#This will be on ao3 eventually...

[lostintransist]

Boys' Home - Part 1

Do I know where the hell this is going? No. I'm gonna do it anyways. I am a good enough writer to figure it out.

AO3

You don't know how you ended up like this. Sigh okay, you do know how you ended up as the unofficial boys' home this side of the the mountain ridge. You take in one boy who escaped from the cult miles into the woods and suddenly the surrounding counties are dumping them on you as they find them.

It helps that your great aunt left you her big old house when she passed. Helped even more that she left you a small stipend to keep up on the property taxes and the maintance. None of your cousins would talk to you after the will gave both to you and left them with only baubles. It wasn't like you were ever close, spread across the country like dandelion seeds flung on the wind. It stung none the less.

Seth had been six when you found him. He had stumbled right into your path as you had been on your leisurely walk. Breaking down crying as he knelt on the packed earth path, you could only stare. The dark crust around his nails and the hollowness of his cheeks told you everything you needed to know. This wouldn't be the first child found, dead or alive, in this part of the woods.

Crouching down next to him you slid your backpack off your back. Scrounging through it quickly you pulled out an electrolight drink and the trail mix you had packed for yourself.

"Hi kid, can you eat this for me?"

The clean streaks of his tears stab at your heart. His big brown eyes are desolate.

"I need someone to eat this for me, the chocolate makes my tummy hurt. Can you help?" You offer up the trailmix again.

He takes the bag as if you would snatch it back at any point. The tears in your heart weep for him. Waiting until he has had a few handfuls of the food you offer the opened drink. This he grabs fiercely sucking down too much too fast.

"Whoa, whoa there friend," your hand shoots out tipping the lip of the bottle from his mouth. "If you drink too fast it will make your tummy hurt."

The glare he gives you is truly impressive, one of the best you have ever seen.

"How about this. You hold onto both of these, but why not have some the next time we stop. I need you to come with me, okay?" You put on the smile you learned from watching preschool teachers at the school coax children through the doors. Even though you taught high schoolers the communities around the area were small enough that all the children were bussed into one central school. A big old building from the seventies housed everyone well enough.

He stood, the thinness of his frame igniting a rage that would have burned the whole forest down and the cult with it. He followed you, docile even with more tears streaking down his face, all the way to the car. You buckled him in and drove straight to the police station.

Sherriff Pallas was less helpful than a deer with chronic wasting.

"Well, your options are to take him home and wait to see if anyone claims him or I have to turn him over to the state, and we all know how the state takes care of kids like him."

You did know. You doubted there was a record of this child anywhere, the cult kept off the grid. It was doubtful he could read, and since he hadn't spoken a word to you didn't know enough about him to even guess at his education.

Rolling your lips between your teeth you stared at the man who only won the election because he was friends with the mayor.

"This is the reason a murderer could live here and no one would be the wiser Pallas."

The mustache twitched as he plucked the insult from your words. Not giving him time to respond you herded your new charge back to the car. A call to the local foster mom had secured two weeks' worth of clothes for the kid and a trip to the grocery store ensured that he would have cereal to munch on if you could get nothing else in him.

No one ever came for him. Eventually, he started to talk and open up. His name was Seth and his birthday was in the winter. You decided that he wanted a February birthday. He chose the 23rd. By the time school started back up you had registered him for a birth certificate with the help of the helpful woman at the county records department, and got him started on vaccines with his pediatrician.

Life moved on like it does, slowly Reggie (10), Sam (6), and Darren (6.5) joined you and Seth in the old house. You were listed as legal guardian for each of them and took that role seriously. You boys, as you called them, roamed the trees around the house until sunset on any day that wasn't cold enough to freeze them to death.

The third day of summer break you are hanging the sheets on the line. The first week off school always saw you deep cleaning the house as much as you could. Screams of children have your head snapping to the trees. Those were not screams of joy and laughter, but of fear.

They stumble out of the leaves before you can take two steps away from the line.

"Mum!" They all called you mum, said it was easier that way. You didn't object, secretly loving the trust of the title.

Sam, ever the boisterous one, got his words out first. "Mum! There are men in the woods! They are fixing the old house!"

The other boys layered their thoughts on top of his words. The old house was the dilapidated house almost a mile from your own. The boys were not allowed to go inside for fear of the floor giving way.

"Boys!" You raised your voice and your hands in a calm-down gesture, "One at a time please, you know my ears don't work good with loud noises."

"There are men! At the house!" Darren spits these words out before his brothers can jump in.

Seth next, "They were carrying out old furniture and piling it in a dumpster." Ever practical your oldest told you what he believed to be the most important information first. They weren't allowed in the building, so why were the men?

"Okay, so why the screaming?" You look from face to face, settling on Reggie.

"There were three men we could see, but then there was a skeleton in front of us and we all screamed and ran."

Brows nearly touching you tried to logic out what he could possibly mean by that. When the others nodded aggressively in agreement you decided you would need to take a look. Hands settled on your hips; you sighed and gestured for them to follow you.

The walk through the woods felt extremely ordinary, except for the boys clinging to your shirt and one onto your not-torn back pocket. They chattered and fought as they normally do until the house came into sight.

Well, they hadn't been completely wrong. There was a skeleton, but it appeared to only be a skull face plate in the hands of a monster of a man. He caught sight of you first and called over his shoulder causing another three men to appear like mice when you kicked the corn sack.

It looked like you had new neighbors.

Part 2

Masterlist AO3

[ryemiffie]

Guys.. Stan canonically writes fanfiction, presumably posting it to ao3.. I bet that man has got the ultimate author's curse notes

"Sorry I'm late to update guys! Got arrested by the federal government for stealing materials from them to rebuild an interdimensional portal to save my long lost twin brother! But hopefully things will be more consistent now that I'm done saving him!"

"My bad for this being so rushed, currently living through the literal apacolypse!"

"Didn't mean for this too take so long y'all, had to reread the whole fic to refresh my memory after getting my brain wiped to kill the demon who used to date my brother, y'all know how it is!"

[mel-kusanagi]

so i watched fallout because of these two, here's a wip 🙆‍♀️

[crabsnpersimmons]

New 'Do, Same You now on Ao3!!

it's here! my silly hairdresser AU that sparked from my silly page of doodles is now a fic!! i hope you'll give it a read!

In the mood for something new? Come on in for a new hairdo! Day or night, dusk or dawn, Find what you're looking for at the Shooting Star Salon!

EDIT: they're handing out coupons for the salon! 20% off all services! Not valid with other offers. Valid until end of January 2025. (some of them are drawn in crayon by Clip himself 🖍️)

[nyoomerr]

(cw for omegaverse and Gender Stuff. sfw/mature at worst)

---

It’s been many, many years since Luo Binghe spent his rut outside of a nest. He may not have ever had a proper mate, but ever since his rise in power he’s had no shortage of rut partners, and the intensity of his ruts often throw his partners into heat. An omega facing discomfort will instinctively create a nest, and an omega in heat will not be too picky about who it is that comes inside that nest.

So: Luo Binghe is used to spending his ruts in an omega’s nest, even if the nest is different each time. 

He hadn’t realized how used to it he’d become until he was staring down the full force of his rut and realizing that no nest had been created for him; that no nest would be created for him.

Shen Yuan is not an omega, after all. 

Surely, though - surely he would be one, if he’d been born a part of Luo Binghe’s world rather than snatched out of that terrible scentless one? Luo Binghe has never been able to get it up for anyone not actively expelling an omega’s ‘come hither’ scent, but all Shen Yuan has to do is smile at him, or scold him, or pitch his voice up into that spoiled whining tone - 

Surely, Luo Binghe would not feel such fierce attraction to Shen Yuan if the man was meant to be a beta. If Shen Yuan had been born in Luo Binghe’s world, he’d no doubt have all the instincts of an omega, and so he’d surely have been pushed into pre-heat by Luo Binghe’s oncoming rut, and so he’d have built a nest.

Put like that, Luo Binghe has an obligation to help Shen Yuan out. Shen Yuan should be building a nest right now, but he doesn’t know that he should be, or even how to build one, and it’s Luo Binghe’s job as his mate to instruct him. Luo Binghe will show Shen Yuan how to do it just this once - he has watched many omegas build their nests over his lifetime, so he knows how it’s meant to be done - and then the next time Luo Binghe enters his rut cycle, Shen Yuan will know how to do it himself.

“Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe calls, and then when Shen Yuan raises an expectant eyebrow, very quickly corrects himself: “Yuan-ge.”

“Is your rut in full swing, now?” Shen Yuan asks, and Luo Binghe swallows thickly as he catches the way Shen Yuan casts a nervous glance below Luo Binghe’s belt. 

Shen Yuan hasn’t been… hesitant, really, but he has been clearly nervous to spend Luo Binghe’s rut with him. Luo Binghe isn’t willing to look too closely at the feelings that inspires in him: both Shen Yuan’s nervousness, and the fact that Shen Yuan is still here in Luo Binghe’s rooms despite it.

“Not yet - I’ll still be fully conscious until tomorrow morning, most likely.” Luo Binghe answers, almost absentmindedly. He has to teach Shen Yuan how to build a nest, but now his mind is stuck here, on Shen Yuan’s nerves and how to soothe them. He has to soothe them, he has to make sure his mate is safe and happy, he has to remove the threat -

Luo Binghe forcefully shakes the thought away. His instincts have been prickling at him nonstop like this for the past several days; a side effect of knowing that his upcoming rut will be spent with a proper mate rather than a simple bed partner. 

Shen Yuan has already expressed his dissatisfaction about Luo Binghe’s foolish instinct-driven behaviors this morning when Luo Binghe had dragged him out of bed and into the kitchens so he could keep Shen Yuan in sight while still providing his mate with a good meal. If Luo Binghe’s instincts make him do something unnecessary that causes Shen Yuan to complain again, then Luo Binghe really won’t be able to take it. The panic that had flared through him at potentially offending Shen Yuan so close to a time when Luo Binghe needed him had been… distinctly unpleasant.

So: a nest. Shen Yuan’s nest, which will be built by Luo Binghe just this once, and which will both settle some of Luo Binghe’s uncertainty by giving him a point of familiarity and, hopefully, soothe some of Shen Yuan’s nerves. After all, even if Shen Yuan doesn’t possess omegan instincts, who isn’t soothed by a nice nest?

Luo Binghe clears his throat. ���Before my rut begins, I wanted to show Yuan-ge how to build a nest.”

Shen Yuan raises his sleeves up to obscure half his expression, a habit he’d picked up after Luo Binghe had confiscated all the fans he’d been using to hide his face previously.

(Luo Binghe had not confiscated them because Shen Yuan had hidden behind them. Luo Binghe in fact finds Shen Yuan particularly easy to read when he’s trying to hide something, and especially cute when he thinks he’s getting away with it. 

Luo Binghe had taken all those dreadful fans away because Shen Yuan would not stop fanning himself with them, which - while indeed is the point of such an object - had been the cause of one of the bloodiest court sessions in the history of Luo Binghe’s reign, when Luo Binghe had caught the way some of his petitioners had been so clearly trying to get a whiff of the scent that Shen Yuan was blowing about with his fan.

It made no difference that Shen Yuan did not actually have a scent to blow around, outside of the smell of human sweat and the soft milky tones of the soaps Luo Binghe commissions for him. The insult of looking for Shen Yuan’s scent had been enough.

No more fans.)

“A nest as in… like, what an omega builds?” Shen Yuan asks cautiously. Luo Binghe nods, and Shen Yuan raises his sleeves higher. “And Binghe remembers that I’m not an omega, correct?”

Luo Binghe waves a hand dismissively. He does know this, even if he also believes that Shen Yuan should be an omega nonetheless.

“A nest helps to soothe nerves,” Luo Binghe says in place of his thoughts on what his attraction to Shen Yuan must surely indicate about Shen Yuan’s secondary gender. 

Shen Yuan watches him for a long moment, considering. “...Is Binghe nervous?” He eventually asks, and Luo Binghe is startled by the force of his defensiveness at being asked such a thing.

“No,” Luo Binghe says, voice carefully measured. He counts the spaces between his breaths - in for four, out for eight - and reminds himself that he isn’t nervous. He already knows Shen Yuan enjoys laying with him outside of ruts. Shen Yuan’s own nerves will be soothed by the nest, and then Shen Yuan will enjoy spending Luo Binghe’s rut with him, and Luo Binghe will be able to please his mate quite thoroughly.

“Hm,” Shen Yuan says. “Alright. What do you - er, what do I - need for a nest?”

Luo Binghe feels tension slip from his shoulders. Good, good; Shen Yuan will build a nest. 

“Yuan-ge should go grab his dirty robes, and one of mine if you want,” he instructs. “It will be most comforting if it’s mostly made up of your own scent, with only some of your mate’s, and it’s already going to have a lot of mine from the bed sheets themselves.”

It’s impossible to sleep on a bed without scenting it to some degree; the bed Luo Binghe shares with Shen Yuan will always smell more like Luo Binghe than anything else since Shen Yuan doesn’t have the scent glands to rub off on it to begin with.

“Alright,” Shen Yuan says, even though his nose wrinkles when Luo Binghe mentions the dirty laundry. “And while I do that, Binghe should start on the base of the nest, okay?”

Luo Binghe frowns. That doesn’t sound right. Shen Yuan is supposed to be the one learning how to make a nest, because it’s an omega thing to make a nest. If Shen Yuan isn’t present while Luo Binghe works on it, how can Shen Yuan learn?

