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Wildflower Wedding - Clark Kent

Dreamweaver's Note: This is a Constellation post which means it's new and I haven't published it before I got hacked. I had this idea to write the weddings of all the characters I write for. Please enjoy! -Ultralight

⚠️Fae-Bound Triggers: Bad writing.

⏳Length of the Spell: 6.9k+ words.

✨What the Stars Foretell: A Kent wedding.

✨Starlit Archive ✨ Stardust Inbox ✨

Enjoy!

It starts with a wave of pure panic, the kind that launches you out of bed like it’s on fire and your entire career depends on it. You slap the nightstand in a blind search for your phone, the adrenaline spiking as your fingers fumble, nearly knocking over a glass of water left for you.  It’s too bright outside for 7 a.m. Something’s wrong. You overslept. You definitely missed your alarm and you’re going to be late for work.

The imaginary lecture from your boss is already echoing in your head, accompanied by your coworkers’ snide commentary. You’re already planning your desperate commute, imagining how packed the sidewalks were going to be and how little time you had to get ready. Maybe you should  just throw on a hoodie over your pajamas and sprint. And that was the plan in mind when you launched to do so. 

And that’s when you trip over something warm and fuzzy.

You hit the soft rug with a loud thud, and Krypto, the traitorous dog that he is, barks excitedly, wagging his tail like this is the best morning of his life. He immediately flops on top of you, licking your face like he’s done you a favor. 

The door flies open. Clark blurs in with the kryptonian speed, all concerned eyes and worried hands as he crouches over you. “What happened?” he pants, eyes roaming over you in search of an injury. 

“I’m late for work!” you groan, using him to lift yourself up, pushing to find your shoes. Clark exhales in clear relief behind you, his tense shoulders sagging. He chuckles, low and warm, as the panic ebbs and reality clicks into place.

You go still, realization dawning over you as you realize you’re not in the apartment you share, but rather in his old room back on the farm. . “Wait.”

He just smiles at you, seated now at the edge of the bed with an insufferably smug grin.

“I’m not late for work,” you say flatly.

“I hoped you took the day off,” he replies, laughter lacing his voice.

“Because we’re getting married today.” You pad across the room, stepping between his legs. His hands find your waist, grounding and easy, before he lifts you effortlessly into his lap.

“If you really need to go in,” he murmurs against your neck, tone laced with teasing “we could reschedule…”

You swat his arm, laughing. “Easy now. I just lost my mind for a second.”

“Oh, you lost your mind?” he grins. “I heard your heart rate spike and then your body hit the floor. Imagine how I felt.”

You squint at him playfully. “And why, exactly, were you up so early on our wedding day? I was lost. Abandoned. Emotionally damaged.”

Clark leans back, eyes twinkling. “Wanna see? I’ve been very excited to show you.”

What were you supposed to say but yes?

And when you practically shout the word at him, he laughs, loud and delighted, before helping you to your feet. He’s barely guiding you toward the bedroom door when a blur of white fur darts between you. Krypto barrels past both of you, skidding to a dramatic halt in front of the door like a canine bouncer. He lets out a bark so loud it echoes off the walls, making you flinch.

“No. Krypto. No more watch,” Clark says, exasperated, trying to wave him off. “You did good, buddy. But I’m here now.”

“Oh, so  you’re the reason Krypto bodied me this morning?” you huff, throwing Clark a mock glare as you rub your hip, he winces, sheepish, a flush of red blooming up his neck. “I told him to keep watch,” he admits. “I wanted to surprise you.”

You squint at him, trying not to smile. “So instead of surprising me with breakfast or flowers… you sicced the dog on me?”

Clark raises his hands. “It was supposed to be romantic.”

You cross your arms. “You weaponized Krypto.”

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist again and leaning in with a grin that’s all apology and mischief. “I gave him a simple order, he took it in a aggressive manner.”

You sigh dramatically. “It’s what he does best.”

Krypto barks again, tail wagging, clearly feeling very proud of himself, taking your words as a compliment. 

“Alright, come on Krypto. Clark is trying to show me his surprise.” You laugh, tapping your hip for the dog to follow as Clark keeps ahold of your hand and leads you through the farm through the farm, which looks like a Pinterest board collided with a tornado: folding chairs stacked high, a banner tangled in a tree, and a goat chewing on what you're hoping isn't the tablecloth. Nothing but chaos in the Kent house today. 

John Kent, otherwise known as Pa, is the first to lay eyes on you both. He smiles from ear to ear as Krypto wags his tail for some of the bacon that the older man was currently cooking, and without much hesitation he manages to toss a couple pieces that the dog snatches with a snap of his jaw before the man is rushing across the kitchen to get to you.  

“There she is! The bride!” he bellows, wiping his hands on a dish towel before wrapping you in a hug that smells like coffee and woodsmoke. You hug back, squeezing a bit as he laughs out, before pulling back to pat your shoulders as Clark moves to make sure the bacon doesn’t burn, always the hero. 

“I’m making ya some breakfast, I don’t want my daughter in law getting hungry today.” He explains, turning back to the stove where Clark is now grinning with excitement, ready to hand the job back to his Pa, but not before stealing a pancake for the road. 

“I’m gonna show her the surprise,” he mumbles around a bite, watching his father turn back to him with a fake glare. 

“Use a fork like a human,” Pa mutters.

“I’m not human,” Clark grins, and bolts out of spatula hitting range, making sure to extend the pancake to you so you can snatch a bite of your own, which you do, fighting off a laugh as he rushes to kiss your cheek. 

You make sure to complement Pa on his cooking, hearing him yell out a thank you as Clark leads you through the rest of the house. He trips over a box of flowers while cutting through the living room, opening the screen door just in time for Krypto to dash out to chase one of the cows with excited barks. In the rush of trying to get Krypto to stop he nearly trips over a ladder laying there, then like an overprotective weirdo he makes sure you don’t trip over it as well by picking you up and lifting you over it. “That was a step. I could’ve done it.” 

“Why risk it?” He laughs, trying to wink but mostly just blinking. His cheeks are pink, like he’s still half the boy who first asked you out with a bouquet of dandelions and a stutter.

It’s easy to figure out where he was leading you, the one place you had been talking about for weeks now. 

The day after Clark proposed, your best friend Louis had been straight to the point about helping you…. Which meant she enlisted Jimmy for wedding planning help….. which actually meant Jimmy was doing most of it. Venue after venue had been brought up, but there was already something you had in mind. 

“Clark always said he wanted to get married on his parents farm.” And the second those words had come out of your mouth Louis had looked at you as if you were insane. But you always stood by it. