my sister means the absolute world to me so…”

You look around for a moment then you bend down to pluck a flower from the grass.

“Here take this, if you mix this with tea and give it to your sister she should get better.”

“Huh? I never heard of this plant having any healing properties…”

“Not many people know but trust me, it will help them.” You explain.

“Alright… I guess I can try it. Are you some type of doctor?”

“I am. A traveling doctor to be exact, I’ve used this flower countless of times to help others.”

You were lying of course, but explaining the truth to this person would take more effort and confusion than you have time for. Hesitantly, they take the flower from your hand gazing intently at it.

“Wait I can’t,” they try to hand the flower back to you, “I cannot afford this.”

You shake your head, “you don’t have to pay me anything. Just stay out of trees, okay?”

Their face was unreadable for a moment before they quickly jumped into your arms saying ‘thank you’ multiple times into your ear. You let them hug you keeping your arms limp at your side.

“Oh I’ve truly been blessed!” Once they let you go they lace their fingers together looking up at the sky, “thank you Almighty Creator! Thank you so much!”

Their way of worship was loud, but nothing you weren’t used to. It actually warmed your heart that you could help someone despite all of the problems you were facing already. This person has been praying for help for years and it went unanswered. It amazed you that their hope never faltered, but now they have nothing to worry about, even just a little of your power should be enough to save their sister without alerting anyone to your presence .

Or so you hoped.

You bid your farewell to them as they run back to the village gripping the flower tightly in their hands. It felt good to help someone after so long…

A few moments later, Zapolyarny Palace

The weather in Snezhnaya was cruel and unforgiving, it matched well with the infamous group the resided there; the Fatui.

If you ask anyone besides the harbingers or the Tsaritsa herself, no one could tell you what their true motives are. Once Snezhnaya had shut down their borders many speculated that they didn’t believe in the Creator. Rumors even spread that they had plans of usurping them and taking over Teyvat.

Yet that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The Tsaritsa sat quietly in her chambers, it would only be a matter of time until her wish came into fruition. She only needed two more Gnosis until they can perform the summoning.

The summoning to bring the true Creator to Teyvat.

It was only speculation that it actually worked but it was a risk she was willing to take ever since the wretched one tarnished the world with their presence. Pretending to be someone they’re not. 

At first, the Tsaritsa was fooled just like the other Archons but it didn’t take long for her to open her eyes to the truth. Once that vermin had disgraced her nation by coming here and acted as if they knew her from before. It took everything out of her not to slay them right then and there.

But she had to think rationally, killing them wouldn’t change anything. In fact, it would just cause more problems, but if she could bring the real Creator here then everyone would be aware of the sins they had committed.

Getting the Gnosis was going to be difficult, and sending her Harbingers to go head to head with her fellow Archons was a risk but their devotion to Their Grace was powerful and she believed they would come back successful.

It’s been almost a year since The Doctor had returned from Sumeru with the Dendro and Electro Gnosis. Despite how stoic the Fatui could be it was clear that they were elated, they were one step closer to seeing Their Grace.

However getting into Fontaine and Natlan was going to be hard, the False Creator had publicly expressed their distaste for Snezhnaya and the Tsaritsa so the Fatui’s influence in other nations were slipping.

The Tsaritsa let’s out a sigh staring out her large window, thick snow covered the ground as far as the eye could see and if didn’t seem that the snowfall was going to stop any time soon.

A warmth spread through the Cryo Archons chest, it felt almost foreign, something she hadn’t felt in centuries. She jumps up from her chair making a beeline to the door, she doesn’t acknowledge any of the lower ranking Fatui officers that bowed once she was in their presence.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she entered the room seeing the harbingers standing around the four Gnosis, all of them with a golden hue.

“Their Grace…” she mutters, “they’ve returned.”

One day later

Someone was following you.

It was clear they weren’t trying to be obvious about it, but once you had made it to the Chasm you soon felt the presence upon you.

The Chasm wasn’t being taken care of anymore, despite all of the people you saw around mining or just standing around aimlessly. You could tell that this place was abandoned for a while.

You brush off the feeling of eyes on the back of your head staring at a group of individuals wearing odd masks. Not only that, their clothing seemed to be way too heavy for Liyue’s heat. Yet before you could approach them, a hand from behind you covers your mouth pulling you behind a rock.

“You shouldn’t do that Your Grace.” The feminine voice says, “I’m going to remove my hand but please don’t scream…”

She removes her hand slowly and you whip your head around to look at her. She had slanted bangs and her hair was dark at the top that faded to a blue color, her eyes expressing worry.

“Wait…” you say eyebrows furrowed, “how did you know that I-“

“I’m Yelan.” She says cutting you off, “and those people you were about to approach are the Fatui.”