Shen Yuan hums, reaching up to rest the palm of his hand on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck. Instinctively, Luo Binghe shifts so that Shen Yuan’s wrist rests properly on the scent gland there; even without Shen Yuan having a proper scent of his own, it’s a pleasant sensation. 

“Good,” Shen Yuan praises him, voice soft. “Now I’ll go paw through our dirty laundry, and you’ll go work on the sheets.”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe agrees, and turns to go and do just that. 

Luo Binghe starting the nest by himself turns out to be a good thing, in the end - he’s never built one before, only ever watching his rut partners do it, so it takes some trial and error to figure out how to create the shapes he wants with the sheets. Shen Yuan wouldn’t learn anything watching Luo Binghe place and replace the sheets and pillows like this, struggling to figure out how to get things to lay just right. 

Luo Binghe has to teach Shen Yuan the right way to build a nest, after all. He knows that what makes for a good nest can be subjective to each omega, but Luo Binghe has always had his own opinions about the nests that his rut partners have made. Surely, as an alpha, the opinions that Luo Binghe has had are the result of finding an objective common denominator from all the various nests he’s slept in. And if Luo Binghe can recreate what feels good for an alpha, then that would give Shen Yuan a good base to customize the nest to his own liking without much trial and error of his own.

By the time Shen Yuan joins him at their bedside, Luo Binghe is quite pleased with himself. It isn’t a good nest yet - it needs their robes for that - but it’s -

“Very good, Binghe,” Shen Yuan praises. Luo Binghe all but preens; it’s a good nest, so it’s sure to ease Shen Yuan’s nerves once it’s done. “Now show me what you’re meant to do with the dirty robes, hm?”

Luo Binghe takes the robes from Shen Yuan - there’s more of Luo Binghe’s clothes than Shen Yuan’s, but Luo Binghe supposes that perhaps the scent distribution doesn’t matter too much for Shen Yuan’s beta nose - and begins working them into the nest.

“This is for - an air current,” Luo Binghe explains haltingly. He’s never had to put into words why certain things make a nest good, but he’s sure that he’s right about some things being an objective common denominator, and that means there’s an explanation for why. “We get air from the window on that side of the room, so the air needs to be directed through the nest like this.”

“To give us fresh air?”

“No,” Luo Binghe snarls, his claws tearing into the robe he’s holding as he goes tense. Then he realizes what he’s done and forces himself to drop the robe, counting his breaths again - in for four, out for eight, in for -

“Ah, Binghe… the rut is coming in sooner than you expected, isn’t it?” Shen Yuan murmurs, bending down to pick up the robe. Luo Binghe watches him warily; of course Shen Yuan can pick up the robe, because this is Shen Yuan’s nest.

He still feels relieved when Shen Yuan hands the robe back to him. He hasn’t finished teaching Shen Yuan how to make a nest yet, after all. 

“No fresh air,” Luo Binghe says, firmly but without the growl this time. 

He chooses to ignore Shen Yuan’s comment about the timing of his rut. It doesn’t actually feel like his rut is settling in upon him, but he feels so - untethered, and yet pulled taught at the same time - and he isn’t sure what else it would be. 

“Alright,” Shen Yuan agrees. “Air flow for what, then?”

“For -” Luo Binghe gestures with one hand jerkily, eyes firmly on where he’s still working the robe into their nest with the other. 

…Into Shen Yuan’s nest, he means.

“- for air flow in the opposite direction,” Luo Binghe eventually gets out. “The window will carry in foreign scents, no matter how tightly it’s closed. This is to keep that out.”

That much Luo Binghe does know for certain as an alpha; it isn’t uncommon for young alphas to start brawls with their neighbors just because their scent wafts in under a door frame. 

“Very smart,” Shen Yuan says, handing Luo Binghe another robe. 

Luo Binghe takes it, but the thought of adding it to the nest makes his teeth itch, and after a moment he hands it back. He doesn’t know if the nest is done, yet - he doesn't have the omega instincts to know - but he needs to come up with a reason to explain why and when the nest is done, because this is the nest that Shen Yuan is learning from.

Shen Yuan catches his arm, and Luo Binghe only barely doesn’t startle.

“Perhaps Binghe would know if his nest is done if he gets inside it?” Shen Yuan asks gently. 

Luo Binghe nods. Yes, yes - maybe his rut really is settling in early, if he can’t even think clearly enough to come up with the idea of getting inside the nest to check it on his own. 

He gets into the nest. He can’t - his memories of nests are usually when lying down, or when hovered over his rut partner, so he can’t compare this nest to the ones in his memories while sitting upright. 

He lays down. The nest is - 

“It’s done,” Luo Binghe says thickly. “It’s - I know Yuan-ge doesn’t like to hear about my past partners, but they’ve helped Yuan-ge today.”

The nest is better than any nest Luo Binghe has ever been in. He must have been right that observing so many omega’s nests would let Luo Binghe objectively build the best one, even as an alpha. 

“Can I come in?” Shen Yuan asks, peering down at Luo Binghe from the edge of the bed. He’s raised his hands to partially hide his face with his sleeves again, and for once Luo Binghe really has no idea what kind of face Shen Yuan is making. 

“Of course,” Luo Binghe says. “Didn’t this lord make the nest for you, so that you could learn how to for the future?”

“Mn,” Shen Yuan says, which is neither an agreement or a disagreement, but he does carefully join Luo Binghe in the nest. “Binghe was right; a nest does help with nerves, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe says, feeling relieved. The prickling in the back of his mind - the instinctual urge to figure out how to help his mate feel better about joining Luo Binghe through his rut - fades. 

Shen Yuan shifts, turning to face Luo Binghe in the nest. He watches Luo Binghe for a long moment, and Luo Binghe watches him back, his heart beating rabbit fast in his chest. Is something wrong with the nest? It’s - it’s perfect, but Luo Binghe isn’t an omega, so maybe Shen Yuan noticed something that Luo Binghe didn’t, or -

Shen Yuan brings his hand up to rest on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck, a mirror of the way he’d soothed Luo Binghe earlier. He still isn’t resting his wrist in quite the right spot, but Luo Binghe can’t bring himself to be upset about it. The fact that Shen Yuan tries, despite lacking all the instincts that Luo Binghe himself has, is enough to soothe Luo Binghe in place of any calming omega scent.

Still, Luo Binghe begins to move so that Shen Yuan’s wrist is resting in the right spot. Before he can, though, Shen Yuan - still watching Luo Binghe so very, very carefully - shifts his grip on Luo Binghe’s neck and squeezes.

Luo Binghe goes still. That isn’t - it isn’t the way an omega would scent an alpha. It isn’t quite anything, really, since Shen Yuan is a beta without the instincts to guide this type of action or the scent to back it up, but -

But it’s very, very close to the way an alpha might scruff an omega to calm them down. 

Luo Binghe’s breath hitches. His hands curl into tight fists around the front of Shen Yuan’s robes - robes that Luo Binghe had commissioned personally, because he’s an alpha, and because it’s an alpha’s job to provide for their mate in those sorts of ways. 

He gets an immense amount of satisfaction from doing so, too, just the same way he feels nearly gorged on pride and pleasure from caring for Shen Yuan in all sorts of other alpha ways. Feeding him, protecting him, showing off his martial skill - Luo Binghe loves being a good alpha for Shen Yuan. 

He finds himself nearly distraught at how much he loves being scruffed like an omega, too. 

“Ah, Binghe…” Shen Yuan tuts, even as he squeezes his hand tight on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck, grounding him. “What are those wet eyes for? Did your Yuan-gege not already tell you? I’m not from this world, so what the hell do I know about any of this secondary gender stuff?”

Luo Binghe looks at Shen Yuan helplessly. He knows for a fact that Shen Yuan understands scruffing to be a thing done exclusively to omegas; Shen Yuan had asked about it after catching the way that Luo Binghe had been watching a couple showing off their fresh bonds at a tea house they’d visited. 

Luo Binghe had only watched because he’d wished it to be the sort of thing he could do to Shen Yuan. He - he’d only -

Shen Yuan squeezes again. Luo Binghe goes limp. There’s a tightness in his throat, similar to the feeling right before Luo Binghe growls but far more gentle. 

“I don’t know jack shit about this secondary gender stuff,” Shen Yuan says again, “so I’m just doing whatever I feel like, okay? As - uh, as in, I’m just doing stuff from my world.”

“...Mn,” Luo Binghe says weakly. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Binghe being an alpha or anything else,” Shen Yuan reiterates. “So Binghe doesn’t have to think about it in those terms.”

“...Mn,” Luo Binghe says again, even more quietly. 

“...But if you want to think about it that way,” Shen Yuan says cautiously, “then because I’m not from this world, I wouldn’t know any better.”

Luo Binghe takes a deep, shuddering breath. He knew, distantly, that his rut was going to be… difficult, this time around. He knew that his instincts would be working overtime at the thought of having a real mate, and he knew it would be hard to reconcile his own intensity with the fact that Shen Yuan is barely even a beta by this world’s standards. 

He also knew that the shape of his relationship with Shen Yuan would make this rut especially difficult, not just the existence of it. Shen Yuan, his Yuan-ge, his would-have-been-Shizun in another lifetime…

No, even without the titles, Shen Yuan has power over Luo Binghe in a way that no one else ever has. It had been a difficult thing to come to terms with to begin with - and Luo Binghe still feels shame at the way he’d bitten and snapped at Shen Yuan in a panicked attempt to feel like he was still in charge of the relationship after realizing that Shen Yuan had managed to leash him so thoroughly - and that had been when Luo Binghe was in a normal state of mind. Of course that internal struggle would rear its ugly head again when Luo Binghe entered his rut, when his alpha instincts became so much more intense.

He hadn’t expected it to take this exact shape, though. He hadn’t expected to be the one to start it, by building a nest that neither he nor Shen Yuan should ever need. 

Shen Yuan is still watching him, he knows. The grip on the back of Luo Binghe’s neck has loosened, giving Luo Binghe room to think. 

He wants very much for the pressure to return and make it so he doesn’t have to think about anything anymore.

“Since Yuan-ge isn’t from this world,” Luo Binghe says slowly, “I should… inform you about what is expected from my rut.”

“You should,” Shen Yuan agrees with no small amount of grace, considering that he’d already spent the last two weeks anxiously pestering Luo Binghe to get all sorts of details about how alphas behave during rut. 

“During my rut, I won’t be in a clear state of mind,” Luo Binghe continues. “It’s important that an alpha not hurt their mate even in that state, so -”

Luo Binghe breaks off. His jaw clicks as he figures out how to say the next part; if he can say the next part. He is an alpha, even if the dynamics of his relationship with Shen Yuan don’t match those of any other relationship he’s held. 

Shen Yuan moves his thumb to gently slide up and down the column of Luo Binghe’s neck, drawing Luo Binghe’s attention back to the way Shen Yuan is still lightly scruffing him. Luo Binghe breathes out carefully through his nose.

“To not hurt their mate, an alpha might be better off on the receiving end,” Luo Binghe manages to get out. “Even if - even if I cry about wanting to knot you, Yuan-ge can just squeeze with his hands.”

It’s a lie. Shen Yuan knows it’s a lie. No alpha ever would allow their partner to be the one on top during their rut. 

“Good boy, Binghe,” Shen Yuan croons, squeezing Luo Binghe’s neck again. “You’re a very good alpha, thinking about how to keep me safe.”

Luo Binghe’s throat feels tight again. He realizes, so distantly it might have been the thought of another person, that he is trying to purr like an omega despite not physically being able to do so. 

“Is there anything else you should tell your Yuan-ge about your rut?” Shen Yuan asks, and Luo Binghe shakes his head wordlessly.

There’s more that he wants to say, but he doesn’t have the words for it. He might never have the words for it. Already, this feels like too much. 

“Alright,” Shen Yuan says. “That’s okay. You can tell me more next time, okay?”

Luo Binghe nods weakly, clutching tightly to the front of Shen Yuan’s robes. Next time, next time - 

Yes, Shen Yuan is Luo Binghe’s mate, no matter the world he came from or the way it prevents Shen Yuan from actually bearing a proper mating bite. There will be more ruts they spend together in the future. 

“Next time,” Luo Binghe agrees, and leans into Shen Yuan’s touch.

[imaredshirt]

Give me a Stan who thinks Fiddleford doesn't know how to throw a punch, much less defend himself in a fight with your average goon, so one morning he takes it upon himself to show the nerd a few basic jabs and hooks and maybe an uppercut or two behind the cabin, because let's face it, there's gonna be a time when Stan can't be there to take a hit for the guy or defend his nerd butt. So he's gonna teach him some stuff for his own peace of mind.

Fiddleford just kind of genially goes along with it, following Stan around the back of the cabin and watching with hands on his hips and a smile as Stan gets into position.

"This is one of the most basic punches in the world, so pay attention, 'cause I'm not gonna show you again," Stan says, knees slightly bent and fists up.

Fidds nods. "You've got my full attention, Stanley."

Stan isn't sure if he's imagining the way Fidds is eyeing him up and down, but he automatically flexes his arms a little more than he needs to. Up ahead, Ford is sitting on a tree stump and taking samples of the air or something (Stan had stopped listening to Ford's explanation once his words went from interesting to Big Science Shit that Stanley Does NOT Care About) and he's watching them with this amused grin, rolling his eyes skyward when Stan won't stop flexing and showing his arms off.

Stan ignores him and rolls his shoulders before jabbing his fists forward in a quick one-two. "There - you catch that?"

Fidds has got his arms crossed now and gives Stan a thumbs up. "Sure did!"

"See, just like this," Stan says, and shows him again despite saying earlier that he wouldn't.

He shows him a few more punches, going over each one a couple times before telling the engineer to mirror him, even getting in close to adjust the guy's scrawny arms and balled fists. He's being real professional about it and everything and doesn't understand why Ford keeps grinning and shaking his head at them, which is making him a little incensed but he stamps it down because Fidds is watching him with this nerdy, dopey smile while letting himself be maneuvered around and he's gotta learn to defend himself 'cause Stan can't stand the thought of some jerkwad wiping that smile off the nerd's face.

"See," he says near the end of the lesson, tapping his fist right against Fidds’s chin. "Do it right and your fist'll hit right here."

Fidds tilts his head a fraction at the touch. "Well alright then, seems easy enough."

"Yeah, like I said, if you do it right. Gimme your hand-" he takes Fidds’s wrist and taps the guy's balled fist against his own stubbly jaw. "Right here. You got that?"

Fidds nods. "Sure do!"

"Good." Stan drops Fidds’s wrist and gets into position again. "Then come on - lay one on me."

Fidds pulls back and blinks at him. "Come again?"

"Hit me!" Stan taps his jaw. "Right here!"

The guy suddenly looks nervous and galnces over at Ford for help. "Hit you? Stanley, I don't think-"

This is what Stan means. Fidds isn't always gonna be able to look to him or Ford to save him. He gets this weird, uncomfortable feeling in his chest at the thought of Fidds facing off against some asshat on his own, and that alone is enough to keep him from letting the guys off easy, if only to get rid of the weird feeling. Maybe a bit selfish but he doesn't care.

"Ah, come on, one little punch ain't gonna hurt ya, Fidds."

"I'm not worried about me," Fidds says, and then frowns when Stan barks a laugh.

"You think you're gonna hurt ME?"

Fidds is still frowning when Ford calls over in an amused, warning tone, "This is not a good idea, Stanely!"

"Just worry about your air test or whatever and leave us alone," Stan calls back. Ford shrugs and scribbles something in his journal, and when Stan turns back to Fidds, Fidds is finally getting into position.

He looks unsure, watching Stan nervously as Stan stands before him with his arms crossed.

"Hey, not bad form - you ready?"

"Well, I suppose so," Fidds says, accent coming in a little thicker than before. "Stan, if you're sure, I should probably warn ya-"

"Don't tell me nothing, just punch me!"

Fidds presses his lips into a line and throws his fist - and jabs Stan on the chin just hard enough to tilt Stan's head half an inch to the side.

"That's it?" Stan guffaws and shakes his head. "That was barely a tap!"

"I don't wanna hurt ya!" Fidds says, sounding so conflicted that Stan gets this urge to pull him into a headlock and ruffle his hair and drive the worry away.

Instead he riles him up.

"Please," he says. "Fidds, look - one of these days I'm not gonna be there to take a hit for you, and then what're you gonna do? Just let some jerk punch ya around?"

Fidds looks slightly perplexed. "Where is this all comin from? No, Stanley, I am NOT gonna just let some jerk punch me around."

"Good! So you gotta learn to defend yourself!" Fidds still looks unsure, so Stan tries a different angle. "Okay, how 'bout this - what if some jerks are beating up on me and Ford, huh? You're just gonna let em?"

Fidds looks up. "What? No, I am not!"

"You're gonna defend us?"

"Dangnabbit, Stan - of course I am!"

"Not gonna let us get our teeth kicked out?"

"What!? No!"

"Then show me!" Stan slaps a hand against his own chin. "Right here, come on! I'm some jerk who just threw your friend Stan to the ground and I'm about to kick him in the gut, what're ya gonna-"

The blow lands hard. Stan's head jerks to the side and he's thrown off balance, and he sees actual stars before his vision clears again and he realizes he's crumpled on the ground. His head swims as hands pull him around onto his back.

"Mother o pearl!" Fidds gasps. He's got his hands on Stan's face, careful touch at complete odds with the punch he'd just landed in the same place. "Are you alright? I am so sorry! I hit ya and you weren't even ready and - you just got me so riled up and I tried to tell ya and I shoulda said earlier instead o just lettin ya show me all those moves, but I just wanted to, well - goddangit, Ford, this ain't funny."

Ford's laughing as he comes up behind them, looking down at where Stan is staring kinda dazedly up at Fidds, who's kneeling by his side in the cool grass. "We did try to tell him, Fiddleford."

"Tell me what?" Stan demands. His jaw is already aching but Fidds’s hands feel kinda good so he doesn't tell him to move.

"Fiddleford was a boxing champion back back in his hometown," Ford says.

Stan blinks. "Bwuh-?"

"Not much of a champion," Fidds says with a wince, but he's blushing a bit as he goes on, "It was never anythin official, but - well, I did win more than a few matches at some backyard parties, see, and - well, people usually don't think I got any hittin power or can defend myself, but my Ma's been all too happy to teach me since I was little, and-"

The guy's rambling, and Stan quits being able to understand what he's saying half way through cause the accent is coming in thick and Ford’s chuckling and standing there looking proud of his best friend and Stan’s a little worried that he's still jarred from the hit, cause when he looks at Fidds kneeling there, one hand one Stan's chest and the other bashfully rubbing his neck while he rambles on - he's still seeing stars.

Later, while Stan sits in the living room with an bag of ice in his jaw and Fiddleford sitting next to him, still rambling about all the times he'd knocked a few guys into the mud in some backcountry hoedown get-together or whatever, Stan can lean back and relax and grin, knowing Fidds is gonna be just fine.

He can't wait to teach him wrestling.

[stevieschrodinger]

I do not have time to write this, but I really need to write it down.

All the events of Stranger things happen as normal - one crucial difference, Eddie gets involved, but not in the same way. He's an innocent by stander who never made friends with the kids. He's a vague background character to the action. He's an extra on set, effectively, and when he drops out of school and leaves town abruptly, someone might notice, but no one really questions it.

Years later, the only thing that feels real about the whole thing are the scars Steve still carries on his body. Sometimes, sometimes, he has to call Robin, just to check it was all real. That he hasn't lost his mind. He still flinches when a light flickers, to this day his ears ring for hours after a loud noise. He has headaches.

The only people he can talk to about it are Robin and the kids; but he feels bad. The kids aren't kids anymore, and they all seem to have just...gotten on with their lives. Seemed to have grown and evolved past it all, even though Steve regularly still wakes in the night, sweating and fighting with his bed covers. He doesn't put that on them, he sounds happy on the phone, and he is, loves hearing about their lives, their relationships, their plans and their own kids.

Robin has a girlfriend, she's happy and settled. Steve's the only one who seems...stuck. Like he cant move past it. He bums around. Stays with Nancy for a while, then Robin. Visits Argyle, makes loose acquaintances and sofa surfs. Drifts, aimlessly, through life.

It's about time in his cycle to visit Robin, but the relationship is serious this time and she nags him to find his own place to stay near by - loosing patience with him when he fails to be motivated and finding it for him herself. It's tiny, the kind of place where the bed is also the couch and the TV rests on a short run of kitchen counter because there's no where else. Feels okay though.

Steve gets a job. Spends a day on foot, door to door, walking through town; lands in a record shop of all places, even though CD's have now well and truly taken hold and vinyl isn't much of a thing. It's dark inside, the walls painted black, the bare brick red. A couple of people browse through, but Steve heads right for the counter.

There's some screamo rock stuff playing that Steve doesn't recognize, but it's quiet, so it's okay.

Behind the counter, someone Steve half recognizes from another life. Eddie Munson, Freak of Hawkins High. What are the odds.

Eddie isn't who Steve remembers. He's angry now. Bitter. Has a horrible scar that creeps up his neck and onto his face, pulling the corner of his lip down. Steve does his best to ignore it. Begs for work.

Eddie employs him, but only because he thinks it's fucking funny how far the king has fallen. Now the king works for the jester.

Steve does his best at the shop. Cleans a lot. Gets on well with the customers, charms plenty of sales.

Eddie walks with a cane and seems to hate everyone and everything; but nothing so much as a cold morning. Seems to be in more pain than usual.

Steve wants to ask, Eddie tells him it was an animal attack. In 86.

Steve's seen some of the scars by now, caught glimpses of how bad Eddie was hurt; helped Eddie even when Eddie was spitting angry about accepting any help.

What the fuck kind of animal could do that much damage in Hawkins?

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

And Steve puts it together then, instantly and viscerally realizes in his bones what must have happened. No one ever believed Eddie. Why would they? How could anyone think that monsters coming out of the walls, out of the floors, out of glowing red portals could be the truth?

And Steve says, did it's face peel apart like a flower?

And then he tells Eddie. He tells Eddie everything. He shows Eddie his own scars. Tells him about every monster they ever come across. It was one of the demo dogs. Like Dart. Steve knew it must have been, but Eddie confirms with a description.

And then Eddie cries, because he finally has a explanation. He's not crazy. For the first time in his life, someone believes him.

[magicpiano]

When Tim is 10 years old his parents force him to go to some boring party in Metropolis held by Lex Luther. This would have been relatively normal if he hadn't ended the night kidnapping rescuing a clone of superman he found when he was snooping in the basement.

The good news is Tim is literally the last person Lex would suspect of stealing his clone, so he doesn't come looking (at least for a while.) Also Tim's parents are barely home! So with Superboy's powers he can easily stay quiet and hide. The Drakes don't even notice someone else living in their home.

The bad news is Tim has no idea how to take care of a super powered clone with no life experience (or even a name) when he himself is still a child. But whatever, at ten he is old enough to raise himself, so surely he is old enough to raise his new friend too?

Something, something, hijinks ensue, Tim is adopted by the batfam early and Clark steps up to be a dad.

[ancharan]

ive seen where those things have been, sixer

[thevoidstaredback]

Every man has his breaking point. Danny's is just a bit higher than everyone else's because he's a king and has a high tolerance for absolute bull shit. No matter how strong that bar is, though, one can only bend so far before snapping.

Unfortunately for everyone around him, Danny has reached his breaking point.

"I wish I could get drunk," he stared into his drink longingly, "Or high. But mostly drunk."

"Why do ya say that?" Billy asked, tilting his head curiously to the left.

Danny sighed, "It's a long story."

"I've got time." he shrugged.

"Are ya sure?" Danny raised an eyebrow. "You don't think any emergencies are gonna crop up? Nothing you'll need to go take care of?"

Billy backed off a little, folding into his seat. "What're you talking about? I'm just some kid on the street. I ain't going anywhere."

Danny rolled his head from side to side. "Mostly, I'm talking about the JL meeting the both of us are gonna skip out on tonight."

"What-?"

"C'mon, Captain, it won't do to talk here," he stood, picking up his coffee and waiting for Billy to do the same.

Billy's eyes narrowed as he looked Danny up and down. "I don't recognise you," he whispered, "Who are you."

Danny produced another calling card from his sleeve as he sipped his drink, holding it in front of himself but not handing it over. When Billy was looking at it, he flipped it over. The white background turned matte black, all the runes in the Ouroboros turning so white that they glowed. The DP in the very middle tinted blue, pulsing with toxic green energy, slightly cold to the touch. The edges started to frost over.

Quickly, Billy pulled the card Danny had given him before from the inner pocket of his jacket. It, too, had changed to match the one Danny held, though there was no longer a DP in the middle. Instead, it said 'Phantom' in fancy calligraphy.

"No way," the kid muttered, his expression awestruck, "Phantom? That's you? No shit?"

Danny chuckled, tucking the card away again, "No shit, kid. Don't tell anyone, though. You're the only one who knows."

"Really?" he squeaked.

"Really."

***

Having someone know his whole story was refreshing, just as he's sure Billy felt good to have someone know his, too. That didn't stop him from feeling bad about dumping it all on the poor kid.

"I still wish I could get drunk," Phantom lamented."

Constantine looked up from the book he was reading. "You can't get drunk?"

"Nope."

"How'd ya figure that one out, kid?"

"Please don't call me a kid."

That's not good. The blond marked the page before setting the book to the side. Phantom had never actually asked him to stop calling him a kid. "What's wrong?" He didn't normally do the whole 'feelings' things, but the was an exception.

Phantom sighed long and sad. He didn't look up from the carpet. "I told you they were going to ask invasive questions."

"Who was it?" It was more of a demand then a question.

"Red Robin,"

"Red- I thought you would've skipped town when we were done there? I sure as hell did."

"I know you did, but I decided to stick around for a bit. Wander, y'know? Red Robin caught up to me and would leave me alone."

Oh, oh no. Those were tears. Were they? Yeah, shit, they are! John is not equipped to handle this!

Phantom sniffled. "He asked me how I died."

Fuck.

John Constantine is not easy to anger. Sure, he gets tired, and irritated, and a whole slew of emotions, but he is very slow to anger.

Phantom, he knows, is not a child. The ghost can very much take care of himself in basically every way one could think of. He saved the world on his own, several times, when he was fourteen. He became a King and Protector when he was fourteen. He died when he was fourteen.

Right now, all he could see was the child who hadn't ever been properly laid to rest. It was hard not to call Phantom a child when he seemed so small, seeking comfort from anyone. Phantom was crying. He'd retreated to the House and locked himself in Constantine's room, only talking when he was ready to, but he'd waited to cry.

Phantom didn't like crying. Every person in the JLD knew this.

No. John Constantine is not quick to anger, but he is scary when he reaches that point. Batman might be the night and vengeance and all that shit, but John Constantine was wrathful.

