#the AUs may be connected somehow

[justatinybunwriting]

Mirror

Prompt 8 of this promptober list!

Synopsis: As Richard and Jac are trying to open a portal that would lead to home, a man hired by a wicked queen approaches Jac.

Notes: The first part of this story takes place in the Fairy World Detective AU!

"Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

In an instant, the fairy behind the glass appeared before the wicked queen and replied with a cocky grin.

"Hate to break the news to ya lady, but there's a new gal in town that goes by the name of Jac."

The queen was infuriated and tossed her bubbling drink onto the mirror, barely missing it.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO SNOW WHITE?!"

"Well, she met up with her sister Red Rose and is now in a cabin with a bear I believe. So she's no longer in this fairy kingdom, ma'am."

"Good. That bear will take care of her. But WHO IS THIS INBECILE JACK?"

"Beats me. She just came out of nowhere, like poof! And she was there."

"WHERE IS THAT GOOD FOR NOTHING ASSASSIN?!"

Meanwhile, Jac and her giant friend Richard were stuck in a crossroad, both literally and figuratively.

"Cheeze brought us through the wrong wormhole again!" Jac fumed. "This is definitely not Never Never Land!"

"Never trust a rabbit to do a fae's job." Richard replied as he held a shining crystal in his hands. "Don't worry, I'm on it. If I can just get this artifact to work I can open the Tunnel of Chaos again so we can get back to headquarters and start over."

"Or we could try to find the right checkpoint ourselves and head over there straight away from the tunnel."

"Jac, we discussed this. The last time we did that we wounded up switching sizes. I'm not going to take that risk again."

"But I liked being big.." Jac pouted as she folded her arms.

Just then, a rugged man wielding a knife walked up to Jac from behind. She whipped around as soon as she noticed him; the sight of the weapon in his hand caused all the hairs on her neck to stand. She was about to do a quick draw of her taser when the stranger backed up and held back his blade. He had a sorrowful look in his eyes.

"Oh, oh... no, you're pretty." He uttered.

"What?!" Was Jac's angered response.

"I'm sorry. I was hired to kill you. But once again I cannot. I am a weak man."

"WHA?!"

At that very moment, the man was suddenly plucked up by the rim of his coat and was just as quickly brought up to the giant's face. The assassin was flabbergasted by how he failed to notice this titan before and flailed about wildly.

"What do you want me to do with him, Jac?" Richard bellowed in an almost beastly manner.

"Please!! Mister giant!! Don't eat me!!" The assassin pleaded.

"No? Why would I want to do that? You look disgusting. I was thinking more like... how about I throw you over the horizon? That sounds like it would be fun, wouldn't you agree?"

"Richard!! Put him down!!" Jac was folding her arms and thumped her foot. The giant then turned his head and looked upon her with a fake pout.

"Why don't you want me to mess with him? He did just try to kill you after all."

"I think I know which story we're in! We're not supposed to screw around with it remember? Just fix the messes that the Time Warper has made, remember?!"

"All right, all right..." Richard then turned his attention back to the shivering man in his grasp. "You promise you won't tell anyone else about this?"

"OF COURSE OF COURSE! I SWEAR BY THE QUEEN'S NAME!!"

"O-kay."

The Wile giant then sat the man down roughly on the grass. He then lowered himself and looked at him straight in the eyes before returning with a growling voice.

"Now BEAT IT before I change my mind."

The man did a complete 180 and made a beeline for the hills, all while he wailed hysterically like a madman. Richard got up to his full height and brushed the dirt off his hands.

"He won't keep his word. We better get outta here before all the King's horses and all the King's men come after us with pitchforks."

"The usual." Jac raised her arms.

Not long after, after reciting the spell for the umpteenth time, at last the crystal in Richard's hands lit up a bright blue and a portal started to form right in front of the two. At that exact time, they heard the telltale hollers of an angry mob in the far distance, so the interdimensional tunnel couldn't have come at a better time.

As what was normally the case, the hole was only big enough for a human to pass through, though that wouldn't be a problem for Richard. Shrinking down to human height is a necessary evil (in his mind) when the situation called for it. Taking Jac by the hand, the two of them jumped in at once, and were pulled in just as the wormhole was about to close behind them.

.....

Jac had awoken underneath Richard's hand. The Wile giant had propped her against his chest, and he was apparently startled awake about the same time as she was.

"I... had that weird dream again..." Jac said groggily as she wiped the crust off of her eyes.

"Which one...?" Richard asked with a yawn.

"That I was a fairy world detective. And you were there, and helping me out with solving mysteries in fairy land..."

"You've been watching too many cartoons."

"Maybe."

The start of the morning was quiet, as neither of them had work that day. So they were free to prep in their own leisure. Jac had gone to freshen up in the human sized restroom, with the bits and pieces of what she remembered of her dreams still stirring up her thoughts.

As she brushed her hair, she noticed a small green dot on the mirror. She couldn't figure out where it came from or what it was exactly, but one thing was for certain: it was gross and it needed to go. She was just about to pull out a paper towel in order to wipe the blotch out, when it suddenly moved.

Jac froze in place as the little green figure fluttered about; it held it's hands over it's face with what appeared to be a snicker, before at last it flew out of the frame. Jac immediately turned around, but saw nothing behind her. It was too late anyway since the little thing was too fast for her to follow.

She could have sworn that it was the very same fairy that she saw behind the magic mirror in her dream.

For a few moments thereafter she became lost in a sea of what ifs. Eventually, after the initial shock had weathered down, Jac figured that she was still drowsy from the restless sleep she had the night before. She was still pretty tired, so it wasn't unusual for her to let her imagination wander during these times. So with that, Jac decided to not ponder about it any further, as she continued on as usual with the rest of her day.

She never did see that green fairy again, so she was pretty certain it was all in her head. Maybe.

[moe-broey]

Ehhh fuck it I'll post this one too -- I wanted to color it first, but. I'm actually split on redoing Alfonse's outfit completely, or at least making adjustments.

Like, in my head, I think I was doing two separate things between the Askr siblings and it just doesn't feel cohesive to me now.

What, you ask? Well, the first thought behind this, was this is a visit. So, Sharena is straight up wearing Moe's old clothes it never could seem to let go of. I think I got mixed up around Alfonse, though. Literally half and half. He's wearing some of Moe's clothes (esp the flannel, green, band merch), but the idea here is they did have to go out and get stuff that actually fits right.

Which... works. It does work. But I think in the back of my head I was also wanting to design an outfit that's more AU coded. Going from argyle sweater vest ass to mmmmaybe trying to develop his own sense of style. Which kind of directly clashes w the idea that he's wearing some of Moe's clothes. But also. So. SO BADLY. ESP IN THIS CONTEXT. I would LOVE for Moe to have direct influence in the process of that. Another detail you don't even get to see here is Alfonse is wearing a studded belt. Courtesy of Moe.

Lack of direction too many ideas at once. Maybe if it's an AU, the dress could have been a hand-me-down? If you like it, and it fits. You can have it. If you want... (Moe completely dodging just how deeply meaningful this gesture is when doing this). But also, could go REALLY crazy if Moe (previous life) had fashion taste that was close enough to Sharena's that, like. At different points of time, each ended up picking out the same dress. It's such a funny line to balance, actually. Because despite all the parallels I may draw between them, Moe was NEVER what Peony was, to Sharena. Not even close.

Idk idk there's a possibility that I'll get too frustrated w all the details not matching up here that I scrap it completely. Just know that the dress Sharena is wearing is pink and white. Very Princess Peach core. The style of it, though... it's pretty close to something else... a certain Something Else... just enough to scare ya. Which is ALSO WHY this might work better as a visit and unique psychological damage for Alfonse but I DIGRESS. WHAT YHE FUCK EVER. TOO MUCH GOING ON HERE JUST THROW IT ALL OUT‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

It tugs, sometimes. Curious and foolish.

That traitorous heart mana of his, reaching out, drawing in, seeking connection in the way that's in their blood, their soul, their nature. Synchronicity.

Rei's not known it, before.

Where other demons might be attuned to family, Rei has no one to claim the spot. So, his heart mana sings, unblemished, its lonely little sonata, the song of his homeland. All there is to him, granted by air and earth and starlight.

He has so much to give, and yet, it isn't good enough. Discordant, they say. Human, they snarl, disgust evident in their tones.

Thus, growing up Rei learns to compose himself. Pushes himself to the brink in order to rewrite his heartbeat's melody. Puts himself out there, gets stronger, richer in experience, whenever he draws back. Over and over and over again.

Until one day, pushing himself past reason, he almost doesn't return.

But while he hasn't been looking, a new melody has taken residence by his side. Soft and steady high notes, barely perceptible.

Morofushi Hiromitsu, faded, yet giving himself so generously.

Rei hears him, takes him in and amplifies the notes he's given, until others may do so, too. Until Hiro may do it himself.

Their hearts mana, separate but inseparable, resonating in response.

And Rei's called back home.

.

Rye is low notes, a deep bass, slow and steady.

He could enrich their harmony, if only he wasn't so gratingly offbeat.

Rye's unrefined and ever-contradicting himself. Cold and uncaring, yet bleeding red like the rest of them. A long-ranged combatant, always too close. The smartest fool Rei ever has had the displeasure of meeting.

He takes Rei's heart mana greedily, gives it back tenfold.

Then he takes Scotch's, and their tentative song, not yet given voice, dissolves into dissonant whispers.

.

When they meet again, Rei doesn't want to feel Akai's heart mana for the longest time.

It's too painfully familiar, echoes of the past still trapped reverberating within. Misery-in-resonance almost dusts Rei.

It's his duty to be here, and so he stays, but there's others to preoccupy himself with.

So, he remains a careful distance away from Akai. Doesn't see the muted melancholy wrapped around him until it's too late, until Akai's almost gone dark and quiet.

When he heals Akai, he pours all of his heart mana into him. Their hearts still sing the same tune, after all these years, discordant notes and all.

.

The journey is too perilous to allow them senseless grudges. Their lives are one. If either falls, the story ends.

They rely on each other's mana like air, sharing desperate breaths like drowning men in a land that wants to drag them under.

What even is left of their individual songs? It doesn't matter, anymore. They've shared so much it really is one and the same, disjointed notes smoothed out through time and touch and trial, into an elegy for Scotch.

.

As they finally reach tentative harmony, they rip themselves apart.

.

There is dissonance in Demon Lord Furuya’s heart. A furious ache that even Hiro's return can't soothe.

But he has a duty, to his land and his people. He can't stop to rest. Besides, the one to replenish his heart mana, he who's grown so good at it over the years, has left, exiled by Rei's own hand.

Akai is a fool, but so is Rei.

He clings to the thrum of Akai's low warm notes, barely an echo within himself.

.

Da capo al coda, the cyclical rhythm of life remains the same.

Rei's still not good enough.

He's bested their best. He's saved the realms. And all that matters, in the end, is that they see his heart mana, and find it lacking.

But he's no longer the lonely manaspawn he once was. His song no longer just his own.

He's holding the position through skill and strategy, through force of personality. With the help of friends and allies gathered on his journey.

They'll have to listen to his tune, this time.

.

The key, of course, is an argument.

Their feverish crescendo crashes into mellow adagio - along with their lips.

Rei knows, then: if no one else accepted him, the boundless love in Akai's heart would be enough to supply his heart mana for as long as he lives.

It's exhilarating, to share every last bit of himself, to accept all of Shuuichi in turn. Synchronized in full, for now and as long as they live.

Pulsating, between them, the potential to compose a new melody, together. Point and counterpoint. Bright and warm and vibrant and home.

.

When he takes Akai's hand, leads him to the dancefloor, the festive joy of friends and family soaking the ambient mana with joyous ringing, it's enough to put pressure even on Rei's heart mana.

He can't help thinking that this should've been so much easier. But theirs has never been the easy way.

And it's not the conclusion, but the overture to their new life, together.

The waltz of their future, a thunderous symphony.

.

@floofiestboy's Demon King Furuya AkAm AU is giving me too many feelings. Go read it here.

[amywritesthings]

dating on airplane mode. | part two.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader Fandom: attack on titan (modern au) Word Count: 3.5k Summary: So you're dating your neighbor who also happens to be a sex hotline dom named Levi Ackerman. Stranger things have happened, right?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - slow burn, eventual smut, sex work, neighbors au, newly established relationship, the direct sequel to Press Four For More Options Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics / gif by pankago

part one. / part three. | masterlist

There’s a pop-up shop about six floors above yours—

A noisy bar quickly becomes background white noise.

—if you don’t mind walking a neighbor home.

And within a breath, the world ceases to exist.

You’re not sure what you were expecting him to say, but it sure as hell isn’t that.

(He gets paid to be a smooth talker, but holy shit, it is catastrophically different when you’re saddled with the reality that you can walk — run — straight to the man inviting you to his home.)

Before you can even think, your voice blurts out of your parted lips:

“I don’t mind.”

Not.

At.

All.

Annie will forgive you.

Hell, you bet everyone crowding that tiny high-top table will forgive you come Monday morning when you’re back in the office.

Half of them won’t even remember that you were there in the first place. It’s a win-win situation.

There is no hesitation in the way you pick up your purse from the countertop and rush towards the front entrance of the bar, your eyes zeroed in on a patient Levi.

It takes some serpentining, but eventually you burst through the doors.

Levi turns towards you, his cell phone still held to his ear. 

There’s a little pink in his cheeks — from the nipping bite of the cold evening weather or his quick-witted pick-up line, you aren’t sure.

“Sorry,” you exhale like you’ve run a marathon in such a short distance. “I should’ve said bye or something before running out here, but I figured—”

The fringe of his hair shakes in his eyes as he holds up a finger to his lips.

Silence.

A stern expression replaces the debonair, and for a moment, you wonder if something is wrong.

But then—

“Yeah, no, I’m calling out for the evening,” he states. “Will you relay, Petra?”

Petra.

You know that woman’s name.

(The hotline receptionist responsible for connecting you to him.)

“Not an emergency, no,” he reassures, brows briefly knitting together. “Just taking some time off.” A pause. “Why are you laughing?” Another pause. “Forward them to Erwin. I trust him not to run my damn clients off. Thanks.”

Oh.

He’s—

“Sorry about that.”

Pocketing his phone, he squares his shoulders and waits expectantly. 

A suspicious crawl of embarrassment runs through your veins, like somehow being spontaneous — selfish — inconvenienced him.

“You had a shift tonight?” you ask belatedly.

“I did,” Levi admits, that buttery-smooth voice curving with a lift of amusement. “And now I don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to mess up your—”

“I have over a hundred hours of time accrued,” he interrupts in the very tone he’s used in your sessions before when you chalk up your existence as being a nuisance to him: stop. “If anything, it’ll get them off of my ass for never using it.”

Your brows raise. “A hundred?”

“Over,” Levi corrects, “so you’re doing me a favor — if you’re still in the mood for tea, of course.”

There’s a pause. A taxi flies by to fill the anticipating void.

I’m well past the mood for tea — is what you would say if you were a psychopath.

Instead you clamp your mouth shut and nod. 

Levi nods with you, seemingly exhaling a breath he may have been holding. As he steps forward, one foot in front of the other.

His attention drops from your face, searching your form in a way that makes you feel exposed.

Wanted.

Then he clears his throat and raises a stiff elbow — a polite gesture.

Take it.

The sheer idea of touching him is so fucking daunting.

Until now, you haven’t done anything but fantasize about him, but he’s flesh and blood and right in front of you — if you’re willing to simply take.

So you do.

Slowly you glide your hand over the crease of his elbow, tucking it against his side until your bodies are looped. The sheer cut of his bicep in his 90-degree angle threatens to make you lose your composure.

Jesus, it’s so solid.

(It’ll be a miracle if you even make it back to his apartment in one piece, let alone your own after everything is said and done.)

He walks. You follow until you match his pace.

For most of the journey, the two of you step in silent tandem. 

While he stares ahead, stopping you both whenever you reach a crosswalk, you can’t help but look over his profile. His cheekbones are even higher than you imagined, chiseled from the Gods, with dark hair that fades in an undercut at the nape of his neck.

Levi is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your life, and you live in a pretty damn busy city, so you’ve seen a lot of men.

“Stairs or elevator?” he asks once he breaks the rhythm of your feet to move two paces ahead, grabbing the door with his fist. He detaches from you to pull open the door, offering you to walk through first. 

You’re so giddy over the chivalry you nearly miss the question. 

“Wait, what?”

“Stairs.” He nods his head, the stark black fringe waving with it. “Or elevator.”

“You live on the sixteenth floor.” 

“Yeah.”

“Wait — Levi, do you walk the fucking stairs?”

Levi blinks like he has to remember that isn’t normal before clearing his throat.

“Sometimes.”

“Oh my god.”

“I didn’t want to get complacent after losing my job at the gym,” he states, changing his trajectory as he heads for the elevator instead.

You’re grateful that, for once, you’re not trying to act brave — or stupid.

Your big mouth doesn’t try to say that sixteen flights of stairs is totally fine just to impress him.

(This man has already heard what you sound like when you orgasm on more than one occasion. In some twisted way, the two of you are way past the surface stages of courting, but it doesn’t make this any less daunting.)

Once more he tracks ahead to hold the elevator door for you. Waiting until you’re comfortably inside, he presses the grayed ‘16’ button on the panel. It illuminates in an outdated hazy yellow — forcing your attention to the grayed ‘10’ just below it.

Six fucking floors, all this time.

Once the doors close, Levi Ackerman leans his back against the metal wall, his arms crossed and forearms barred from his rolled-up sleeves. 

You stay put in the dead center of the lift, watching him stare at the elevator panel until he lifts his chin to look back at you.

Neither of you look away.

The prolonged eye contact feels like an acknowledgement of a solved mystery between two people.

He knows you better than most people. You’d wager you may know him just as well.

“You okay?” he asks, softer this time. 

The intensity of his gaze doesn’t waver.

You find yourself nodding before you realize it. 

“Are you?”

Levi takes a moment to drop his attention an indiscernible amount, mulling over your question, before meeting your eyes once again.

“Yeah. Better than.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Nothing can stop the smile growing on your face, not even by pressing your lips together.

“Never told me your preference,” he states casually, shaking some of his black fringe from his eyes. “In tea, I mean.”

“I’m happy to have whatever you have,” you promise. “I’m not picky.”

“You can be,” he promises right back. “Trust me, I have every type of tea you could think of.”

“Hoarding?”

“Hopelessly addicted, more like.”

The elevator pauses and gives way to the sixteenth floor’s hallway. When the door opens, Levi unfurls his arms to hold his hand out for you to take — only to seem to think better of it and fish for his keys instead as he takes the lead.

Instinctually your hand flexes at the ready to accept, but it falls limp to your side with the decision to simply follow behind.

(Yeah — you’re not used to the proximity yet, either.)

After passing a few apartments, Levi pauses at a door identical to yours and fiddles with the lock until it gives. 

He pushes it open, gesturing for you to walk in first.

A part of you wants to hesitate.

The rest of you refuses.

His apartment is clean to a degree you’ve never seen before — for a person who had no idea he was going to end up coming home with a stranger, you’re impressed by the lack of clothes lying about or…

Really anything.

Everything appears pristine. 

Taken care of.

So meticulously in order that you quickly toe each shoe off before stepping inside to leave the dirt and grime of the city at his doorstep. 

Levi follows suit, removing his shoes and closing the door behind him.

As you stand awkwardly by the door, he shuffles around you to the kitchenette mirroring yours a few apartments below. 

He reaches up into the cupboards to take out two mugs, preparing a kettle on the stove.

“Make yourself at home,” he offers, glancing over his shoulder towards you.

Right.

At home.

At home in the apartment where you got your shit verbally rocked for a week straight.

Afraid of offending him, you begin a slow mosey around the perimeter.

To the right is a cluster of framed photographs hanging on a wall — one portrays a tall, handsome blonde wearing dog tags around his neck and an all-smiles brunette with glasses cinching a less-than-enthused Levi between them. 

The proximity suggests they could be his friends, though the keys each person holds in the photo makes you realize a second later: 

In the background is a boxing ring, barely unpacked.

The co-owners of the old gym, maybe?

Considering the one person has dog tags, you can only assume they all met in the army and found themselves in the same city after deployment.

Another framed photograph has Levi in a similar annoyed disposition, arms crossed and unenthusiastic in contrast to the surrounding smiling young adults. They crowd him in various poses of muscle flexing, proudly sporting Survey Gym tees.

So his gym was called Survey Gym, huh?

The name rings a bell, if only in passing.

The young faces surrounding him must have been his trainees. His fighters.

(The people he held dear before the gym went under and he had to find a new path.)

“Trying to find dirt on me already?”

His voice makes you jump out of your damn skin.

“Oh — shit, sorry,” you sputter, stepping away from the wall. “I was just—”

“That was a joke,” he interrupts, the corner of his lip twitching. 

Levi takes the initiative to walk over to you with both mugs in hand, steaming from freshly brewed tea.

He holds out a no-frills emerald mug to you, and the scent finally catches your nose:

Lavender.

“Those are my friends, if you’re too polite to ask.”

“I was relying on context clues,” you confess, mindful of the heat when taking the mug from his hand. You sip until a familiar warmth spreads through your body. “Co-owners?”

“Used to be,” he answers after his own gulp. His free hand gestures to the photo with two people. “Hange’s probably clinically insane and Erwin’s not much better.”

“The guy you mentioned over the phone to Petra?”

Levi nods, taking another long sip of his tea. You follow suit, enjoying the taste.

“Same guy who got me into the hotline, yeah.” He switches focus to the other photo. “Some of my fighters. They’re busy training with other coaches and shit now.”

“Would you ever go back to training fighters if you could?”

“Probably,” Levi replies, “but I’m not exactly the easiest to work with. If I’m training anyone, it’s alongside Erwin. No exceptions.”

Silence settles between your bodies.

As you continue to stand there, allowing the aroma of the tea to calm your senses, you know — the longer you stand here, the more what ifs begin to plague your mind.

What if you met his friends, became a part of his life?

What if you don’t measure up to his expectations?

What if you just said what was on your mind without holding back — would it scare him?

When you feel your mug suddenly grow light, your instinct is to clench your hand around the ceramic handle.

However, you come back down to Earth to realize the person maneuvering the cup is Levi, who has in turn moved closer to you —

So close you can smell the faint scent of a woody, musky cologne.

Angled towards your body, he pauses in removing the mug from your hands when he feels your muscles tense. “You’re disappearing on me.”

So he noticed, even in person.

Say it.

Say it, idiot.

“Just…” 

Trailing off, you find yourself trusting him; letting go of the mug freely so that he can take it back. Levi sets both mugs down on a slender table situated just under the photographs, placing them on swirling marble coasters.

“Just?” he repeats, a mere murmur this time.

“This doesn’t feel real yet,” you confess. “Being here with you. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I wanted this but in my own apartment. Hell, it feels like this is my apartment because we have the same fucking layout — but yours is so much cleaner, I won’t even lie to you.”

It brings you both to laugh under your breath, octaves intertwining. 

When he shakes his head, you find yourself gravitating to his orbit.

“Doubt it’s bad.”

“Oh, it’s a pigsty compared to this place,” you nervously giggle, moving even closer. “Like, I should go home to clean it – but later.”

“Definitely later.”

“Like tomorrow kind of later," you accidentally joke.

“Agreed.”

Oh.

Before the realization hits you, your breath tickles his cheek. Levi is practically toe-to-toe and warm, so very warm, to the degree of dizzying every reservation you had.

You don’t have the confidence to stare anywhere but his lips, parted with little puffs mirroring yours.

“And what is that you want now?” he adds quietly — a question that shoots straight to your core, twisting it with an intense desire that it nearly takes your breath away.

You know.

And if you were a gambling woman, then you suspect that he knows, too.

Three words exit your mouth, straight from your very soul:

“To be selfish.”

It’s all it takes.

As if released from a leash holding you both to your leads, you meet Levi in a passionate, suffocating kiss. 

His hands reach for your face the same time you reach for his, mangling your limbs in a race to touch, to hold — to feel.

Manners are left behind as you press your lips to his, kissing him like you’ll die without. Your own hands bury themselves in the softness of his hair, dragging through the freshly-buzzed undercut and earning yourself a groan.

Shit.

He sounds even better in person.

“Levi—”

You part your lips with a shuddered breath when his tongue leisurely slides across it. All coherent thought ceases to exist.

It’s just him pushing closer — guiding you backwards — until your back hits something solid.

A surprised grunt melts into another groan as he moves one hand to cradle your head, mindful that the back of your skull doesn’t slam against the wall.

Levi tastes like the pineapple seltzer you abandoned back at the bar.

You want this.

Him.

Never in your wildest dreams have you considered sleeping over a man’s apartment before the third date, let alone the first, yet the heat of him — the taste of him — opens brand-new possibilities that mostly focus on the rest of that body underneath his gray long-sleeved shirt.

You're already grabbing the hem of your shirt. The fabric feels too tight against your blazing skin.

Off.

Everything needs to be off.

“Hey,” he exhales in-between kisses, catching your lower lip in his teeth to tug at it. Instantly you whine into his mouth, an involuntary (and fucking embarrassing) noise. “Hey—”

If he asks, you’ll say yes. 

To hell with the unwritten rules.

You’re consenting adults, it’s clear you both want this, and when push comes to shove —

A hand shoots out, covering yours before your shirt can lift over your bra.

“Baby—”

All motor functions effectively freeze when you realize Levi is pulling away, forcefully creating some distance between your panting bodies.

“Baby, listen to me.”

As if in pain, he grits his teeth and pulls away from the kiss, eyes damn near black. 

You’re left watching, stunned and disheveled and painfully aroused.

Worries go from nonexistent to overdrive in a matter of seconds.

“What’s wrong?” you quietly ask despite your budding panic. “Fuck. Sorry, did I do something wro—”

“No. Shit, are you kidding?”

Those stormy eyes catch yours, and you feel another sharp wave of desire flow through your body.

“You’re perfect,” Levi continues, struggling to catch his breath. “You’re fucking perfect, it’s just—”

Just.

One word acts like a splash of cold water.

You’re perfect, but something is imperfect about this. 

You’re perfect, but he still wants to stop.

Levi scowls, voice rough. “Oi. I can hear you thinking a mile a minute.”

Heat rises to your face. “Me?”

“Yeah, you — so don’t.”

For good measure of reassurance, Levi leans back in to gently peck your lips. It’s less heated but by no means less passionate.

You belatedly press your lips back to his before watching him pull away. 

His lips are slick with saliva and exertion. 

There’s a deeper flush on his face that wasn’t there earlier.

“It’s just that I don’t want to rush this,” he states as calmly and evenly as he can.

Objectively, you get it.

Objectively, Levi is making a whole lot of sense. Rushing into things could end up with a lot of heartbreak and confusion. Taking it slow hurts way less than speedrunning the firsts of a new dating-situation-whatever this is.

Subjectively, you’ve heard him moan in your actual face and you would very much like to hear it again and again until it’s burned into the back of your brain like a core memory.

“And I’m not trying to say that we can’t — trust me, I want to — but you’re not some one-night stand to me in any capacity of the damn phrase.”

Unable to help yourself, you nervously roll your eyes and shrug a shoulder. 

“Technically we’re kind of way past one night stands considering we’ve had, like, six.”

A wicked smirk flickers across his face. 

“Yeah, no fucking kidding — but that isn’t what I mean.”

Taking yet another slow, even inhale, the dark-haired man runs his thumb affectionately over your cheek.

“Let me do right by you. By this. Even if it’s corny as shit, I’ll try it.”

Pausing, he drops the hand on your face to gently take your hand.

“I want to take you out on a date. A nice date. Something proper — starting with finishing our tea, then walking you home so I know you got to your apartment safe.”

“I’m six floors away, Levi,” you tease.

“I’ll settle on taking the elevator with you,” he retorts, teasing right back. "Still: let me prove I can be good to you. That I can earn you."

He pauses, jaw clenched.

"Earn us."

Reluctantly you both detach, the taste shared on your lips. He wastes no time to take your hand in his, squeezing it for emphasis, before giving you back your cup of tea.

Although the room is charged with tension, you both behave.

Sipping tea.

Holding hands.

Staring.

As much as you want to act on your desires, you’re flattered he’s so adamant to take this slow.

It only grounds this fantasy further into the woven fabric of reality — of what’s to come in your life.

Levi is good on his word: he walks you to the elevator, through the corridor and to your apartment.

And when you’ve managed to wriggle your keys into the door, he gently calls your name.

Just as you turn, he places that warm hand on your cheek and presses his lips back to yours.

This time it’s chaste, sweet — lingering.

They brush yours methodically, as if committing your body to memory, before reluctantly pulling away.

“Goodnight, formerly Scarlet,” he states under his breath for only you to hear.

“Goodnight, still Levi,” you return, mirroring his intimacy in tone.

Satisfied, he kisses you one final time before pulling away. 

You watch as he walks backwards towards the stairwell of the apartment complex, a certain glow about him as he asks:

“Will I see you at the gym in the morning?”

As if you’d ever skip a leg day now.

.

Author's Note:

First of all, much love and appreciation for your patience as I finally found the mental capacity to write this chapter. Naturally it was easier to write in the summer, and fall has been A Time (TM). I have a lot of big life events coming up in the next few weeks, but I will keep the dash posted on when they should expect part three.

Thank you for any likes, replies, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.

[silver-studios]

How Shang Qinghua Ends Up Conning a Sect

AU where everything happens as it does in canon right up until the Mobei-Jun mission.

Shang Qinghua's system warns him earlier than it does in canon to be prepared, and he connects the dots, at which point he freaks out because he does not want to become a canon fodder spy. So SQH starts to protest being assigned to the mission, doing his best to get out of going by grovelling before his shixiong. Unfortunately, the Peak Lord happens to be passing by as this is happening and expresses disapproval at SQH trying to shirk his duties, forcing him to go and also ending up in him being saddled with even more chores while he’s at it much to his fellow disciples’ smug pleasure.