The Fatui. You’ve only been in Teyvat for three days and you’ve heard of them multiple times.

“The Fatui. Who are these people?”

Her jaw drops slightly, “you don’t…? we’ll it makes sense you wouldn’t know. They are a very dangerous group ran by the Tsaritsa, and for how I know your true identity it’s because of the Fatui. I’m not sure how they know the other… ‘you’ is fake but I do know they are looking for you right now.”

She adjusts one of her bracelets, “you shouldn’t approach anyone you see with masks like that, and you should definitely steer clear from any of the Fatui Harbingers. I don’t know what their plans are for you, but I doubt that it’ll be any good.”

You stare at her as you take in her words.

“But how do I know I can trust you?” You ask suspiciously, “I’m guessing you were the one following me and you just pulled me behind a rock.”

“I’m sorry about that, truly… I was just trying to save you from making a huge mistake. Since it seemed you were about to talk to them… How about this, I’ll take you to the exit of the Chasm? Could you forgive me then?”

You pout a little as if you were a child before nodding, “fine, but don’t pull me behind anymore rocks.”

-

Yelan leads you out of the Chasm steering clear of anyone she deemed suspicious. Once at the exit, she stops walking turning to look at you. “I know somewhere safe you can go Your Grace. If you want, I can take you there.”

You shake your head, “I’m already safe. Teyvat will never let any harm come to me.” She smiles at your sentiment, “well if you’re sure, can I at least walk with you towards the Harbor?”

Normally, you would prefer to be alone, when others come with you they could be a liability and you can’t risk having to save someone right now. Yet you still had some unanswered questions she could answer.

“Sure, only if you tell me more about the Fatui? Who are these harbingers you mentioned?”

Yelan nods. “Of course, there are supposed to be eleven Fatui harbingers but seat number six has been vacant for centuries, all of them are very powerful and not just in strength. They used to have a lot of power in other nations besides their homeland. They even have a Bank in Liyue. Yet when the other… Creator expressed how they disliked Snezhnaya and the Fatui their political power is began to fall.”

‘So that’s why Paimon was talking about how one of these Harbingers were so dangerous and scary…’ you think.

“-when they aren’t in Snezhnaya, most of them complete missions in other nations. The one you’re most likely to run into in Liyue goes by the name Childe, he’s pretty obnoxious about his position as a harbinger. The others are a bit more secretive but you’ll know who they are because of their masks.”

“Yelan I appreciate all of this valuable information you’ve given me and I’ll keep it in mind as I go through Teyvat from now on.”

She gives you a soft smile, “I’m glad I can be of some help to you. Your Grace.”

You two are walking in a comfortable silence, it was clear to you that Liyue hadn’t changed much. Maybe Morax’s Adepti were still running around, you hope to see them soon.

“Hey Yelan,” you say breaking the silence. “How do you know I’m the real Creator? If you don’t trust the Fatui at all how come you believe them when they say I’m the real deal.”

“Hmm-“ she pauses for a moment, “-when I was watching you when you enter Liyue, I just got this feeling and I knew… it’s hard to explain.”

“It’s fine, I completely understand-”

Suddenly Yelan grabs ahold of your wrist, “wait…”

Off in the distance you could hear some rustling, as if two people were fighting. The noise didn’t last long until you heard a clank of something hitting the ground and heavy breathing.

“That’s enough sparing for today Ganyu.”

You eyes widen, remembering that name clearly.

You go to take a step forward but are quickly pulled back by Yelan who holds a finger to her lips, telling you to be quiet.

But it was too late, when she pulled you back you stepped on a branch causing the voice to quiet down.

“Who goes there?”

You hear quick footsteps approaching where the voice was, Yelan attempts to pull you away so the two of you could hide but green and black smoke appears a few feet in front of you before you could move.

The footsteps you also heard stop and you were right, it was Ganyu standing at the top of the hill. The one in front of you was the Conqueror of Demons, or Xiao.

Both of the Adepti stare at you with their mouth agape as you and Yelan stare back, her still holding your wrist tightly.

“Your Grace?” Ganyu begins approaching slowly, “you’re back from Sumeru already?”

Once she was standing next to Xiao she bows to you and he mimics her action not daring to meet your eyes.

“Your Grace…” Xiao whispers, “Please forgive me, if I had known that you’d be here, I would’ve left immediately.”

You tilt your head to the side, “what do you mean?”

He stops bowing but keeps his gaze on the floor, “what you had said, you didn’t want my disgusting karmic debt in your presence anymore.”

You felt your heart shatter at his words. Just what was this False Creator telling him?

You pull your wrist out of Yelans grip approaching the Yaksha. “Xiao, please look at me.”

He slowly raises his gaze, staring at you.