He sat beside Phantom and let the ghost lean into him and cry. He didn't like dealing with feelings, but this was a child in need of comfort and he was the only one around to offer it. "Do you really want me to stop calling you 'kid'?"

A sniffle and a small head shake. "No."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"...sure."

"How old are you really? As a ghost, not as a human or a halfa. How old are you?"

"Fourteen." he mumbled, "I'll never be any older than fourteen, John," he was getting a bit hysterical now, "I'll never be any older than fourteen! I-I died and-and now I have to rule and-and people keep asking and no one believes me and-!" A sob cut him off, heavy with grief and wet with tears. He cried for hours, giving up on trying to form words. Constantine let him, ignoring the wet patches on his shirt. Eventually, Phantom's sobs died down into hiccups. "I didn't...I'm- I'm sorry."

"It's alright, mate," he meant it, really and truly.

Phantom rubbed his eyes, "I'm gonna go hide somewhere."

"Not gonna share where?"

"No, I want to be alone for a while." He paused at the door, "Whatever you're gonna do, will you leave Captain Marvel out of it?"

Odd request, but, "Alright," he nodded, "I'll talk to the others." And by 'talk', he means lecture. There are boundaries that one shouldn't cross, and not asking the dead how they died should've been obvious! With his League issued communicator, John called an emergency meeting in one hour, required attendance, barring Captain Marvel. First things first, though, he needed to talk to Deadman.

Part 7 Storyboard

Tag List:

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[erinwantstowrite]

Because he ages down, do you think in itsy bitsy Peter would remember being called Robin?

Damian: I'm Robin

Peter, immediately: No you're not! I'M Robin!! >:(

[quietly-sleeping]

@artsarasp i've been trying to work on this for two weeks now lmao. I'm calling it done.

Sitting across from the being occupying the body of his oldest friend was a daunting experience, the memories of the “Scenario Pusher” haunted him. He could still feel it, the shattering of Xuan Su, the shattering of his soul. 

However, it wasn’t nearly as painful as the brief flash of what caused him to draw his sword, the large box with a short note. All it said was a name, but that was enough. Qi crackled through his meridians as his mind lingered on the vision of the box. The being was staring at him, it wasn’t smiling anymore. 

[Yue Qingyuan should not take any more Small Scenario Pushers.] The being was as close to frowning as Yue Qingyuan had seen it. It almost looked worried. “You have said that if we take these missions, you will restore Shen-shidi.” Yue Qingyuan nearly didn’t recognize his voice. It was flat, cold, broken.

[This system cannot allow Yue Qingyuan to continue.] The being was unnaturally still, even before Shen Qingqiu’s last major qi deviation, he was always moving, waving his fan, running his fingers along the edges of his robes. The Shen Qingqiu after the qi deviation was always moving as well, the being that wore his shidi’s face was still. 

“Why.” Yue Qingyuan just wanted this to stop, Mu Qingfang, Liu Qingge, and even Shang Qinghua had seen things because of this creature. Yue Qingyuan had never seen Mu Qingfang like that before, distraught and inconsolable, sobbing about a disaster and injuries he couldn’t heal. [This system has calculated that if Yue Qingyuan continues to take missions, he will continue to act OOC. This system cannot allow this.] 

Yue Qingyuan ignored the bite of his nails as they dug into the meat of his palms, “You’ve said this before, what does OOC mean?” Calm, he will remain calm, he will not lash out at the being holding his shidi’s body captive. [OOC is the act of a character acting outside of its setting.] The being’s face slowly returned to the unnatural smile it typically boasted. 

“Is that what we are to you? Characters in a story?” Yue Qingyuan couldn’t understand this being. [This system cannot answer that.] The being had its smile back, but the longer Yue Qingyuan stared, the more certain he was that he could see something in its face twitching. 

“Do you truly believe that we are static characters unable to change?” Yue Qingyuan barely held back the roiling fury in his body, the emotion was choking him, and his skin stung as his nails drew blood. [Characters are capable of change, however, large leaps of setting…can cause…] 

The being’s words stuttered to a stop, eyes blank as it stared at something over Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder. [Warning!] Yue Qingyuan flinched back as the being’s voice changed, so much louder and higher in pitch. [Unknown power is interfering with–] Yue Qingyuan jerked up, the being was choking on blood. 

“Call Mu Qingfang!” Yue Qingyuan yelled. Disciples were waiting outside the room and startled into action at the call of their Sect Leader, their feet thumping heavily on the ground as they rushed away. Blood was dripping from the being's mouth and eyes as it choked. Yue Qingyuan lunged around the table to reach for the being. 

But once his hand touched its robes, Yue Qingyuan’s vision stuttered. 

He wasn’t standing in the same room. Instead, he was standing in a butchered version of the bamboo house. He couldn’t recognize the materials or style the bamboo house had been combined with, it didn’t matter though, since he could see the man sitting on the bed. 

The man wore the greens and teals of Qing Jing, Yue Qingyuan lunged closer, desperate to touch and confirm it was Shen Jiu. However, as his hands landed on the man’s arms, all he could see were the differences between this man and the Shen Jiu he grew up with. His eyes, silently shedding tears as he stared down at something glowing in his lap, were brown, his lips, red and bitten, were fuller than Shen Jiu’s. 

Something jerked in Yue Qingyuan’s chest as he realized this man, the man inside Shen Jiu’s body, wasn’t the Shen Jiu Yue Qingyuan knew. This was a stranger. Yue Qingyuan’s hands flexed on his arms, fighting between the instinct to let go and the desire to shake him for information. Where was his Xiao Jiu, how long had this stranger been in his body? 

No, Yue Qingyuan knew how long, knew it with a certainty that rotted in the pits of his stomach. Yue Qingyuan’s hands tightened on the man’s arms, he didn’t know this man, this imposter wearing his shidi’s skin. However, as the man shuddered and curled over the glowing book in his lap, something in Yue Qingyuan reacted. 

It was an instinct ingrained in him since childhood since he could recognize the youth clinging to the faces covered in dirt, since he knew that the way they grew up wasn’t right. His hands curled around the man’s back, bringing this fake to lean against his chest. 

Yue Qingyuan very rarely felt revulsion when faced with people. Yet, with this man that he knew under the guise of his shidi, he couldn’t help the sickening jolt in his chest. Even as he smoothed a hand down the crying man’s back, he wished that instead of this man, it was Shen Jiu. He wished that the person they were struggling to free from the being was the man who truly owned the name Shen Qingqiu. 

“Why,” The man’s voice was rough, torn from silence the tears he’d shed. Yue Qingyuan grimaced, carefully rubbing the man’s back as hands came to lightly grip the front of his robes. “Why am I reading this endless tragedy? It makes no sense.” The man whispered. It didn’t seem like he expected Yue Qingyuan to respond, so he kept silent. 

Yue Qingyuan was staring at him, looking at the man’s vulnerable neck, it wouldn’t take much effort. Damaging the man while in his mind would deal a heavy blow. Would it be enough to allow Shen Jiu to take his body again? 

Was Shen Jiu even around? Had he left for good, like he thought Yue Qi had? Yue Qingyuan would deserve it, he’d deserve to be left behind because for months, years he had not known it wasn’t his shidi in his body. 

No. He did know, he knew this imposter took over Qing Jing Peak and his shidi’s body and said nothing. Because he was a coward, because he was selfish. He said nothing because he wanted the Shen Qingqiu who let him get close, who let him into his home without viciously digging his fingers into gaping wounds. The sect leader’s hand twitched from where it rested on the man’s back, the thought barely forming before the room around them shook.

He couldn't help the way his arms tightened around the man deliriously muttering to himself. It seems the qi deviation was getting worse, since blood was seeping through the walls, dripping steadily down them as the room shook again. Yue Qingyuan had pulled the man to his feet, keeping one arm around him as he eyed the effects of the qi deviation. 

Harming the man currently in the body of his shidi would only harm the body. Leaving the body’s cultivation unstable and potentially harming Shen Jiu’s chances of retaking his body. Hopefully, Mu-shidi has already reached them and is working to stabilize the qi deviation. Though, Yue Qingyuan thought with a grimace, he’d be thoroughly lectured on the dangers of touching a cultivator going through a qi deviation without knowing what kind it was or what caused it. 

Yue Qingyuan shuffled the man in his arms away from the bleeding walls as the room shuddered, glancing around he froze as he heard something other than the mumbles of the other man. Don’t you dare.

It hissed in his mind, the familiar tone freezing the blood in Yue Qingyuan’s veins. “Xiao Jiu?” He whispered, his eyes flicking around the room, desperate to catch a glance of the man’s silhouette. 

Don’t call me that. The voice snapped, it was him. Yue Qingyuan could feel everything in him relax for a moment. Even as the voice of his shidi hissed at him. It was fine, anything to prove Shen Jiu was still around. 

Now get out of here. Yue Qingyuan couldn’t see Shen Jiu, he could only see the blood dripping down the walls as they shuddered. “Shen-shidi,” He forced out, “Where are you?” Are you blind as well as stupid, Zhangmen-shixiong? The mocking voice slithered down his spine as he felt something grasp the back of his robes. It wasn’t the man in his arms, he was still clinging to the front of his robes with both hands. 

Yue Qingyuan went to turn, to see his shidi again after so long, but Shen Jiu’s voice stopped him dead. Don’t look. The hand tightened, and he could feel the tips of the fingers scratch against him. 

Listen to me. Shen Jiu said as if Yue Qingyuan wasn’t hanging onto every word, breathing them in almost greedily. You will leave here, and you will tell no one that it isn’t me you are trying to get back into control of this body. His voice was as close to calm as Yue Qingyuan had heard it in years. It lacked the usual undertone of mocking or derision, it made his eyes burn.

“Shen-shidi,” He wanted to complain, to beg his shidi, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth in front of Shen Jiu. You will listen. He hissed, something heavy coming to rest on the center of Yue Qingyuan’s back. He longed to press back into the feel of his shidi’s forehead, but the man in his arms kept him still. 

I may hate this, Shen Jiu began, However, I prefer this little idiot in control of our body to the machine keeping him hostage.  Shen Jiu’s words were nearly lost to the renewed shaking of the walls around them. Yue Qingyuan kept his eyes forward, but he ached to turn around. 

“Shen-shidi,” He began again, cut off by a sound of frustration from the man behind him. Shut up. If you don’t have to explain yourself, neither do I. The weight of his forehead vanished from Yue Qingyuan’s back and suddenly he was hanging on by a thread, only the weight of the hand twisted into the back of his robes holding him together. “I-” He couldn’t speak, nothing made it out of his tightened throat.

He tightened his grip on the man in his arms, at some point he had fallen silent, quietly resting for just a moment. Ask him his name. Was the last thing Yue Qingyuan heard before everything faded out.

It was just him, floating and lost in the darkness for the barest moments before he was falling into consciousness again. He snapped awake, sitting up quickly. It took only a moment to register where he was before he got up and left the private room on Qian Cao. He felt renewed and worn down. 

He couldn’t bring himself to be furious with the imposter in Shen Jiu’s body, not even the disgust and revulsion were there anymore. He was furious instead, with the being. The System. His shidi was in there, and he wanted Yue Qingyuan to bring him back. To give him back control over the body he was in. 

Yue Qingyuan could do it, he would do it. He would drag the being out of his shidi’s body and destroy it if he had to. And once the being was gone, he could begin to look for a way to separate souls. Two souls shouldn’t have to share a body, and Yue Qingyuan was willing to dig out Tianlang-jun if he must to build another body for the imposter. 

[cowboygenesis]

1/2 fatum invenit | gale x reader

part 1 of the "fatum" mini-series.

summary: you've loathed each other since the dawn of his first arrival. it never should've worked, but somehow, as you find yourself chest-to-chest within a sunken crypt with no way out, your feelings finally surface— and Gods, do they cut deep.

pairing: gale dekarios x sorceress!durge!reader tags: fluff, angst, tons of cursing, mutual pining, forced proximity, enemies/rivals to lovers. word count: 5.3k notes: whew, here we are at last. if you've read "knuckle up" you might find the ending a little similar but... what can i say, im a softie. also, the durge aspect of the reader is truly very minimal, i just added it for the sake of flavor, whatevah... oh, and reader is super cheeky and generally curses a lot, im case that's something that bothers you. i want this to be a two-parter eventually, so expect some smut in the future chapter. as always, let me know what you think! enjoy! masterlist.

You… you fucking knew it. The one time in your life you decide to give a wizard the benefit of the doubt he… he screws you the fuck over.

It was supposed to be an easy job: infiltrate Kereska’s chapel, retrieve the relic Raphael demanded, and slip away unnoticed. Hey, no big deal— you’ve handled worse without breaking a sweat.

Most of your companions weren’t so eager to take on the devil’s dirty work after a night of drinking, so, you figured you’d tackle it solo. No problem. After all, you’d just returned home to Baldur’s Gate. The evening was warm, the streets thrummed with energy, and after a night of revelry, you were in a damn good mood.

So when Gale, with his calm, holier-than-thou attitude, offered to “assist,” you’d thought sure, why the Hells not?

And what a mistake that would turn out to be for you. Just as your gut had warned you, things ended up going sideways. All because of him.

You both had made it past the wards, the traps, and even those fucked up, undead necromancers that you hated dealing with—no thanks to Gale’s constant commentary on your spellcasting techniques. It was always some remark about how your magic was “undisciplined,” how you were “too reckless to be at your best.” Fuck, like you hadn’t been doing this shit for years, now.