Not that the smugness lasts for long since they all end up dead. SQH does what he does best and just plays dead instead of pledging allegiance and then runs away once MBJ passes out (no moshang in this AU rip). He makes his way to the Sect alone because he isn’t even sure if they’ll send someone for him and makes it there just as the search party is leaving, bursting into tears from exhaustion and relief and admitting that everyone else is dead because of a demon attack.

He’s mostly numb and in denial in the aftermath because what do you mean he’s just subverted his major death flag?? Does he just live normally now until Luo Binghe swings by to massacre them?

He’s debating this when SQQ swoops in suspiciously to question how Shang-shidi alone managed to survive and crawl his way back to the Sect, to which SQH freaks out and kind of implies (or outright states) that he can see the future. SQQ is immediately disbelieving and YQY intervenes because SQH looks close to having a stroke, and SQH figures that since he has already stuck his foot in his mouth, he may as well buckle down and run with his technically-not-a-lie. So, he tells them that he knows their whole lore, even name dropping Xuan Su, the Qiu mansion and Wu Yanzi because he's pretty much obligated to commit to the bit at this point.

YQY pales and SQQ immediately goes on the defensive, telling him to keep his mouth shut, to which SQH protests because he’s known this whole time and hasn’t said a word. He really just wants to lay low and mind his business, guys, he swears. This is YOUR toxic doomed yaoi, not OUR toxic doomed yaoi.

YQY tells him that SQH clearly has a gift and they should inform the Peak Lords. SQH protests because obviously there’s no gift to speak of, and his ass does not need to risk being exposed like this. SQQ— still clearly on the fence about the whole seeing the future thing— agrees and practically drags SQH to face judgement for his crime of bullshitting.

Surprisingly, the An Ding Peak Lord actually appears to consider this farce because he remembers how badly SQH didn’t want to go on this mission. Appearing horrified, he asks, “Is this why you didn’t want to go? Because you knew what awaited you?” SQH just goes with it, nodding along and looking extra pathetic. “Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

Because he’d look like a crazy person??? “This disciple is aware that his…foresight is hard to believe in.” Great, now his Shizun thinks he has a tragic backstory like Cassandra or something. Good. Feel bad. You sent SQH into the jaws of death after all. Some guilt is exactly what you should be feeling.

The Sect Leader who is also present is less quick to trust in SQH’s claims since he isn’t angsting over the death of a bunch of disciples, and he proposes that they test SQH’s abilities somehow. Shit, SQH should have written this guy to be stupider; now he’s about to be executed or something for lying. He wracks his brains desperately for the plot he only really half-recalls, and manages to give out the location of some super mystical artefact to convince them. Just to be safe, he also says he knows the courtesy names of the entire Qing generation to come, though he refrains from telling them exactly which pupil will inherit the names. It takes a few days to confirm both his ‘predictions’ but soon enough SQH has been dubbed a certified Seer.

He ends up having to spend some time with Qian Cao and the divination/feng shui Peak Lords so they can make sure he’s physically and spiritually alright while they try to work out the extent of his powers so he isn’t hurting himself somehow. Since there are no powers to speak of, SQH knows it’s all useless but just lets them do whatever. The divination/feng shui Peak Lord is a little puzzled because usually divination involves seeking visions out through ritual, sacrifice or calculation. Seemingly random visions that are involuntary and inherent are exceedingly rare. They can’t sense anything inhuman or demonic off him either so it’s 100% all him, which is a trait of an extremely rare form of shamanism. SQH is mildly hysterical listening to them puzzle over his bullshit but needs must.

”Shang-shizi must have encountered some powerful god or spirit as a baby or in a past life.”

Sure, yeah, let's go with that. Why ever the fuck not.

They inform him that evil spirits and demons are often attracted to people like him for their qi, so he needs to learn how to defend himself. Caught in a lie of his own making, SQH can only curse in his heart and agree.

The An Ding Peak Lord offers to let him transfer to the feng shui peak (still wanting to compensate SQH somehow) but System immediately starts threatening SQH who bursts into tears from how stressful this ordeal has been and begs on his knees to be allowed to stay on An Ding. His Shizun is deeply touched, mistaking his desperation as love for this peak, and of course allows him to stay, remarking over how he had no idea “Hua-er was such a good, filial child” and that “this master is so lucky to have such a devoted disciple.” The misunderstandings between them continue to grow.

Since he’s stuck spending inordinate amounts of time learning various chants, prayers and rituals to protect himself, he has to do some serious bootlicking if he ever wants to be promoted to Inner Disciple. Thus, SQH doubles down on sabotaging his seniors and currying favour with Shizun in every spare moment he has. At least the others are discouraged from giving him too many chores because of his tighter schedule and Shizun's guilt. Shamelessly, SQH employs some of the tricks he’s learning (like talisman-making and minor spells) to his advantage so that he’s positively hovering around his Shizun like a very dedicated housefly over an attractive pile of garbage.

His shizun is none the wiser and is convinced his little disciple is a dutiful angel. Soon enough, SQH bags his promotion and subverts System-given punishment.

Rumours about his “power” spread, and people want to prod and see for themselves if it’s legit. Most of the time, he has to turn them away because fuck you he’s not a fortune cookie and he has no powers to speak of anyways, but sometimes someone will ask him something that he actually does know. For example, A Qian Cao disciple needs to know where to find this super niche herb, or SQH knows how to cure this obscure predicament, or Qing Jing needs to know about some culture or beast, or Wan Jian wants to find a super rare ore. Shizun is struggling with a contract, but SQH recognises that name as wife #465’s backstory and spills the tea, allowing them to be “talked into” better terms. Sometimes, he just makes educated guesses about the economic scene based on modern trends and statistics, and people hail him as a prophet. As a gift, his Shizun gives him a journal they recovered from a former shaman. SQH is horrified by the fact that he now essentially possesses a grimoire.

Then one day, he receives a request from his juniors to investigate a shed they swear is haunted. It is haunted, but SQH manages to banish the ghost and it’s fine. No biggie. Why are they looking at him with stars in their eyes? He also realises atp that the more he learns to use the spiritual arts, the more he’s able to interact with spirits (very double-edged sword) and great now that’s one more dumb fucking way he could die. He decides to say fuck it to xianxia social norms and tattoos himself with protective seals because hell nah. There may or may not be a small fan club growing in the background but that's not important (it is to me I want him to be appreciated).

Inevitably, he’s assigned to a mission. Unfortunately, he’s stuck with SQQ, who specifically requested to work with him much to Shizun’s delight (his Hua-er is making connections!) and SQH’s dismay. They’re supposed to appraise some rare book or whatever and negotiate a trade because Qing Jing’s Peak Lord really wants this one fucking book. SQH spends the entire trip to the collector’s home sweating while SQQ glares at him. It just gets worse because once they get there, the place is closed which pisses SQQ off even more who acts like it’s SQH’s fault.

Before SQH can apologise for daring to exist, a woman peeks out at them from inside the shop and appears to be greatly relieved to see a pair of cultivators. She tells them her husband has been acting super fucking weird but the doctors’ haven’t been able to help, claiming that he’s just gone insane, but maybe the cultivators can take a look and make sure it’s not some demon. SQH wants to protest because this is so far above his pay grade but SQQ silences him with one look and asks to be taken to the husband since “My shidi here is particularly gifted with the spirit arts.” Shen-shixiong, please this one is sorry, have mercy!

Anyways, SQH takes one look at the guy and is like “No yeah he’s definitely possessed lol.” He has to perform some ritual to determine just what is possessing the husband though and learns that it’s a ghost that will have to be forcibly ejected out of the dude’s body. SQQ is dubious about his skills but goes along with it begrudgingly, helping SQH gather supplies for the exorcism since they’re stuck seeing this through now because of him. He’s being prissy, and Qinghua is already nervous about an impromptu exorcism when he’s never done one by himself so he ends up snapping at him about “I’m not out to get you! I didn’t mean to learn your tragic backstory, but I’ve known all along and could literally not give less of a fuck, so can you stop being even more of an asshole than usual and just find me some fucking flowers so we can be done with this and go home!” And SQQ is so startled by the uncharacteristic outburst that he goes along with it.

The exorcism is…fine. The ritual is ok, but SQH wasn’t expecting quite that much resistance, so he has to have SQQ distract the ghost while he works on banishing it back to whatever hole it crawled out of. It’s tiring work, especially for his first solo exorcism, and he pretty much passes out as soon as it’s over. He wakes up in one of the collector’s guest bedrooms and awkwardly apologises for fainting and also for screaming at SQQ earlier. SQQ looks at him and sniffs, graciously forgiving him. SQH earnestly reiterates that he’ll keep his mouth shut about the stuff he knows. SQQ doesn’t respond to that but tells him that the collector is giving them the book for free as thanks so they can fuck off as soon as SQH is well enough.

They give the book to QJ Peak Lord but before SQH can fuck off, SQQ corners him again. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Xuan Su that Yue-shixiong clearly wanted to keep secret. What is it?” SQH tries to dither “ah, it’s really not my place…” Then he sees the look on SQQ’s face, remembers that he actually values his life and promptly rats YQY out before scurrying off to safety while SQQ immediately flies over to Qiong Ding to rip YQY a new one for keeping such a huge secret from him.

SQH is tasked to tidy Shizun’s office before some guests arrive and ends up rearranging the furniture because the feng shui in there sucked ass tbh and his Shizun is so pleased by the gesture that he decides to start grooming him for head disciple duties. Not that SQH really realises what’s happening. He just knows he suddenly has even more grunt work to do and is silently cursing his Shizun out over it.

He’s on Qiong Ding for inventory when YQY corners him much to his horror because YQY is wearing his super creepy empty smile as he brings up how SQH snitched on him. SQH is already halfway through apologising for breathing when YQY cuts him off to thank him for the intervention, assuring him that if SQH needs help or a favour, YQY will have his back. Great. Thanks I guess???

Anyways so thanks to his connections, his Shizun is even more impressed and officially makes him Head Disciple. First order of business is actually a mission with Liu Qingge since SQQ is going with YQY. Their mission is to investigate a haunted mirror that causes hallucinations and basically tricks its victims into violent self-destruction. Before they can even enter, SQH is making LQG promise that he won’t try to attack or provoke the mirror because if LQG goes crazy and tries to kill SQH, he might actually die. LQG scoffs, mutters something about weak cultivation, begrudgingly promises, and then promptly gets impatient halfway through SQH extensive diagnosis and packaging process and tries to stab the mirror because it reeks of evil and should clearly be destroyed.

Luckily, SQH’s idiot system actually has its uses and it doesn’t allow any other sentient being to influence him meaning he’s pretty possession proof. Unluckily, LQG does not have this built in immunity and starts trying to kill SQH who is suddenly stuck fighting for his life against the soon-to-be War God of Bai Zhan. He runs and screams the whole time and kind of blacks out in his blind panic, but next thing he knows, he’s slapped LQG with a temporary qi disrupting talisman and locked him in a room. It won’t hold him for long, but at least he’s bought himself some time with this. SQH then has to go about exorcising the fucking mirror. Halfway through his chanting, LQG escapes his enclosure and bursts in, so now SQH is hysterically fighting him off while simultaneously finishing his chant because if he stops, he’ll have to start over and it might legitimately kill him. He manages and then chucks some stray debris to shatter it for good measure just as LQG tackles him. The spell breaks and LQG just kind of freezes, supremely disoriented and trying to figure out what is happening when SQH just fucking decks him, punting him through the already damaged wall and yelling, “I asked you not to do one thing, and what do you do?! You do the thing! The thing I specifically asked you not to do!! You fucking clown, Liu-shidi! You’re lucky you’re so pretty because, right now, it’s the only thing keeping me from ripping your face off and beating you to death with it” before promptly bursting into tears.

It’s a really awkward flight back home because SQH is straight up refusing to even acknowledge LQG’s existence (partly out of anger because what an idiot and partly because he just threatened someone who could definitely eviscerate him???), and LQG is unusually contrite in the wake of the mission that he almost botched and his usually timid shixiong’s fury. When they make it back to the sect, he goes to apologise (because SQH is a really fast flier and LQG could barely catch up to him the whole trip, let alone speak), but SQH cuts him off and orders him to go to Qian Cao and have them do a post-possession check up while he goes to give his Shizun a report on why they destroyed the mirror they were actually supposed to bring back for storage. LQG sulks harder but actually does as asked because SQH still looks to be in no mood for arguments.

Once things have calmed, SQH is mortified and determined to just avoid LQG because it’s super likely the guy will just forget about his existence so long as he stays out of sight. LQG does not forget. LQG keeps trying to seek him out and leaving monster carcasses for him to find, which SQH assumes with horror is meant to be a threat to his life and just avoids his shidi even harder. He’s not above fainting to get out of confrontations too! LQG has no idea what he’s dealing with.

A very frustrated and determined LQG finally manages to corner SQH after a Peak Lord meeting that the Head Disciples got to sit in on to learn since their shizuns are going to ascend soon. SQH decides that SQQ is actually the lesser of two evils and shamelessly dives behind him for cover which instantly pisses LQG off because “You’re willing to use him to avoid me?”

SQQ: Ex-cuse me? What is that supposed to mean?

SQH: Yeah! I love hanging out with Shen-shixong!

[collective disbelief]

YQY: (fake smiling and subtly hiding SQH behind him) Did you need something from Shang-shidi, Liu-shidi?

LQG: …wanted to thank him. and apologise.

SQH: Wait why????

LQG: for the mission. I screwed up and you had to complete the mission on your own when it was my job to protect you and provide backup. You could have left me since I was a hinderance to our objective and went against your orders but you didn’t. Thank you.

SQH: Well, it’s fine now, isn’t it?

LQG: (insistent) You saved my life

SQH: We’re martial siblings, haha, no biggie

SQQ: (immediately catching on and suddenly very smug) So you owe Shang-shidi a debt

SQH: He does????

LQG: I do

SQH: You do????

LQG wants to know how to repay the debt but SQH just waves him off, saying he’ll let him know if he thinks of something, mostly just to be rid of him because he’s really intense and it’s not good for SQH’s heart. LQG just thinks that SQH is dismissing him because he probably thinks LQG is unreliable after the disaster mission. Well, LQG will just have to prove him otherwise. And so begin the misunderstandings between these two as well.

Meanwhile, SQH’s Shizun watching with fond eyes: Ah, my Hua-er is making so many friends. He’s so popular. I’m so proud.

Qian Cao’s peak lord: Actually, I think he’s having a heart attack right now. Someone should probably get him.

The battle against TLJ takes place and most of the martial siblings have to go help the effort, though SQH is not one of them because the sect does have to keep running while everyone's gone. He’s helping SQQ double check that the Qing Jing supplies are up to par and he can tell SQQ is nervous because he's even more snappy and irritable than usual. Finally, SQH turns to him and says with certainty, “It will be fine, shixiong. You will be fine, Yue-shixiong will be fine, Liu-shidi will downright thrive.”

SQQ: Who’s worried about that meathead?

SQH: I’m just saying.

SQQ: …You’ve had a vision

SQH: Sure

SQQ asks for details and SQH admits YQY will have to unsheathe his blade but he will survive and his newly earned renown will really boost the sect’s own reputation once he becomes Sect Leader. Suspicious about the way SQH says that, SQQ prods about casualties. SQH admits that they will be ascending as Peak Lords very soon though he doesn’t elaborate on who it is specifically because “Knowledge of the future is a heavy weight to bear, shixiong.”

SQQ: What, you think I’m too weak to know?

SQH: I didn’t say that. I know exactly how strong you are and I admire you, but…I wouldn’t wish this burden upon anyone else, shixiong. Not truly. It’s dangerous and disheartening. People shouldn’t be privy to their fate. It’s unnatural.

SQQ lets it go because SQH looks abnormally intense as he talks about how he views his gift, but it does leave him thoughtful about just what kind of futures SQH foresees.

Anyways, the Sect Leader gets fatally injured in the battle, and the Peak Lords ascend hastily before he can actually die so that they can all pass on together. SQH finally succeeds in his longstanding mission, but he can’t say he’s thrilled about the promotion considering he has to really hit the ground running. An Ding can’t afford transition phases as things stand. So, he spends a month categorising which systems to keep, which to overhaul and how he’d overhaul them. All the staff is ruthlessly vetted, and he’s basically functioning as a one-man army just trying to keep on top of all the requests being sent his way too.

Needless to say, when he stumbles into the first official mandatory Peak Lords meeting, he looks like death itself. He’s straight up dissociating through most of it, only listening with half an ear when he’s directly addressed. He doesn’t even remember what he said when it was his turn to speak because he’s so out of it. At some point, he lifts his tea, misses his mouth and just pours it in his lap without blinking. SQQ watches him with equal parts clinical curiosity and disgust. The agenda is finished and it’s open floor for anyone who has anything extra to mention. Someone requests something from him and he nods along without really hearing it because if it’s not on paper, it’s not important right now.

Someone starts an argument and Qi Qingqi is being extra loud to be heard; they still haven’t been dismissed even though all of this is unnecessary and SQH has a killer migraine. He turns to god and prays for patience. SQQ, sitting next to him and listening, corrects him because he’s using the wrong phrase. “You mean strength,” he says.

SQH snorts and mutters under his breath, “If the gods gave me strength, Qi-shimei would be dead.”

In a room of Peak Lords, whispering is pointless. There is silence as everyone stares at an unusually vindictive SQH. QQQ looks baffled, affronted, and impressed simultaneously.

Then, LQG mutters, “I thought I was the only one he threatened like that.” He manages to sound both relieved and put out.

SQQ, like a shark smelling blood, turns to stare at him judgmentally and, in a condescendingly sweet manner, asks, “Is shidi upset about not getting special treatment anymore?” The provocation works, of course, and a new argument errupts.

SQH watches blankly, hands twitching to his sleeves where he keeps talismans, tired and unhinged enough to actually contemplate literally cursing his martial siblings when a pointed “Shang-shidi” draws his attention to YQY who smiles emptily and says, “No.”

”But, shixiong—”

”No.”

Then, one day, YQY, SQQ, SQH, QQQ and LQG are on their way back from some formal sect event or the other when they come across a growing mass of supernatural resentment flying right towards them. Naturally, as the ‘psychic’ SQH is looked upon to figure out what is going on. He’s reluctant to really get close and is kind of mumbling while he places diagnostic arrays, “Man it’d be convenient if you could just straight up tell me so we’d all save time.” The mass kind of pauses for a moment and then clears just enough for SQH’s more supernaturally attuned eyes to see.

”Su Xiyan?!!”

Su Xiyan the Bog Monster is clearly trying to tell him something but he’s not psychic enough for actual ghostly communication so it takes him a second to make out through the garbled moaning and pained shrieking that she says baby at some point. “Oh, Luo Binghe?” he says, happy just to have caught something. The Bog Monster projects surprise. The Peak Lords watch with dispassionate confusion.

“Yeah I know the whole story. Sorry about what happened to you by the way. I couldn’t really do anything to stop it unfortunately. Something about fixed points in fate that can’t be changed? Not that that’s like fair. To you, I mean.” Great now he feels guilty and SQQ has the creepy contemplative look in his eyes again. “So, how can I help you?”

More convoluted bog monster charades ensues. Finally, he guesses she wants him to go find LBH and take care of him because he’s just been orphaned. Again.

So, SQH turns to his fellow Peak Lords, shrugs at them, offers no other explanation and accepts that he’s about to change the fate of the world as he knew it. In the end, it’s maddeningly simple really. LBH is a tiny thing, all of seven years old, big eyes in a precious face framed by adorable curly hair. SQH tells him he’s an immortal master who knew his birth mother and LBH, after some explaining that his mom actually loved him and was forced to abandon him because she was dying, agrees to go with him. So, SQH is officially a dad now. Su Xiyan, satisfied that her baby is ok for good, lets go of her resentments and moves on to the afterlife.

SQH has the dubious honour of explaining to his martial siblings that he has adopted a half-demon child because his ghost mom asked him to, admitting to the full story of what actually happened between Su Xiyan and TLJ. Understandably, they’re shocked. There’s initially some questions about why SQH didn’t say anything sooner when an innocent Su Xiyan was imprisoned. SQH says that he couldn’t. SQQ deduces that his gift of foresight actually comes at a cost.

There’s no gift so there’s no real cost, but SQH isn’t above lying. He just openly says that if he tries to change certain things he knows of, it would cost him his life. He didn’t even want to come to Cang Qiong initially, but every time he even thought of changing his fate, he knew he’d die. He knew about YQY’s qi deviation before YQY had even become an inner disciple but again he couldn’t stop it. He hadn’t even thought of intervening in LBH’s fate because he’d assumed he couldn’t. He doesn’t know why he’s being allowed now.

SQQ catches onto the implication that LBH is important to fate somehow then, and SQH haltingly admits that, as far as he knew, LBH would have the power to end the world if he so wanted. If Cang Qiong looks after him and supports him though, they’d have all that power devoted to them. In the end it doesn’t take much convincing to be honest. LBH does have that white sheep protagonist halo thing going for him after all.

SQH ends up freeing TLJ, claiming that he’s just diverting the potential end of the world. TLJ is revived and told the full truth of what happened. He meets LBH who is very confused and very shy, but not averse. At least until he realises he might have to go away with TLJ at which he point he bursts into tears because he doesn’t want to leave SQH. Since TLJ is now stuck co-parenting, he agrees to a secret alliance with Cang Qiong and goes to make sure the demon realm hasn’t forgotten who’s boss.

LBH grows up in both realms, learning under LQG and his dad and fully coming into his own as a supremely powerful cultivator and heir to the demon throne. SQQ asks if SQH ever foresaw his own death and SQH admits that he did. He saw all of their deaths. SQQ asks if fate really can be changed to which SQH is happy to report that yeah, not everything is set in stone.

”And what do you see now?”

”Nothing actually. I haven’t had a vision in years.” Or ever.

”Doesn’t that make you nervous?”

”Everything makes me nervous, shixiong.” Pause. “But, this once, it’s not too bad. Not knowing what the future holds means that anything is possible.”

Fate will be what they make of it now, and this is just the beginning.

[amethystarachnid]

Can you write for me Amnesia trope from Marvel Bingo with Tony/Fem reader? Tony is a little injured after a mission and he loses his memory, when reader is going to see him (wife or girlfriend) he won't recognize her but he'll immediately fall for her all over again 🥺 she thinks it's absolutely cute that he didn't recognize her but soon he'll recover his memory and blush so hard when reader shows him his videos of him all smitten by her hahahaha ❤️ and Tony saying he'll alwyas fall for her 🥺 (some spicy kisse maybe?)

ALWAYS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: Because of an injury Tony temporarily loses his memories of you, his wife, and you're determined to make him gain them back. Do you really need to do so when he has already fallen back in love with you?

ᯓ★ TW(s): memory loss and clingy Tony

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The beeping. It’s the first thing you notice when you step into the hospital room—the insistent, steady beep of the heart monitor that Tony’s hooked up to. It’s steady, strong, and for that, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The smell of antiseptic stings your nose, reminding you that, despite Tony's resilience, he's as vulnerable as any of them in situations like these.

The mission had gone wrong in ways you didn’t see coming. Stark Industries had developed tech that a rival group decided they wanted to “borrow”—forcefully. What was supposed to be a simple extraction turned into a messy firefight. But, like always, Tony had pushed you to evacuate, promising he’d be right behind you. Instead, an explosion threw him from his suit, leaving him vulnerable to the final assault. He had barely gotten out before going down hard.

Now, you’re here, nerves raw and trembling as you hover by the doorway, watching him.

Tony is sitting up, but he seems…distant. Disoriented, maybe. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he’s trying to make sense of something in the middle distance. It’s unnerving because you’re used to a Tony whose attention burns, even when he’s exhausted, half-buried in his lab, or just waking up. He sees everything.

But not this time. And for some reason, he doesn’t see you.

“Mrs. Stark?”

You turn as the doctor enters, offering you a sympathetic look. It’s a look that’s meant to ease you into news you know you don’t want to hear.

“Is he…awake?”

The doctor nods, gesturing you toward the chair by Tony’s bed. “He’s stable. His vitals are strong. The issue, Mrs. Stark, is that there appears to be some level of memory loss.”

The words clang in your ears, foreign and cold, completely out of place in the world you’ve built with Tony. “What do you mean by ‘memory loss’?”

She sighs, glancing at Tony before she speaks. “Memory loss is complicated. From what I’ve gathered, Mr. Stark has retained his long-term memories and most of his professional knowledge. But, due to the trauma and subsequent disorientation, there’s a block on more recent events…particularly in his personal life.”

Your stomach drops, and you take a deep breath, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He doesn’t remember me, does he?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says softly. “In many cases, memories return with time and familiar cues. Given Mr. Stark’s particular cognitive resilience, I have high hopes for recovery. But until then, he may…struggle with recognition and personal connections.”

You nod slowly, trying to take it all in. In all the battles, the missions, the threats, this is somehow scarier. Because it’s not just his body that’s wounded; it’s your life together that’s fractured.

When the doctor leaves, you take a step forward, but your feet feel leaden, hesitant. And for once, you don’t know what to say. This isn’t just Tony after a rough mission. This is your husband, and he doesn’t know you.

Finally, you muster the courage and approach the bed, offering him a soft, tentative smile. “Hey there, stranger.”

He looks up, his gaze sharp but confused, and something in his eyes flickers with a shade of recognition—a spark that leaves you hoping. But then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“Do I, uh, know you?” His tone is polite, curious, but there’s a guardedness to it, as if he’s unsure if he’s supposed to recognize you. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart over you, taking you in, and a pang of sadness tugs at your heart as you realize he’s assessing you the way he might a stranger.

You laugh softly, forcing down the lump in your throat. “You could say that. I’m…” You hesitate, wondering if it’s too much to say it outright, but the words slip out before you can stop them. “I’m your wife.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he stares at you, stunned. “My wife?”

“Yes.” You smile, more gently this time, as though that will ease him into the idea. “For almost three years now.”

Tony blinks, and you can see his mind racing, struggling to process this unexpected piece of information. He gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I…you’re telling me I’m married to you?”

His shock is genuine, and for a moment, a bubble of laughter escapes you. It’s that classic Tony Stark reaction—equal parts disbelief and awe, as if he can’t quite believe his good luck.

“Yes,” you say again, and this time, there’s a hint of amusement in your voice. “You managed to convince me somehow.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a lopsided grin that’s both endearing and achingly familiar. “Wow. I must be one hell of a salesman.”

“Oh, you are.” The laughter fades from your voice as you take a step closer, unable to resist the need to be nearer to him, even if he doesn’t remember you right now. “You’re the best.”

For a moment, he studies you, his gaze flickering with something like curiosity, maybe even admiration. It’s a glimmer of the old Tony, the man who made you feel like the only person in the room, no matter the crowd or chaos. But here, with him looking at you as a stranger might, there’s something raw and beautiful about it, too. He’s falling in love with you all over again, right in front of your eyes.

“Well, I guess I should feel lucky,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips. “If you’re half as amazing as you look, then…yeah. Lucky guy.”

The words make your heart flutter, and despite everything, you feel a warmth spread through you, easing the tightness in your chest. He’s still Tony, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Want to know a little about us?” you ask, hoping that maybe, somehow, it will trigger something—some hidden memory or spark of recognition.

He nods, settling back against the pillow. “Please. Enlighten me. I’m curious how a guy like me managed to marry someone like you.”

“Well,” you start, a smile tugging at your lips as you pull up a chair beside him. “For starters, we didn’t exactly get along at first.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Did I say something to offend you?”

“You…may have.” You grin, remembering the banter, the stubborn disagreements, the sparks that seemed to ignite every time you were in a room together. “You were cocky, stubborn, a little arrogant.”

He chuckles. “That sounds about right.”

“But somehow,” you continue, your voice softening, “you managed to break down all my walls. You made me feel like I was the only person who mattered, even if you acted like you were just being yourself.”

His gaze lingers on you, and there’s a warmth there, something cautious but undeniably present. “I’m sorry I don’t remember that.”

“Don’t be.” You place a gentle hand over his, feeling the faint warmth of his skin against yours. It’s a familiar gesture, one you’ve done a thousand times before, but this time, it feels different—new, almost shy. “You’ll remember. And until you do, we’ll make new memories. Starting right now.”

He looks down at your hand on his, and you can see the faintest flush of color in his cheeks. For a man who’s usually so sure of himself, so confident in every move he makes, it’s endearing to see him look almost…nervous.

“So, tell me more about this…our life,” he says, his voice soft, like he’s trying to hold onto the pieces he has left.

“Well,” you say, smiling as you think of the little things that make up your life together. “We spend a lot of time in the lab together, actually. Even if you’re always tinkering, working on some new project, you always have time for me.”

“Do I? Sounds like a good husband.” There’s a touch of pride in his voice, and it makes your heart ache a little—because he doesn’t even know the half of it yet.

“A very good husband,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with all the love you feel for him. “The best.”

And there it is—that flicker in his eyes, like he’s starting to see it, to feel it. It’s as if, for just a moment, he knows you, feels that connection.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “For being here. For…all of this.”

You squeeze his hand gently, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. “You’re my husband, Tony. I’d do anything for you.”

And as you sit there, hands entwined, you realize that even if he has to fall in love with you all over again, you’ll be right here, waiting.

The drive back from the hospital is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Tony stares out the window, taking in the blur of city lights as you weave through the streets toward your shared home. Occasionally, you catch him glancing at you, his expression somewhere between awe and disbelief, as if he’s still wrapping his head around the idea that you’re his wife, that he’s returning to a life he doesn’t remember but that he somehow…wants.