“Whatever that… thing said, I would never say anything like that to you. You two are the first ones I’ve ran into that I actually recognized from the past, so know this, I never stopped caring about either of you. The Adepti still hold a valuable spot in my heart.”

You notice Xiao’s face grow scarlet as Ganyu gives you a confused expression.

“Wait… you just seen us two months ago?” Ganyu questions, “what do you mean?”

You explain how the one they had met wasn’t the real Creator, but someone or something pretending to be you. You weren’t sure of their intentions on this world but it clear that they were hurting lots of people you cared about.

The two Adepti hang their head in shame, it was clear they wanted to cry.

“Your Grace please forgive us!“ Ganyu cries, “we didn’t mean to commit such a heinous sin against your name.”

You shake your head, “it’s not your fault, they have everyone fooled, but that’s why I’m here, to put an end to it.”

Yelan looks away awkwardly, seeing the two Adepti sad and begging for forgiveness was odd but it’s not like she could blame them. If she didn’t use the Fatui to figure out the truth, she would’ve done the same as them.

“I won’t let them cause you any more pain.” You assure.

They pick their heads up giving you a hopeful look.

Xiao knew the second he was face-to-face with you something was different. Not feeling his karmic debt crawling up his back was the most obvious sign, but it also felt like someone had just wrapped a blanket around him. He remembers feeling this centuries ago, but when the other ‘you’ came to Liyue it didn’t give him the same feeling. All he felt was despair and dread, like when he had lost the other Yaksha.

Ganyu, on the other hand, was half human. Although she still felt that warmth once she was close to you, she was still afraid. Anytime the False Creator entered Liyue, they stayed in the Jade Chamber, so Ganyu made it her personal responsibility to care of their every need. Yet nothing she did was right, she couldn’t remember the amount of food and drinks she had thrown in her face.

“Your Grace…?” Ganyu speaks up, “is there anything we can do to help you? We can tell Rex Lapis about your arriv-“

“No.” You interrupt. Immediately Ganyu closes her mouth looking down.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just I have people in Sumeru helping me and I can’t risk their lives if words gets out that I am around. Please keep this information to yourself.”

The two exchange looks, before nodding.

“Alright, but if you need anything please don’t hesitate to reach out…” Ganyu says sweetly.

“And don’t hesitate to call out my name.” Xiao says after.

You smile at both of them, “of course.”

Yelan grabs your wrist gently once more pulling you away from the two, they watch you leave before Xiao blinks away and Ganyu takes off in the other direction. You didn’t worry about them telling others the truth, you trusted them the last time you were here and that trust still hasn’t faded.

“Alright,” Yelan breathes out once you two were alone, “we still have a ways to go before we reach the Harbor, let me tell you everything I know about the Fatui.

You and Yelan never made it to Liyue Habor before the sun started to go down. She had suggested that you should camp for the night and at first you tried to decline her offer but it’s been days since you had last rested so you stopped putting up a fight. The two of you found an abandoned camp, she cleans it up a bit to make it better for you despite you saying it wasn’t necessary.

“I am going to collect some fire wood Your Grace.”

“Oh, I can help you.”

She shakes her head, “no, you need to rest. I’ll be back in five.”

The moon was the only light source you had as Yelan walked off into the forest. You were worried about her of course, if the False Creator didn’t believe that you were dead that could put everyone’s life at risk that came in contact with you.

Not only that, the Fatui are aware of your presence, if they work under the Cryo Archon then they must’ve figured out due to you using your power’s yesterday. You let out a breath, you knew it was reckless to help that person but you still did it anyway, and now Lumine and Nahida could be in danger.

You bring your knees up to your chest hugging them, you just needed a few more days. As soon as you were aware of all the damage the False Creator caused and where they came from you will waste no time putting their reign to an end. You just hoped that everyone in Teyvat can hold out for a little longer.

A sound from outside startles you, it had only been two minutes since Yelan had left the camp.

“Yelan?” You call out softly, “did you get enough wood, if you bring it to me, I’ll light it.”

No response.

You raise a brow. “Yelan? Are you out there?”

The sound of grass crunching under someone’s feet causes you to go silent. You could hear their steps as they approached closer to the entrance. You stare as their shadow grows bigger and bigger and soon enough, they were in view.

It wasn’t Yelan, Xiao, or Ganyu.

He had long golden hair pulled into a braid, his clothes were just as odd as Lumine’s and just by staring at him, you knew he wasn’t from here originally.

“You Grace…” he whispers stepping inside the tent, he kneels down next to you resting his gloved hands on top of yours.

A small smile forms on his lips. “…I finally found you.”

-

-

-

Note: I figured out how I want the story to end and I realized there’s still a good amount to cover. So this and the next chapter are probably going to be the longest in the series.

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