Warranted, you weren’t exactly the nicest person, either. Meals at your camp were a battlefield of their own, filled with biting comments and passive-aggressive stares, often over trivial matters that had nothing to do with magic.

Plus, combat was no different. It rarely took more than a few minutes before you and Gale were mired in a heated debate over the “best course of action for the situation”. Naturally, these debates only added to the tension, making every encounter feel like a personal clash as opposed to a friendly discussion over technique.

You two were polar opposites, discordant, incompatible.

But you were an idiot, then. A dumb, tender-hearted idiot in a great mood who had hoped you two could eventually get along if the stars aligned just right. But that’s all hindsight.

After all the hard work, you had almost had it— your hand was just within reach of that damned necklace, caution thrown to the wind, when Gale decided to get fancy. A small “adjustment” to the magical aura surrounding the relic, he’d explained— something about minimizing risk and stabilizing the flow of the Weave so you could extract it safely.

You discarded the idea, of course; “fuck your tricks,” you had said (your actual words), rolled your eyes at him, and said goodbye to the remnants of your good mood as he reprimanded you like a teacher would a novice— and that, naturally, you weren’t.

Unlike him, you didn’t need a stack of tomes to inspectthis kind of arcane energy. It felt powerful and intricate, yes— but beneath it all, it was just a trick of the eye. The glowing, golden-tinged sphere wasn’t malevolent whatsoever, and instead served as a cheap ploy to repel those tempted by the artifact.

So, knowing what you knew, you reached for the relic despite his suggestion.

But, just as you were to lay a finger on it, he… he cast his fucking “safety” spell. And everything went to hell.

The forcefield around the necklace reacted— wildly. The air rippled in waves, the ground shifting beneath you, and suddenly, you were trapped in some kind of collapsed chamber beneath the chapel— cut off from the rest of the world, with no way out.

Worst of all, you were in heartbreaking proximity. The dugout was deep, but narrow, allowing you maybe a centimeter of privacy before your chest collided with his. And Gods, did that happen often. Any movement you made, your bodies would collide in one way or another, be it feeling his thigh rub against yours, grazing fingers, or smacking his chin— the last one being a complete accident on your part, of course.

And yes, as two magic-wielders would, you tried your luck. As it turned out, the stone binding your bodies together seemed to have a sort of Weave-repellent property that rendered your only functional skills worthless.

So, here you were, stuck with your arch-rival, and with every passing second, your frustration grew. It must have been half an hour since the disaster struck when you finally felt your head pound with frustration.

“Gale,” you sigh for the millionth time, “Are you even listening?”

He’s been doing a great job ignoring your commentary by seemingly occupying himself with analyzing your surroundings. Smart, sure, if it wasn’t for the simple fact he refused to collaborate with you whatsoever. After your initial scream-off, he seemed reluctant to give you the time of day again.

He finally clears his throat to speak, and you shoot him a glare in the dim light.

"You just had to do your thing, didn’t you?" he sighs.

“And you just had to show off,” you retort through a bitter snark.

Gale glances at you with narrowed eyes, yet his expression remains infuriatingly contained. “I was trying to prevent a catastrophe. If I hadn’t intervened, the entire chapel may have collapsed.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snap, “It collapsed on us instead. I’m so glad we avoided a disaster, Gale.”

He exhales slowly, then gives you a haphazard eye-roll. “Perhaps if you hadn’t rushed things—”

“Rushed things?” Your chest flares, making it collide with his. “I didn’t touch a damned thing. You’re the one who decided the Weave needed tuning or whatever other bullshit.”

Gale’s eyes narrow, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “You think I did this on purpose? I made the right choice. But you—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” You cut him off, “Honestly, fuck you, man. If you were half as concerned with doing a good job as you are with peacocking we wouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

He looks away, his jaw tightening. “Peacocking?”

“Yeah. Peacocking, showing off—Are you okay? I thought you were supposed to be the clever one.” You shrug in mock nonchalance, rolling your eyes as if the circumstances weren’t already driving you up the wall.

You feel Gale’s chest rise and fall with a steadying breath, the sort one might take when trying to stop themselves from saying something they’ll inevitably regret. When it came to containing his bubbling rage, he beat you to it every time.

His casual lilt, when it comes, makes your teeth grit. “Obviously.”

You groan loudly, letting the back of your head thud against the stone wall behind you. A tense silence falls between you, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing, a sound that seems to grow louder in the small space whenever conversation dies down.

“You would’ve been buried stone-cold dead under the rubble if I hadn’t cast that spell,” he mutters, and just like that, your patience snaps.

“I— I can’t believe you’re saying this to me,” Your words are sharp as daggers, eyes burning into his as you twist your body just enough to face him head-on. “The barrier was a ruse, Gale. A fake. I told you not to cast that damn spell—”

“And I suppose explanations are beneath someone of your obvious talents,” he snaps back, his words dripping with venom.

You glare at him, feeling your pulse quicken. “You’re a scholar— Gods, don’t you know this kind of illusory magic is Kereska’s whole thing?” you spit, watching his face aptly in hopes of catching a glimpse of something; remorse, sympathy, fuck, even just a bit of pity would satiate you.

But it never comes. His eyes bore into you with practiced reprimanding, and because he must see you on the precipice of breaking down, he continues to poke the metaphorical bear. “You should’ve waited.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where you became the authority on everything. In case you somehow overlooked it, I’ve been doing this for years without your lectures.”

“And look how well that’s worked out for you,” he retorts, his voice low, treacherous. There’s a mocking smile imbued on his face, and you quickly realize it makes you want to tackle him to the ground and claw it out yourself. If it wasn’t for the minimal space, you probably would’ve even attempted it. “This wasn’t some petty street magic. That relic was infused with layers of defense—complex protections you clearly didn’t even account for—”

“I knew what I was dealing with!” you hiss, pushing against the wall for leverage. You brush against his chest again, sending an electric jolt of tension through the confined space. “I didn’t need your over-calculated, pompous meddling. I had it under control until you—”

“Under control?” Gale’s voice rises, his frustration finally splintering through his quiet facade as he emits a burst of scornful laughter. “Do you even hear yourself? Your recklessness nearly got us killed!”

You scoff, pushing back even harder. “You’re so damn smug— acting like the world will end if you don’t micromanage every little detail, but guess what? You don’t always have the answer. And right now, we’re stuck— all because of your fucking arrogance.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then closes it, jaw tight, eyes blazing as he holds your gaze. For a second, you think he’s about to let loose another lecture, but instead, there’s silence—a strange, electricity-charged stillness that envelops you like a cold breeze.

You can’t speak. It crackles between you with a strain, thick enough to feel suffocating. Every breath you take only draws you closer to him, and somehow, it almost feels like the walls enveloping you have only grown thicker throughout your argument.

The closeness, the heat, the sheer intensity of the argument—it’s all too much, and yet, neither of you looks away once your gazes inevitably connect.

The wizard licks his bottom lip languidly, lips smacking as he seems to be taking you all in. His eyes scan over you, and somehow the fact makes you feel vulnerable.

Finally, he breaks the peace.

“If I’m so arrogant, why did you let me join you?”

His eyes are dark, but not just with frustration; they’re searching, questioning, as though he’s daring you to give an honest answer, knowing it’s something you can’t afford yourself right now.

“You asked me to let you come,” you bark out, pushing his chest with the heel of your hand, the contact sending a spark of heat through your outstretched arm. “I didn’t want you here. I figured we’d get through this, grab the necklace, and go our separate ways again. But no—you wanted to come. Play the hero, do all the dirty work, whatever your reasoning was.”

Gale doesn’t flinch at your words, but his eyes narrow slightly— they flicker to the space your bodies connect at, then back to your tautened face.

His gaze lingers on where your hand presses against his chest, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might back down. But instead, his jaw clenches, and when his eyes snap back to yours, there’s a fire behind them that ignites something deep in your gut.

“And you agreed,” he counters mockingly, the smile adorning his face making your head spin. “Why?”

The question hangs between you for a beat. You falter, mouth opening and closing without a reply.

He’s right. He’s fucking correct, and you hate it.

Why did you agree? You could’ve said no, barked back at him, insulted his stupid wizard frock— pushed him away with one of the countless options you had at your disposal.

But you didn’t. You let him come with you, willingly.

You clench your fists, pushing against the surge of discomfort bubbling in your belly. “Well, forgive me for being an optimist,” you mutter, voice tight. “I thought, for once, that maybe— Fuck. Maybe we could get through one fucking mission without trying to jump at each others’ throats.”

He exhales at your explanation, tilting his head to glance through the top of the crevasse and toward the chapel ceiling. You follow suit, albeit subtly, noticing the intricate engravings lining the skylight; in the dim light of the afternoon sun, they look elegant, beautiful, even. How didn’t you notice that when you first walked in?

“And how’s that going for us?” he asks suddenly, the smile curling at the edges of his mouth turning bitter.

You huff, running a hand through your hair. The condensation sticks to your fingers, and you can’t help the joyless chuckle that escapes your lips when you look at him again.

“Well, I don’t know,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders lazily. Your cynical laughter shifts into the shadow of a smile. Somehow, as he glances down at you, you find yourself with a pang in your chest that overshadows the frustration you’ve been drowning in— it’s deep, and resonant, and feels like it’s swallowing your heart whole when his dark eyes meet yours. “We still hate each other.”

The wizard exhales sharply through his nose, and strangely, you can’t seem to read his expression even as your eyes squint.

His gaze is fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken; you feel it best when his hot breath hits the sweat-slicked skin of your face as he leans in. It’s a slight, almost imperceptible gesture, yet just enough to make your breath hitch with… rage, aversion— or perhaps, most frighteningly, something else you’ve been pushing down for months since your first quarrel.

You’re forcefully dragged out of your stupor when the pad of his thumb grazes your palm— the touch sends a sharp, almost uncomfortable jolt of electricity down your spine, leaving you speechless as you chalk it up to an unfortunate accident. Nothing more, it couldn’t be.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, and though his tone is stiff, the words cut through your pause like a skilled blade.

It couldn’t be.

Your breath catches in your parched throat, heart pounding with a force that would surely reverberate through his body hadn’t his robe been so thick.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, each shallow breath you take only drawing you closer— or, at least, that’s exactly how it feels in the tiny space you’re being forced to share.

His thumb is still brushing your palm, slowly, gently, and deliberately enough that you cannot ascribe it to a simple accident anymore. For a second, your eyebrows arch and there’s this urge to pull away, something thrumming in your head and telling you to hold to principle.

But you don’t… you— you physically can’t. Not when he’s gazing down at you with… with patience. Understanding, maybe. But why?

A beat passes, then another. The tension coils so tight you almost want to scream to break it, and his gaze remains locked on yours, his palm grazing yours.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper.

“You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours. "You’re fucking with me. I… you hate me, Gale, I can’t—"

He glances down at you with a strange glint in his eyes, then exhales loudly again. Did you strike a nerve?

“Why do you always do this?” he questions with exasperation tugging at his tone. You feel his touch momentarily drop from yours, and in the heat of the moment, you find yourself missing it.

“What?” you blink, eyebrows furrowed.

“This,” He gestures between the two of you with a frustrated sigh. “You’re— you’re always picking fights with me. Always pushing, always assuming the worst—”

“I’m picking fights?” Your eyes narrow, the sneer coming back to your lips like armor. “You’ve been criticizing every godsdamn thing I’ve done since day one, making me feel inferior, questioning my skill— and now I’m the one picking fights?”

He shakes his head sharply, then sighs in frustration. When you look up, his eyes are locked on yours—deep brown with flecks of gold, catching the fractured sunlight streaming through the cracked skylight. You could drown in them, given the chance.

“No, that’s not— That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” He stops himself, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “You don’t— you just refuse to listen to me. When we fight, in camp— even now. The relic, that barrier, you— Gods, you always act instead of—”

“Don’t you dare paint me as the villain now,” you snap, bumping his chest with the pad of your palm again.

“You almost got us killed!” he bites back, “I don’t care for your talents if it means you don’t utilize them properly. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, raw talent doesn’t equal capability?”

Right.

Your lips purse, the pit in your stomach suddenly overpowering your ability to retort. It was a mistake— you should have known the niceties were a convenient gimmick to ascertain his position over you, and not an actual instance of humanity, for once.

But somehow, your false hopes only drive the wrath within you. You let the nausea overcome you and have it fuel your bitter tone as you finally find the power to speak up again.

“All you care about is being right— about having the last word against anyone who dares question your abilities,” you mutter, challenging his stern gaze with your own, “And the rest of us? We’re just supposed to sit by and watch, grateful to be in the presence of Gale Dekarios, the great, tragic wizard who thought his tricks could satiate a fucking Goddess!”

You’re fuming. The words that come out of your throat are only half-baked as you shrill at him, but… but at the moment, it feels right— warranted, somehow.

So when you catch him give you the space to continue, you take it.

“…But the truth is, you need to feel superior. You need everyone to see you as the sleekest in the room because deep down, you’re still clinging to the ghost of a woman who abandoned you. And that’s why you’ve been picking me apart since day one—because I’m not afraid to tell you how full of shit you are.”

Suddenly, you feel his hand catch your wrist, his grip firm as he holds you still. His thumb presses lightly against your pulse, sending a sharp, unwanted jolt of awareness through your body as your arm tries to jerk away.

“You don’t know the first godsdamn thing about me,” Gale growls, his breath fanning your face as the words spill out, thick with venom. “You’re so wrapped up in your own insolence, so blinded by your stubborn pride, that all you can see in others is a reflection of yourself. And trust me when I say that it’s an ugly one.”