When you finally pull into the long driveway leading up to your home, his eyebrows shoot up. Stark Tower looms ahead, its sleek, modern design stark against the night sky. The iconic "STARK" sign gleams with familiar grandeur. He lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes, too—something like pride.

“So, this is…our place?” he asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

You can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Well, your place, technically. But I’ve definitely made it my own.”

Tony chuckles, the sound low and warm, and you’re reminded of all the times he’s teased you about “taking over” his tower with touches of your personality: the cozy reading nook in his office, the garden on the roof you insisted on installing, even the art pieces scattered throughout the building. And despite his teasing, he’d always seemed proud of how much of yourself you’d poured into his space.

“Well,” he says, stepping out of the car, “if you’re half as great at interior design as you are at, uh, marrying billionaires, I think I’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Oh, just you wait,” you say with a playful smirk as you lead him inside.

The entryway is a testament to the sleek, modern style Tony’s known for—polished floors, clean lines, an air of sophistication mixed with warmth. But there are little touches here and there that mark it as your home too: framed photos from the missions you’ve tackled together, a throw blanket draped over the couch, even a small shelf of books beside the entrance to the main living area.

Tony follows you, his gaze flitting over each detail with that trademark Stark intensity, taking it all in as if he’s studying a new project. When his eyes land on a photo of the two of you at a beach, he pauses. You remember that day so vividly: you were laughing, caught in a candid moment as he held you close, your hair whipped by the wind.

“Is that…us?” he asks, a softness in his voice that tugs at your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping closer to him. “A couple of years ago. We were on a vacation you forced me to take.”

“I forced you?” he repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “Was I…was I that difficult?”

“Only a little,” you tease, nudging him gently. “You hated the idea of not working for a few days. But we made the best of it.”

His lips curve into a small smile as he stares at the photo a moment longer before turning his gaze back to you. “I look…happy. Really happy.”

“You were,” you say softly. “We both were.”

He swallows, his gaze lingering on you, and for a moment, you can almost feel the weight of all the memories he’s lost. But there’s a warmth in his eyes, a flicker of something that feels like a connection—even if it’s new to him.

You clear your throat and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”

You lead him down the hall, pointing out the various rooms, each one filled with a mix of his tech and your touches: the library with shelves overflowing with both your favorite books, the small lounge you use for watching movies together, and finally, your bedroom.

When you open the door, he stands in the doorway, taking it in. The room is a blend of Tony’s sophisticated taste and your own comfortable style, the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the neatly made bed, the nightstand stacked with a few of Tony’s reading materials, and the little tray of lotions and skincare items you keep on your side.

“This…feels nice,” he murmurs, his gaze sweeping over the room. He takes a step inside, running a hand over the bedspread, almost as if testing its texture. “I don’t know why, but I feel…calm here.”

You smile, moving to stand beside him. “It’s our space. Your favorite spot after a long day, whether you’d admit it or not. You always said it’s the one place that lets you truly relax.”

He chuckles, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah, well, if you say so. I…believe you.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and you can feel the weight of the day settling over both of you. He’s exhausted, and so are you.

“Do you…want to rest?” you ask, realizing he might be overwhelmed with all of this new information.

“Actually, I think I’d like to keep looking around,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I just…don’t want to miss anything. It feels like I’ve lost a huge chunk of my life, and I want to piece it together, however I can.”

You nod, understanding. You feel a pang of sadness but try to hide it. “Well, I’ll be here. We can take it slow. One room at a time.”

Together, you move back down the hallway, stopping in the kitchen next. Tony’s gaze catches on the coffee maker, and he raises his eyebrows with a look of genuine excitement. “Please tell me I still drink coffee.”

You laugh, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Oh, you drink enough coffee to fuel a small army. In fact…” You open a cabinet, revealing an impressive array of coffee beans, grounds, and Tony’s prized espresso machine. “You’re particular about it. You like to experiment.”

He nods, visibly impressed. “I see I have good taste. I’d like to think I’m a genius when it comes to coffee.”

“Among other things,” you reply, grinning as you start to brew a fresh pot, the familiar hum of the machine filling the room.

As the coffee brews, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with that spark of interest you remember so well. But now, it feels new, raw, as if he’s falling for you all over again and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes, “you said we didn’t get along at first. How did I change your mind?”

You chuckle, handing him a mug and savoring the warmth as you lean back against the counter beside him. “It wasn’t any one thing. You…surprised me. I kept expecting you to be this arrogant genius with no time for anyone, but then you started showing up at my door with random inventions, making coffee runs at three a.m. with me, and bringing me little gifts from your travels.” You smile, remembering each moment as if it’s engraved in your memory. “You just…wore me down, I guess.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, mulling over your words, and you see the warmth in his expression, a flicker of understanding, even if it’s only a shadow of his former self.

“Well, then,” he says, his tone soft, “I’m glad I wore you down.”

His words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the kitchen feels smaller, more intimate, filled with a sense of closeness that’s been there since the moment you met but now feels refreshingly new.

Tony shifts his weight, looking suddenly unsure. “So…do I get to sleep in our bed tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling a little as you nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you walk back to the bedroom together, side by side, you feel a quiet sense of peace settle over you. Tony might not remember you—at least not yet—but he’s here, and he’s yours, and somehow, you’ll find a way to rebuild together.

You slip into bed, settling under the covers, and Tony follows suit, lying beside you with a soft sigh. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches over, his hand brushing against yours beneath the covers. You entwine your fingers with his, and even though he doesn’t remember the countless nights you’ve fallen asleep like this, it feels natural.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice soft.

“Goodnight, Tony,” you murmur back, your heart swelling with hope.

As the city lights outside cast a gentle glow across the room, you lie there, hand in hand, feeling the warmth of him beside you. And for the first time since the accident, you feel a flicker of reassurance.

The days start to blur together in a rhythm that feels both familiar and new. Tony’s memory isn’t coming back all at once, but he’s recovering it in little flashes, bits and pieces of who he used to be, of who you are to each other. And even though some of these memories are fleeting, almost insignificant, they build something solid between you—something that’s real and growing stronger with every passing moment.

It begins with breakfast one morning.

You’re standing at the stove, cooking eggs and listening to Tony talk about his latest gadget idea. He’s been getting back into work, tinkering here and there in the lab, and he always comes out in the morning with some grand plan or concept. It’s one of the things you’ve missed most—his enthusiasm, his endless curiosity, the way he lights up when he talks about creating something new. You smile, flipping the eggs onto plates and setting them on the counter.

“You know, I don’t think I ever realized how much you put up with me,” he says, leaning against the counter with that lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “All my late nights, random ideas, and, uh, probably a few accidental explosions.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you hand him his plate. “Oh, trust me, I’ve put up with plenty. But you make it worth it.”

He takes a bite, nodding as though savoring the taste. “You know…this feels familiar,” he says after a moment, frowning slightly. “Mornings like this. I used to sit here and watch you cook, didn’t I?”

“Every morning you didn’t have your face buried in a new project,” you reply softly, watching him carefully.

He pauses, that spark of recognition in his eyes growing, as if he’s trying to hold onto the memory, to make it solid. And then he’s looking at you, really looking at you, with a tenderness that feels almost shy. It’s a vulnerability you rarely see from Tony, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.

“I think I remember something else,” he murmurs, stepping around the counter to stand in front of you. “I remember sitting here and…thinking about how lucky I was.”

Your breath catches as he reaches out, his fingers grazing your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch is tentative, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Tony…” you whisper, feeling your pulse quicken.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that’s both familiar and electrifying, like he’s rediscovering you for the first time. His hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer as his mouth moves against yours, slow and intense, like he’s savoring every second. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker, filled with something that looks like a mix of wonder and awe.

“I don’t remember everything,” he says softly, his voice rough, “but I don’t think I need to. This feels right.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “It is right,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss him again.

The memory flashes continue over the next few days, each one bringing him closer to the person he used to be. They’re small, fleeting things—a song that triggers a faint memory of a dance in the living room, the scent of his cologne reminding him of the night you first told him you loved him. Each one brings with it a sense of déjà vu, a feeling that tugs at his heart and pulls him closer to you.

One evening, you’re both sitting on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as you watch a movie together. It’s an old favorite, something you’ve watched countless times, and Tony seems to relax into the familiarity of it. His hand absentmindedly traces patterns on your thigh, and you can feel his warmth, his closeness, and it makes you feel grounded, steady.

Suddenly, he chuckles, looking down at your legs. “I remember this. You used to do this all the time. You’d kick off your shoes and practically sprawl across the couch.”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “And you used to pretend to be annoyed, even though you secretly loved it.”

He raises an eyebrow, that playful smirk you know so well tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’m sure I did.”

You shift, leaning closer to him, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, his eyes filled with both affection and curiosity, that makes you feel bold, like you’re rediscovering each other in a way that’s fresh and exhilarating.

“Can I tell you something?” you murmur, your voice soft.

“Anything,” he says, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“When we first met, I thought you were this…impossible genius with no time for anyone,” you confess, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “But then you’d look at me like this, with this softness, like I was the only person in the world.”

He leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Maybe you are.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, capturing you in a kiss that’s anything but shy. It’s slow and deep, his hands sliding up your back as he pulls you into him, your bodies pressed together, fitting perfectly. His kisses are gentle yet intense, each one leaving you breathless, as if he’s trying to make up for all the lost time, all the memories he doesn’t yet have but that you both feel so deeply.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing. He smiles, that teasing glint in his eyes as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Why do I feel like I’ve kissed you a million times?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “Like I can’t get enough?”

“Maybe because you have,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. “And I’ll never get enough of you, either.”

He chuckles, a sound that’s warm and filled with affection as he kisses you again, softer this time, more lingering, like he’s savoring every second. His lips move slowly over yours, his hands gentle as they cradle your face, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you, the way you fit together.

Over the next few days, the memories come more frequently, little fragments of your life that make him pause, that bring a flicker of recognition to his eyes. Sometimes it’s just a look he gives you, a soft smile that feels so familiar it makes your heart ache. Other times, it’s a touch—a hand on your back, a gentle brush of his fingers against yours—that reminds you of all the little ways he’s shown his love over the years.

And every time he remembers something, he falls in love with you a little more.

One night, as you’re both lying in bed, you reach over to turn off the light, but Tony stops you, his hand catching yours. He turns to you, his gaze soft but intense, filled with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away.

“I might not remember everything yet,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your cheek, “but I know that I love you. I don’t need memories to know that.”

You feel a lump in your throat, a warmth spreading through you that’s both comforting and thrilling. “I love you, too, Tony,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “No matter what. I always have, and I always will.”

His smile is tender, filled with a gratitude that makes you realize just how lucky you both are, how strong this connection is between you. He leans in, kissing you with a softness that melts away all the uncertainty, all the fear that’s lingered since the accident.

And as you lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realize that this isn’t just a return to the life you had before. It’s something new, something deeper and more meaningful, a love that’s growing stronger every day. It’s a love that doesn’t need memories to survive because it’s written into every touch, every glance, every kiss you share.

The morning Tony’s memories come flooding back, it feels both surreal and inevitable. He wakes up beside you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling for a long moment before he turns to look at you, his expression a mixture of wonder, relief, and something deeper—something vulnerable. When he speaks, his voice is low, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell.

“I remember everything,” he murmurs, his hand finding yours beneath the covers. His thumb traces gentle patterns on your knuckles, as though he’s grounding himself in the reality of the present. “Every detail, every moment. I remember…you.”

You blink away the tears that threaten to spill over, smiling as you reach up to cup his face. “You’re really back,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I missed you.”

He gives a soft laugh, his hand covering yours as he presses his forehead to yours. “You never really lost me, you know? And I… I missed you, too. Even when I didn’t remember all of it, I knew. I knew you were everything to me. I'd always fall for you.”

You fall into his arms, both of you holding each other tightly, like you’re afraid to let go. And in that embrace, you feel the weight of all those lost days lift, leaving only a warmth that radiates between you. He’s here, fully, and the two of you are whole again.

Later, you’re curled up on the couch together, a blanket draped over both of you, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders as you cuddle into his side. You’ve both been talking, recounting memories, laughing at the more amusing fragments that came back to him in flashes. And then, an idea strikes you.

“Tony,” you say, glancing up at him with a mischievous grin, “there’s something you need to see.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh, really? And what might that be?”

You grab your phone from the coffee table, pulling up a series of videos you took during his days without memories. Each one holds moments that, at the time, you’d been scared would be all you had left—little fragments of his affection, of the new ways he showed his love for you while he was rediscovering himself.

“Brace yourself,” you say, hitting play on the first video.

In it, Tony is sitting across from you at the kitchen table, his eyes sleepy and his hair a mess. He’s holding a mug of coffee, and he looks up at you with the softest, most adoring expression, blinking slowly like he can barely believe you’re real. “You’re so pretty,” he says, his voice a murmur, his gaze fixed on you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the entire world. “How did I get so lucky?”

The Tony beside you lets out a surprised laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever looked that…well, cuddly before.”

“Oh, that’s just the beginning,” you say, grinning as you play the next video.

This one shows him lying on the couch, his head in your lap as you’re reading a book. He’s practically burrowed into you, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried against your stomach. Every now and then, he looks up at you with these wide, affectionate eyes, and even without memories, he’s the picture of absolute adoration.

“Is that…me?” Tony asks, a touch of disbelief in his voice as he watches himself look up at you like that. “I’m like a…like a giant puppy.”

“Oh, you were,” you laugh, rubbing his arm affectionately. “I have so many videos like this. You’d barely let me out of your sight. I think losing your memories made you even clingier.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he pulls you closer. “Well, can you blame me? I mean, look at you. Not remembering you was bad enough—I guess I was just making sure I didn’t forget you again.”

The next video is of him in bed, lying half-asleep with his arm stretched out, reaching for you. His voice, groggy and low, calls your name softly, and you hear yourself laugh from behind the camera as you step into view. When you do, he pulls you into the bed, wrapping his arms around you like he never wants to let go. He sighs in contentment, pressing his lips to your forehead and murmuring something unintelligible, and even watching it now, you feel that familiar warmth spread through your chest.

Tony, watching beside you, is silent for a long moment, his gaze softened as he watches himself cling to you like that. When the video ends, he turns to you, a tenderness in his expression that takes your breath away.

“I can’t believe I didn’t remember you,” he whispers, his fingers brushing your cheek. “But even when I couldn’t…I needed you.”

You place a hand over his, smiling softly. “I think a part of you did remember, in a way. You were still you—maybe a little cuddlier than usual,” you tease, “but you were still you.”

His lips curve into a playful grin. “So, I was clingy, huh? Was I any good at it?”

“Oh, you were very good at it,” you say, laughter bubbling up. “I mean, I kind of got used to waking up with you practically draped over me. I’m almost going to miss it.”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. “Well, if you liked clingy Tony, I think I can accommodate,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he tightens his hold on you.

You giggle, curling your arms around his neck as he presses a series of soft, lingering kisses along your jaw. “Mmm, maybe I did like clingy Tony,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair.

He chuckles, his lips trailing down to your neck, his hands running up and down your sides as he nuzzles into you, his warmth enveloping you. “Well then, Mrs. Stark, it looks like you’re in luck.”

His mouth finds yours, and he kisses you deeply, his hands gentle but insistent as he pulls you closer. The kiss is soft and tender, but there’s an intensity to it, a passion that feels even stronger now that he has all his memories back. It’s like he’s making up for lost time, savoring every second, every touch, every shared breath.

When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur. “I don’t think I could ever let you go again,” he says, his hands sliding to your waist as he holds you close. “Every second without you felt…wrong, somehow. Now that I know everything, it’s like my whole world is back.”

You smile, brushing your fingers along his jaw as you gaze into his eyes. “Then don’t let go,” you whisper, your heart racing as he closes the small distance between you again, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that’s both familiar and exhilarating.

soft Tony is just a baby <3 if you liked the story leave a like and a reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more!

[angelremnants]

A Christmas to Cherish, A Yule to Remember l L. Laufeyson

summary : When tasked with organizing a holiday cultural exchange between Midgard and New Asgard, you face clashing traditions and unexpected connections. To foster goodwill, you plan a hybrid celebration that blends Christmas with Yule, inviting world leaders and dignitaries to experience Asgard's unique customs. However, hosting off-worlders, especially a skeptical Loki, proves challenging. His sarcasm only more adds tension as sparks begin to fly between you, testing your growing connection. As Yule and Christmas traditions collide, an unexpected kiss under the mistletoe might just be the season's most surprising twist.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, cultural clashes, emotional vulnerability, sarcastic banter, mild angst with eventual heartwarming fluff, some hurt/comfort, teasing, suggestive flirtation, references to holiday traditions, references to norse lore and traditions.

word count : 18.3k

author's notes : Ho ho ho! You didn’t think I would pass up the chance to write an Asgardian Christmas story, did you? I admit, I may have gone a bit overboard with this fic. What can I say? Santa’s spirit inspired me greatly. Well, this and jschlatt's christmas album.

Like my first ever Loki fic, this is loosely connected to the A Tales Of series (though in an AU way?) but can definitely be read as a stand-alone. This narrative is somewhat like a Hallmark movie, but let’s be honest: who would turn down a feel-good story, especially featuring our dear god of mischief?

As Gossip Girl once said, have a holly jolly Christmas, xoxo.

(ao3 version)

The snow-dusted village of New Asgard glimmered under the pale light of a crisp winter morning. Nestled along the rugged Norwegian coast, the settlement was a patchwork of old-world Asgardian charm and Midgardian practicality. Wooden houses stood sturdily against the biting wind, their roofs lined with faint traces of frost. Small boats bobbed gently in the harbor, and the faint hum of activity filled the air as Asgardians went about their lives. For you, this place was no stranger—it felt like stepping into a world both ancient and familiar, a realm that had become something of a second home.

Your arrival this time lacked the fanfare of your first visit. You stepped out of the rumbling helicopter onto the cobblestone square, the crunch of your boots against the frosty ground drawing a few curious glances from passersby. You adjusted the scarf around your neck, the chill of the air biting your cheeks as you scanned the familiar faces awaiting you. Your attire was both practical and stylish: a dark wool coat cinched at the waist accompanied by equally dark thigh stockings and combat boots, a deep burgundy scarf, and black gloves to ward off the cold.

Ever the picture of poise and authority, Brunnhilde stood at the forefront, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She wore a sleek leather jacket lined with fur, a modern touch to her otherwise warrior-like appearance. Beside her was Thor, his golden locks catching the sunlight as he waved enthusiastically, clad in a thick knit sweater that somehow managed to look regal, and slightly behind them, Loki, who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Dressed in a dark green cloak over his tailored Asgardian tunic, his expression was one of perpetual exasperation.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite Midgardian diplomat,” Brunnhilde called out, her voice carrying easily over the chatter of the square. “Welcome back, sweet cheeks.”

“Favorite? Or just the one who causes the most trouble?” Loki quipped, his tone dry as he adjusted his green-and-gold cloak. His sharp eyes lingered on you momentarily, taking in your wind-flushed cheeks and bright smile.

“Missed you too, Mischief,” you shot back with a grin, brushing past him to greet Brunnhilde with a brief hug.

Thor clapped a hand on your shoulder, nearly knocking you off balance with his exuberance. “It’s good to see you again, Lady [Y/N]! Come, you must be freezing. We’ve prepared a feast worthy of a returning friend.”

“I’m sure it’s as subtle as ever, big guy,” you teased, raising a brow. As you followed them towards the grand longhouse, you turned to Thor, a hint of curiosity in your eyes. “I thought you’d be off-world with the Guardians of the Galaxy. What brings you here?”

Thor shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Even the god of thunder needs a break, and what better place to rest than home? Besides, someone has to make sure these two don’t kill each other.”

“That’s reassuring,” you said dryly, earning a chuckle from Brunnhilde. “But I’m not here just for feasts. There’s a little diplomacy to be done too, remember?”

The newly appointed Allfather led the group toward the longhouse that served as New Asgard’s central hub. “We wouldn’t dream of letting you forget your duties. Though, knowing Thor, he might try to bribe you with ale and roasted boar.”

“Would it work?” Thor asked, grinning as he held open the door.

Inside, the longhouse was warm and inviting, its timber walls adorned with carvings that told stories of Asgardian history. Intricate designs of Asgardian history and the nine realms stretched across the beams, illuminated by the flicker of firelight. A large hearth roared at the center of the hall, its heat radiating outward and mingling with the smell of spiced mead and freshly baked bread. You let the warmth seep into your bones, feeling a sense of comfort you rarely found elsewhere.

You took a seat at the long wooden table, its surface polished to a high shine, the grain of the wood still bearing marks of its Asgardian craftsmanship. As you settled around the long wooden table, the conversation shifted naturally, the camaraderie among them making you feel like part of the family.

“We’re honored you could join us again,” Brunnhilde said, pouring you a cup of mead. “Especially so close to your Midgardian holiday—what is it called again? Christmas?”

“That’s the one,” you confirmed, taking a sip of the sweet drink. “It’s a huge, worldwide deal here. Lights, trees, gifts, food—basically everything Thor loves, but with more glitter.”

Thor laughed heartily. “Glitter sounds like a fine addition to any celebration!”

“Hardly,” Loki muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. “Leave it to Midgardians to turn a perfectly good winter solstice into a gaudy spectacle.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, leaning forward with a playful smirk. “You’re telling me Asgardians don’t have their own version of an over-the-top winter celebration?”

Loki exchanged a look with Thor, who chuckled sheepishly. “We do,” the blonde admitted. “It’s called Yule. But it’s not quite as… excessive as your Christmas. It’s more about tradition—feasting, storytelling, honoring the turning of the seasons. We celebrate every five years, given our longer lifespans.”

“Every five years?” you repeated, your brows lifting in surprise. “That’s… really long and sad to hear.” You mulled over the information before your eyes lit up as you sat straighter, as if struck by lightning. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. The United Nations and New Asgard have been strengthening ties through mutual aid, cultural exchange programs, and even security. But diplomacy shouldn’t just be treaties and meetings—it needs moments of connection. What better way than inviting emissaries from Midgard to experience Yule with you?”

Thor beamed, slapping the table. “Now that’s an idea worthy of Asgard!”

Loki’s scoff was almost immediate. “Ah yes, because what we need is another excuse for Thor to hang glittering baubles everywhere.”

“Don’t tempt me, brother,” Thor replied, his grin widening.

Ignoring Loki’s grumbling, you pressed on. “I’m serious. Think of it: world leaders, ambassadors, and cultural experts all coming together to witness your traditions while sharing ours. It’s symbolic—a reminder that Earth is now your home too. It’ll also facilitate recognition of your country’s borders from the neighboring countries, and God knows how much you need it for the UN to get off your asses.”

Brunnhilde nodded thoughtfully. “It would certainly help foster goodwill. But it’s not without its challenges. Hosting off-worlders isn’t exactly simple. Though organizing something like this would take effort. And volunteers.”

“I’ll handle the logistics,” you offered. “We’ll make it a hybrid celebration—Christmas and Yule, blending the best of both worlds. Think of it as creating a new tradition for New Asgard. We have three weeks at most for this, I’m sure we’ll manage to come up with something nice.”

Loki let out a soft, sarcastic laugh. “How charming. Perhaps we can also write jingles to serenade these dignitaries.”

Thor, however, seemed genuinely excited. “Brother, you must admit—this could be grand event. We can show Midgard our hospitality while learning from them in return. You should participate with us, especially considering your probation status.” He said brightly, clapping his brother on the back.

Loki’s expression darkened immediately. “I will do no such thing.”

“Oh, don't be such a wet blanket,” you teased. “Think of it as a way to get back into everyone’s good graces. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing?”

His sharp gaze met yours, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. “If I agree to this farce,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate, “it will not be because you’ve managed to guilt me into it.”

“Of course not,” you replied sweetly. “It’ll be because you secretly enjoy a good challenge.”

Brunnhilde leaned back in her chair, smirking as she watched the exchange. “Well, it’s settled then. [Y/N], you’re officially in charge of Christmas diplomacy. But don’t expect Loki to be helpful.”

Loki sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This will end in disaster.”

“Only if you let it,” you said, your tone light but your eyes sparkling with determination. “Besides, a little festivities never hurt anyone.”

“You’re delusional if you think this will go smoothly,” he retorted, earning a laugh from Thor and a pointed look from Brunnhilde.

As the conversation wound down, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement bubbling inside you. This was going to be a holiday unlike any other—a melding of traditions, cultures, and worlds.

⠀

The royal library of New Asgard was a marvel of timeless craftsmanship and quiet grandeur. Its towering, vaulted ceilings bore intricate carvings of Asgardian myths, the golden threads in their design shimmering faintly under the glow of enchanted lamps. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, brimming with ancient tomes and fragile scrolls, stretched upward as if reaching for the heavens. The air carried the faint scent of aged parchment and polished wood, a comforting reminder of centuries of preserved knowledge. Warm light illuminated the dark, ornately carved furniture, casting soft shadows that danced with a gentle flicker. It was a sanctuary of wisdom and serenity—and, at present, an arena of subtle conflict.

You sat at a large, circular table, its surface strewn with papers, notes, and an assortment of books ranging from Midgardian holiday traditions to Asgardian histories. You tapped your pen against the notebook in front of you, glancing across the table at Loki, who looked entirely unamused. He lounged in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, absently flipping through a book as if he couldn’t be less interested.

“This is supposed to be a brainstorming session,” you said, breaking the silence. “Not a sulking session.”

Loki didn’t look up, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “I assure you, I’m doing neither. I’m merely tolerating this… exercise in futility.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “You mean the logistics for what could be one of the most culturally significant events New Asgard has hosted since its founding?”

“Culturally significant?” Loki echoed, finally looking up. His emerald eyes glimmered with amusement, though his tone remained dry. “You’re combining gaudy, Midgardian frivolities with centuries-old Asgardian tradition. Forgive me if I fail to see the ‘significance’ in that.”

“Excuse me—gaudy?” you repeated, mock-offended. “You say that as if Asgardians don’t have a penchant for drama and grandeur themselves. I’ve never seen more divas than you guys, actually.”

Loki smirked but said nothing, instead closing the book he had been flipping through with an exaggerated snap. He gestured to the pile of materials on the table. “Very well, enlighten me. Which Midgardian traditions are we meant to subject ourselves to this time? Ugly sweaters? Marshmallows floating in heated milk?”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “First of all, ugly sweaters are iconic. Secondly, you can’t tell me that enchanted ale or Thor’s thunderous feast presentations aren’t Asgard’s version of over-the-top. It’s practically the same thing.”

“That’s debatable,” Loki tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I’ll concede that Thor’s idea of revelry is... boisterous. But at least our celebrations have history, tradition, and dignity—unlike your chaotic, candy-cane-laden spectacles.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Oh, sure. Because nothing says ‘dignity’ like smashing a barrel of mead over someone’s head when you’ve had too much.”

He couldn’t suppress a chuckle, the rich sound echoing in the quiet library. “Touché. Still, I doubt you’ll find a single Midgardian festivity that rivals the elegance of an Asgardian Yule feast.”

“Well, then,” you said, leaning forward with a teasing glint in your eye. “Let’s make sure this one does. What do you say we blend the two? Grand Asgardian feast meets Midgardian charm.”

Loki tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as if studying you. “If we are to make this ‘blend’ of yours work, it will require proper execution. I refuse to let Midgardian cuisine overshadow Asgardian delicacies.”

You smirked, folding your arms across your chest. “Who said anything about overshadowing? I’m just saying the two can complement each other—if you don’t insist on being so stubborn about it.”

“I am simply being practical,” he countered, feigning offense at the remark. “Your realm’s fascination with things like marshmallow-topped casseroles is... baffling.”

“Okay, first of all, not every dish is like that,” you retorted with a laugh. “Secondly, maybe you just haven’t had the right Midgardian food. Let me handle it, and you’ll see.”

Loki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Very well. If you’re so confident in your culinary abilities, I’ll leave the Midgardian fare to you. But don’t expect me to lift a finger if it turns into a disaster.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” you teased, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “I’ll manage the Midgardian menu and decorations—after all, I’ve got experience with this sort of thing. And you can handle the Asgardian side of things. Deal?”

He regarded you for a moment, his emerald eyes gleaming with intrigue. “Deal. Though I expect nothing less than perfection on your part. Our reputation depends on it.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same to you,” you shot back with a grin.

Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s settled. I’ll curate a feast that embodies the grandeur and tradition of Asgard. You... can figure out how to make your chaotic cuisine somewhat palatable.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your laughter. “Whatever. We need to make this event big enough to fund itself. That means inviting not just the locals but foreign envoys, dignitaries, and even some of the press.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of disapproval crossing his features. “Ah, commercializing a solstice celebration. How very... Midgardian of you.”

You shrugged. “Well, we don’t have unlimited resources. Unless you’d like me to request funds from the treasury—and deal with Val’s budget lectures?”

“Perish the thought,” Loki muttered.

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “So, we’ll sell tickets for the main events and some of the smaller ones leading up to the big day. Maybe even have booths with crafts and snacks. People love that kind of thing. You’d be surprised how much they’ll pay for something with a story behind it.”

“Fascinating,” he said dryly. “You’ve turned a festival of tradition into a marketplace.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you teased. “It’s just good planning. Besides, someone has to oversee the sales and ensure we don’t turn this into complete chaos.”

Loki arched a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “And naturally, you’ve decided that someone is you?”

“Of course,” you replied with mock seriousness. “I happen to be very good at multitasking. I’ll handle the ticket sales, the booths, and the Midgardian side of things while you can focus on maintaining Asgardian traditions. A win-win.”

“Convenient,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair. “You delegate the tedious work to me while you run your little market empire.”

You grinned. “It’s called playing to our strengths, Loki. And besides, don’t pretend you’re not secretly thrilled to have complete creative control over the Asgardian portion.”

Loki chuckled softly, his gaze sharpening with intrigue. “Very well, but if I’m to oversee Asgardian traditions, you’ll have to prepare yourself for customs far richer—and far more theatrical—than your quaint Midgardian charm.”

“Like what?” you challenged, leaning forward.

“For instance,” he began, his voice slipping into a storytelling tone, “the Wild Hunt. A tradition led by Odin himself, where ghostly riders swept across the skies in search of lost souls. It’s a spectacle of power, mysticism, and awe. Imagine recreating it, with shadowed steeds and ethereal warriors galloping through the night.”

You blinked, your expression shifting between amusement and concern. “You mean you want to reenact something that, if I recall correctly, terrified Midgardians for centuries? Sounds... subtle.”

His smirk widened. “Subtlety is overrated. The Hunt would remind everyone of Asgard’s grandeur, a symbol of tradition and strength. Besides, it’s far more engaging than watching mortals sing around a fireplace.”

“Oh, speaking of fireplaces,” you interjected quickly, “what about the Yule log? That’s one tradition I can get behind. A cozy fire, some mulled ale—it’s charming.”

Loki rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “The Yule log is passable at best, but it pales in comparison to the Wild Hunt’s grandeur. Imagine thunder rolling in the heavens, spectral figures cutting through the sky, and Odin’s name whispered in awe.”

“Yeah, because holiday cheer is guaranteed by scaring the wits out of everyone,” you replied, crossing your arms. “How about this—we tone it down? Maybe we could turn the Hunt into something interactive, like a quest. A game for everyone, where they follow clues and complete challenges to ‘join’ Odin’s riders or uncover their secrets. It keeps the mystique but makes it fun rather than terrifying.”

Loki tilted his head, considering your suggestion. “An interactive quest... intriguing. It could preserve the spirit of the Hunt while appealing to the masses. But I insist on weaving in Asgardian lore—stories of valor, wit, and cunning—so it isn’t entirely watered down.”

“Fine by me,” you said with a grin. “And while you’re at it, I’ll make sure the Yule log has its rightful place. Even if it’s not as ‘grand’ as the Hunt, some traditions are worth keeping simple. Maybe the quest could end with everyone gathering around the fire to share stories and rewards.”

Loki gave you a sidelong glance, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If we must. But I reserve the right to oversee every detail of this quest. If it fails, it’ll be because of your Midgardian ‘simplicity.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Speaking of Midgardian traditions, what about something for the children? Maybe they could write letters about their wishes for the new year. It’d be a way to honor the spirit of giving—and maybe a subtle nod to Odin. After all, he was considered a Santa-like figure back in the day.”

Loki’s expression darkened slightly, his teasing smirk fading. “A ‘Santa-like figure’? Is that how you choose to remember the All-Father? As some mortal caricature who doles out trinkets?”

You softened your tone. “It’s not about reducing him to that. It’s about creating a memorial that’s accessible to everyone—something heartfelt for the people, especially the children.”

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the table. “Children don’t need to write frivolous letters when they already have the tradition of storytelling. It was one of the few times we, as a people, passed down something meaningful. Stories that carried wisdom, courage, and strength.”

You noticed the melancholic edge to his voice, the faraway look in his eyes. “You miss it, don’t you? The way things used to be.”

Loki didn’t respond immediately, his fingers tracing the edge of a page in one of the books. “Asgard was flawed, but it was home. These traditions... they’re all fragments of a life we can never fully restore.”

You reached across the table, your hand brushing his. “Then let’s make sure those fragments shine as brightly as they can. We might not be able to bring back everything, but we can honor what mattered—and maybe even create something new along the way.”

His gaze lifted to yours, a flicker of gratitude softening his features. “You’re unbearably persistent, you know that?”

“And you’re unreasonably dramatic,” you replied with a teasing grin, leaning back in your chair. “Now, about those stories...”

You went on like this for nearly the entire evening, your playful banter echoing through the quiet halls. One idea led to another, each suggestion sparking either spirited debate or begrudging agreement, until most of the tasks were neatly divided between you. Somewhere along the way, it turned into a friendly competition—Midgardian ingenuity versus Asgardian grandeur. Loki, ever the perfectionist, declared that his half of the event would be a masterpiece of tradition and elegance, while you, with a teasing grin, promised to bring charm and creativity to yours. By the end of it, your rivalry was set, and the stakes were clear: whoever’s contributions won the most admiration during the celebration would earn the undeniable right to gloat.

Three days after the council meeting, New Asgard had been buzzing with excitement. Word of the upcoming celebration spread like wildfire, and the entire realm was invested in the planning. Everyone—from the youngest child to the oldest elder—had some part to play in bringing the festivities to life. The atmosphere was electric, filled with anticipation for the grand feast, the traditions, and the merging of Midgardian charm with Asgardian grandeur. The excitement was contagious, and for a brief moment, the people of New Asgard felt united in their mission to make this event unforgettable.

With only two and a half weeks left to pull everything together, things seemed to be running smoothly. The decorations were coming along, the entertainment had been secured, and the Midgardian food vendors had been booked. However, the first hiccup came when you checked in with the cooking team about the feast’s food supplies.

You walked into the grand kitchen, where the chatter of the chefs and cooks filled the air, the scent of spices and roasting meats already beginning to mingle in the warm atmosphere. You neared a table where several of the Asgardian head chefs were organizing inventory, noting down large quantities of food on a parchment. You could already smell the fragrant aromas of roasting meats and simmering stews. You had heard murmurs of excitement as they prepared the grand feast. However, when you glanced over the inventory list, your stomach dropped.

“Ah, my lady, good to see you,” said Thorvald, the head of the Asgardian cooking team, a stocky, broad-shouldered man with a booming laugh and a fondness for rustic dishes. “We’ve made sure we have plenty of meat, and the roasts are looking excellent for the feast. Odin Allfather, bless his soul, would’ve approved of this spread!”

You scanned the numbers on the parchment and furrowed your brow. “This is... a lot of food, Thorvald. Too much, in fact. The quantities are well over the planned budget.”

“Ah, you worry too much, my friend!” Thorvald chuckled. “We want to give the people of New Asgard a true taste of our heritage, yes? We shall not scrimp on food—especially not when it’s for such an occasion!”

“That’s the problem, Thorvald,” you sighed. “We don’t have the funds to support all of this. I was told that the Asgardian part of the menu has far exceeded the budget we allocated for food. It’s going to require cuts—somewhere. And we can’t afford to cut corners with Midgardian elements just because the Asgardian offerings are more expensive.”

Thorvald blinked in surprise. “Cut some of our dishes? That is... not an easy thing to ask of me, my lady. I’ve spent weeks perfecting these recipes for the feast. These dishes are the soul of Asgardian culture!”

“I’m aware of that,” you replied, your tone strained. “But we have to balance the budget. You can’t expect the Midgardian side to be neglected. I’m going to have to speak to Loki about this.”

You left the kitchen with a heavy heart, your mind racing as you made your way to the main hall. As you passed through the stone corridors, you wondered who had approved such a large quantity of food. You assumed it had to be Thor—he had always been more enthusiastic about showcasing Asgardian culture, after all. But when you entered the hall, you spotted Loki deep in conversation with a few council members—Thrain and Freya. That’s when it hit you.

Of course. Loki.

Your steps slowed as you approached the trio. Loki glanced up as you neared, his usual sly smile spreading across his face. “Ah, darling, what a pleasant surprise. How are the preparations coming along?”

“Mischief,” you said, keeping your voice steady, “I just checked the food inventory. You’re over budget. The Asgardian portion alone is far too much. We’re going to need to cut back on something.”

Loki’s grin widened, though there was a glint of something almost mischievous in his eyes. “And what exactly is the problem?”

“You’re blowing the budget,” you said bluntly. “The quantities are ridiculous. You’ve put us in a bind, Loki. I can’t go back to the Midgardian vendors and explain that their share of the food is being cut so we can accommodate your... extravagance.”

Loki’s smile never faltered, and he leaned in slightly, as if savoring the moment. “Everything is permitted when it comes to Asgardian feasts, don’t you think? I had to make sure our food was sumptuous. If we’re going to impress our guests, we must do it right.”

You blinked, incredulous. “You did this? I thought it was Thor who went overboard with the food. But you—you—decided this was appropriate?”

“Indeed,” Loki replied, his tone light, yet his eyes sharp. “Thor is far too busy with other matters. He’s off delivering invitations to the world leaders. Someone had to make sure the Asgardian side was flawless.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “Loki, I don’t think you understand the issue. This isn’t just about impressing people. We have to balance both sides. If the Asgardian dishes are more expensive, we’ll have to trim something else to stay within budget.”

Loki’s expression hardened slightly, though he kept his composure. “I already told you—everything is permitted. The Asgardian food will be nothing short of magnificent. If that means cutting a corner somewhere else, so be it.”

“This isn’t a game, Loki!” you snapped, your patience thinning. “We agreed on a budget, and I won’t let you push the Midgardian side aside for your grandiose plans.”

Loki’s lips curled into a small smirk. “Very well, then. We’ll trim a few corners where it pleases you. But I’m telling you, it won’t be the same. Asgardian feasts are a tradition. And traditions don’t come cheap.”

“Maybe next time you’ll think before you make decisions like this,” you warned, your tone firm. “This is your best chance at redemption, Loki. Either we figure this out, or the entire celebration could be in jeopardy. I won’t let you sabotage everything.”

Loki held your gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he gave a barely perceptible nod. “Fine. I’ll speak with Thorvald and see where we can adjust things. But don’t think this is over, [Y/N]. You’re too concerned with rules and budgets for your own good.”

“Rules and budgets keep everything in line,” you countered. “Without them, chaos follows. Just remember that when you try to pull off another stunt like this.”

With one last look, you turned on your heel and stormed off, leaving Loki standing with a sly smile, no doubt enjoying the brief conflict. As you left the hall, you knew the next few days would be even more challenging. But one thing was certain—you wouldn’t let him derail the celebration, no matter how much he tried to push his agenda.

⠀

It had been a few days since the food fiasco, and you had hoped the worst was behind you. Yet, when it came to the holiday festivities, a new challenge emerged. You had been put in charge of the decorations, a task you had anticipated would bring joy, but you hadn’t expected the clash of cultures to be so pronounced.

The Asgardians, with their love of grandiose displays, had created decorations featuring intricate carvings, golden accents, and shimmering lights. The Midgardians, on the other hand, had opted for a more homey approach: a mix of soft pastels, tinsel, and small handcrafted ornaments. It was a cacophony of styles that left the hall looking more like a battlefield than a festive wonderland.

You stood in the center of it all, rubbing your temples in frustration. There were a few standout pieces—like the Runestone Ornaments, which you had suggested to add a touch of Asgardian culture. The beautifully carved runes for good luck and blessings were meant to bring harmony, but they were far too overpowering against the gentle hues of the Midgardian decorations. Some of the Asgardians had even insisted on sun-shaped ornaments to bring a sense of warmth and light, while others had complained that they clashed with the more subdued Christmas tree lights.

But the real problem didn’t come until you began unpacking a box of mistletoe. You had seen the tradition in Midgardian homes and thought it would add a charming touch to the festivities. After all, kissing under the mistletoe was a beloved tradition for good fortune, something light-hearted to bring the Asgardians and Midgardians together.

You hung the first mistletoe up near the doorframe, stepping back to admire your handiwork. That’s when it happened.

Asgardians walking by froze in their tracks, staring wide-eyed at the sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently overhead. A few of them stiffened, exchanging uncomfortable glances. The tall Asgardian warrior and member of the council, Thrain, quickly turned and muttered something under his breath, visibly distressed.

“What’s going on?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“You... My lady, you’re hanging that?” Thrain asked in a low voice, his expression grim. “You do know what it means, don’t you?”

You blinked. “The mistletoe? Yeah, it’s a tradition where I come from. You kiss under it for good luck and good cheer during the holidays.”

Thrain’s face turned pale, and a few of the others stepped back cautiously.

“Bad luck, Lady [Y/N],” Thrain said with a sigh. “That’s not just a decoration. It’s a symbol of misfortune in Asgard.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Misfortune? How can a sprig of mistletoe be a symbol of misfortune?”

Thrain glanced around as if to make sure no one else could overhear. After a moment, he leaned in closer to you, his voice lowering. “It’s a long story... but the mistletoe reminds us of an event that happened many centuries ago. It all goes back to a farce Prince Loki pulled on one of our greatest commanders, Balder the Brave.”

You furrowed your brow. “What happened?”

Thrain glanced around again and then began telling the story. “Oh, he’s quite the trickster. This one wasn’t as bad as some of his other schemes, but it certainly caused a ruckus. It happened during a festival many years ago.”

You frowned. “I don’t doubt this behavior coming from him, but I still fail to see how a simple prank would create a ruckus over some plant.”

“One evening, during the midwinter festival,” Thrain continued, “Balder, one of our finest commanders at the time, had just returned victorious from a long campaign. Everyone was celebrating in the Great Hall. Prince Loki, as always, couldn’t resist a chance for a little mischief.”

You frowned. “What did he do?”

“He enchanted a sprig of mistletoe, knowing that Balder, proud as he was, would never let anyone get the better of him. He tricked him into standing under the mistletoe, and as the tradition goes, whoever is beneath it must perform a challenge or take on a task.”

You tilted your head. “A challenge?”

Thrain nodded. “Yes. The challenge was a bit harmless—nothing like what you’d expect. But Loki, ever the trickster, made sure it was something unexpected. He enchanted the mistletoe so that whoever stood under it would be compelled to challenge the nearest person to a game of strength, wit, or skill.”

You laughed. “That sounds fun, not dangerous.”

Thrain smiled but his eyes darkened a little. “It was comical... until it got out of hand. Balder, in his pride, ended up challenging Hodr, his brother, to a contest of wit. But because of Loki’s enchantment, neither of them could back down. The game grew more and more intense—what started as a harmless wager soon escalated into a full-on competition, with the entire hall watching them argue over the silliest things. The game became a battle of pride and ego, and by the end, it nearly caused a rift and a blood battle between the two brothers.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A game of pride? Over mistletoe?”

“Exactly,” Thrain said, sighing. “It became a symbol of misplaced warfare rather than cheer. And since then, the mistletoe has been associated with that... heated contest. It’s seen as a bad omen for anyone who might fall into the trap of too much pride or too much competition.”

You frowned, considering the tale. “I didn’t know it had such a backstory. But I still think it’s a nice tradition. It’s about bringing people together, not creating rivalries.”

Thrain shook his head with a smile. “I suppose it’s not all bad. But many of us are cautious when it comes to mistletoe, considering its history.”

You smiled warmly, standing your ground. “I understand, but I’d like to carry on with the tradition. Maybe this time, it won’t be such a surprise. After all, it’s all in good fun. And, it’s a way to bring the Midgardian and Asgardian sides together.”

Before Thrain could say anything more, Loki casually strolled by, his ever-present grin spreading across his face as he overheard the conversation. He looked at you standing beneath the mistletoe, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, well,” Loki drawled, “looks like someone is trying to bring some of Midgard's cheer to Asgard, hmm?”

Thrain narrowed his eyes at Loki. “You’re the one to blame for this mess. You do remember what happened with the mistletoe and Balder, don’t you?”

You looked from Loki to Thrain. “So you don’t mind? I mean, you’re the one who started it.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping across his face. “I never said I minded. You’re more than welcome to give it a try, darling [Y/N]. I’ll just be here to watch the chaos unfold.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the grin from spreading. “Don’t act so smug, Loki. I’m just trying to bring some cheer around here.”

Loki leaned in a bit closer, his voice low and playful. “Oh, I’m sure it’s all in good fun. But if you’re going to hang mistletoe, you must be prepared for the consequences. After all, I did start this tradition with a bit of mischief. Who’s to say what might happen next?”

You gave him a pointed look, not backing down. “I’m not scared of a little mischief, Loki. And if anyone’s at risk of causing chaos around here, it’s you, not me.”

Loki’s grin widened, and he took a step closer, leaning in just enough for his voice to drop further. “Ah, but you’re the one daring enough to carry on the tradition, aren’t you? I’m just here to watch... and perhaps enjoy the show.”

Thrain raised an eyebrow at the playful exchange, clearly amused but also a bit wary of what would happen next.

You shot Loki a playful smile. “Well, I hope you found a good spot because everything is going to go as smoothly as a baby’s bottom. Just wait and see.”

Loki chuckled, stepping back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll be watching, indeed. But don’t be too disappointed if things don’t go exactly as planned.”

You didn’t back down. “We’ll see about that. And just so you know... I do like a bit of trickery in my holiday traditions.”

As Loki walked away, still laughing softly to himself, Thrain shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I see now... you’re not just abiding by mere traditions. You’re leading to misconduct.”

You grinned and hung the mistletoe with a flourish. “Maybe. But it’ll be fun. Besides, what’s a Christmas holiday without a little bit of naughtiness?”

With that, you carried on with your task, hanging the mistletoe, while Loki strolled off, still grinning as he watched from a distance.

⠀

As you walked briskly down the hall with a bundle of fairy lights in hand, you tried to shake off the growing frustration gnawing at you. It had been a long day filled with last-minute details, and the pressure was starting to mount. The grand hall was coming together with decorations now adorning every corner, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. When you passed by the table where Loki was supposed to be organizing the gifts for the prestigious guests, you nearly stumbled.

The sight before you made you stop dead in your tracks.

On the table laid haphazardly a collection of... unusual objects. You blinked, certain you had misread the situation.

The gifts were mismatched and meager, hardly fitting for the prestigious guests who would be attending the feast. They were strange—vastly different from anything you could imagine giving at such an important event.

There were intricately carved wooden figures, but they weren’t graceful or beautiful. One was a grotesque hybrid of a raven and a wolf, its features stretched and contorted as if trying too hard to be intimidating. Another was a stone, awkwardly shaped, with jagged edges and no real discernible design. You couldn’t tell if it was meant to represent a mountain, a fortress, or just... a rock.

Then, there were the vials—delicate glass tubes filled with what appeared to be tiny, glittering shards. There was a strange metallic sheen to them, as though they were meant to be potions. But it wasn’t something you could imagine anyone actually using. Certainly not the dignitaries they were expecting.

Your irritation bubbled up to the surface. You couldn’t imagine how these would be seen as a suitable gift, especially not for the dignitaries of Midgard.

“Loki?” you called, your voice a little sharper than you intended as you approached the table.

Loki glanced up from the strange wooden carving he was inspecting. His eyes lit up with that ever-present mischievous gleam, but his smile faltered when he saw the look on your face.

“Darling. I see you’ve found the gifts,” he said smoothly, clearly pleased with his work.

“Yes,” you said, your voice tight. “I have. And I’m... not sure what to make of them.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What’s wrong with them?”

Your jaw tightened as you glanced from the wolf-raven hybrid to the glass vials, each one looking more out of place than the last. “Loki, these—these are not what I imagined. They’re... off-putting.” You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself but failing. “These are not appropriate for the guests we’re inviting. These are—” you pointed at the grotesque wooden figures “—bizarre.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting from playful to defensive. “I don’t understand,” he said, his tone cold now. “What’s wrong with them? They’re authentic Asgardian craftsmanship. I thought the Midgardians would appreciate such unique offerings.”

“Unique?” you snapped, your frustration spilling over. “These aren’t unique, Loki. They’re strange. Midgardians have a different taste in gifts, and you’re not exactly showing the best of Asgard here. Look at this! This is not something you give a king or queen!”

You gestured toward the awkwardly shaped stone again. “A rock? Really? And these vials—” you picked one up, nearly dropping it when the tiny shards inside shimmered in the light “—what even is this?”

Loki’s expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Well, perhaps you Midgardians are more accustomed to giving mundane things like jewels or soft fabrics. But these gifts are symbolic of our realm’s might and history.”

You let out an exasperated breath, rubbing your temples as your stress levels rose. “Loki, gifts are about more than just showing off. It’s about connecting with the person you’re giving it to, about meaning. You can’t just throw a bunch of random objects together and call it a gift. They need to reflect the people you're giving them to—something personal, something that makes them feel seen. Not just... intimidating displays of power!”

Loki’s lips curled into a smirk. “Are you telling me these aren’t worthy of Asgardian guests?” His voice was laced with mockery, but there was a hint of genuine confusion beneath it.

“Not worthy—appropriate,” you shot back, your patience wearing thin. “They need to fit the occasion! We need to think about the people we're giving them to, not just impress them with how ‘mighty’ Asgard is!”

Loki was silent for a moment, staring at the table of strange objects. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it doubt? No, it couldn’t be. But something about your words made him pause.

Finally, he exhaled slowly and raised an eyebrow. “So, what do you suggest I do? I am not accustomed to the delicate, personal gifts you Midgardians are so fond of.” He made air quotes around the word ‘personal’, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You stood your ground, your voice tight. “For starters? Hand-carved wooden jewelry boxes, a set of hand-blown glass ornaments, fine, elegant cloaks, scrolls with inscriptions of peace and goodwill, or something more symbolic. Something that shows you’ve thought about the person receiving it, not just what’s flashy and ‘impressive’.”

Loki leaned against the table, crossing his arms, his gaze unreadable. “Hm. So, you want me to take all these—” He motioned toward the array of oddities. “And turn them into something bland and safe?”

“I want you to make something thoughtful,” you retorted, your voice sharp. “I’m not asking for ‘bland’. I’m asking you to take a moment and actually think about the people who’ll receive these gifts. Just because they’re from Asgard doesn’t mean they’ll automatically be appreciated.” You were starting to feel more and more on edge, but you didn’t back down.

Loki studied you for a long moment, his lips curling into that familiar, teasing smile. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said with a sigh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I shall reconsider my gift choices. But I must say, I do find your attitude a bit... aggressive for something as simple as gift-giving.”

You didn’t smile. You glared at him, your chest tight with both frustration and exhaustion. “Maybe it’s the pressure of this entire event that’s making me a little on edge, Loki,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm. “You know, considering I’ve got a million things to handle, and your weird-ass gifts are not helping.”

Loki tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ah, so you admit you’re a little... stressed?” he teased, his voice dropping an octave.

You forced a smile, your tone sharp but controlled. “Stressed? No, irritated, and you’re the reason why.”

Loki laughed softly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Well, I shall do my best to improve the situation. As you so kindly suggested.”

You shot him a final glare before turning on your heel, muttering under your breath. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Loki, still grinning, watched you walk away, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’m sure you will, darling. You’ll see.”

⠀

The days were growing shorter, and the pressure was mounting. You had barely slept in the past few days, and you were starting to feel the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders. As you stood in the hall, supervising the lights and sound systems for the grand celebration, you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming anticipation in the air. The event was drawing closer, and there were still so many things to check off your list.

You were adjusting a speaker, ensuring it was positioned properly, when you couldn’t resist. The temptation to hear the music was too much, so you quickly branched the speaker and connected your device. A soft click and then—Christmas carols filled the air. You smiled, satisfied with the sound quality, as the cheerful tunes resonated through the room. But your satisfaction was short-lived.

The room grew suddenly quieter, and a few Asgardians who had been nearby shot you disapproving looks. One of them, a stern-faced woman, crossed her arms and approached with a disapproving glare.

"You... put this on?" she asked, her tone tight. "This is not how we celebrate our Yule. This... commercialized nonsense. What is this Midgardian tradition you’ve chosen to impose upon us?"

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean? It’s just Christmas carols... The song is about goodwill and joy. It’s part of the festivities."

The woman shook her head sharply, clearly upset. “Yule is a sacred time for Asgardians. We do not need the influence of Midgard’s festivals to ruin it.” She turned on her heel, walking away, muttering something about traditions being lost.

The sound of footsteps behind you caught your attention, and soon you were surrounded by a small crowd of disapproving Asgardians. Your stomach sank as their frowns deepened. The more they gathered, the more agitated they became, and soon voices were rising in frustration.

“This is not the way we do things here!” one of them exclaimed. “You can’t just commercialize our holiday!”

“I never agreed to this,” another voice chimed in. “This is a travesty to our sacred traditions!”

Your pulse quickened, and your mind raced, but the words felt like they were getting jumbled in your head. You tried to speak, but the frustration in the room was suffocating. The weight of their disapproval settled heavily on your chest, and you felt the first stirrings of panic. You had tried to make everything perfect, to blend the two worlds, but it seemed you had miscalculated, and now you were drowning in the pressure. You took a deep breath, but it felt shallow, and your hands trembled slightly. This was going wrong. Everything was going wrong. You were failing—again. You opened your mouth, but before you could say anything, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Enough."

Brunnhilde, with her ever-present calm and authority, stepped forward, her eyes scanning the crowd with quiet dominance. The Asgardians fell silent, and though they clearly weren’t pleased, they respected the king's presence. She turned to you, offering a small, sympathetic smile before addressing the group.

“We are guests in Midgard’s customs, and we are also here to celebrate Yule,” the Valkyrie said, her voice firm. “You are welcome to honor your traditions, but we must also respect the customs of the land we are in. Lady [Y/N] meant no disrespect, but there are many ways to celebrate, and it’s important to find balance.” She glanced over her shoulder. “If you have concerns, I am happy to discuss them with you. But for now, let us all move forward in the spirit of the festivities. There is no need to argue further.”

The Asgardians grumbled but eventually nodded, dispersing with a few sideways glares. Brunnhilde turned back to you, her expression softening.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” she said quietly, once the crowd had broken up. “And I know it’s not easy. But you can’t let every little mishap break you down. You’re doing the best you can.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything crash down on you again. “I just... I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Everything’s falling apart, Val. I thought this was going to go well, but—” You paused, your voice catching. “It feels like everything I try only makes things worse.”

The Valkyrie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not perfect, sweet cheeks. Of course you’re going to make mistakes. And you’re in charge of something that’s never been done before—of course, things will get complicated. But you can’t let it get to you like this. You have less than a week to go, and you need to pull yourself together. You can’t keep running to me for help every time something goes wrong. You’re more than capable of handling this.”

You gave her a strained smile, trying to hold back the frustration and exhaustion threatening to spill over. “I’ll do my best,” you said, though your voice was tired, worn. “I just want it to go well. For everyone.”

The Valkyrie's expression softened further, a knowing look in her eyes. “I know you do. You’ve put so much of yourself into this, and it won’t go unnoticed. But if you don’t take a moment to breathe and trust in your abilities, you’re going to burn out. So please, just... take a step back when you need to.”

You nodded, feeling the sincerity in her words, even if you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll... I’ll try. Thank you, Val’.”

She gave you a warm smile, her eyes full of understanding. “That’s all anyone can ask for. You’re doing great, even if you don’t feel it. Just don’t forget to keep breathing.”

With a final pat on the shoulder, she turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, a little more grounded. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You had a week left—you could do this. You had to.

It was supposed to be the highlight of the festivities. The Christmas tree. Everyone had been looking forward to it—the centerpiece of the entire celebration. You had spent weeks planning for it. You had found the perfect tree—a towering Asgardian pine, with thick branches that would hold the glowing lights and ornaments just right. It was going to be the perfect way to end all the planning, a moment of beauty and unity.

But when you arrived at the hall that morning, ready to supervise the decorating, you froze in horror. The spot where the tree had once stood was now empty.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you rushed through the room, looking everywhere, even behind the columns, but the tree was nowhere to be found. You moved faster, your panic growing.

“Where is it?” you muttered to yourself, voice rising with panic.

You turned the corner and saw a scene that made your stomach drop. The tree was... in pieces. Cut into sections, dragged across the floor, and stacked near the Yule log, ready to be burned. Your breath caught in your throat. The beautiful tree that had taken so long to pick, to care for, was now destined to be turned into kindling.

You stood frozen for a moment, staring at the pile of branches and needles.

You began to ask around, stopping the first Asgardian you saw. “What happened to the tree?” you demanded.

The person looked confused for a moment before answering, their voice careful. “Oh, the orders came down this morning. The tree was to be cut down and used for the Yule log. It’s been taken to be prepared for the fire tonight.”

Your blood ran cold. “What? No, that was the Christmas tree!” you said, your voice rising in disbelief. “Not for the Yule log. That was for decorating—”

Before you could finish, another Asgardian approached quickly, clearly out of breath. “The treasure hunt,” they said urgently. “It’s gone. It’s disappeared.”

The words hit you like a wave crashing over you. You couldn’t breathe. Your stomach twisted in horror, and your vision blurred as panic surged in your chest. You turned back toward the pile of cut branches and needles, but this time, you couldn’t stop the overwhelming flood of emotions.

“No! No, no, no…” you whispered, almost choking on the words. You couldn’t do this anymore. Your hands shook as you looked from the missing tree to the empty space where the treasure hunt should have been. You had worked so hard on every detail, every tradition. And now it was all falling apart.

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized just how much was slipping through your fingers. The pressure, the endless demands, the mistakes you couldn’t control. Everything you had worked for—everything you had poured your energy into—was unraveling before your eyes.

Without thinking, you screamed in frustration, the sound of it echoing in the empty hall.

“This is insane!” you shouted, your voice breaking. Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you fought to keep yourself from completely losing it.

As your outburst rang through the room, you realized a small crowd had gathered. They were watching you, exchanging glances. You could see the looks of confusion, even pity, but it was too much. Too much to bear.

You spun toward Loki, who had appeared in the doorway, clearly having heard the commotion. The sight of him was the last straw.

“You!” you yelled, your eyes blazing with fury. “This is your fault, isn’t it? You’re the one who gave the order to cut down the tree, aren't you?”

Loki didn’t flinch, his expression calm as ever, though his eyes narrowed slightly at your tone. “How kind of you to assume it originates from me,” he answered smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s a tree. It wasn’t going to last anyway.”