You laugh, a bitter, angry sound, but your heart is hammering now. “Oh, so you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

His jaw clenches, but his grip doesn’t waver. “I know enough. I know that your actions speak louder than words. I know that you’re reckless, impulsive, and too damned proud to admit when you need help—”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the heat between you scorching as your breaths mingle. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You’re the one who’s blinded by your own self-importance— always thinking you’re the wisest, savviest person in the room, like the rest of us are just pawns in your little fucking game.”

Gale’s eyes flash with something wild and uninhibited, and you watch his sneer shift into a bitter smile again.

“You— You really think that?” he questions through a chuckle, voice gravelly and low. “Do you really think I’m just using you for some game?”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. You sneer at him, and the outrage bubbles out again.

“Oh, don’t make me laugh. You’ve only ever looked out for yourself. This was never about helping me—it was… it was about proving something. To me, to yourself, to fucking Mystra,” you trail.

The moment the words leave your lips, the air shifts between you like a storm about to unravel. His grip on your wrist tightens, not painfully, but with a deliberate firmness that forces you to stop and feel the tension between you. His face is suddenly too close, and for the most succinct moment, you catch something flickering in his eyes—something dim, and dark—but not the rage you were expecting.

He should be angry with you— Hells, he should be furious. You just tore into every insecurity you knew he had, ripped open wounds that never quite healed, and worst of all, dragged his old lover into it all.

And yet… his gaze isn’t burning with the fever you’ve grown used to seeing from him in every argument, every fight.

Why the fuck isn’t he furious?

“Gods, I actually— I used to admire you. You know that? Before all this, I thought you were someone I could… I don’t know, respect. You were this brilliant, woeful man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I thought, ‘Maybe there’s something more underneath all that.’ I thought we could, I don’t know, actually be something—friends, allies, whatever the fuck. I wanted us to trust each other. But… but you…" your voice lowers to a near whisper, and somehow, unbeknownst to you, your eyes go glassy with hot tears.

You’re left reeling, heart hammering in your chest as your mind races along with your bitter confession. The air around you feels viscous, mucous-like, but when your throat goes dry with impending tears you look up to see something that makes your breath hitch.

He’s listening.

Not just waiting for his turn to speak as he usually does around you, not calculating his next clever retort, but listening— really, truly listening.

His gaze, once so sharp with ire, has softened. His dark eyes are fixed on yours with a vigor that nearly undoes you, and there’s no anger in them now, no resentment.

Your breath catches.

“You never gave me a chance, Gale. Not once. It was always about you, your guilt, your past, your Mystra— Fuck!” you cough out and rub your eyes with the pads of your palms, massaging your vulnerability away. “I tried. I really, really tried. But none of this seemed to reach you, not through that… that mental barrier you’ve created around yourself. I think that since the very beginning, everything else was just noise to you. I was just noise to you,” your voice dies down to a mutter, and you inhale sharply to fight the sorrow back into your grieving heart.

You withdraw your hands and finally feel brazen enough to face him.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, aware that your nose is red from the tears you tried so hard to hold back, that your eyelids are probably puffy and swollen, and you’re a fucking mess.

But it doesn’t matter now. You’ve come undone, and now, nothing mattered to you anymore; not the anger, not the sorrow, and especially not the way his kind, gentle touch seemed to soothe your aching heart when his palm met yours.

You scan his face, but there’s nothing— or at least, you can’t seem to read it through the coating of tears obscuring your eyes. The light above has shifted to cast his face in a warm, velvety light. You catch the subtle lines etched into his forehead, the faint silver threads streaking through his hair, and his lips curling into… a smile.

Despite your desperation, despite your pain, he was smiling.

Your chest tightens, fists clenching at your sides, and before you can stop them, a stream of hot tears finally spills down your cheeks.

This was it. You braced for impact.

“…So do whatever the fuck you need to fill that void in your heart, but don’t involve me in any of it. And— for fuck’s sake, Gale, don’t act like you give a shit about me because you—”

But you never get to finish.

Before you can witness the gentle glint in his eyes as he leans into you, before you can even register it, his lips crash onto yours.

Your gasp is muted against the softness of his mouth. When he moves, it’s not gentle, not soft, but raw in its intensity and so, so desperate.

His grip on your wrist tightens briefly before finally releasing, his free hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. The warmth of his hand is a pleasant change to the cold, hard stone you’ve been leaning against, and suddenly, just as your mind threatens to flood you with dopamine, it all dawns on you.

You’ve been here before—no, not here, but in moments that feel eerily alike.

You recall the edge in his voice during arguments, the way he’d insist on ‘rectifying’ you at every turn, the blunt critiques you assumed were borne from pure vanity. But now… now there’s a clarity to it all. Worry. Fear. A softness, a hesitation. Like when he would offer his hand to you after a fight, his fingers lingering just a moment too long as they brushed over yours.

You loathed him… Hells, you detested him.

But how deep were you willing to draw the line between hate and devotion?

Against all your instincts, against the sharp, burning ache in your chest—you drink him in. His warmth, his touch, the power behind it all.

You know you should push him away, shove him off, scream, but instead, you find yourself frozen— trapped in the certainty of this moment. And despite every ounce of fury burning inside you, you can’t deny the spark it ignites in your indigent heart as he caresses you so tenderly.

And with that, you seal your fate with his.

Your lips press against his, head tilting until you feel you’re melting into him. He groans softly against your mouth, and the sound makes your chest thrum with a melody you’re afraid to place.

Your hands, trembling, inch towards his chest, but this time they aren’t formed into spiteful fists or an accusatory point— your palms lay lax against him, resting at the junction of his ribs and pushing, pushing… just in hopes of catching the steady thrum of his heart against your fingertips. The anger, the pain, the confusion—it’s all still there, but in this moment, none of it matters.

Just him. Just this.

For all the times you’ve misread him, all the moments you thought his criticisms were barbs, meant to wound—now you wonder. You had mistaken his care for contempt, his frustration for hatred. But now, as his lips part slightly against yours, the world narrows down to just the two of you. No damned relic, no mission, no war; only the benign sensation of his hand cradling the back of your neck, the warmth of his mouth on yours, and the undeniable truth of it all:

You’ve never hated him. Not once in your rotten life.

And when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, you want to come undone. You’re tired, hot, melting into this fiery, passionate kiss that has slowly turned languid and gentle.

So despite the zeal enveloping your body, you’re finally forced to part.

When your eyes open, you find him already watching you. A shiver runs down your spine as you drink him in; tousled hair, half-lidded eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his plush lips as the both of you pant in tandem with each other.

He looks wrecked. But then again, you’re certain you do too.

Your face feels flushed, still burning with aftershock and when you bite your bottom lip, you find it swollen. Raw. The taste of him lingers there too, sweet like bourbon and sharp like anise.

You stare at each other. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time again, really seeing him, and it softens your heart as much as it terrifies your lust-addled mind.

The silence stretches between you, so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin. It pulls taut with every second, coiling tighter, and you can’t stand how fragile it makes your heart feel.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper. “You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky— you’ve never found that aspect of it attractive until now.

You open your mouth, but the words—whatever they are—die in your throat. Instead, all you can do is look at him and fall deeper into his embrace.

There are questions that swirl in the back of your mind, ones you know you should ask, but they slip away the moment his thumb brushes your cheek again. Why did he kiss you? Why did you let him? And why, despite the chaos and pain that’s passed through your mind, did this—he—feel like the only thing that has made sense since you forgot all else?

“I never hated you,” he murmurs and shifts slightly, lifting his hand to cup your cheek. You nuzzle into his touch.

“I didn’t want to hate you,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought it’s what we were meant to be. Enemies.”

“We aren’t,” The corner of his mouth twitches. “We never were.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and just like that, the fragile walls around your heart crumble. Gale Dekarios, the man you had sworn to hate, has somehow intertwined himself into your very existence in a way you suddenly think might last centuries.

—

As it turns out, the solution to your predicament was surprisingly, nearly embarrassingly straightforward. The anti-magic barrier encircling the sunken crypt could be dispelled by reciting the incantation inscribed on the rock walls— and with Gale’s surprising proficiency in Draconic, it proved quite an easy feat.

After that, it was just a matter of a few rudimentary spells. Naturally, the task took longer than anticipated, thanks to the lingering, newfound tension between you and the wizard— fleeting glances, soft touches, and even an occasional, stolen kiss as you recited your magic; things you surprisingly found yourself quite fond of.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you inhale deeply, savoring the crisp, refreshing breeze. The sunset paints the world in a warm, golden hue, casting long, soft shadows across the cobbled streets as you pass by groups of chattering townsfolk.

“I’ve been thinking,” you hear your companion muse through a playful smile. “After all of this, do you think we could avoid arguments for a little while?”

You meet his gaze with a puckish eye roll, a smile tugging at your still-swollen lips. The warm glow of the streetlights casts his face in a soft, intimate glow, and your smile widens into a grin when you catch his lips bearing that same sign of your carnal affection.

“It depends,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug, pushing against him playfully.

“Mhm, and on what exactly?” he hums, his hand squeezing tighter around yours. When his thumb caresses your palm, you feel your heart thrum with something you can’t quite describe.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, glancing up at him with a grin. He returns it within a beat, and now it’s your turn to knit your fingers tighter. “How much longer are you planning on nagging me?”

He chuckles from the belly, and the coil in your chest that you’ve long expected to be spite emerges as something much larger, softer, and most unexpected. You fear to name it out loud.

You smile when your gaze meets his, the warmth in his eyes mirrored by the softness of your own. He leans in, and the world narrows to the touch of his lips against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that seems to linger in the evening light. In that fleeting moment, all the doubts and anxieties are swept away with his voice calling your name.

“For as long as I live,” he retorts softly, his voice laced with tenderness as the air between you, once again, fills with his laughter.

[c4t1l1n4]

Hey, so you know that post I made earlier today?

Twins in Time AU but instead of 1982!Stanley getting sent back to the past he gets set to Post-Wierdmaggedon 2012 because I need him to get love and comfort from Ford.

Yeah, I wrote it. You can find the not beta'd version under the cut and I'll probably post the still-not-beta'd version on AO3 tomorrow.

You're A Hero, Stanley

A not really at all, but inspired by, Twins in Time AU ----- Stanford Pines is disassembling the portal when it happens.

The kids have gone home after their 13th birthday, and Stanley is out at the store getting groceries. They decided to take a few months to plan everything before setting out to sea. With Bill Cipher defeated and the portal dysfunctional, Ford had no reason to feel uncomfortable being in the basement alone. He's down there, disassembling it completely so it can't be remade when it turns on. He stares at it for a moment, something like fear coursing through his veins as his worst dreams come true.

There's no way that it should work. Parts are missing. The energy source is gone. In fact, Ford was almost done. He stares at the bunch of wires in his hands and the tools on the floor, then back at the blue glow of the portal. Suddenly, a figure falls out of it and crashes to the ground. Ford reaches for his gun, pointing it at the figure as they groan. The figure rights themselves, standing to their feet and looking around. Ford can't believe his eyes.

"Stanley?" He asks in confusion, lowering his gun.

The figure—assumedly Stanley—stares at him in a similar state of uncertainty. "Ford?" His voice rings out hesitantly.

"What happened to you? Are you okay?" Ford asks, rushing over to examine him. "Did something happen at the grocery store?"

"What are you talking about?" Stan says, reeling at the attention. "We were fighting, and I went through your weird portal thing, and now I'm here."

Ford frowns, the portal hanging emptily up above them like a threat. He takes in his brother's brown hair and thick jacket, tucking his gun away. "When are you from?"

Stan looks at him oddly. "What is that supposed to mean?" He blinks, looking at Ford as if seeing him for the first time in the dim light. "What happened to you?"

"Stanley," Ford repeats emphatically. "What year is it?"

"1982."

Ford's eyes widen in shock, and he inhales abruptly. His hands start the shake, and he feels the need to take a deep breath. This Stan is from 1982. 1982. Arguably the worst year of Ford's life. This is when it happened. But it seems that instead, Stan was pushed through and ended up here. He suddenly feels like he doesn't know what to do. He looks at this version of Stan and sees one so similar to his own and knows that this is how he looked and this is how he felt when he was left alone. It scares him, and it's sad. It takes him a moment, and there's a short period where he's just staring at him. He can tell that it makes Stan uncomfortable by the way that he squirms in place.

He then pulls his brother into a tight hug because there's nothing else to do. It's obvious that Stan doesn't know what to do either from the way that he tenses in the hold. Maybe Ford should've been more careful with his abrupt movements and constricting motion, seeing as this Stan is fresh from a life on the run. He knows he's made the right choice when Stan eventually melts into the embrace.

“I'm so sorry,” Ford says, apologizing for things in the past. “And thank you,” he says, apologizing for things in the future.

Stan doesn't say anything back, but Ford suspects it's because there are tears in his eyes. "Are you okay? You never answered my question about whether or not you were hurt.” Ford says, pulling back and holding him at arm's length to investigate him closer.

“I’m fine,” Stan says, “just got some dust in my eye.”

Ford nods knowingly.

"What is this place anyway?" Stan demands. "And why are you so old?"

"This is Gravity Falls, Oregon, and it's the year 2012." Ford grins as Stan's eyes widen in surprise.

"You mean to say my nerdy twin brother invented time travel?" He asks in disbelief.

Ford chuckles. "Not quite. I believe you're from an alternate dimension. If my theory is correct: My Stanley is at the grocery store, and your Ford is working furiously to get you back."