“No!” you snapped, your voice cracking. “It was supposed to be the Christmas tree! This was supposed to be the centerpiece of the entire festival, and now it’s—gone! Everything is falling apart!”

Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused by your outburst. “I’m not sure what you’re upset about, darling. It’s just a tree. We have plenty of others.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “And as for the treasure hunt... perhaps it’s just better you move on.”

The words felt like a slap to your already fragile state. You were barely holding yourself together. “You don’t get it! Do you even know about how much effort I’ve put into this?” you cried, your voice shaking with frustration. 

Before you could continue, the Asgardian who had spoken earlier came rushing in again, their face full of urgency. “The treasure hunt—there was another problem. The maps and clues were taken. We can’t find any of it!”

You stood there, your mind reeling, your entire body trembling as the weight of everything you had been carrying finally broke through. You were suffocating under the pressure.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, voice barely audible. Your chest heaved as tears began to burn at the corners of your eyes. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness—it all collided inside you, and you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Loki, standing calmly in front of you, regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and mild irritation. He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “You need to calm down, [Y/N]. It’s just a few mistakes. We’ll fix it.”

“You don’t get it!” you shouted at him, your voice cracking with emotion. “You’re the one who screwed this all up!” You were shaking now, your entire body trembling from the storm of feelings threatening to consume you. “I’ve been working so hard to make this perfect, and you—you just came in and ruined everything!”

Loki’s calm demeanor didn’t change, though there was a flash of something like annoyance in his eyes. “Enough,” he said simply. “You need a break.”

Before you could respond, Loki encased one of your arms with his hand, and suddenly, the world around you disappeared in a rush of swirling light. The noise, the chaos, the pressure—all of it vanished as you were transported far from the hall, away from the mess.

Thor, who had just returned from handing out the invitations, stepped into the hall, ready to greet the others and take in the progress. His cheerful mood faltered however when he saw the tension in the air. Brunnhilde stepped in front of him quickly, her presence a calming force.

“Thor,” she said softly, “don’t worry. We’ll take care of it. The tree and the treasure hunt will be set right.”

Thor frowned but nodded slowly, trusting her judgment. “What happened?”

“Leave it to me,” She replied with a reassuring smile. “It’s not as bad as it seems. Just give us a little time, and everything will be in order.”

Thor sighed, his face softening. “Alright. Just... make sure everything is alright.”

The valkyrie gave him a firm nod. “It’ll be fine. We’ll handle it.”

⠀

The sudden rush of magic had barely settled when your power surged inside you, raw and untamed. Your emotions, a swirling storm of anger, frustration, and fear, acted like a catalyst, and without warning, your armor materialized around you—jagged and radiant, the energy radiating from you like a tempest.

The environment was eerily quiet, isolated from the hustle of the main celebration preparations. The corner they were in was a secluded stretch of rocky outcrop nestled between tall, jagged trees that seemed to protect the area from view. The ground beneath them was soft with moss and small, scattered leaves. A few low stone walls were partly overgrown with ivy, adding to the sense that this was an untouched space, perfect for moments away from the prying eyes of others.

Your frustration boiled over. “You!” you screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Loki. “This is your fault!” Your voice was raw with rage, and the air around them crackled with your energy as you lunged at him.

Loki blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden eruption of power. He barely had time to react before you lunged at him, your armor glowing with destructive energy. “I told you to take it seriously!” you yelled, your voice hoarse, as you swung an energy-charged fist toward him.

Loki, still calm despite your fury, sidestepped the attack easily, but he wasn’t expecting the ferocity of your movements. “For Norn’s sake, calm down,” he exclaimed, dodging another strike, his voice measured. “You’re losing it!”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” you spat, your energy only intensifying. You launched yourself at him again, this time in a flurry of punches and energy blasts that tore through the air. Each time Loki parried, it only made you angrier, and you screamed in frustration, the energy from your armor flaring brighter. The surrounding trees shuddered in response to the intensity.

Loki’s face hardened with determination as he blocked your energy with his seiðr, deflecting your blows. “You need to stop this,” he said, barely dodging another attack. His voice tinged with something more serious than usual. “I know you’re angry, but this won’t solve anything.”

“I don’t care!” you shouted, charging forward again, your movements fueled by raw, uncontrolled power. Each punch you threw left ripples in the air, crackling with auroral energy. The moss beneath their feet quivered under the force, and distant birds flew away in alarm.

Loki, his expression tightening, continued to dodge your strikes, his calm demeanor beginning to crack. “You don’t need to do this. Control yourself, you’re letting your emotions take over.”

“Everything is falling apart!” you yelled back, your eyes blazing with power. “I worked so hard for this and it’s all crumbling! I don’t even know what to do anymore!”

The wind picked up around them, swirling the fallen leaves into a frenzy. Loki's stance grew more defensive, his magic weaving through the air to deflect your blows. “I understand that, but lashing out won’t make it better,” he countered, his eyes flashing as his powers met yours in the charged atmosphere. “Destroying yourself over this won’t help either.”

You recoiled slightly, eyes wild, but there was a flash of uncertainty in them now. Another blast of energy shot from your hands, missing Loki only by a hair. But this time, the force of your attack wasn’t matched by the fury you had before. The anger was still there, but it was beginning to dissipate, replaced by sheer exhaustion.

Your attacks slowed, and you found yourself dropping to your knees, the heavy weight of your emotions finally catching up to you. You were gasping for breath, your chest heaving. The power surrounding you flickered and began to fade as your energy drained. Your armor seemed to collapse in on itself, leaving only your trembling form.

You pulled your knees to your chest, your body curled inwards as your arms wrapped around yourself. Tears started to fall, hot and fast, as everything you had been bottling up poured out in sobs. You didn’t even try to stop them. You felt broken, like all the pressure and expectations had crushed you, and there was nothing left but this overwhelming, suffocating exhaustion.

Loki watched silently, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you. You had been so strong, so determined, and now you were crumpled in front of him, vulnerable in a way he had rarely seen before.

“Darling,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual edge. He took a step forward, his tone gentler than it had been all day. “I didn’t want you to get to this point. But you’re not alone. You never have to be alone in this.”

You sniffled, your voice breaking as you spoke through your tears. “Shut up. I tried so hard… But—But nothing is going right and—and I can’t keep pretending like I’ve got everything under control.”

You sat quietly, your head resting on your knees as the last remnants of your armor faded away. The hum of the distant festivities was a dull echo compared to the storm of emotions that had overwhelmed you moments ago. Loki remained beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving you, watching you carefully as if gauging when to speak.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if they were both taking a breath, letting the tension of the moment settle before moving forward.

Finally, Loki shifted slightly, lowering himself to sit beside you. He rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his usual playful demeanor absent for once.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice a comforting murmur in the quiet space between them, “I’ve seen many things in my time—more than most can fathom. But there is one thing about Yule that has always amused me.”

You glanced up at him, the exhaustion in your eyes still clear, but there was a small flicker of curiosity and apprehension in them as you met his gaze. Loki smiled faintly, leaning back slightly to get more comfortable. He seemed to take a breath before he began, his tone easing into something reminiscent of a tale he had long since retold to himself.

“When I was younger, and Asgard still celebrated Yule in its true, ancient form, there was a tradition... one that many might call ‘foolish’ now,” he began, a glint of mischief creeping into his voice. “We used to have a grand competition every year—a Yule feast, yes, but with a twist. It wasn’t just about who could decorate the best or bring the finest gifts. No, it was about who could make the best ‘Yule pudding.’”

You looked at him with a raised brow, unimpressed. “Yule pudding?”

Loki nodded, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he continued. “Yes. It was an Asgardian delicacy, made from all sorts of strange and exotic ingredients—some of which were better left unspoken of. The twist, however, was that everyone’s pudding had to be kept a secret until the feast began. The idea was that the other competitors would be surprised, even horrified, by what they found in their bowls.” He gave you a playful, knowing look. “And trust me, some of the ingredients were... less than appealing.”

You slightly tilted your head up, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “So... did anyone actually win?”

“Oh, yes,” Loki chuckled, his eyes lighting up with a familiar mischief that was comforting, even in the current tense atmosphere. “But not in the way you’d expect. The prize was a crown, yes, but the true victory came from seeing the faces of the other competitors. You know, nothing is more satisfying than watching the mightiest warriors of Asgard choke down something so vile... all for the sake of tradition.”

You couldn’t help but let out a scoff at the image he painted, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time that evening. “I can’t believe you used to get people to eat that stuff,” you said, shaking your head, though the corners of your lips twitched into a small smile.

Loki’s grin softened at the sound of your laughter, and he leaned a little closer to you, resting his arm across his knee. “I may have been a bit of a... troublemaker,” he said with a small shrug. “But the real lesson was the spirit of Yule itself—not in the feasts or the gifts, but in the laughter and joy that followed. Even in the worst moments, there is light to be found.” He glanced at you, his voice dropping to a quieter, more serious tone. “Even now, during times like this. What matters is not how perfect everything is, but how we come together, despite it all.”

You stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in, but it was the warm look in his eyes that made your heart settle. It was an understanding you hadn’t expected, and for the first time since the pressure began to mount, you felt a little less alone in your frustration.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your breath steadying. The soft comfort of his presence, the closeness, and the warmth of his energy settled the lingering chaos inside you.

Loki’s posture stiffened for a moment, surprised, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself a small smile, his fingers lightly brushing against your forearm as if offering silent reassurance. “Better?”

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment as you nodded, allowing yourself to rest in the calm space he’d created. “Yeah. Thank you, Mischief.” You paused, your voice quieter. “I’m still angry with you, though.”

He chuckled, though there was an apologetic undertone in his laughter. “I know,” he replied softly, his hand finding hers, the contact warm and comforting. “And… I apologize. I should have thought more carefully about how things would turn out, but as you know, I never could resist pushing your buttons.”

You gave a half-hearted smile, your eyes still closed as you rested your head against his shoulder. “Yeah, I noticed that alright. I guess I’ll have to be more careful around you in the future when it comes to important duty stuff.”

“I’ll consider this a compliment,” he said with a sly smirk, though the softness in his tone betrayed his true feelings. “I never did well with being ignored.”

You let out a small laugh, your shoulders relaxing fully now. The tension you’d carried for so long seemed to ease with each word he spoke, each breath he took. “I could’ve never have guessed,” you said teasingly, lifting your head to glance at him. Your gaze softened as you looked into his eyes. “But truly, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

Loki’s lips curled into a small, sly smile as he looked at you. “I suppose even I, the magnificent and benevolent god that I am, cannot resist the allure of your stubbornness,” he said with a mockingly grandiose tone.

You stayed seated, the world around you hushed, save for the gentle rustling of the snow and the occasional sound of distant footsteps. The snow blanketed everything in serene stillness, creating a peaceful atmosphere that made it feel as though you were in a world of your own, far removed from the stress of the impending festivities.

Loki, still holding your hand without realizing it, gently rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand. The touch was comforting, soothing in its quiet rhythm, as if trying to calm the lingering tension in both of you. You didn’t speak for a while, content in the peacefulness of the moment.

You sat there, side by side, the stillness of the world around you filling the space between you with an unspoken connection. The flakes of snow continued to drift down around you, their quiet dance a gentle reminder of the calm you shared.

You glanced at him, your heart beating a little faster than usual. You weren’t sure if it was the cold, or something else, but your cheeks felt warmer, and when you looked at Loki, he seemed to be feeling the same quiet shift between you. Your fingers remained intertwined, a small, unnoticed act of closeness that neither of you questioned.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both content in each other's company as the world around you continued to fall into the winter stillness. The silence felt comfortable now, and neither of you was in a hurry to leave it.

As the minutes passed, you felt the cold slowly creeping back into your bones, a shiver running through you. You glanced at Loki and saw that his eyes had softened, watching you carefully. He felt it too, the quiet coldness in the air.

Loki, still with his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, looked at you for a moment before speaking again. “I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome here. Let’s get you back before someone else decides to accidentally destroy something.”

You let out a small laugh, this time free of the weight you’d carried for so long. You felt lighter—easier. You stood up and offered him your hand, which he took with an ease that made the whole moment feel just right. “Can’t wait to see what other problem awaits us,” you answered sarcastically, a small smile on your lips.

You had said "us"—a small word, but one that meant a lot in this moment. The connection between you, the quiet bond you shared, felt even more solid in the simplicity of it.

When you finally stood, neither of you noticed how your hands were still clasped together. It was only when you began walking back toward the hall that the warmth of your intertwined hands made you realize just how natural it felt. Neither of you spoke of it, but both knew that something had shifted. Neither of you knew if your cheeks were flushed from the cold, or from something else entirely, but neither of you minded.

The sound of your footsteps blended with the soft echo of the falling snow as you made your way back, the world around you still and serene, leaving you alone in your thoughts and the shared comfort of each other's presence.

The first thing you noticed upon waking the next morning was the soft, golden light spilling through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The warmth was a welcome contrast to the cool air of the hall you’d fallen asleep in, and you slowly stretched, your body sore from the events of the previous day. Your mind was still clouded with memories of the chaos—broken decorations, missing trees, disorganized gifts. A faint sense of panic clawed at your chest, but as you sat up, you realized the quiet hum of activity had returned to the castle.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, trying to shake off the weight of the previous day’s exhaustion. It was hard to believe it had all come to a head the night before—one misstep after another, and yet, here you were, still alive and breathing.

When you pushed yourself up from the bed and stepped into the hallway, you found it quieter than usual. The usual hustle and bustle of the Yule preparations had faded into the background. Your feet carried you instinctively toward the great hall, but when you stepped inside, your breath caught in your throat. The hall had transformed overnight.

Where there had been scattered remnants of undone decorations and unfinished projects, now there were beautifully decorated trees, glowing with twinkling lights. The large, grand Yule tree, full of shimmering baubles and sparkling tinsel, stood proudly near the center of the hall, towering over the tables. Garlands of holly and ivy draped across every surface, and the sweet smell of freshly baked bread and roasting meats filled the air.

But despite the stunning transformation, your heart still raced. You looked around with wide eyes, trying to take in everything, but it only seemed to make your nerves flare up.

“Where is everything?” you muttered under your breath, mostly to yourself, but the words were tinged with a hint of anxiety. Had they truly fixed everything? The tree looked perfect—tall, regal, and sturdy—but was it the right one? You had been so frantic, you hadn’t even stopped to look at it properly.

Your footsteps quickened, and you moved to the table where the feast had been laid out. Platters of food, colorful and hearty, were stacked in layers of decadent variety. The bread, the pastries, the meats… everything looked impeccable. Had they managed to get everything right? What if something had been missed?

“[Y/N],” came Valkyrie’s voice, drawing your attention. You looked up to see her walking toward you with a teasing grin. “Good morning. I see you’re already making your rounds.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to appear calm as you turned toward her. “I just—I just want to make sure everything’s in order,” you said, though your tone was strained. “The tree... it’s the right one, isn’t it? And the feast—did we get everything? We can’t afford to make any more mistakes.”

The Valkyrie arched a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a lot of fretting to do, don’t you? You need to take a break. Everything is done. The tree is perfect, the decorations are all set, and the feast... well, the Asgardian delicacies are sure to make an impression. Relax.”

You hesitated, eyes scanning the room again, but the weight of the last few days, added to your constant sense of responsibility, didn’t allow you to settle so easily. “But what about the gifts? Did Loki handle everything? And the—the treasure hunt?”

Brunnhilde gave a small chuckle. “Oh, the treasure hunt is a... success,” she said, the way she said it making you feel slightly apprehensive. “Though, I must admit, I didn’t expect the children to raid the chocolate stash as thoroughly as they did. I’m still trying to figure out how the entire chest went missing, but they found the treasure in the end, and I think that’s what matters.”

“Wait, the chocolates—” you froze, then sighed. “Of course. Of course, they ate it all.”

She smirked. “At least they found it,” she added with a shrug. “But that’s all handled. You’ve done your part. Now, you can rest.”

“I can’t rest,” you muttered, glancing over at the corner of the hall where a few last-minute touches were still needed. “There’s still the lights to check, and the candles—what if they’re uneven? What if the guests don’t like the decorations?”

The Valkyrie watched you for a moment, her expression softening slightly. She walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, her voice becoming more serious. “Listen to me, sweet cheeks. You’ve been working nonstop for days. Everything is taken care of. It’s all ready. All that’s left for you to do is enjoy it.”

Your face flushed with embarrassment. You knew you were overthinking everything, but it was hard to shake off the anxiety that had built up during the previous days. You had put so much pressure on yourself, and the idea of something going wrong—again—made your stomach twist.

But Brunnhilde was right. Everything was perfect. You had helped put it all together, and now all you had to do was step back and enjoy it. No more fretting.

With a deep sigh, you finally nodded. “You’re right. I just... I can’t help it.” You rubbed your temples. “I’ll try to rest for a bit.”

She grinned and gave you a playful shove toward the seating area. “Good. Now go take a break. Everything is in order. We’ve got this.”

Your steps slowed, and you made your way to the chairs near the fireplace, feeling lighter with each step. It was hard to let go of the responsibility, but in that quiet moment, with everything taken care of, you could finally breathe a little easier.

As you sank into the warmth of the chair and allowed yourself to close your eyes for just a moment, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The rest of the day would be filled with festivities, joy, and laughter. The Yule festival was coming soon. And this time, you could enjoy it without the weight of worry on your shoulders.

⠀

The royal library had been deemed a perfect spot for the traditional storytelling to take place. The shelves lined with ancient tomes and scrolls seemed to add an air of mystique to the already enchanting setting. Children crowded around Loki, sitting cross-legged on the floor, their eyes wide with curiosity. Even a few of the adults had gathered, drawn in by the sheer magnetism of his presence.

You stood near the doorway, watching quietly from the sidelines. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight before you—Loki, the formidable god of mischief, captivating the room with his magic. His voice was deep and resonant, laced with humor, as he began weaving his tale.

“And so, there I was,” he began, gesturing dramatically with one hand, “standing atop the great peak of Jotunheim, facing down an entire army of giants. The cold bit at my skin, but did I flinch?” He paused, his lips curling into a playful grin. “Of course not. I am Loki, the trickster god, the one who—”

The children erupted in giggles, and Loki’s grin widened. With a snap of his fingers, the air around him shimmered with a faint green glow. He conjured an illusion of a massive ice giant, towering above the group, its icy form glowing ominously. The kids gasped in awe, eyes glued to the spectacle.

“Fear not, young ones!” Loki’s voice boomed as he summoned another flick of magic, and the giant began to shrink. “I wasn’t about to let a little thing like that scare me. With one swift move, I tricked them into thinking they’d already won. I am a god, after all.”

As he spoke, his illusions shifted with every word—mighty warriors battling against beasts, massive serpents coiling around towering castles, and fire-breathing dragons soaring across the sky. The magic seemed to come alive with every flick of his wrist, each new image more mesmerizing than the last.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. It wasn’t just the magic—though it was impressive—it was the way Loki moved, the way he commanded the room. There was something about him in these moments, his charm and wit flowing effortlessly, drawing even the adults in.

His eyes met yours for a fleeting second as he continued his tale, and you felt your heart skip a beat. There was something oddly endearing about watching him perform for the children. He was so... alive. His usual smirk softened in these moments, replaced by a deep sense of contentment as he captivated his audience.

“You know, the trick to deceiving giants,” Loki continued, his voice lowering conspiratorially as the children leaned in closer, “is not in strength, but in the art of persuasion. They believed me when I said the sun had risen on their kingdom. But I knew better. The sun? It wasn’t even close to rising.” He chuckled darkly. “I’ll spare you the details of the real trick, but let’s just say... they learned to always listen to Loki.”

A few of the children laughed and clapped, clearly entranced by the story, while the adults looked on with amused smiles. You couldn’t help but smile fondly at him from your position by the doorway, the warmth of the moment settling in your chest.

“That was quite the tale,” Brunnhilde said, stepping up behind you with a playful grin. “I didn’t realize you were so captivated by Loki’s antics.”

You turned quickly, caught off guard by her teasing. “What?” you asked, your cheeks heating slightly as you tried to hide the warmth spreading through your chest. “I’m just... enjoying the story.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the situation. “Mm-hmm, enjoying it quite a lot, I see. You know, if you’re really into the storytelling, you could always go sit on Loki’s lap, like the Midgardian children do with Santa. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She smirked, nudging you playfully.

You flushed, rolling your eyes as you tried to cover up your flustered state. “I’m fine where I am, thank you,” you said, though your gaze lingered on Loki at the center of the room. Your heart fluttered a little as you watched him, and you quickly turned away to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

As the story continued, Loki’s hands wove through the air, creating glowing, animated figures with his seiðr. He made the children laugh, gasp, and even squeal with excitement as dragons flew overhead and kingdoms were overthrown. Each tale he told seemed to be tailored to his young audience, but you couldn’t help but notice how the adults—yourself included—were just as mesmerized by him.

You shifted slightly, and your eyes caught on one of the floating illusions—a massive serpent coiling around a castle tower. For a moment, you thought it looked almost... real. You blinked and glanced at Loki, noticing the slight tilt of his head as he continued to spin his tale.

Your heart skipped again.

“So,” The Valkyrie said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “What do you think? Still not interested in the man behind the magic?”

You shot her an incredulous look. “What are you talking about?” you hissed under your breath. “I told you, I’m just here for the storytelling.”

“Sure you are,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, but deep down, you felt a quiet warmth in your chest. Brunnhilde's teasing aside, there was something undeniable about the way Loki commanded the room. You were captivated, and you didn’t think there was any shame in admitting it.

Finally, after several more stories, Loki ended his performance with a dramatic flourish. The children clapped, their cheers echoing through the grand library.

“At ease,” he said, bowing slightly, “I hope you all enjoyed the tale. It’s not every day you get to hear the true version of events, after all.” He gave the children a wink before turning toward the adults. “Now, my dear friends, it’s time to take a break and prepare for the real festivities to begin.”

You stepped back as Loki turned toward you, still basking in the glow of the applause. He caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly. He seemed so at ease in his element—charming, playful, and utterly captivating.

The Valkyrie’s teasing voice broke through your thoughts again. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club to be a part of,” she whispered with a sly grin.

You could only chuckle, shaking your head. "Oh, hush."

But as Loki’s gaze met yours once more, you felt something stir in your chest—a connection you couldn’t quite put into words. For all his mischief and tricks, something was endearing about the way he made the world around him brighter, even if it was just for a moment.

⠀

The grand hall was alive with the soft hum of conversation and laughter, but amid the lively atmosphere, you found yourself quietly drawn toward the Yule tree. Its towering branches were adorned with delicate glass ornaments, shimmering ribbons, and lights that cast a soft, magical glow throughout the room. You stood before it, mesmerized by the beauty of it all.

But as you stepped closer, your attention was caught by something unexpected. Among the glittering baubles and tinsel were small, folded papers tied with delicate strings, hanging just like ornaments. At first, you thought they were part of the decorations, but as you leaned in to examine them, you realized they were letters—each one carefully placed with intention. Curiosity piqued, you gently plucked one from the tree and unfolded it.

The first letter was simple, the handwriting of a child: I wish for a pet dragon, even if it’s small. You smiled softly, your heartwarming at the innocent wish. You moved to the next one, your fingers tracing the fragile paper. I wish for snow to never stop falling, so I can play forever. Each note seemed to carry with it a small, pure hope, a wish that felt timeless and untouched by the complications of the world.

You let out a quiet laugh, glancing at another letter. I wish for more sweets at the feast tomorrow. That one made you grin wider—something about it felt so wonderfully human, so relatable in its simplicity.

“You seem to be enjoying those.” The voice startled you, and you turned to find Loki standing just behind you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was a certain softness to his gaze as he watched you, a subtle pride that he didn’t always show.

You raised an eyebrow, still holding the letter in your hand. “What is this? Some sort of... Yule tree tradition I wasn’t aware of?”

Loki’s expression shifted, and he looked almost bashful for a moment. “It’s new. After the storytelling, I thought it might be a good idea for the children to write down their wishes. I gave them the task of hanging them on the tree, hoping the magic of the season might make them come true.”

You blinked, surprised. “You—did you get the children to do this?” You shook your head, your tone softening as you looked at him in a way you hadn’t before. “That’s... a really thoughtful gesture, Loki.”

“I may have a flair for splendor,” Loki admitted with a small shrug, his voice laced with both humility and pride, “but even I can recognize the value of sincerity. Not everything must be a grand display of power.” He gestured toward the tree, his gaze lingering on the little letters. “Their wishes deserved more than a fleeting moment. Why not bind them to the spirit of Yule? A reminder that even the smallest dreams can take root and grow into something magnificent.”

You looked back at the tree, your heart feeling full as you saw the wishes swaying gently in the breeze. For a brief moment, the disarray of the previous days, the stress, and all the uncertainty melted away. It felt peaceful, in a way you hadn’t expected. The simplicity of the wishes, the hope behind them, made everything feel just a little bit more magical.

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?” you asked softly, the weight of your words more sincere than you’d meant. “I didn’t expect this side of you. You’re a bit of a softy in disguise.”

Loki smirked, his eyes glinting with a playfulness that only he could pull off, though a hint of warmth remained in his tone. "I am many things, but I would hardly call myself soft. My genius is unrivaled, my charm is clearly undeniable, but I am far from sentimental."

He paused, the playfulness momentarily fading as he regarded you with a softer look. "But even the most enigmatic of gods can have their... moments," he added quietly, his gaze lingering on you before quickly flashing back to his usual impish grin. "Don’t tell anyone, though. It would ruin my reputation."

You tilted your head, your gaze softening as you considered his words. There was something in the way he spoke, something unguarded that made you pause. You gave him a small, knowing smile, your tone teasing but with an underlying sincerity. "I guess you do have your moments of wisdom, after all," you said, your voice warm. "I always thought you were all about grandeur and spectacle, but I guess even someone like you knows the power of the little things."

You leaned in just slightly, your smile still in place, but there was a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. "It’s funny," you mused, your words soft, "I didn’t expect this side of you. I guess we all have our layers, don’t we?"

Loki smiled, a touch of pride in his eyes, but it was a softer, more genuine pride than you were used to. “You’d be surprised how much thought I put into things sometimes.” His voice lowered a little, almost as though he was sharing something personal. “Not everything has to be grand or spectacular to matter. Sometimes, it’s the simple gestures that can mean the most.”

You turned back to the tree, your fingers lightly brushing the edges of the next letter you picked. “This is really special, Loki.” Your voice was quieter now, almost reverent as you took in the sight of all the letters hanging on the tree. “You’ve given them something to look forward to and to believe in.”

Loki stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the tree. “I suppose I’ve learned a few things over the years. Not everything has to be perfect for it to be meaningful.”

As you pulled away from the tree, your eyes lingered on the sparkling ornaments for just a moment longer. You turned to Loki, who was still standing nearby, his hands lightly brushing the branches as if contemplating something deeper. There was a warmth in your chest, a quiet understanding of the thought and care that had gone into making this Yule truly special.

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice full of sincerity. "I don’t think I ever would’ve thought of this. It’s perfect."

Loki glanced at you, his gaze softening. Before he could respond, you stood up on your tiptoes and, without thinking, placed a quick, affectionate kiss on his cheek. His eyes widened in surprise, the briefest of blushes flickering across his cheeks before he masked it with his usual playful composure.

"If I’d known something as small as this would grant me such a delicacy, I would’ve done it sooner," he teased, his voice still carrying the usual mischievous undertone, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something a little warmer, a little softer.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile as you stepped back, your face a little flushed. "Don’t push your luck, Mischief," you replied, the hint of a challenge in your tone.

He chuckled, raising a brow. "Oh, I never push, darling. I simply nudge… gently," he added with his signature smirk returning, as if he hadn’t just been caught a bit off guard by the unexpected tenderness.

As you shared that moment, something unspoken passed between you—an understanding, a shift in the air, but nothing too bold. Yet, both of your hearts seemed to beat a little faster, and the space between you felt just a little more charged than before.

The royal courtyard had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Strings of golden lights intertwined with frosted branches, casting a warm glow across the snow-covered ground. A towering evergreen stood at the center, adorned with shimmering ornaments and glowing runes that pulsed faintly with magic. Tables laden with Asgardian delicacies lined the perimeter, and a faint melody floated through the air, played by an ensemble of musicians stationed near the tree.

As the first portal shimmered open, Jane Foster stepped through, pulling her coat tighter against the chill. Her expression lit up at the sight of Thor, who bounded over with his usual exuberance. “Jane!” he called, his voice booming even in the open air. “At last! Welcome to Asgard’s Yule celebration!”

“Thor,” Jane laughed as he enveloped her in a bear hug. “You’re going to squash me before I even get to enjoy the festivities.”

Before she could say more, another portal opened with a soft hum, revealing a group of familiar faces. Tony Stark was the first to step out, his eyes immediately scanning the scene. “Interesting,” he drawled, tugging his scarf tighter. “Looks like someone’s been raiding the Hallmark aisle. Did you do this, Reindeer Games?”

Loki, who had been leaning casually against one of the pillars at the edge of the courtyard, arched an eyebrow. “Ah, Tin Man,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “I see your sense of fashion is as middling as ever. And no, I don’t sully my talents with mere decorations.”

“Sure you don’t,” Tony shot back, already making his way toward one of the tables. “But I’ll bet you were in charge of the drinks. Let’s see if they’re as pretentious as you are.”

Steve Rogers stepped through the portal next, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He took a moment to take in the scene, a small smile tugging at his lips. “This is… something alright,” he said quietly.

Thor clapped him on the back with enough force to make him stagger slightly. “Is it not magnificent? Tonight, my friends, we celebrate in true Asgardian style! Food, drink, and merriment for all!”

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton followed close behind, their sharp eyes surveying the courtyard. “This is cozy,” Natasha remarked dryly. Her gaze flicked to Loki. “I’m surprised you’re not sulking in a corner somewhere or plotting mischief.”

“I’m afraid I must disappoint you, Agent Romanoff,” Loki replied smoothly, his smirk just this side of smug. “My mischief is already in motion.”

You, who had been overseeing the final touches on the feast, approached the group with a welcoming smile. “Glad you all could make it, guys,” you said, your breath fogging slightly in the cold air. “I wasn’t sure if Asgardian traditions would be your thing.”

“Oh, traditions are fine, Skittles,” Tony replied, already holding a goblet of mead he’d managed to acquire. “But I’m here for the food. And maybe to see if Frosty over there pulls off anything entertaining.”

Bruce Banner shuffled over, his smile soft and unassuming. “Thanks for having us,” he said. “It’s… nice to get a break from everything.”

As the group began to mingle, the dynamics unfolded naturally. Jane and Bruce struck up a conversation about the science behind the glowing runes on the tree, with Thor chiming in enthusiastically about the enchantments. Natasha and Clint drifted toward the weapons display near the courtyard’s edge, their interest piqued by the craftsmanship.

Tony, meanwhile, found himself circling back to Loki. “So, puny god,” he began, taking a sip of his drink. “What’s the over-under on you pulling some kind of elaborate prank tonight?”

Loki’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smirk. “Stark, if I were to indulge in such trivialities, you would not see them coming. But I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight. I’d hate for you to feel… out of place.”

You, who had been listening from a few steps away, couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Don’t encourage him, Tony. He doesn’t need the help.”

“Oh, I’m not encouraging him, Tinkerbell,” Tony replied with a grin. “I’m just testing his limits.”

Steve, who had been quietly observing, walked over to Thor and gestured toward the massive Yule log near the tree. “So… what’s the story with that?”

Thor grinned broadly. “Ah, the Yule log! Its lighting marks the official start of the festivities. A sacred moment, my friend. You’ll see soon enough!”

Nearby, Jane sidled up to you, her tone curious. “This is your first Yule celebration, right? How are you holding up?”

You smiled, glancing toward Loki, who was now demonstrating his seiðr for a small group of curious onlookers. The green-hued magic danced in the air, forming intricate shapes that captivated everyone watching. “It’s overwhelming,” you admitted. “But it’s magical. I can see why this means so much to everyone.”

Jane followed your gaze, then smirked knowingly. “And I’m sure a certain dark prince has nothing to do with that sentiment?”

Before you could reply, Brunnhilde appeared, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Oh, she’s smitten, no doubt about it. But don’t worry, sweet cheeks, I’m sure brooding stuff over there will find some way to complicate things before the night’s over.”

“Val’,” you groaned, your cheeks warming.

“What?” she replied with a grin, lifting her goblet. “It’s Yule. A little mischief and romance are practically mandatory.”

The playful banter dissolved into laughter, and soon the courtyard was alive with the sound of merriment as more guests continued to arrive, setting the stage for a celebration no one would forget.

⠀

Soon enough, the air in the courtyard hummed with anticipation as the gathering crowd turned toward the massive Yule log stationed near the towering evergreen tree. The log, carved with intricate patterns of Norse runes and adorned with garlands of evergreen and holly, rested on an iron stand at the heart of the celebration.

Thor stood before it, Stormbreaker gripped tightly in his hand, his broad figure illuminated by the golden glow of the surrounding lights. The faint crackle of his lightning echoed in the air, a promise of the power about to be unleashed. Beside him stood Brunnhilde, her presence commanding as ever, a goblet in one hand and her other resting on the pommel of her sword.

The chatter of the crowd quieted as Brunnhilde raised her hand, signaling the beginning of the tradition. She stepped forward, her voice carrying with a regal authority that silenced even the most boisterous of guests.

“Friends, family, and honored guests,” she began, her tone strong yet warm, “we gather here tonight, under the light of the Yule tree and the vast expanse of the stars, to celebrate the turning of the season and the bonds we share. Yule is not merely a time of merriment—it is a time to reflect, to honor the past, and to look toward the future with hope.”

She raised her goblet slightly, her eyes sweeping across the crowd. “Tonight, as we light the Yule log, we kindle the fire of community, resilience, and renewal. Let this flame burn bright, a beacon in the dark, reminding us of the strength we find in each other. Let it mark the start of a celebration worthy of Asgard’s legacy.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, raising their own goblets in response. Brunnhilde stepped aside with a small, satisfied smirk, gesturing toward Thor.

“Now, who better to light the way than the God of Thunder himself?” she added, her tone laced with humor.

Thor grinned broadly, stepping forward with his usual swagger. He lifted Stormbreaker high, and the skies above seemed to darken just slightly, as though the stars themselves leaned in to watch.

“Let us welcome the light, and may it guide us through this season of joy!” He bellowed, his voice resonating through the courtyard.

With a sharp crackle, bolts of lightning arced from the axe, striking the Yule log with an explosive burst of light. The log ignited instantly, flames leaping to life and casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd. The fire danced and flickered, its light reflected in the awestruck faces of everyone present.

The warmth of the fire spread through the courtyard, both physically and metaphorically, as the crowd erupted into cheers once more. The musicians struck up a lively tune, and the celebration officially began.

You, standing toward the edge of the crowd, couldn’t help but smile in childlike wonder at the sight. The sheer spectacle, the sense of unity, and the magic of the moment were overwhelming in the best way.

Loki appeared at your side, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the scene with a faint smirk. “Thor does enjoy his dramatics,” he remarked lightly, though his tone held no malice.

You glanced at him, your smile widening. “I don’t blame him, it’s tradition,” you replied. “And it’s beautiful.”

Loki tilted his head, his gaze softening as he watched you instead of the fire. “It is,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd.

As the music picked up and the guests began to drift toward the dance floor near the Yule tree, Brunnhilde raised her goblet once more, her voice cutting through the joyous commotion.

“Let the festivities begin!” she declared, her grin wide and infectious.

With that, the courtyard came alive with laughter, music, and the sound of feet moving to the rhythm of the dance. The Yule celebration was officially underway.

⠀

The flames of the Yule log crackled and danced, casting warm golden light over the courtyard. The lively music of flutes, strings, and drums filled the air as the guests, Asgardian and Midgardian alike, joined in the festivities. Around the grand fire and beneath the glittering Yule tree, people swayed, twirled, and laughed in a joyous dance that blurred the line between realms.

You stood off to the side, catching your breath after spending most of the evening immersed in the revelry. Your cheeks were flushed from dancing—both the lively Asgardian traditional dances you had eagerly learned and the familiar Midgardian waltzes that had followed.

Your earlier conversations with the various United Nations diplomats and Midgardian guests had been engaging yet intense, requiring a level of charm and tact you hadn’t entirely realized you possessed. Between discussing Asgardian culture and bridging gaps between worlds, you had barely had a moment to yourself.

Several guests had gone out of their way to compliment you on the gifts they had received earlier in the evening. Each one was uniquely tailored: intricate wooden carvings of Yggdrasil that doubled as ornate keepsake boxes, filled with an assortment of Midgardian delicacies and Asgardian mead, or beautifully crafted quills forged from Asgardian metals, paired with sleek, modern Midgardian ink sets.

You had been stunned by their enthusiasm. The gifts, which you had initially seen in their raw, almost haphazard state under Loki’s supervision, had clearly undergone a transformation. What had once seemed overly extravagant and mismatched now carried a thoughtful elegance, seamlessly blending the traditions of both realms.

Your gaze instinctively sought Loki in the crowd. He must have changed them, you realized, your surprise mingling with an odd sense of pride. He had somehow taken what could have been a garish display and turned it into something meaningful—something that resonated with both Asgardian and Midgardian sensibilities.

Now, as you leaned lightly against a table laden with mulled wine and pastries, you allowed yourself to take it all in. The flickering light painted everything in a magical glow—the Yule tree adorned with shimmering ornaments and glowing letters, the Yule log blazing brightly, and the joyous crowd swaying in a beautiful, chaotic harmony.

You watched as an Asgardian couple paused beneath a sprig of mistletoe, sharing a quiet kiss before bursting into laughter and rejoining the dance. The sight brought a small smile to your lips, though it also sent a flutter through your chest.

“I’m surprised you’re not out there,” Loki’s voice came from behind you, smooth and teasing.

You turned to find him standing just a step away, his emerald-green tunic catching the firelight. He looked every bit the god tonight, regal and effortlessly captivating, though there was something softer in the way his eyes met yours.

“Taking a break,” you said lightly, raising an eyebrow. “Believe it or not, even I need a moment to breathe after dancing with half the delegation and learning to not trip over myself in your people’s traditional dances.”

Loki’s lips quirked into a sly smile. “I’d expect nothing less coming from you. You managed it to make it surprisingly effortless.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Flattery, Mischief? You’re slipping.”

“Am I now, darling?” Loki replied, stepping closer, his tone low and playful. “Or perhaps I’m just warming up.”

You tilted your head, curious. “And why would you need to warm up?”

Loki smirked, offering his hand. “Because the best dance of the night is yet to come.”

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “I’m not sure I trust you on this one.”

“Wise,” Loki said with a mockingly serious nod, “but not nearly as fun. Come, indulge me.”

Despite your wariness, you placed your hand in his, and he led you toward the center of the dance floor. The lively music shifted into something slower, more melodic, as you joined the other couples. Loki’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his touch surprisingly gentle, as you began to move.

As you swayed to the rhythm, you couldn’t help but glance around the crowd. Your eyes landed on Thor, Jane, and Valkyrie standing off to the side. Thor was grinning broadly, lifting his mug in a mock toast, while Jane stifled a giggle behind her hand. Valkyrie, however, made no attempt to hide her amusement, smirking as she gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up.

You rolled your eyes but felt the heat rise in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. “The Justice League is watching,” you muttered, tilting your head slightly toward the trio.

Loki followed your gaze and sighed dramatically. “Of course, they are. Discretion has never been their strong suit.”

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head. “I think they’re enjoying this more than they should.”

“Let them,” Loki said with a smirk, his voice dipping into a playful tone. “We’re far more interesting than whatever ale-induced tales Thor was spinning moments ago.”

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said softly as you swayed together, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Am I?” Loki arched an eyebrow, his smirk teasing but his gaze steady.

“You are,” you confirmed. “I know about the gifts—thank you for listening to me, by the way. This… whole thing; this isn’t what I expected from you.”

Loki chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Perhaps you haven’t been paying close enough attention. I’m more than just mischief and chaos, you know.”

As the song came to an end, you felt the faintest tug on your hand. Loki had led you just a step away from the tree, where another sprig of mistletoe dangled from its branches.

You glanced up, realization dawning as you looked back at him. “Seriously? A mistletoe prank?”

Loki’s lips curled into a sly smile, but there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze. “Oh, I assure you, this is no prank,” he replied, his voice smooth as ever.

You narrowed your eyes, your arms crossing over your chest. “If this is about everything—about me pushing you into putting all of this together—then you can save the theatrics. I know you probably still want to argue about it, but I won’t engage in some pitiful argument of pride. We both did well.” Your tone was firm, though there was an edge of exasperation beneath it.

Loki’s expression shifted, his usual air of mischief melting into something gentler. “You think I went through all this trouble merely to settle a disagreement?” He took a step closer, his voice quieter now, almost earnest. “This isn’t about proving a point or one-upping anyone. It’s about—” He paused, his gaze steady on yours. “You.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “Me?”

“You, who somehow managed to coax an entire realm into celebrating something most would have dismissed as frivolous,” Loki said, a rare softness coloring his words. “You, who demanded I find meaning in the smallest of gestures, who taught me that joy doesn’t always come in grand schemes or victories but in shared moments like this.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, you were unsure of what to say. Loki took your silence as permission to continue, his hand lifting to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “This mistletoe isn’t some clever ploy or a prank,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “It’s a reminder. A way to say ‘thank you’ for showing me that despite everything, even I am capable of something... good.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, your earlier irritation melting away under the weight of his words. “Loki...”

“Now,” he murmured as he brought you closer to him, his gaze dropping to your lips and then back to your eyes, “are you going to kiss me, or shall I be forced to endure yet another smug grin from Thor when he realizes I failed?”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I am,” Loki replied, his smirk softening into something more sincere as his voice lowered, “and I dare say I’ve been patient long enough. Now, I demand my gift for my good behavior.”

Unable to help yourself, you closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters. But as Loki’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, and your fingers brushed the back of his neck, the kiss deepened, warm and unhurried. It was as though the world around you had melted away, leaving just the two of you beneath the gently falling snow, surrounded by the golden glow of the firelight.

The moment stretched, but just as you parted, the sound of raucous cheers startled you both. Loki sighed, glancing over his shoulder to see Thor lifting Jane into the air triumphantly, having spun her around in an exaggerated display of holiday spirit. Jane, laughing but apparently exasperated, swatted at Thor to put her down, which only made the crowd cheer louder.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temple as if pained. “Leave it to my oaf of a brother to ruin a perfectly good moment.”

You laughed, your eyes bright as you leaned in and kissed him again, this time quick and playful. Pulling back, you smiled at him, your voice soft as you said, “Merry Christmas, Mischief.”

Loki’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile, his eyes alight with something tender. 

“Merry Yule, darling.”

⠀⠀

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

⠀

dividers © @angelremnants + @cafekitsune .

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[mikaryu]

Locker Sex

Hi guys… This is an older one I am reposting from my AO3. I actually really hate it, but it was the only oneshot I have to post so..

highschool au, Gojo/f!reader

“So… you know Geto, right?” Shoko squints while turning her head to you.

You purse your lips, running your tongue over them swiftly before returning to your resting face. Shoko and you are walking through the halls of your highschool, on the way to your last class of the day. Unfortunately, this specific class was across the entire school so it was quite the walk.

“Yes? Obviously, He’s Gojo’s best friend. Why do you mention him?” Suspiciously, you raise your eyebrow at the brunette.

“Well, I sort of got the chance to talk to him the other day… and we made a sort of… deal.” She gives an awkward smile while chuckling.

Shaking your head, you look straight ahead, careful not to bump into other students who may obstruct your path. “What the fuck did you do, Shoko? I swear, what did you say?”

“Uhm… telling you would ruin the surprise! But just a heads up, it’s all my fault. Punish me later.” She says before scurrying off to her next class, located just a door away from your’s. She doesn’t give you the chance to say something in response.

The class is a living hell. A difficult one to suffer through, being the last class of the day. And, not to mention, Gojo Satoru is in it. And sits right next to you. You hate his guts, to be honest. But something about him made you obsessed with him. You don’t know why. Maybe it is because he is so perfectly sculpted, so incredibly handsome, he was pretty. Maybe it’s because of the flirty remarks he always shoots at you, making you freeze up and stutter over your words as you are trying to knock some sense into him.

He is so full of himself, but for good reason. He could have any woman he wants. No way would he want you.

So instead you tried to push him away as much as possible. You are an asshole to him, hoping he would show his true colors and you would lose feelings.

Hell, like that would ever work.

Somehow you only ever became more obsessed with him, and he would flirt with you more.

He was oblivious, though.

The man stares at you as you quickly jot something down, blowing out a heavy puff of air as you flip the pencil over to rub the eraser into your notebook. The way your hair falls over your eyes, the way your cheeks puff out, you are adorable to him.

And somehow, he thinks that you were the only woman he couldn’t pull. The one that wasn’t wrapped around his finger. Everyone else’s eyes were stolen as he walked past, but never you. Anytime he passed you through the hallway, you would furrow your brows and look away.

You were the one thing he couldn’t have. And it only fueled him more.

You pick your head up, turning it and looking in his direction. His gaze catches yours. Instead of looking away, he rests his chin in his palm, the other coming to wave his fingers at you mockingly.

You roll your eyes, scoffing before peeling your eyes away from his to connect with the board 4 rows in front of you.

The class is so boring, as always. The only thing keeping you company is Gojo kicking your chair to annoy you, or throwing his eraser shavings in your direction to scatter over your clothes and desk.

You glare at him, and he just blows a kiss at you before winking.

The class ends, the bell startling you just before you drift off to sleep.

As you pack your things, heading to the door, your pulled to a stop. A hand grips at your arm, pulling you back out of the entrance.

You turn to face your oppressor, and of course, it’s Gojo.

“Do you have the notes from yesterday? I fell asleep.” He asks, nonchalantly as if you are best friends. You definitely aren’t.

“I do, but what do you have in exchange?” You smirk, looking up at his tall figure which towers over you.

He taps a finger to his chin, squinting and pouting his lips. “I know. You don’t have the science homework, right? I heard you complaining about it.” He grins, looking down at you.

Your eyes light up. You had missed the notes one day, and now are completely lost. Would he really give you a copy of his homework? “For real? The would help so much-”

He cuts you off, wagging a finger in front of your face. “Ah ah ah, I’m not just going to give you a copy, not a fair exchange. Instead, why don’t you come to my house? I can help you… study.”

You didn’t catch on.

“Wouldn’t that just be more work for you?” You sigh, looking down to the books in your arms.

He realizes you hadn’t caught on to his idea, and he decides to scrap it. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you a copy of my science homework if you give me yesterday’s notes. Just make sure to change a few things, I don’t want to get called out. Deal?” He outreaches his hand to you.

“Deal.” You nod, walking away ignoring the hand he wanted you to shake.

The halls were more empty now, everyone had rushed out quickly since it’s Friday.

Your locker is in the corner of the school, down the stairs right next to the class you had just exited. Due to the excess amount of students that attend the school, they had to designate an entire room to lockers. The lockers down there were very spacious, though, so the staff decided seniors should get the lockers.

Your first three years you thought it was a bit unfair, but being a senior a few months from graduation now, you were happy with it. The year was so much better being able to hold whatever you wanted in it. Whether it be changes of clothes, extra notebooks, an umbrella, jackets, you had it.

Not anymore, though. You had cleaned it out last week, realizing you never used the stuff in it and there was no need. So it is pretty empty. You twist the knob, lifting your finger on the latch to unlock it. You grab your bag, shoving your belongings in it.

Something bumps into you from behind, your stance falters, and you step into the locker to catch your fall. Something pushes you again so you are fully inside. You let out a gasp, whirling around to face the person before the door slams shut in your face.

“What the fuck?!” You exclaim, pounding your fists onto the door.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, Y/N!” You hear Shoko’s voice. So this is what she meant.

Before you can say anything else, you hear footsteps run off, leaving you behind.

“The hell?!” You yell out, once again, trying to lift the mechanism from the inside, but failing.

She was gone. Left you. What kind of dirty game was she up to?

You scream a few more times, trying to call out for someone, anyone who was near.

As you begin to get tired, you hear rushed footsteps entering the room.

“Hey!” You yell out, trying to get their attention.

“The fuck? Is someone in there?” A hushed voice occurs, and you hear them step closer.

Another voice perks up. One you recognized all too well. “Y/N? Is that you? Why the hell are you in there?”

A shadow is casted over the little amount of light that was entering the cracks of the door.

“Shoko fucking pushed me in and locked the door.” You are calmer now, knowing you will be able to escape.

“Ok, ok. Tell me the number, I’ll get you out of there.” Gojo raps his knuckle lightly onto the door.

“24, 8, 32.” You hear clicks as you command him.

The latch is picked up, the door flies open. Just as you are about to step out, Gojo’s body crashes into yours and you stumble back into the lockers.

You see Geto behind Gojo, pushing him in, forcefully closing the door.

You are speechless.

“Hey man what the fuck?!” Gojo shouts out, banging his fist onto the door once before Geto leaves the room.

So this is what those fuckers were planning. It all makes sense now. Shoko and Geto talked, found out you liked Gojo, and are now trying to set you up. But, why would Geto agree to this? It’s not like Gojo likes you back.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with your thumb and index fingers, sighing and leaning your head down. “I- I’m sorry, this is Shoko’s fault.”

Your back is up against the wall, Gojo is mirroring you. One of his legs is in between yours, one of yours is in between his. His neck is bent to the side, head touching the top of the locker for him being so tall.

“Damn my good genes.” Gojo rolls his eyes sarcastically before connecting them with yours.

Usually, you would’ve at least chuckled at that. But now, you are too focused on where his leg lies. His knee is bent, pressed up against in between your thighs. Your face is painted red, lips slightly agape, your eyes blown wide trying to focus as much as possible.

Your focus breaks when he hums at you, trying to gain your attention. A jolt of electricity runs down your spine in surprise, your leg twitching slightly, thigh pushing up into Gojo’s crotch.

He groans, his head leaning back and thumping against the back of the locker. “Y/N, f-fuck stop moving.” His cheeks are tinted a light pink, eyes shutting and biting his bottom lip.

You look up at him, terrified at what you had done. “H-holy shit I’m sorry I’ll move-” you stutter while trying to remove your leg from its spot, failing and only pressing up against him more.

The sound that escaped his lips leaves you astonished. It was a mix between a whimper and high pitched moan.

His hand flies down quickly to grip your thigh, nails digging into your skin to keep your leg still.

His head tilts forward, eyes looking down at you. There was a cloud covering them, a deep intent focused towards you. His teeth grit together. His eyes flicker to your lips, before returning to your eyes. His are glimmering in the small amount of light, the beautiful bright blue irises you have found yourself lost in many times in the past.

The hand that isn’t grabbing your thigh travels up your side, gripping your jaw roughly. His voice is low and husky when he speaks, “Why did Geto and your friend do this, hm? Was it planned? Did you know? Nevermind, of course you didn’t know.” He rolls his eyes, letting up on his grip, hand running down your neck, thumb holding your chin.

His gaze sticks to your lips again, and before you could even think he smashes his head into your, lips pushed together in a flash.

The hand on your thigh drags up, squeezing the skin before turning to grip your waist. His lips move against yours, head tilting to deepen the kiss.

You can barely process what is happening. Your hand wraps around his neck, the other pressing against his cheek. Your fingers twirl his white locks, his tongue slides across your lips, prying them open and sliding inside. You moan into his mouth. His hand releases your chin, falling down and grabbing the thigh in between his legs.

He parts from your lips, moving your thigh to wrap around his waist. You lift up your other leg, wrapping it around his waist as well. His hands hold the underside of both your thighs, pinning his body up against yours, pressing you further into the metallic wall behind.

“Fuck, are you ok with this?” Gojo hisses out as he grinds up against you.

“Yes, mhm-” You whimper out, nodding your head frantically.

“Damn, ok, listen to me.” He pushes his head up against your chest, above your breasts. “I’m gonna get on my knees in this goddamn cramped ass fucking locker, I’m gonna eat you out so good you’ll be screaming my name. Then, I’m gonna slam into this door to break us out of here. Us being locked in here gives me an excuse for now even though I know damn well I can get out right now. After we get our asses out, you are coming to my house, and I’m going to fuck you so hard, and so good, baby, alright?” He kisses your neck, hand running under your shirt , cupping your breast.

“And I thought you hated me.” You smile, head still leaning backwards, but eyes looking down at him.

He lifts his head to look at you. “You thought I hated you?” The look he gives you isn’t sarcastic in any way like his usual ‘confused’ look. “You thought, I, hated you? ” He repeats.

“Yeah, obviously.” You snort.

“Sweetheart you got some explaining to do later. It don’t matter right now though, whatever.” He waves a hand at you, dropping to his knees while keeping your hips in the same spot.

His palms press upward, moving your thighs to rest on his shoulders. His fingers hook under your shorts, swiftly pulling them down. He ducks his head, twisting around and struggling to pull them completely off your legs.

You chuckle at him, squirming a bit when he finally does. He looks up at you, unamused. Two fingers reach up to your panties, pushing them to the side. He sucks in through his teeth, muttering something under his breath. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding this pretty thing from me all along.”

Without a second thought, he licks a long stripe up your pussy, circling his tongue around your clit. A loud moan is ripped from your throat, eyes squeezing shut.

“ Fuck, just like that baby girl c’mon.” His tongue dips past your folds, curling up to lap up the wetness that had accumulated.

Your hand grasps the top of his head, tugging on his hair and pulling his face further into your core. He doesn’t protest, plunging his tongue in deeper, in and out, fucking you with his tongue.

“Fuck!” You scream out and his finger rubs at your clit, tongue continuing to work its magic.

You roll your hips, grinding up against Gojo’s face. He looks up at you through white lashes, the blue in his eyes equivalent to the brightest clearest blue sky. You wish you didn’t look at him at that moment, because the scene made an avalanche in your stomach come crashing through.

Mouth sucking on your pussy, nail marks indented into your plush thighs which squeezed around his head. You feel yourself topple over, reaching your orgasm. Gojo doesn’t stop. He licks and sucks up all your juices, and you are embarrassed by the wet noises it makes.

When you finally start to come down from your high, he pulls away from you, gasping for air. He uses the back of his hand to wipe away any excess liquid on his face, licking his lips after.

“You taste so good~” He slurs, your back sliding down the wall until you are level with him.

You exhale deeply, legs trembling.

Gojo grabs your ass, picking you up again and standing. He turns the both of you ninety degrees so his back is facing the door.

“Can you stand?” He asks, putting you down.

You nod, still slightly out of it.

He makes sure you are ok, before bracing his arm and ramming his elbow into the lock mechanism on the door. A snapping sound is heard, but it doesn’t break. One more good hit, and the door flings open, both you and Gojo toppling out. He catches you and stumbles, making sure neither of you fall.

You pull your shorts up, wobbling and gripping onto his shoulder for support.

“My house is less than a mile away, can you deal?” He seems hurried, the bulge in his pants prominent.

“Y-yeah I think so…” You say, continuing to hold onto his shoulder and picking up your bag you had dropped on the floor earlier.

One quick look out the window and you can see heavy rain.

“I have an umbrella.” Gojo responds, following your gaze.

You nod, and he strays over to his locker, quickly unlocking it, securing the umbrella, then closing it again.

You wrap your arm around his, following him through the hall to the closest exit. He pops open the umbrella, hovering it in the air above the both of you for protection from the rain.

He seems to get frustrated though by the pace you are walking at, still stumbling some as your legs failed to work correctly after the mind shattering release he brought you.

“Fuck this…” he sighs, bending over and motioning for you to climb on his back.

You do as told, wrapping your legs and arms around him. He carries you the rest of the way to his house, umbrella low to your heads.

His house, of course, is fucking huge.

He leads you through the garage, not letting go of you, and discarding the umbrella in a basket near the entrance.

Wasting no time he hurries upstairs, opening the door to his room. You throw your bag somewhere on the floor, taking your shoe off with each foot. He scoops you up again, throwing you unceremoniously onto the bed. His shoes come off before he crawls over you, leaning down and kissing you.

His hands are on your waist again, yours around his neck to pull him closer.

“Got to take these off, again. ” He rolls his eyes, exaggerating his words jokingly.

You smirk as he pulls them off, your shirt following. His eyes trail up and down your body, as if trying to memorize every detail. You start to feel uncomfortable, fidgeting a bit under his gaze. When he takes notice, he reaches his hands under you to unclasp your bra.

The material is tossed aside, his lips immediately latching onto your nipple. You gasp, back arching. His hand goes to your other tit, squeezing the softness then rolling your nipple in between his thumb and index finger. Your hips jut up, meeting his.

He detaches from you, only to tear his shirt off then reconnect his lips to your chest. You don’t even get a second to gawk at his perfect physique. His lips graze downwards, tongue licking a strip down the center of your stomach before reaching the band of your panties.

He bites the material, using his teeth to drag the material down past your thighs, then letting his hand take them off the rest of the way. He leans back, taking his sweatpants off, giving you time to stare now. He is perfect.

His hips are narrow, his body cut out perfect, his v-line has you obsessing. You eyes trail further down to where his dick is, a small damp mark visible due to his arousal.

“Like what you see?” He leans his weight onto one leg, placing a hand on his waist and tilting his head. His smile could kill.

“Very much.” You grin, sliding off the bed down to your knees in front of him.

Your hands run across his abs, then down to the waistband of his boxers. You pull them down to his feet in one swift motion. His cock springs up, precum painting the tip. You gawk for a moment before taking him in your hand, doing a few tester strokes. He bites back a groan, bottom lip caught between his teeth. You press a quick kiss to the top, then swirling your tongue around it briefly before drawing your head back again.

“Fuck… just like that.” He throws his head back, lacing his fingers into your hair.

You finally take him in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down slowly, going further each time. His grip on your hair tightens, gently guiding your head. His tip starts hitting the back of your throat, his motions more forceful now, taking the lead.

You let him control your head, his hips bucking forward occasionally. He tilts his head back down to look at you, and suddenly stops. He pulls your head off of him. You look up at him confused, about to ask why he stopped. You don’t get the chance though, as he grabs your arm, lifts you up, and pushes you back onto the bed.

Your hair fans out, his lips on your neck instantly. His tip drags along your slit, teasing you. He grinds up against you, rubbing his length along your folds, up and down.

“‘Toru~” You whine out, begging him to just put it in.

He chuckles, smiling up at you. He lays a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth before he finally lines up with your entrance, thrusting in fully. You let out a loud moan from the back of your throat, caught off guard.

“Fuck!” You scream out, caught off guard. You were burning up. The stretch stings, but the pain feels good. You feel so concious, every drop of sweat, every twitch of your legs or his cock, every hair poking at your face, it all feels so surreal.

“Goddamn…” He pants out, starting to pull out and thrust back in.

His pace is slow at first, but every time his hips hit against your ass you swear you are floating. The head of his cock pushes at you sweet spot, your body being pushed further and further up the bed with him.

As he accelerates, your moans string together, head beginning to tap the headboard.

“Fuck… you feel so good~” Gojo moans out, head hanging down, his hair tickling your neck. He leans in close to you, chests connecting, his lips finding purchase on yours.