Stan scoffs, eyes dropping to look at the ground. "I doubt that," he says somewhat miserably.

Something sharp and painful pierces Ford in the heart. He knows he's made a lot of mistakes in the past, but seeing it spelled out so clearly in front of him is a special type of torture. "I know you don't believe me, but if your Ford is anything like me, he does love you. He's just an arrogant, ignorant ass about it."

“Hey,” Stan defends on reflex. “That's my brother you're talking about.”

It is equally heartwarming and pain-inducing to see Stan jump so readily to his defense when he knows that the Ford of that time would so easily push him to the side. “He's me,” Ford points out. "It’s just the truth.”

Stan frowns, like he's not happy about it.

"Just like I know it's the truth when I said he cares about you."

Stan eyes him skeptically. "He told me to take his journal as far away from him as possible," he deadpans.

Ford cringes. He doesn't really remember what he said to his brother in that paranoid, insomnia-induced haze, but that sounds pretty bad. "Fair," he conceded. Ford did think he hated his brother for the longest time, even if he really didn’t, so he supposes that Stanley isn't too far off. "Then I can't do much besides reassure you that I love you now."

Stan looks away again. "Not me though. I mean, some version of me, I guess. But yours is at the grocery store, or so you said."

Ford grins, grabbing Stan by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him. "Stan, I love every version of you. Alternate dimension or not. If you can't find it in yourself to believe me, at least look at me. Am I lying?"

Stan studies him. “No,” He says, and something between disbelief and awe breaks out across his face. "You really love me?" He asks, a sound like hope ringing in his voice.

Ford continues to smile, wider this time, and pulls his brother into another hug. "Of course I do. You're my brother. Even more than that, you're a good person and a hero. Stanley.” he says as the young Stans in his arms tightens his hold around him. “You're my hero.”

The blue glow of the portal highlights Stan in his arms as it springs to life again. Ford rests his chin on top of his brother's head, allowing this younger version to take comfort in the moment. He stares up at the portal—the portal that in no way should work and yet does—and holds his brother tighter for a little longer. “I told you he was going to get you back,” Ford says, wishing he didn't have to let him leave. “Now, it's time for you to be his hero.”

Stan takes a step back and with a grin, turns to face the blue glow. He lets himself get sucked into the gravitational pull, floating up and disappearing. It doesn't get any easier or less terrifying to watch someone disappear into its gaping maw, but Ford is reassured that this Stan is going somewhere great.

The portal closes, dowsing the room in darkness once more, but as Ford pulls apart the last pieces, he is filled with hope.

[hoomandoescosplay]

Pining For The Pines | Ford Pines x Reader x Stan Pines

Playlist

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Babysitter (42)- Flour Fights

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 42- W/c 5.8k

Flour Fights

Wiping the counter top down, you ensured that marble top was clean of the small amount of coffee a customer had spilt before turning around to continue your conversation with Peter and Gamora, a playful expression on both yours and Gamora’s face as you teased the brunette, his head shaking at your antics.

“I should report you both to the manager for bullying,” he grumbles in a joking manner as he expertly pours the milk into the drink to create a beautiful piece of art in the liquid, the way he effortlessly completes the task making you a little jealous as you had been trying to learn how to do latte art for a while and had failed miserably. “Oh wait, I am the manager,” his tone is laced with a hint of theatrics as he turned to his girlfriend before looking at you, raising his brow in faux warning. “Stop bullying your co-worker or I’ll put both of your shifts on rush hour,” Peter threatens with little conviction, knowing he wouldn’t be able to as all the shifts had been arranged specifically to fit around the last of the summer holidays, the man complaining less than an hour ago about how long it took and how he never wanted to plan shifts again. His words simply earnt a roll of Gamora’s eyes and a small smile from you at her reaction, the two of you trying your hardest not to tease him again when the bell at the front door rang, signalling a new customer.

At the sight of a familiar set of auburn locks and two very energetic boys, the corner of your lips lifted at the sight of them as Wanda’s eyes flickered around your place of work for a table, quickly spotting a nice booth to sit in before ushering the twins into it. A motherly look appeared on her face, the familiar sight endearing for you to see as her hands fixed Tommy’s hair as he sat down before caressing Billy’s shoulder in an affectionate way, the older woman murmuring something to them before making her way over, a mischievous smile on her face as her alluring green caught yours, heat instantly rising to your cheeks.

“I’ll get this one,” you murmur to Gamora as she approached the countertop to take Wanda’s order, her brow raising at you suspiciously at the pink tinting your face and that enamoured look in your eyes before letting you take the customer, moving further back to join Peter at the coffee machines, the two of them keeping their eyes on you as Drax, Rocket and Mantis returned from their break, preparing to serve the other customers entering the café.

“Hi, what can I get you?” You asked, putting on your ‘work’ voice for the older woman whilst trying your hardest to not smile at her like an idiot in love, your heart fluttering at the way her hands glide across the freshly cleaned countertop, fingers tapping indecisively as she looked at the boards with the menu on it.

“Can I get two small hot chocolates with whipped cream and extra marshmallows on them,” her tone shows how she is unable to hide her happiness as she ordered for the twins, the older woman smiling at you lovingly as she hadn’t seen you properly today due to how early your shift had started, part of her like a teenager in love as she felt almost giddy in your presence. It shocked her at how you could still cause so many feelings to bubble inside her, the way a simple look could ignite a warmth to wrap around her heart effortlessly and she adored every single minute of it, having always wanted to love someone like she loved you and be loved the way you passionately loved her.

Your smile grew even wider at her order for the twins, the emphasis on extra marshmallows not being missed by you as you knew how much they loved them on their drinks, your finger tapping on the screen to write down her order as you glance up at her, noticing the way her teeth subtly bite down on her lower lip to not grin at you. You blushed a little under her gaze as she met your eyes, her enticing green hypnotising you as you let the look linger, the sound of a coffee machine beeping snapping you back to reality as you waited for her to continue with the order.

“Can I also have…” she started, trailing off as she skim reads the rest of the menu, part of you already knowing what she was about to order as your finger hovered over the screen, ready to tap, “A flat white espresso.” You smiled to yourself as you entered in the item, oblivious to how Peter lingered nearby to see how you were doing with the customer, Gamora hiding near the coffee machine and eavesdropping too, your co-workers unaware that this was Wanda, having never actually met her before.

“Is there anything else?” You ask once you had logged everything you needed to, watching the way Wanda’s fingers tapped against the countertop, her smile tugging up in a mischievous manner as her gaze flickered up to meet yours, a hint of mirth in them at her next words.

“Is your number an option?” She teased with a charming smile, your eyes widening at her words before you went along with her joke, a small, shy laugh escaping you as you felt heat rise to your cheeks, her captivating smile and stare making you flustered.

“That depends, are you single or am I going to get in trouble?” Your tone signals your amusement as you murmur the words, letting your gaze switch between the pools of green and her plump lips, admiring her angelic features as you wait for her to respond.

“You won’t get into trouble, I won’t let you,” she rasps out, purposely letting her voice drop an octave and her accent seep into it, knowing you couldn’t resist the way her words gracefully fell from her lips when she did so, her smile widening at the way your pupils dilated noticeably, your mouth parting a little bit as she leaves you speechless for a moment until you can compose yourself.

“I’ll uh, bring your order over to you when it’s ready,” you stammer out in response, avoiding her gaze as you could tell she was humoured by how easily she could fluster you, an infectious laugh briefly escaping her as she chuckles at your adorable form, quickly paying for the drinks before putting you out of your misery and walking away.

You can’t help but watch as she walks away, the older woman seeming to know you were staring and looking over her shoulder at you, winking playfully before moving to sit next to Billy so she could continue to watch you work, smiling at the way your co workers quickly move over to you after your interaction.

“What are you doing?” Peter’s tone is slightly raised as confusion laces his voice whilst you turn around to face him, his wide eyes and tone puzzling you as your brows furrow, your hand stilling the way you were writing your number on the cup, his fingers slipping the item out of your hand. “You can’t just flirt with customers like that, what about Wanda?” It clicks in your mind when he mentions the other woman, a laugh escaping you as your gaze flickers between Gamora and Peter’s concerned gaze, neither of them wanting you to ruin what you had with your girlfriend as they had heard such amazing things.

“That is Wanda,” you say after a moment, unable to stop chuckling to yourself at their reactions, part of you grateful for their intervention as it just showed how much they cared about you. You watch entertained at the way their faces drop from worry to confusion, to disbelief and shock, Gamora’s gaze moving to where the twins and Wanda’s were sitting whilst Peter just looks at you, bewildered.

“How?” Is all that leaves his lips before Gamora’s hand smacks the back of his head, shooting him a warning look as he rubs the spot his girlfriend just hit, his cheeks turning a little red in embarrassment. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you weren’t beautiful or an amazing person because you were, everyone around you knew that you were, it was more the fact that Wanda looked like a goddess among people, something about her just making her all the more radiant. “I mean, how… come we have never met Wanda?” He sheepishly mutters out, grimacing himself at how poor his recovery of the situation was, your brow raised at him as Mantis overhears the conversation, excitement swirling in her eyes at the mention of the older woman, your friend eager to meet her.

“Wanda’s here? Where is she?” Her voice conveys her giddiness as you smile at her reaction, the two of you growing closer over the last couple weeks as your shifts were on at the same time, the black haired woman taking an interest in your love life as she could tell how smitten you were. Before you could respond, Rocket spoke up, the casual man leaning against the countertop on his phone, clearly pretending as though he was busy with work stuff, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Who’s Wanda? Does she need her order taken over?” His voice lacked any real conviction as to find out who she was, simply acting as though he was contributing to team as he messaged Lyla on his phone, your head shaking as you made the two small hot chocolates, making sure to swirl the whipped cream perfectly and add as many marshmallows as you were allowed to.

“Why are we talking about Wanda again?” Drax asks from your side, making you jump a little as you hadn’t realised he was standing there, his body so still it was as though he was invisible.

“She’s here,” Mantis emphatically answered him, the man seeming to be just as disinterested as Rocket as he was only interested in relationships and love when it meant he could tease someone, his eyes following to where Mantis was looking before flickering his gaze back to you, a laugh escaping him.

“Yeah right,” he chuckled out, a look of shock forming on your face at his dismissal that it was Wanda, your features pulling into a look of offence as he smiled in disbelief at you, a glint of determination appearing in your eyes as you wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.

“I’ll prove it,” you muttered out to the man, his smile widening as he refused to believe you, his arms crossing over his chest nonchalantly as he leaned against the countertop, watching you in amusement as you carried over the order to the booth they were sitting at, looking at Wanda with a shy but mischievous look before turning your head to make sure your co workers were watching, in particular Drax.

“Two hot chocolates and a flat white,” you say with a polite voice, the slight change to your tone amusing the twins as they mimic your voice to each other, making you playfully stick your tongue out at them for their teasing you as Wanda shakes her head at your antics, biting down on her lower lip as she admires you in your work uniform as you hand the twins their drinks, marshmallows overspilling from the cups. Your gaze flickers over to her appreciative stare when the twins become distracted by the sugary treat, the older woman loving the way your tied apron exaggerates your curves as she eventually lifts her gaze to your face, an enamoured look evident in her eyes as she can’t stop thinking about how adorable you look right now, the slightly shy smile on your face as her green has your heart pounding in your chest, warmth wrapping cosily around it.

Smiling a little to yourself, your tear your eyes away from hers to break the lingering gaze to focus on her drink sitting on the tray in your hands, moving to pass her the drink when her fingers brush yours on purpose, the older woman innocently smirking up at you as steals the drink from you, revelling in the way you seem to blush a little in embarrassment at the effect she has on you.

“Thank you,” she murmurs out whilst taking a sip of the drink, making sure to keep eye contact with you to further torment you, her lips tugging up into a smile around the mug as you linger nearby, trying to figure out how to prove to Drax you were with her without making it obvious to Wanda that you wanted a kiss.

“Is there any chance my service deserves a tip?” You ask with a hint of cheek seeping into your words as you offer her a charming smile, her brow raising at your words as you still play along with the joke from earlier, excitement appearing on her features.

“What did you have in mind?” She murmurs out, letting her gaze drift over to the counter where your friends were not so discreetly watching the interaction, the older woman trying her hardest to not roll her eyes as she could tell you had made some sort of bet at the way they were so interested in what was happening, that look in your eyes only Wanda could notice also giving it away as she could easily read your body language.

“Something that might get me in...trouble,” you whisper out, Wanda letting out a small chuckle before shaking her head lightly at your actions, her hand moving to your collarbone, sliding against the fabric of your shirt teasingly before grabbing the collar of your button up blouse, pulling you down to meet her lips.

The kiss was tender and loving to keep it appropriate for the setting, the two of you instantly smiling into it when you hear a contrast of reactions, the twins as usual pretending to be grossed out by the action whilst a small, elated noise could be heard from where Mantis was, her body buzzing with joy as she just loved seeing people happy, her smile practically reaching her ears at the way you shyly pulled back from the kiss.

You couldn’t stop the way love and adoration swarmed through you when Wanda softly waved towards your co-workers before sitting back in her seat, relaxing with her drink in her hand as you simply stood there, admiring the woman you loved.

“You might want to stop staring Detka,” she teases after a moment, “You’ve still got twenty minutes of your shift left,” she gently reminds, prompting you to pick up the forgotten tray from the table and return back to work after telling her you would meet her back here when you had finished your shift.