He sucks on your tongue, a string of saliva connecting your mouths when he pulls away. The room is hot and smells like sex, your skin is sticking to his when he grasps your hips roughly. His nails dig into your waist, scratching downwards over your hipbone to your thighs. Your arms and legs are wrapped around him, pulling him in. Your fingers drag down his back, leaving red scratch marks from your nails.

“S-Satoru-” you call out, leaning your head forehead to look in his eyes. “I’m so close oh my god.”

He doesn’t speak, smirking. His eyes are glued to your entrance, his dick disappearing and reappearing into your hole. There is a slight ring around his cock, a mixture of sweat and your juices.

“Me too, darling. Just a little more, be a good girl and hold out a little longer, please.” He finally looks back at you, cerulean eyes filled with love and lust.

You whimper, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut as you feel the pit deep in your stomach beginning to overflow.

A couple more thrusts and you scream, throwing your head back to hit the headboard. Your legs shake around him, nails digging as hard as possible into his back, breaking the skin. You squeeze around him, a gutteral moan elicited from his lips when you do.

Desperate and sloppy, he thrusts into you faster than you thought was possible. His hips slap against your’s once, twice, and then a third time before he finally reaches his peak. He groans out, emptying hot ropes of white far into you. He slowly rocks his hips to ride out both of your orgasms, before finally pulling out and collapsing onto you.

You feel his cum leak out, whimpering at empty feeling. Without thinking, you slowly move your hand down your body, using two fingers to push his cum back into you.

He pushes himself up off of you, muttering something at the sight.

“We’re doing this again sometime.” He breathes out, laughing slightly as he lays beside you.

You only hum, eyes fluttering shut. Your body feels heavy, and it’s too hot to think or stay awake.

You feel the mattress sink slightly as Gojo turns to you, kissing your cheek. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close before you drift off to sleep.

He whispers something else, but you don’t hear it.

Three words.

[cherrifire]

Hi :D Logic behind the latest batch of cutie marks? if you feel like sharing :)

Hello everypony ^-^ It is cuie mark info dump again ^-^

Before we start, reminder that Grian + Tango do not have cutie marks because they are a hippogriff and a Kirin respectively. Non-pony creatures do not have cutie marks :)

Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get started!

Mumbo's Cutie Mark

I'm the proudest of this one because it'd simple but affective.

Mumbo's cutie mark is a tangled-up red wire which has been cut at the ends to expose the conductors. The wire is also particularly made to create an 'M' shape.

Similar to Impulse's cutie mark, Mumbo's is related to electricity for his investment in redstone. Electricity being the closest thing to it. That said, I gave Mumbo a wire because it is the baseline of all electricity. It connects everything together. From the power source and into whatever little machine or contraption you've built, wires are needed to keep it all powered! So I thought using it as a cutie mark would work really well for Mumbo. Sometimes he can just bring people together just like a wire does for electricity.

(And the little knot in the wire is just a little something to indicate Mumbo may be a bit of a mess)

Additionally, with the wire being in the shape of an 'M' it could stand for Mumbo while also being in the shape of a mustache too :)

Scar's Cutie Mark

Capitalism baby! Scar's cutie mark is of a red top hat next to a bag of bits (the currency in my little pony is called bits and are essentially gold coins).

At heart, Scar is a swindler. He's full of joy and whimsy sure, but he has a real talent for selling little trinkets to anypony who takes a look at his store front. In my head, Scar is essentially the flim and flam of this AU. He's a wandering salespony who shows up from time to time with things to sell from all across Equestria! That's where the little bag can be interpreted as a bag of coins, or a bag full of mystery items he's collected over the years.

Also, the top hat is there to represent Scar's salespony flair.

Joel's Cutie Mark

Joel's cutie mark is of a greek stone pillar and a chisel.

There are a couple of meanings to this one. The first one is pretty obvious, Joel loves to build! He's a fantastic builder with an eye for design. So I chose a greek pillar to represent one of my favourite builds of his, Stratos! But of course, a simple pillar can be used for lots of things and that's where the second meaning comes in. To hold things up! Joel holds himself up to on pretty high pedestal. He's very full of himself and I honestly can't blame him. Joel is great! So of course I had to represent his ego in his cutie mark somehow.

Jimmy's Cutie Mark

Jimmy's cutie mark is of a little canary bird. Another cutie mark with two meanings behind it!

First, is the obvious one. The canary in the coal mine. Misfortune will fall upon the canary to indicate to others that the journey may be too dangerous to continue. A bad luck charm if you will or a bad omen. And that's the surface meaning of his cutie mark that everypony knows it for. Jimmy is the poor clumsy pony in town who always seems to hurt himself before things go wrong.

However, there is a second meaning. Canary birds are also supposed to happiness and harmony. This is the main core of the cutie mark which gets over looked. Despite the bad implications of his cutie mark, it does not stop Jimmy from spreading joy wherever he goes. He's kind and joyous, keeping a positive attitude no matter what.

(I of course have a Ranchers plot point where Tango says this to Jimmy to cheer him up about his cutie mark one day. Tango, who has never had a cutie mark and does not understand their importance, says he doesn't see Jimmy as bad luck, but instead feels joy when Jimmy smiles no matter the situation. But that's a story for another day 🤭)

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Suites & Sweets

freshman year at Jujutsu University Tokyo seems like it will be uneventful. and, well, that's true... until you meet the boys in the suite across the hall, and one in particular piques your interest.

satoru gojo x reader | jjk college au | no curse au | fem! reader | fluff, angst, & slow burn | SMAU & writing <3

introduction | next

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

ˋ°•*⁀➷˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 1. 𝓗𝓔𝓐𝓥𝓔𝓝 𝓘𝓡𝓛 ⍣ ೋ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ... wc: 2.4k

You hurry to grab your purse and slip your shoes on as Shoko is all but dragging you out of your suite by your arm. Your steps are slightly unbalanced due to her unexpected strength as she tugs you every which way, but with Shoko having been your best friend since you can even remember, this is something you are fairly used to. Lighthearted giggles escape from your core while you and your friends stumble down the hallways to the exit, each of you beginning to feel the effects of the few rounds of shots you took before you left.

The fraternity Utahime insisted on going to, Sigma Pi, is well known by JJU students for having the "hottest guys in the country" (or so she claimed), and who were you to say no to going such a haven? It isn't too far from you, either. The walk is less than ten minutes from your dorm suite and the temperature is the perfect middle-ground between hot and cold, making the stroll there pleasant. The crisp wind tickles your nose as Utahime holds your hand, swinging it back and forth with the energy of a little kid excited to go to the local playground. The two of you skip down the sidewalk in unison until you finally reach your destination.

"We stick together. Alright?" Shoko orders once you are all inside, glaring sternly at each of you so she can establish how serious she is.

"Yes, mom," Mei Mei, who is somehow already borderline drunk (you assume she pregamed your pregame), rolls her eyes. Utahime pats Shoko's back affectionately while you hum in agreement.

"Ugh. One of us has to be one," Shoko rolls her eyes right back at Mei Mei, though it is clearly sarcastic. "

"Drinks?" you query, grinning widely and gesturing to the makeshift bar in the back of the basement you are inside. While you feel a buzz going, you are definitely not against having a drink, and you have an inkling you may need it with how many people are around as alcohol brings out the social side in you.

"Hell, yeah!" Utahime exclaims. She pumps a fist in the air, grabs your hand, and drags you toward the alcohol in the back of the room. You grab Shoko's hand and she grabs Mei Mei's, connecting your group as you weave as one through a maze of people.

The air is hot and sticky and you can tell that your hair is already being affected by the humidity that floods the atmosphere, almost as if walking into the frat was a portal to a completely different climate. Cinderblock walls painted a deep black line your view of the dim room as multicolored, flashing LED lights act as the main source of light. The DJ's music is so loud, you feel as though each cell in your body reverberates with every note that erupts from the speaker. It smells like beer and a hint of sweat, and your feet stick to the ground a bit with every step.

Ah, the glory of college parties.

After what feels like ages weaving through the sea of college students, you finally are at the bar, and Hime requests four drinks of their highest quality, premium jungle juice. She makes a few comments to you about the "bartender"' and his unbuttoned shirt, his torso on full display to the world, to which you smile and agree about the eye candy in front of you. After being handed your red solo cups, you turn to each other and decide to move to a mostly vacant corner to stay out of the way of the bar.

"Oh. My. God. They have beer pong set up! Who's playing with me?" Utahime squeals. You feel her long hair hitting your face with how fast she whips her head around to you, eyes full of eagerness to play the game with someone.

"Nah, I have no coordination," Shoko shakes her head. "Especially when drinking."

"Me neither. That's what makes it fun!" you counter. "I'll play, Hime!"

"Yes! We are the dream team, after all!" she grabs your hand and goes over to the game being played, watching intently to see who wins. Mei Mei and Shoko follow closely behind, and while Mei gets distracted by a few good-looking faces, she hasn't reached her flirty-drunk stage yet, so she only waves or winks at them.

Two guys are playing against two others, and you notice Utahime ogling one with dark eyes and a thin mustache. His team is doing well; they have two cups left to eliminate, the other team needing five. So you take action, always looking out for your girls.

"We'll face the winner," you volunteer, raising the hand that is still holding Hime's to solidify your team.

"Alright. Game on," a tall, muscular man with dark hair and a scar on his lip says. You can smell his ego from the other side of the table, his confidence in winning the game that has not yet finished seeping out of every word he speaks. His smirk is intimidating, but not as much as his abs visible through the tight black shirt that reads ΣΠ.

Sigma Pi. He must be a brother at the fraternity.

You watch as the taller man sinks a ping pong ball into a cup, the other team begrudgingly chugging it down. The mustached one's turn ends in another cup drank by the losing team. Redemption is failed, and Utahime squeezes your hand in excitement as if she's silently saying to you time to play these hot frat boys!

The game goes by quickly with both teams showing great skill. Where you miss one every now and then, the scar-lipped guy across from you has such impeccable aim, you can hardly believe it. He doesn't miss a single shot, no matter how much he drinks or you try to make him mess up.

And that's how you play another round, losing, and another round, losing again. You want to have another try, but Shoko's trying to avoid you waking up with alcohol poisoning, knowing she would be the one scrubbing the bathroom clean afterwards.

"No," you whine. "I gotta win."

"Doll," your arch-nemesis says, having walked toward your side of the table without you even realizing. You turn, and you feel like you are in front of some skyscraper with how tall he is. I mean, it was obvious he's tall, but this tall? He must have had a growth spurt from when you started playing to now or something.

"You okay, doll?" he asks, his smirk showing how clearly he finds your eying up and down of his body humorous. A cough escapes your throat, Shoko being no help beside you and laughing silently to herself at your state.

"Huh?" you finally peep out. "Oh, yeah. Why?"

"You lost pretty badly," he says. "And I hate to rub it in, but I'm the one you lost to. D'you need some comfort?"

"What kind of comfort?" you inquire.

"I dunno, maybe..." he pauses to think, "my number, so I can give you some lessons? Cause ya need 'em, pretty."

You giggle, blushing at his obvious flirting, and nod. "Of course," the words spill out before you can think about them.

"Perfect. Here, type it in," he hands you his phone as he speaks, you typing your number in and Shoko double checking it's right from behind you. "I'm Toji."

Giving his phone back, you smile and say your name loud enough for him to hear through the music echoing in the background. "Text me soon," you add and turn around, which makes you a little dizzy, and Shoko subtly helps you walk to your other friends. Utahime, who had been flirting with Toji's teammate, smiles at you and quickly ends their conversation. Mei, who's with some girl she said was hot earlier (the flirty-drunk is definitely out now), does the same, and the four of you walk up to the bar - much to Shoko's chagrin.

"Four drinks, please," Mei requests, sticking her tongue out at Shoko's groan.

"Ugh. Last ones for these two," she groans, pointing to you and Utahime, whose beer pong games are visibly catching up to.

"Party shitter," Utahime mumbles. You laugh louder than intended, making Utahime laugh too.

“You’ll be thanking me in the morning,” she responds. You and Utahime release exaggerated groans, knowing full well she’s right. 

Mei grabs your fresh drinks, handing off one to each of you. You sip it happily, a smile adorning your face, and observe the crowded basement you’ve found yourself in. You follow Mei Mei, your hand in Utahime’s, over toward the center of the basement and closer to the DJ to dance.

“Hime!” You exclaim, hearing the music change to a familiar tune. “It’s our song!”

“Then let’s dance, baby!” she shouts, holding her drink in the air and shimmying her torso in excitement. 

You copy her actions with semi-coordinated movements, not caring about anything other than the joy that floods your veins from the love you have for your best friends. You can feel that the room is becoming more and more crowded as more people flood in, but you keep on dancing with the music that seems like it’s from some basic “2010s hype party rocking mix” playlist on Spotify. Not that you care - music is music and you just want to dance, so dance you will, even to overplayed house beats. 

"I gotta piss," you groan. "I'll be back!"

"You want me to come?" Utahime asks, but you shake your head.

"Nah, I'll be good," you wave her off. Honestly, you just need a second to yourself, and you know you will be okay on your own. Shoko and Mei are distracted by some girls they met and seem to quickly be becoming friends with, so you leave Hime with them and run off in the direction of the toilets.

You look at your phone to see if anyone has texted you and see one from your mother which you quickly respond to. With the distraction of your phone and your sense of self awareness being almost completely gone due to the alcohol in your system, you fail to notice the wall in front of you and run face first into it.

But, it is no wall. It's a person - you just ran into the back of some random guy.

"I'm so sorry-" you begin, but he turns while your speaking and you completely forget what you are saying the second your eyes meet his.

Blue eyes would be an understatement to describe his. The sky wishes it was such a shade of blue as the color you are gaping at right now. You want to dive into the pool of his irises and swim so far that there is no chance for return, riptides drowning you in their beauty. You swear they are glowing, radiating their icy color and hypnotizing you along with it. He must have some sort of magic power; his eye color feels almost unnatural, too perfect to be true.

You realize you have been staring at this stranger for what is probably an uncomfortably long time for him, and you force yourself to return back to earth and out of the depth of the portal he trapped you in by just a glance. It takes a second, but you finally notice the way his hands have lightly grasped your forearms, as if you are some delicate statue about to fall over and he has been tasked with ensuring your welfare.

"Are you okay?" He asks with a wide smile displaying his perfect white teeth, and you wonder if that was the first thing he's said, since you have been in what feels like another dimension.

"Oh, yeah," you say with a nervous chuckle. "Just distracted, sorry!"

You finally bring yourself to away from his face and at the rest of him. He's wearing a white shirt with baggy dark wash jeans, dirty vans on his feet. His hair is white and messy in the kind of way that it looks intentional and it looks good and you just want to run your fingers through it and his arms look so strong you want wrapped up in them and you just want to poke his muscles and his face is gorgeous and he smells like the most delicious, expensive cologne that you just want to bathe in and he looks like he was sculpted by a Roman God with how chiseled his jaw is and-

"It's really okay. You sure you're good?" He asks again. His face looks more concerned by each passing second.

"Yeah, why?" You try your best to not look like a blushing mess, embarrassed that something as simple as looking at this man has almost brought you to your knees.

"Dunno, you jus' look a lil' flustered."

"Flustered? Me? Oh, absolutely not!" you answer, talking exaggeratedly with your hands and not realizing you've practically thrown all of the contents of your drink onto his white t-shirt. It takes the guy looking down at his white - well, now tie-dyed pink - shirt for you to realize what has happened.

"Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry, let me help," you say, and you attempt to wipe up the jungle juice that has integrated with his shirt by rubbing your hand across his chest, pausing at the feeling of his amazing abs with wide eyes. You attempts to help have only made the new stain worse and this entire situation ten times more embarrassing for you.

"Hey, it's okay, at least it's not vomit," he jokes with a bit of a slur to his words, and you look up at him with a strained smile and tears welling in your eyes.

This has definitely sobered you up.

"Hah, yeah! You're right. Y'know, I've gotta- um, I'm going to run away and never show my face here again. Bye!" you rush out, practically sprinting to the bathroom to escape the dilemma you have found yourself in. You hear him calling after you, but you are too ashamed of yourself to face him again.

You don't breathe again until you sit on the toilet, praying to whatever higher power there is that you never see the angelic, regal, god-like man with his vivid blue eyes ever again. You don't think you or your ego could handle it again, as much as you are attracted to his statuesque figure. You didn't even catch his name, but that would probably have made it worse for you, as now he can remain an anonymous figure in your head, the memory of him haunting you when you randomly remember it a decade from now and cringe at your stupidity.

What a great way to begin the semester.

what is it with yn being speechless in the presence of jjk men (me too tho) lets give a warm welcome to shiu and toji!!!!! WOOOO

i hope you all like this i am so excited for this heeheheh

[reginadeltrash]

Since I've had some free time I would like to present you a new little AU that I affectionately call 'Percy Jackson!Athena is Epic!Athena with brain damage'.

The idea is simple, Zeus' real reason to strike down Athena, during god games was that he's scared, let's remember that there's a prophecy about the child of him and Metis dethroning him, and he always assumed it was gonna be a son, because obviously, it was his father who dethroned his grandfather, and it was him who dethroned his father.

But now he's starting to realise that the prophecy never said 'son', it said 'child', and Athena just demonstrated that she's successfully able to get people on her side, both people that generally like her like Hephaestus, but more dangerous, people that usually don't like her like Aphrodite and Hera.

This is dangerous, so for the first time Athena isn't his favourite little girl, she's a threat to his throne and so he strikes her down to reprogram her; this all started because she met that mortal, she was so perfect and emotionless before, so he's gonna make sure that she never really remembers Odysseus.

But doing it immediately is dangerous, the guy is still alive, he may upset the scheme, so he waits and when both Odysseus and his son die he starts subtly gaslighting Athena, also in this version Zeus is the one who wrote the Odyssey to make Odysseus look a lot worse, and also to make himself look better (he never make the Ody decide between him and the crew and he immediately says yes to his baby girl when she asks him to free him, also he omits the argument in My Goodbye, he just makes it seem like Ody and Athena were never that close to begin with)

He also gets Hera on the plan, he tricks her saying that they have to tarnish Odysseus' memory or else the poor little owlet is gonna be devastated and so non-useful, remember how useless she was after Pallas, glancing at the void for hours.

So, yeah, Hera is the reason Odysseus so blatantly cheats in this universe's version of the Odyssey, because that's the worst thing someone can do in her eyes.

So with the constant gaslighting and the lightnings that are still buzzing inside of her, no matter how much Apollo tries to help, Athena quickly becomes a shell of herself, she reverts to being very lonely, harsh and all together like we meet her in the Percy Jackson's series.

Zeus even agrees to cleanse her scars, just because she was such a good little girl and Athena doesn't even know anymore why she had those scars in the first place.

She tries to fill this void that she has, but doesn't know what it is (a friend, the answer is a friend) but misinterpreting that she believes that it's a romantic connection cause it's basically what everyone around her is doing, thus her mind's babies.

And then, suddenly, after the trial of Apollo, the god of the sun insists that everyone else spends at least a little time with their children, Athena makes sure to do everything in private, she can tolerate a child at a time, nothing more.

And so the moment to go to Annabeth arrives and honestly Athena was sure the Poseidon boy was gonna be there too, they're a bit guarded at first, but she promises she comes in peace, she talks with Annabeth, normal deadbeat mother and daughter stuff (How is school? And your boyfriend? Still like sculpture, sorry it was architecture?)

And then Percy just casually arrives with his baby sister Estelle and he's like 'Annabeth can you hold her for a sec? I need to call my mom for something very important and I don't want her near when a monster inevitably attacks!'

And her daughter laughs, shaking her head 'C'mon, Seaweed brain, I'm sure that the important thing is literally just you wanting waffles'

And Percy laughs like a dork and hands her the baby.

And for a moment Athena is sure that she saw this scene somehow and for a single moment she's in Ancient Greece again, seeing Penelope and Odysseus joke with each other with baby Telemachus being passed around, and for only a little moment she wonders how she knows so much about it, she was merely an acquaintance to the Ithaca royal family, wasn't she?

So yeah, this is the idea, if you have questions I beg you let me know, it would make me the happiest girl, because I have too many ideas!

[citricacidprince]

...Mable stuck with bill timestuck, you say? I wonder if that would go better or worse than dipper being alone with bill.

Here to mention that I somehow only noticed your signature when it was next to fiddleford, and thought you were (rightly) calling him a prince. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to connect the dots.

Haha you’re not the first person to mistake my signature for actual writing so dw you’re good lol!

And as for my thoughts of Mabel and Bill in a Timestuck AU,,,

I may or may not have written a drabble in a mutuals DMs a few years back about a confrontation between Mabel and Bill and the aftermath of it! I also may or may not have just fixed it up and straight up doubled the word count haha-

Since I’m feeling a tad bit brave I’m gonna post the drabble under the cut for anyone to read along with two doodles I’ve done for it, I only ask that yall be nice to me since I don’t write very often and know I ain’t that good at it hehe-

Also I’m not lying this is like,,, 4707 words… I got possessed to write this haha

Before I begin!!! Important!!!

Trigger Warnings: Choking/Asphyxiation, harm to children, minor descriptions of small cuts and minuscule amounts of blood, verbal planning of commiting a murder/killing

(if I missed any please tell me!)

With that out of the way here's my stupidly long Timestuck AU drabble that's been on my back burner for years! The only thing you really need to know is that the twins time-traveled back after Weirdmagenddon of their own volition. Dipper is with Stan and Mabel is with Ford and Fiddleford. Mabel has been staying with the two for almost a month now and Fiddleford is the only one who knows she's a time traveler.

With the stage set, please enjoy!

💫—————————————🚩

It’s late into the night, Mabel is tossing and turning and can't go to sleep. Her mind is spiraling as she overthinks and worries about Bill, her brother, her Grunkles, everything. So at about 1AM she decides that she’s not going to bed anytime soon and gets up off the living room couch which she has called her new bed while staying with her younger Grunkle Ford and Fiddleford.

Despite it being the dead of night Mabel thought it’d be a good idea to just make something food related in hopes it would tire her out. Also, she figured it would be a fun idea since she knows Stanford is most likely still awake and probably hasn’t eaten in a while. She could make him something easy and sweet, like a batch of cookies, and give them to him as a gift! Who doesn’t like 1AM cookies?! If she doesn’t have the stuff to make that, eh, she’ll figure it out and make something else!

A bonus to this is that if Ford says he’s not hungry, a bold faced lie, she’d use her sweetest and biggest puppy eyes until he ate some. Maybe she could even convince him to go to bed and not stay up till 4AM!

The brunette starts making a batch of cookies in the cover of night, making sure to have plenty enough for Fidd's in the morning, and putting her entire heart and all her worries into the mix in hopes the oven would ease away the stress weighing down her mind.

Sure it took a while, but it would totally be worth it to see her young Grunkle's face light up in shock at the sight of a warm batch of cookies shoved into his face and getting crumbs on his nerdy notes!

Right as she was finishing up wrapping up three separate plates worth of cookies in a napkin with a pretty little bow, for the ✨aesthetic✨ she happily told herself, she hears a pair of heavy boots walk into the kitchen.

The voice of her, now young, Grunkle Ford calls out her name in the quiet kitchen. Just as she had expected, he was awake.

Before the excited brunette could whirl around and surprise Ford with the 1-2 AM batch of cookies she lovingly went and made by hand, his low voice rumbled out, “Could you grab me a mug? One from the cabinet.”

He sounded a little funny, like he just woke up. Mabel smiled as she could already picture Stanford’s bleary and tired face as he goes to make a cup of coffee with the mug he’s asking for. She lets out a small sound of exertion as she pushes herself onto the counter since she’s too short to reach the cabinets otherwise and gingerly opens the cabinet so it doesn’t squeak and pulls out a mug. Based on the small cracks and worn paint on the ceramic it seemed a tad old, the faded words of ‘Backupsmore 1973’ barely legible.

Just as Mabel turns around, about to lightly scold her young Great Uncle for drinking coffee at 2 AM instead of getting some rest, a large hand wraps around her little neck. She didn’t even have a chance to scream as she’s suddenly slammed into the now closed cabinet, the air knocked out of her lungs and her head spinning from the impact, a loud sound of ceramic shattering on the wooden floor echoing through the kitchen and Mabel’s ringing ears

A fearful confusion consumes her mind as she, unsure of what’s happening in her dazed state until she catches a glimpse of Stanford. Gone were the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to, in their place were the sickly yellow slit eyes of a monster she knew all to well.

Bill Cipher.

“Shooting Star, there you are! I think you're getting a tad too comfortable around here! Let's fix that!"

Malice built in her throat as she spat out, her brows furrowed and her brown eyes glaring down his yellow ones, “Bill! You-”

“Ah, so you do know me! I assumed so, but wasn’t quite sure!”

The six fingered hand around her neck pressed a tad harder against the wooden cabinet behind her, making her wince from the pressure.

“Here’s the deal, Shooting Star, you’re being a massive thorn in my side.”

Her back was already aching from the impact of her getting slammed against the cabinet.

“Making Sixer second guess his trust in me with your insufferable kindness and child-like whimsy.”

Her sock-covered feet were slipping and sliding on the wooden countertop, legs uncontrollably trembling as her fingers gripped at Stanford’s large forearm in hopes of steadying herself.

“It was amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. So I need you,”

His hand tightened even more, making Mabel let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Out of the picture.”

Mabel’s feet no longer are touching the countertop as Bill suddenly pulls her away from the cabinet, easily dangling her little body in the air and effectively hanging her. Panic instantly shoots through her and tears well up in her eyes as her airway is suddenly completely cut off, her little hands grabbing and clawing at her possessed great uncle’s forearm while her legs wildly kick at the air, too short to even graze against Bill’s chest.

Bill’s free hand raises up and idly taps his chin, as his musing over something indecisively, an wide and uncanny grin stretched across the possessed scientist’s face as he loudly questions, “Hmmm… how about… throwing you in the lake! If the water doesn’t kill you the cold air will!”

Mabel started to thrash around even harder, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coursed through every nerve in her body, her flight response in full gear as she tried over and over again to get out of Bill’s grip with no avail.

“Oooh! Or I could just tie you up and bury you in the snow! I hear frostbite is real killer these days!”

Blood was rushing to her ears; she could barely hear a word he was saying. All she could focus on was the panic bubbling in her chest and adrenaline pumping in her veins, screaming at her that she didn’t want to die.

It didn’t take long before her vision began to blur, her clawing hands and kicking feet getting more and more numb and slow with each passing seconds. She could faintly hear Bill say something about ‘throwing’, ‘roof’, and ‘classic!’ before she could feel herself almost completely clock out, vision fluttering in and out as her hand weakly claws at his arm one last time.

Just as she was about to give up completely, the polydactyl hand around her neck suddenly let go, sending Mabel unceremoniously crashing to the floor. She let in a large gasp of air, coughing her lungs out as air desperately tried to fill them once more. The brunette doesn’t even care about the small shards of broken ceramic cutting into her hands or shins, she was trying to make sure she didn’t accidentally start hyperventilating as drool and tears drip from her face to the floor with every sharp breath.

Mabel, disoriented and dazed, manages to glance up through strands of her long and curly brunette hair to see Ford still standing there with those disgusting yellow eyes, which were now staring off to space with annoyance clearly visible in his gaze.

"Geez Sixer, you chose the worst time to want your body back to 'test a new theory' huh?" He quietly mumbles under his breath, looking upset that his fun was being rudely ripped away from him.

Suddenly he stares down at Mabel, who was clutching her throat and panting heavily, brown eyes unable to stop crying. Despite this, despite all the pain and numbness that ran through her, she still found it in her to glare at the dream demon with as much animosity as she could muster while surrounded by ceramic shards and small prickles of blood.

"Well… we’ll just have to pick this up another time, won't we Shooting Star?"

The possessed body of Stanford Pines strolls towards the archway leading out of the kitchen, however before he leaves completely, he stops and whirls around with that same twisted smile Mabel vividly remembers seeing on her possessed brother’s face just a few months ago. "Oh, Shooting Star? Would you be a doll and clean up this mess? Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now, would we?"

And with one final cackle he left, making his way back downstairs to Stanford’s study, presumably to make it appear like he never left in the eyes of the oblivious scientist, leaving the little brunet alone on the floor to lightly grip her neck, wincing at the bruise that's bound to appear the next day.

She stayed there silently for what felt like hours but was only just a couple minutes, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly but surely fading away as the feeling finally came back to her numb fingers and toes, relieved that she isn’t hyperventilating anymore and she can actually breathe.

She eased herself off the cold wooden floor, her little body trembling the entire time.

Despite the feeling of spite coursing through her veins for that awful dream demon, he was right…, she really didn’t want anyone to get hurt… So instead of immediately going to fix herself up she spent the next 10 minutes sweeping up the broken mug and getting all the broken shards of ceramic into the trash.

Curse her and her big heart…!

When she was done it was about 2 AM, and it was now officially time to check the damage.

Before she left the kitchen she made sure to put the plates of cookies into the fridge.

She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

With a couple of winces and hisses of pain she managed to tip toe herself up the stairs and to the bathroom, making sure she didn’t accidentally wake up Fiddleford by stepping on a loose plank or opening the door too loud. Once inside she gingerly pulls out the old timey medkit from under the sink and sits on the floor.

Well, technically the medkit was modern since it was the 80s…

Wah, Mabel! Not the time!

With a deep breath she gingerly treats the tiny cuts gracing her hands and shins, trying not to cry as she disinfects each cut just like Grunkle Ford taught her to at the end of the summer, plucking out mini pieces of ceramic embedded in her skin with a pair of tweezer like how her Grunkle Stan had taught her at the beginning of the summer (note from her past self, splinters are never fun).

Cleaning and applying band-aids to the cuts was the easy part, most of the bandages would be hidden under her sweater and the winter pants Fiddleford had gifted her during her first couple days staying at the shack.

It was her neck that was going to be hard to hide.

Mabel stood up and got on a step stool to look into the minor, immediately wincing at the sight of her bare neck, dark purple was already creeping in and bruising every bit of her neck. The brunette leaned closer to get a better look and almost whispered out one of the many swears she had accidentally learned from Stanford while living here.

There was a hand bruised into her neck, and it encompassed her entire neck.

She gingerly touched her neck and winced at the dull pain. Guess she wasn’t going to take off her sweater for about 2 weeks now… just 1 week if she was lucky enough…

She tentatively took a step outside of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway again, trying to not make a single sound. Just when she got to the steps she heard a door open behind her, causing her to instantly crouch down and hope that she was far enough down the stairs that her body was hidden from sight.

She dared herself to peek just above the top step to see Fiddleford standing outside of his room, stretching and yawning before closing his door and walking towards the bathroom Mabel just left, making the 13-year-old let out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to see her like this.

She knew she should probably tell Fiddleford what happened, but she just couldn’t. Maybe it was that childish fear of getting in trouble over nothing getting to her, or maybe it was the fear that her young Grunkle would be blamed for what Bill did.

Regardless, despite her better judgment, she kept her mouth shut and decided to hide her bruises from everyone else in the house, silently thinking of a way she could somehow protect herself from Bill.

She could practically hear Dipper yelling at her about how bad of an idea this was, but she was too shaken up to think of anything else…

So, she kept with the plan even as she shakily slipped a sweater over her large t-shirt she wore as a night gown and fell asleep on the couch, huddled in the corner in a ball as vivid nightmares haunted her fitful sleep, showing flashes of a possessed Stanford Pines throwing her off either the house or a water tower.

She woke up the next day to the warm smell of breakfast and the soft tones of Fidd's humming a tune in the kitchen, her body absolutely aching and a tad sweaty from the combo of the sweater and the fireplace keeping the room warm.

Mabel winced as she got off the couch. Yep… her back is definitely bruised.

She tentatively walked towards the open archway leading into the kitchen, silently calming her nerves and trying to put a smile onto her face. It helped that Fiddleford is making breakfast, she loves his food.

The kicthen was so empty when she first arrived but the southern man immediately starting keeping the place stocked when it was clear that she was going to stay there for a while. He also insistent on making her a meal 3 times a day since she was a ‘growin’ lil’ girl’. Because of her memories of Fiddleford being ‘Old Man McGucket’ were much more prominent in her brain it was easy to forget that he was once a father, but in those domestic moments when he doted and fussed over her it was clear that he was a good one.

Well, when he was sane that is…

She quickly shook off the bleak memory.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

She let out a low breath as a wide smile covered her face, her round cheeks rosy as she happily skipped inside.

Fiddleford perked up at the sound of Mabel walking inside, smiling as immediately spoke with a fond voice, "Ey there sweetpea, sleep well?" He idly glanced behind to see Mabel in her baggy t-shirt/sleep gown as well as a sweater on top of that, making him raise an eyebrow as he playfully asks, "Did someone get' cold last night?"

"Just a little bit." Mabel playfully replied back, unable to stop the wince that crossed her face at the sound of her hoarse voice.

Fiddleford, who was already done making breakfast, immediately whipped his head around at the sound. "Honeybee, are ya' alright?"

She lightly coughs into her fist a couple times and passingly remarks, “I’m fine, it's just morning gunk! Just need some water, haha!” Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Fiddleford still had a suspicious look in his eye as he looked over the little lady before deciding to let her off easy with this one, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands while replying with a quiet, “Alright, if ya say so, sunshine…”

He quickly pours Mabel a glass of water and then grabs a plate of bacon and pancakes. “Fer you, made just how you like it,” Mabel sits down in her chair as Fiddleford places the glass of water in front of her and a plate of pancakes and some bacon that is extremely burnt. “Burnt in a volcano.”

The brunette drinks some water first, happy to note that it actually does ease the pain in her throat! After that she eagerly grabs a burnt piece of bacon and shoves it into her mouth, loving the way flakey black residue smears onto her fingers and the overwhelming taste of what can only be described as ‘BURNT’ fills her mouth. She muffles out, “It’s perfect!” In between bites as Fiddleford chuckles at her antics and makes himself a plate. “Yer such an odd lil’ duck, honeydew! Only kid I’ve ever met who wanna me ta’ burn their meal!”

Mabel immediately shoots back, pointing at Fiddleford with a mouth full of bacon, “Tahts cause ohther peowple are COWERDS!!!”

The lanky man lets out a full on belly laugh as he grabs his plate and sits at the table, the two beginning to talk about anything that crosses their mind.

Stanford wasn’t going to join them for breakfast. He’s usually asleep at this time or buried in whatever notes he was currently writing.

…Mabel feels a little bad that she's kinda happy he wouldn’t join them… Her throat feels like it’s constricting all over again at the thought of those sickly yellow eyes and horrid laughter…

At some point while eating, Fiddleford makes a joke that makes Mabel loudly laugh, the sudden shout of laughter causing her to wince and try to grab at her throat. She stops herself a couple inches short of the grab and quickly puts her hand back down, but the damage was already done.

Fiddleford, concern coming back at full force, puts down his fork and immediately asks with a concerned tone, "Honey, is ‘ere somethin' wrong with ‘ur neck?"

Sweat began to bead on Mabel’s forehead and she tried to immediately brush off the concern with a not so convincing, "Whaaaaat, psh, nah!"

He raises an eyebrow at the clearly nervous little girl. "Mabel, if yer' hurt I'd like to know."

She starts to fidget in her seat, fingers wrapping together and her brown eyes darting away. "Look, it's not thaaaat bad you don't gotta worry about it-"

At the confirmation that she is indeed hurt makes him sit up and shoot back, "Well tha' just makes me MORE worried bout it!"

Unable to come up with anymore excuses Mabel plays with a fork in front of her, eyes locked with her plate. Fiddleford let out a soft sigh and leans closer to the brunette across the table and rests his hand on hers, a kind smile on his face as he gently adds on with that fatherly tone that immediately made Mabel feel better, "Darling, it ain't gonna get better if ya’ don't lemme help. I promise I ain’t gon’ get mad, ya hear?"

Mabel tentatively glanced up at the southern man’s soft green eyes and could tell he meant every kind word.

So, despite her promising to keep her injuries a secret, she takes a deep breath and nods her head, gingerly taking off the thick hand-made sweater to leave her neck and bandaged up arms exposed to the world. The lanky southern man’s eyes seem to grow more horrified every passing second.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"

Fiddleford jumps up from the table, almost making his plate fall off while doing so, quickly rounding the table and crouching in front of the brunette with green eyes filled with so much worry and horror.

He found himself fussing over the girl who had easily wormed herself into his and Ford's hearts and found himself growing even more sickened at every bruise and cut he found, though nothing could compare to that sinking feeling of dread he felt looking at Mabel's bruised neck.

He cupped the brunette’s face and could feel tears well up in his eyes as he stuttered out a confused, "W-wha'..., Mabel wha' on earth happened-" His heart breaking trying to even comprehend what could have happened to her.

On the opposite end, Mabel could feel her heart swell at Fidd's fatherly fussing, but tried to brush it off the best she could, not wanting him to worry about her.

"I'm fine really! I just, uh… tripped down the stairs…? …Yeah! Didn't want to worry you, haha!"

Fiddleford, who suddenly stopped paying attention to what Mabel was saying, let his eyes looking closer at the girl's neck before they widened in a horrifying realization.

"I… Is tha' a hand…?"

A rush of panic suddenly runs through Mabel as she tries to come up with some excuse to throw him off, something, anything!

"Fidd’s it's FINE! I just… uh… wore a sweater that was too tight…?” Goodness she’s screwed, even she was aware of how unsure she sounded.

Fiddleford still wasn’t paying attention. Instead one of his hands lowered from her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly touched her neck with the lightest of touches. His green gaze was analytical as finger traced down the bruised skin, talking to himself so quietly that even Mabel almost didn’t hear him as he quietly began to count.

“One, two, three, four, five, s-”

The blond cut himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose as the look of worry that had previously graced the southern man's face suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a look Mabel had never seen on his face before.

It was a quiet anger. The kind of anger that's terrifying to witness as it bubbles from deep inside but you refuse to let it show on your face, even as your hands begin to tremble and your vision goes red.

Without saying a word Fiddleford stood up and stayed completely silent, unable to say a word for about 10 seconds while his face was blank and unreadable. Finally, Fiddleford looked down at Mabel and gave a kind smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Sweetie, could ya' stay here a sec? I have something importan' I need tha’… discuss… with Stanferd."

After finishing that statement he gently patted the top of her brunette head and walked out of the kitchen archway, turning the corner and heading up the stairs that lead to Stanford's room, walking with such silent intensity that it kinda frightened her.

After a couple moments of staying frozen in her chair she finally managed to shake off the feeling, realizing she had to stop Fiddleford! As scary as it would be seeing Stanford again after last night's… incident… she couldn't just let Fiddleford go confront Ford without the full story!

She sprang up from her chair and winced at the pain radiating from her back. Yep! Still definitely bruised!

Mabel rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She stumbles to a stop at the end of the steps as she sees Fiddleford standing outside Ford's door, just as quiet as he was downstairs. He raises his hand and gives a firm echoing knock and she could faintly hear her young Grunkle respond with a strong, "Come in!"

She hates that she shivers a bit at his voice.

She hates that she's a little bit afraid of him.

Fiddleford doesn't respond and instead just opens the door and then quietly closes it behind him. The door doesn’t close all the way which makes a sliver of light from Ford's bedroom/study shine against the floor in the hallway.

Well... Fiddleford hadn't broken any windows or started yelling, so maybe, just maybe, he's going in there to calmly talk out the problem with Ford? Well, that was more wishful thinking on Mabel's part. She HOPES they will just, talk it out, and no one will get hurt...

A loud crash and shout echoed through the hallway.

A girl could dream can't she?

Mabel sprints to Stanford’s door, tripping over herself the whole way, and yanks open the heavy wooden door as quickly as she could.

When she finally pries it open she’s greeted with the sight of Fiddleford in the middle of trying to choke out Stanford, while Stanford is leaning against one of his smaller wooden cabinets, pushing Fidds away (to the best of his ability) with his foot, clutching his very bloody nose in confusion.

Mabel rushes in and pushes the southern man away from her bleeding Great Uncle to the best of her ability but Fiddleford upon seeing Mabel finally backs off from trying to murder Ford, but the look of pure anger firmly remains on his face.

Ford looks at Fiddleford with pure confusion as he pushes himself off the small wooden cabinet, clutching his bleeding nose all the while.

"F, what on earth has gotten into you!"

Fiddleford stared back with his mouth agape, absolutely gobsmacked, before finally yelling back, "Wha'- what's gotten into ME?! What's gotten into YOU Stanferd Pines!"

Fidds pushed past Mabel and jabbed his finger into the brunet’s chest.

"She's a lil girl?! How DARE you even lay a FINGER on her!"

"F what on earth are you talking about?!"

Fiddleford roughly grabs Ford's shoulders and pushes him to look towards Mabel with a surprising amount of force.

"SHE'S what I'm talkin' bout! Stanferd Filbrick Pines who gave you tha' idea ya' had tha' GODDAMN right to even lay a FINGER on her-"

Stanford couldn't focus on the rant Fiddleford poured into his ears instead his eyes state frozen on the disgusting purple mark staining Mabel's neck.

"Mabel… who-"

Stanford knelt next to the sweet girl who reminded him so much of Stanley in his youth and felt a familiar pang in his chest. That feeling he'd feel whenever Lee came home covered in bruises. That feeling to protect… and to hurt anyone who dares to hurt them.

"Sweetheart… who did this? What happened?"

Fiddleford scoffed. "Ya should know."

Ford shivered at how cold F had sounded. Out of all of his years of knowing him, Fidds had never sounded like this.

Then the meaning of those words finally hit him.

Stanford rushed to stand up and looked back to Fiddleford's furious eyes with his own look of disbelief.

"Y-... You think I did this?"

Fiddleford's eyes didn't change in the slightest.

"Ya'. Ya' I do."

"We've known each other for years, we went to college together, I went to your wedding, you are easily my best friend. Do you honestly think I'm capable of doing something like this?!"

"I used ta'," Fidds crossed his arms. "Now I ain't so sure."

Ford didn't know HOW to feel. This felt like a betrayal but not in the way Stanley's felt. He also felt offended. And hurt. And so many other emotions that were swirling in his chest.

"How? How did you even get it in your head that I had something to do with this!? How could you look at me and even IMAGINE me hurting her?! I can't even imagine myself hurting her! She's-"

"Hand."

Ford froze from his rant.

"What."

"Yer' tha' only one who coulda' done it. How do I know? Hand."

"Ya' always go on an' on about the statistics of someone' being polydactyly. About how different ya' are."

"I want ya' to look at how many fingers are on that handprint on 'er neck, look me in tha' eye, and tell me who's most likely tha' guilty party."

Stanford froze, his face turning white at the realization. He didn't need to turn around and investigate the bruise on Mabel's neck. He now knows it had 6 fingers. When you put all the facts together, one thing is clear.

He IS the most likely person to have done it.

But there's a problem with that.

He DEFINITELY didn't do it.

He glanced back at Mabel, who seemed to be nervously pulling at her nightgown the entire time. After a moment she finally glances up, but after looking into his brown eyes for less than a second she quickly looked back down.

He didn't do it. He knows he didn't.

But if he didn't, why did she look so scared of him?

He didn't do it…

…Didn’t he…?

❔—————————————❓

Now this is a bonus doodle based on an idea I had for the aftermath of this! Stanford is stuck mulling over this in his room and when he finally leaves he notes that Mabel isn't asleep on the couch like usual. So of course he freaks out and assumes she ran away, running all over the house in hopes of finding her. He runs upstairs to Fiddleford’s room and knocks frantically on his door to get him to help him find the missing girl.

Fiddleford opens the door looking annoyed and tired. When Stanford says he can’t find Mabel and that he’s looked everywhere the southern man cuts him off by instantly replying “I know where she is.” That instantly calms down Ford but he looks confused as he asks “You do?” To which Fidd’s opens the door a little bit more to show Mabel asleep on his bed.

Stanford lets out a soft ‘Oh.’ And just stands there, looking awkwardly at Fiddleford for a moment before trying to break the tension with a weak chuckle and asking “Did she want to have a sleepover?” The blond doesn’t even hesitate to reply back, “Yeah. Because she’s scared of you, Stanford.” And closing the door on the brunet’s face.

Stanford doesn’t move for what feels like forever before he heads back to his room, feeling a little sick.

Anywho, I’m done now!!!

I’m happy and sorry you read through all of that, you can leave now! 💥💥💥

[phoenixyfriend]

Mandalore's Royal Concubine AU

HI

INSANE THOUGHT

YOU KNOW THAT POPULAR AU WHERE MANDALORE IS ITS OWN EMPIRE AND WHENEVER IT TAKES OVER A PLACE IT BRAINWASHES THE CAPTURED REBELS INTO BEING LOYAL CITIZENS (yes I know it's called the Integration AU)

I want one of those where you keep hearing about The Emperor but it's Plagueis, and you hear about Maul and Tyrannus and so on.

And then like ten chapters in you run into Jaster (40-ish) and the mistress he got after taking over Naboo, a 25yo Sheev Palpatine.

Dolled up and ostensibly brainwashed and known to have the Force but not any known ties to the Sith, he's just DAINTY and likes Naboo fashion and the readers are constantly hunting for The Truth. Is he a Sith that was successfully brainwashed? Biding his time? Looking to break away from Mandalore with Naboo but not a Sith? Working against the protagonist because he IS loyal to Jaster? Etc

A lot of the stuff you see people do to Obi-Wan, tbh.

Concubine Palpatine...

Also, if we go a bit down the line and instead have it with 50s-Jaster and early-40s bedwarmer Palpatine, we can have the protagonist that's meeting him for the first time be early teens Obi-Wan.

Palpatine has been in Jaster's bed for like. Twenty years by that point lol.

WAIT NO. NOT JUST A CONCUBINE. THE MAN'S A WAR PRIZE TWKYMSKTZKGZ

Palpatine, being Force-Sensitive and politically important, had led a resistance against Mandalore In His Youth, but failed. May be a Sith plot to infiltrate that went sour when the brainwashing actually worked? May have been a Sith plot that failed because nobody expected Sidious to LOSE and now they've washed their hands of him. May have just been a generally shitty Force-Sensitive but unaffiliated with the Sith because Naboo was on the other side of the galaxy from the Sith Empire? I don't know and neither do the readers.

Suggested by @threebea:

Either way he wants to do terrible things to Plagueis, either for his own revenge or on behalf of his husband

Subplot people trying to say Obi-Wan is their love child and could potentially steal the throne because Sheev is also a redhead (it's not true) but dealing with both assassins and they're trying to pull power way from Mereel

Obi-Wan: .... I'm not how is this even a rumour!?

It's because like satine and he for whatever reason used Palpatine as a cover somehow when they were teens and it has 'evidence' that there's a connection

Sheev "didn't want his child treated like he was and gave him up/smuggled him away" (sad sob story)

Obi-Wan: now both Mandalorians and Sith want to kill me for potential throne stealing, and I mean I'm a Jedi, they already wanted to kill me. but this feels more personal somehow

Sheev: ......... (Does not even like Obi-Wan and owed Duke Kryze a favour or Kryze was his ally before his death or w/e)

(Sheev brainwashed or not will absolutely use this tho)

I think there's also potential in 22yo Jango trying to "adopt" Obi-Wan (against the kid's wishes, of course) and explaining away the Palpatine situation with "stay away from him, he's always plotting."

"I thought you said he was successfully integrated."

"He was! But... you know those stories about evil stepmothers? And conniving concubines? He's... both. So just stay away."

Obi-Wan so maybe he's not integrated and he's an ally (no no he is not)

I also think it would be funny if the integration DID work and DID make Palpatine loyal to Jaster, but 80% of his non-sex actions result in "please stop helping me" because the methods are always way outside what even integration-happy Mandalore is comfortable with.

Fully corrupt, but for Jaster

Palpatine is having some palace intrigue and poisoning officials

Jaster: wait no

He's full on Dowager Empress vibes but he's not even married to the guy, nor is the guy dead.

All the political intrigue and skill of the prequels but. As a royal concubine.

Should definitely have beef with Jango for whatever reason

Jango: my childhood was a nightmare because of that man ><

But Palpatine covered himself way too well for it to be proven.

That's why he's 'adotping' Obi-Wan! Needs a force sensitive that he controls (that Palpatine doesn't have access to).

God, he DEFINITELY wanted to send Jango to boarding school. I don't think Jango ACTUALLY got sent away, but Palpatine probably managed a few Summer Sleep-Away Camps.

Palpatine: so you can be perfect for your father

Palpatine: (and get out of my hair ... Maybe have an accident that would be swell)

I want him to have pet Mandalorian peacocks. Drive home the absurdity.

I've decided this AU also has a primary plot about a Mysterious Stranger that keeps showing up to help Obi-Wan (actually help, not Jango's "help") and it's implied to be a member of the lineage, like Qui-Gon or Xanatos or something. Obi-Wan begs to be his padawan, before even knowing exactly who it is. And then, it is revealed to be! A time-traveller! Anakin, but as an adult! He hasn't even been born yet!

And then! The second twist behind the twist! Is that Anakin is not from the future but from a future, specifically! Canonverse RotS!

Ahsoka may or may not have been pulled along. And/or Rex.

Fuck it, maybe even Padmé with the twins?

Generally, all their important future knowledge, must notably that Palpatine is Sidious! Is useless.

Everything is just Too Different.

And in the middle of all that shit, Obi-Wan is introduced to the boogeyman of Anakin's nightmares, a Mandalorian concubine.

[impishjesters]

Siri? No. Rambley! (Ch 1?)

ship: Rambley x Reader relationship: can be read platonically or romantically note(s): I fudged over a bunch of tech jargon cause I'm too stupid for that stuff and who cares it's fan fiction anyways! The reader has no gender or pronouns used. A/N: So I may or may not be working on a lil AU/series for this whole idea~

“Are you sure that’ll work?”

Rambley leans impossibly closer to the screen as if it would help him see over your shoulder. “Uh-huh! Or well, I don’t see why it wouldn’t?” He leaned away from the screen and you finally met his gaze. “Just copy everything of importance to the drive and plug me in!”

It feels unrealistic and far too easy to just copy what makes Rambley well, Rambley and he’ll suddenly come to life on the cheap laptop. “If you say so, just… if something feels wrong, stop me okay?”

The digital raccoon paused his happy dance and stared at you before shooting you a thumbs-up. “A little silly if you ask me, but okay!” He placed his hands together and rested his chin on them, watching you intently.

You’re not a rocket scientist, so it doesn’t take much for you to get stumped on what’s considered “important” to keeping Rambley alive so to speak. Rambley watched on the monitor behind you, tail waving rhythmically behind him as he hummed and guided you to what folders were important, etc.

After about an hour you’ve properly copied everything needed onto the laptop. The digital raccoon lets out an exhausted sigh—like he did all the hard work—and looks at you. “That should be everything! Now plug the laptop into the console and I’ll see if I can hop over!”

Rambley is unphased by your deadpan stare aimed at him after his silly joke and focuses on the laptop. “Plug it in! Plug it in!” he chanted.

“Alright little bunny, hold your horses.”

He stopped his chants and looked at you with a smug expression. “Horses you say?”

“Shush. I’m working.”

Rambley rests his chin on his hands, tail swaying behind him again. “Nu-huh~ You just need to plug me in and—”

With ease you connect the laptop to a nearby computer, and despite the fear that this old worn-out technology might fry the laptop and the realistic factor that this probably isn’t how this whole thing works. You plug the laptop into Rambley’s system.

The monitor Rambley was on flickered and distorted, his raccoon avatar glitching frantically. “O-ooooOooOoOoooOOOOo… that feels funny!”

“Like… a bad funny or? Should I unplug it??” You ask worryingly, he’s never been this buggy before.

“NO! DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!” His voice distorts causing you to flinch at the volume before his screen altogether goes black.

Almost immediately your eyes are drawn to the laptop, watching the now black screen glitching out. The longer the silence grows the deeper the worry bubbles in your stomach. Did you somehow…kill him?

After several minutes of sitting and waiting the screen flickers to life, a bright white before Rambley’s face pops on screen looking comically confused, cheesy tweeting birds flying around his head. “Woah… that felt funny…”

Rambley’s voice echoes behind you instead of from the laptop. Looking back at the monitor you quickly notice it’s still Rambley but without the silly chirping birds around his head. Gaze flickering between the two copies of Rambley you push your chair back from the desk in confusion. “Uh, what’s happening?”

The Rambley on the monitor looks between you and the laptop. “Well, I managed to upload and copy part of myself onto it!” When your expression doesn’t change from confusion he settles on a more simplified answer. “I’m both here and on the laptop.”

The Rambley on your laptop finally snaps out of it and perks up seeing you and his own self on the bigger monitor. “It worked!”

“Wait,” you ignore the laptop Rambley and stare at the monitor. “You’re in both at the same time? Isn’t that… confusing?”

Rambley laughs and pats his screen like he would giving someone a head pat. “The laptop isn’t big or strong enough for all of me. So I was able to take a piece of me and put it on the laptop.” He explains. “So as long as you’re able to keep the laptop connected via a Wi-Fi or internet connection, I can freely switch between the two!”

The monitor shuts off and Rambley waves his hands excitedly on the laptop. “This means that while I can’t leave the park entirely, I can easily connect to the laptop via the internet!” He pauses and crosses his arms, tapping his chin curiously. “I wonder if it would work on your phone too?”

Feeling overwhelmed from all the information you rub at your temples and adjust in the uncomfortable chair. “How about we leave that for a different time Rambles?”

Rambley perks up at the name and nods his head. “Oh, of course! It’s getting late now, you—or rather we— should go home!” He giggles at the mention of home with a level of excitement you don’t think you’ve ever seen.

You grab the laptop bag and unplug the laptop from the monitor, tucking it away in the bag, and finally look at Rambley. “I’ll have to close the laptop Rambles. But as soon as I get home, I’ll open the laptop up for you okay?”

His shoulders slump at the mention of closing the laptop, and instead of trying to argue about keeping it open for him to see everything he simply nods with a pout.

You gently pet the top of your screen near the webcam and smile at him. “It won’t take long sweetie, the second I get inside I’ll open the laptop. I’ll even show you around my—our place.” You quickly correct yourself, and it’s worth it to see Rambley’s entire self perk back up in excitement.

“Okay! Be safe!” Rambley disappears from the laptop screen and pops up on the monitor nearby again. “I’ll wait here, and as soon as I sense a stable connection I’ll pop over!”

You have questions on how exactly he’s able to hop between the two despite the distance, but that’s a whole event for another time.

“Alright, I’ll see you soon Rambles.” You kiss your fingers and place them on his monitor before packing up the laptop and making your way out of the park, holding the laptop like it carries the most prized possession in the universe.

And it did, it carried your Rambles.

[redrandomposts]

trophy wife hua cheng

-xie lian brings him to the heavens sometimes during meetings. hua cheng puts on the form he wore on the ox cart, pretties himself up in silver and fine robes, and proudly sits on dianxia's lap.

-the form is for ease. xie lian rests his chin on san lang's shoulder, wraps his arms around his waist, and everyone else in the room feels like dying inside and outside. (besides pei ming, but, whatever)

-trophy wife brings calm; the meetings have less arguments between the gods whenever hua cheng comes along. perhaps its a moniker that the mortals give him, but its made clear he isnt a god—just the lover of the heavenly emperor.

-lmao statues of hua cheng is put in rooms of main halls where meetings frequently happen to inspire the same effect.

-somehow becomes a being of meetings? not a god, may i remind you, but also not known as a ghost. because of his drastically different form, he isnt connected as the ghost king hua cheng. perhaps the mortals believe xie lian has a harem.

-modern au hua cheng gets prayers from all over the world. prayers for a meeting to end, or get exciting, or be productive.

i have no idea how this derailed but im liking it

[undertheorangetree]

Snowed In

Summary- A snow storm leads to an opportunity.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Modern Aemond. Cat Vhagar is modern AU canon. Friends to lovers vibe. Thigh riding. Blowjob. Cunnilingus. P in V sex. Safe sex practices for once. Probably ooc Aemond cuz he's experiencing joy.

Author's Note- Yes all of my fics take place in the winter what about it?? That's my business that I am now involving you in link to full fic below :)

dividers by me

"They've just closed campus."

Her head pops up from behind her laptop, staring at Aemond in wide eyed disbelief. Already, there is a sympathetic wince on his face, the kind that is only ever present when he knows she is about to get upset, but even then she refuses to believe him.

"Closed? What do you mean closed?"

"It says they had to on account of the weather."

"No, they haven't. Let me see."

He spins his laptop screen to face her, forcing her to push her own down in order to see properly. His email has been left open on the page and her eyes rove over the message she had so desperately hoped he had made up. There before her in big bold letters are the words URGENT- CAMPUS CLOSED followed by a brief explanation blaming a snow storm and apologizing for any inconveniences the decision may have caused.

She lets out a groan, leaning back in the library's old chair, a pleading look on her face as if Aemond is the one responsible for making such decisions. He may as well be, with his family being such heavy contributors to Oldtown University's alumni fund, his last name plastered across the front of one of the many building on campus. She has half the mind to ask him to go speak to whichever family member is on the chair committee to convince them to reverse the decision and allow them to go back to finishing their final papers, though somehow she doubts that would be likely.

"The storm wasn't supposed to start until tomorrow. It can't already be that bad, can it?"

He reaches over toward the blinds they have long since closed, both of them having agreed that the glare from the sun was too distracting hours ago, only to be met with the sight of a now white campus, the snow blanketing near everything in sight. It's evident now why they would have shut down campus - it must have been snowing for hours- but she still feels something close to dread work its way up her spine.

She sucks in a heavy breath, turning to face Aemond once more. "Do you think they would have shut down the buses too?"

She knows it's a lost cause even as she asks it. The university is located away from the port, standing alone at the top of one of the mountains. It's a steep drive even in idle conditions and she knows that with the snow on the roads, the chances of her being able to commute back to her apartment are slim to none.

Just as she suspects, he simply looks at her, face contorted in a way that clearly implies that she already knows the answer. She bites out a curse, half slamming her laptop down before dropping her face into her hands.

The last thing she wants to do is spend the night on campus. She doubts that they were the only two caught unaware and trying to find a place to camp out for the night is going to be hell. Not for him, of course. Aemond's family connections came with seemingly endless perks and he had been set up with a beautiful flat on campus, less than a five minute walk from the library. He has lived there ever since she has known him and she had been there more times than she could count. Since first befriending him during orientation week in their first year, she had spent countless nights eating take out and studying for finals there. With their joint history major, they had taken nearly every class together, making last night studying near second nature at this point, so close to finishing their degrees.

There's a faint burn of envy in her gut at the thought of his flat- warm, isolated, cozy- but it's quickly snuffed out by her nervousness, fretting over where exactly she is meant to camp out tonight. She doubts she will actually sleep, not while she’s alone on campus, but she still wants to be at least somewhat comfortable. A padded chair would be ideal, though she knows they will be difficult to come by if she doesn’t act quickly.

Shoving her laptop back into her bag, she begins collecting the handful of papers she had sprawled out across the tabletop. "I guess I should go and try to find somewhere to sleep. It's going to be a blood bath trying to find something with decent cushioning."

He scoffs. "You're not going to be fighting any blood baths. Just spend the night at mine."

Read the rest here