The prominent blush on your cheeks was engraved there as Peter and Gamora offer you suggestive looks as you returned to the counter, Drax’s arms dropping as he simply stood there with his mouth parted, somehow lost for words, not a single teasing remark lingering on his tongue which seemed to be a first.

“You should have put money on it,” Rocket teased as he patted Drax’s shoulder, joking with the man who still remained frozen and confused as to what had happened, your head shaking at the other man before letting your gaze inevitably drift back over to the table where she was, catching her curious stare. You watched intently as she placed her drink down and lifted her hand, the smile growing on your face fading when she motioned for you to turn around and stop staring at her, your eyes rolling theatrically at her before you did as she said, returning to cleaning the machines as the last twenty minutes of your shift dragged on.

***

Untying your hair, a deep sigh left your lips at the relief of returning home, the promise of having another family night exciting you as it was a time to unwind and simply enjoy being with the twins and Wanda, the bag of ingredients in Wanda’s hands intriguing you as she hadn’t told you what her and the twins had planned for tonight.

You made a beeline for the kitchen as that was where she had wandered to, walking past the framed photo of her on the ride at Asgard with a smug smile before your eyes searched for her auburn hair as you leaned against the doorframe, taking a moment to observe her. Her fingers rummaged through the plastic bag for various items as she stayed oblivious to your presence, her back to you as you continued to watch her, unable to stop the love coursing through your veins at the domestic sight of her expertly and swiftly moving around the kitchen, her green eventually catching your figure at the door.

The corner of your lips instinctively  lifted at the simple look before you pushed yourself off the frame to slowly walk over to her, your body tired after your long shift at the café, wanting to feel the comfort of her body against yours as you have been deprived of her touch for far too long in your opinion. You practically melted into her body as your arms snaked around her middle, your head resting against her shoulder as you placed a kiss to the fabric of her jumper, expressing your love to her silently.

The two of you adored the fact you could easily show your care and affection for each other without having to explicitly say ‘I love you’, your actions, looks, and kindness enough for one another. You purposely let your hands squeeze her body gently, encouraging her to lean back further into your embrace, knowing she cherished being hugged from behind and listened out for the satisfied sigh that would spill from her lips when you would do so.

You smiled against her sweater when you heard the familiar sound, the older woman stilling in your arms as she relaxed, a soft, tender expression gracing her features as you both savoured the moment before the twins would eventually come running downstairs, ready to start the fun family night.

“Can I have another kiss or is that going to get me in trouble with your girlfriend?” you tease, breaking the brief silence, your words slightly muffled by her shoulder as you mumbled against her, the corner of her lips tugging up at your playfulness whilst her head shook lightly before she turned around in your arms, mirth clear in her eyes.

“I don’t know, that might get you into trouble,” she rasps out whilst you move one of your hands to tuck the stray strand of her hair behind her ear, a tenderness wrapping around you both comfortably as you joke with each other.

“That’s a shame, it was such a good kiss,” you murmur out, tilting your head so that your lips ghosted hers, the feeling of her lips briefly brushing yours intoxicating, the thought of pressing them together consuming your mind and sending a heat throughout your body.

“Yeah?” she hums out, sliding her hands further around your waist, the pads of her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt and grazing your warm skin. “Maybe one more wouldn’t hurt after all,” she husks out with a smirk, lowering her head at a tantalising pace as you await the delicate feeling of her plump lips slotting over yours, your body craving the feeling again as you wait what feels like an eternity before her lips finally claim yours.

Much to your dismay though, the sound of footsteps interrupts the kiss, breaking off the affectionate moment far sooner than you wanted, a small groan leaving you as you sink into her embrace, your face hiding at the crook of her neck, basking in the warmth and safety it provided for a moment.

“You’re such a tease,” you mumble against her skin, earning a gentle chuckle as her fingers run up and down your back, the twins storming into the room after having cleaned their rooms, knowing they had to finish that chore off before the fun could begin.

“You’re the one who started it,” she whispers tauntingly before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, sliding her body away from yours to check their rooms were done properly before starting the activities planned for tonight, your dumbfounded figure left to watch her walk away, still thinking of the feeling of her lips.

***

A baking competition.

That’s what family night was for this evening, a look of shock, confusion and excitement appearing on your features as it was everyone versus everyone on who could make the best cookies, the thought of the twins trying to make their own worrying you a little bit as their version of baking cookies meant eating as many chocolate chips as possible before you would notice, too busy doing the actual work involved.

“Are we sure we don’t want to have teams?” you ask once more as you sit on the chair at the kitchen island, your head leaning against your palm as you stare at Wanda who was sorting out all the ingredients into an efficient system, her face pulling a look that suggested she wanted to agree with you, Tommy speaking up instead.

“No teams!” he exclaims, clearly excited about doing it all himself as Billy nodded along with him, the twins adamant that they could make them themselves, assuming it was much easier than it was. “Unless you want to team up with Mom because you’re scared you’re going to lose,” he teases, making your jaw drop, Wanda failing the stifle her laugh in time as your bewildered expression meets her humoured one, her smile soft as she bites down on her lip to stop herself giggling at her son’s words.

“I make good cookies,” you mutter in response, thinking about all the times you and the twins had made various types of cookies and the way they’d absolutely devour them, your mind then soon replaying the way they’d run across the house to get their mothers, the older woman’s skills in the kitchen superior to yours.

“Not as good as mine though,” Wanda whispers as she moves around to stand behind you, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple to help comfort you at the fact your abilities had been undermined, her head leaning against yours as your hand reached out for hers, letting your thumb brush over the back of her hand as the twins decided on the rules and how the winner would be decided before you could start.

Eventually, the four of you were ready to start measuring out everything needed to make the signature Maximoff family recipe of chocolate chip cookies, Billy fighting with the bag of flour you and him were going to share whilst Wanda effortlessly opened hers and Tommy’s, a look of sympathy growing on your face as he struggled. He wanted to remain independent during the entire baking process so you offered him a reassuring smile as you could understand how frustrating it was to open packets like that, something deep inside you hating bags of flour after the many times they had split open on you. The packaging was just always so impractical, white powder inevitably getting everywhere as soon as you tore it open, your gaze watching as he put a little more force into trying to tear it open, a grimace forming on your face as you could predict what was about to happen.

“Let me try-” your words were cut off by the bag tearing open vigorously, flour puffing out of the bag and all over the countertop as well as yours and Billy’s hands, a cloud of it filling the air around you two as Wanda sighed, her smile still present on her face though.

After a sheepish look in the older woman’s direction, you turned your gaze back to the pile of flour now on the marble top, your hand coming up to your forehead as you try to figure out the best way to deal with the situation, not realising the amount of flour coating your hand.

A humoured expression grew on everyone else's face as you managed to have a streak of flour across your head, the twins trying their hardest to not laugh and give it away, wanting you to continue looking silly, whilst Wanda seemed to pause, a nostalgic look in her eyes.

Her mind recalled the memory of when she came home from work to see you baking with the twins whilst you were babysitting them, the way warmth spread throughout her at the adorable sight of you with a similar streak of flour on your face. She remembered fondly the way you seemed to grow flustered as she gently wiped the mark away, her heart fluttering in her chest as she realised how far the two of you have come, how you have managed to change her life for the better.

“What?” you chuckle out as you notice her staring at you with love overflowing from her enchanting green, Billy helping get the remainder of the flour into a bowl to weigh it out.

“I love you,” she whispers, your brows furrowing a little bit at the emotion underlying the words, the concern quickly dissipating as she comes closer to you, her fingers gently holding your chin like she did that day, tilting your head up as she grabbed a cloth to wipe the flour away, a hint of deja vu flowing through you both. “But sometimes I think you’re just as messy as the twins,” she mutters playfully, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes at her words as she loses herself in admiring you, unaware of how your hand was moving near the table.

“I’m not messy” you whisper innocently whilst moving your hand up to cup her cheek, her face morphing into shock at the feeling of flour being smeared against her skin, an infectious laugh escaping you and the twins as they watch the scenes unfold, revenge swirling in the older woman’s eyes.

Before you know it, the kitchen turns into a mini warzone, flour flying everywhere as you all try to cover each other in it, the food fight amusing to everyone as laughter bounced off all the walls, a small scream leaving Tommy as you wrap your arm around his body, sprinkling flour all over him and wiping a streak on his cheek to mimic the face paintings warriors have. To torment the boy even more, you tickled his side, watching as he tries to squirm his way out of your grip, his giggles echoing around the room as Billy dodges his mother’s flour attacks, the woman giving up chasing after one of her sons as he was too quick, deciding to save her other one instead.

A squeal practically leaves you when Wanda steals you away, pulling you into her body so that her front is flush against your back, your body trying to fight her strong grip but failing, laughter constantly spilling from your lips as you feel the remainder of the flour being wiped across your face. Her fingers friskily remained on your face, tormenting you further as you could hear her chuckling behind you, your hand trying to stop her from drawing random shapes of flour on your forehead as you gripped her forearm, amused at the way her sleeve had a massive streak of white across it.

The core memory engraved itself into all of your minds, the sheer joy and happiness radiating through you all as Wanda eventually let her head rest at the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your sweet perfume as your giggles eventually died down, your ragged breaths filling the room. The four of you panted after the intense battle, Wanda’s arm unwrapping from around your middle, freeing you of her grasp so you could turn around to send her a mini glare, the expression never coming onto your face as you were too busy grinning at her, an avalanche of affection and warmth enveloping you at the sight of her. Flour sat on the edge of her nose almost comically, a couple light dusts also tainting the pink visible on her cheeks whilst your eyes travelled up to look at her hair, chuckling in amusement at the massive white streak in her auburn locks.

A teasing comment about her age was on the tip of your tongue, the older woman seeming to sense where your thoughts were heading as she tilted her head almost warningly, daring you to make the joke as you smirked up at her, your composure crumbling a little at the hint of dominance swirling in her eyes. Deciding it would be better to not be a brat, you stayed silent instead, a triumphant look flashing on her features before she let her gaze flicker away from you to around the room, taking in the mess you had all managed to create, her eyes widening a little bit at how far the four of you had gone.

“I’m not even sure we’ll have enough flour to make cookies anymore,” she said sceptically as she checked the remains of a bags of flour, noticing how there was only just about two cups left in one of them and maybe just under one cup in the other bag , the twin’s faces almost turning as white as the flour at the idea of not having any cookies, the two of them running to check the bag their mother was looking at before checking the bowls that previously had measured out flour in them.

You watched curiously as they tried to pile together as much of the leftover flour as possible in hopes there'd be enough, your head shaking softly as you decided to wipe your face, cleaning yourself up whilst the boys remained running about with the ingredient in their hair, seeming to make the mess worse as they kept moving about. Wanda copied you and started trying to clean herself up, observing the twins as you were before speaking up, deciding she didn’t want to clean any more mess than she had to, part of her wishing she had the powers Billy had given her in his drawings so she could just magic all the mess away.

“How about this,” she starts off, gaining everyone’s attention. “You two can go and have a shower now, making sure to get rid of all the flour in your hair,” she said, making a point as she ruffled Tommy’s hair, showing how white his locks had turned, “And when you come down there might be some cookies nearly ready to eat." Bright smiles stretched across their lips as they nodded emphatically to agree with their mother’s plan, the two of them wiping as much of the mess in their hair off in the kitchen before being allowed to sprint up stairs to shower, your brow raising as her gaze then met yours, an innocent smile growing on her lips which could only mean one thing- she was about to torture you.

“And what am I supposed to do?” you ask in a hum, leaning against the countertop in front of her after she had just measured the flour out, a small amount still left in the bag behind your body that you were oblivious to. At the suggestive tone to your voice, her hands move to rest on the marble behind you, bracing her body above yours as she trapped you against the island, her head lowering a little bit, encouraging you to chase her teasing and alluring lips. 

Just as you think she’s about to kiss you on the lips, your eyes fluttering shut, she moves slightly behind you, the action going unnoticed as her lips pressed against the corner of your mouth, driving you insane with the thought of her as warmth wraps around your heart and also travels down your body towards you core, the feeling of her smirking against your lips clouding your mind. 

“You can help clean,” she murmurs in a seductive voice, a groan leaving you at her addictive tone and her words, the false hope annoying but equally amusing as she pulls back to see your eyes gradually opening, your darkened pupils showing how excited her actions had made you.

“Have I ever told you how cruel you are?” you grumble whilst stealing a quick kiss from her, the older woman letting you after her tease, her fingers wrapping around something behind you, her right arm moving slightly to your side as you focus on pouting at her, trying to get her to feel sorry for you and kiss you again and again until you couldn’t remember why you were pretending to be so annoyed. You thought it was working at the way her head lowered once more, your tongue subconsciously swiping across your lips to wet them, ready to lose yourself to the arousal steadily corrupting your thoughts. 

“Just a few times,” she chuckles out, smirking at you in a mischievous way as you search her green, confused as to why her smile seemed to grow that little bit wider, your brows furrowing until your felt flour being poured over your head, your vision being covered by the powder spilling down your face. You simply stood still as the bag emptied above your head, unable to stop a shocked but also impressed smile tugging at your lips, your laughter light and contagious as Wanda couldn't help but laugh along with you as you fell for her plan. Shaking your head vigorously, your hands shot out to hold onto her waist to keep her close, keeping her in the firing line as the two of you acted like fools in love for the rest of the night.

The two of you were only just about able to make the cookies and clean the mountain of mess in time for the twins, care and adoration underlying all you actions as the rest of the night breezed by, the happiness of spending the night together as a family consuming you entirely.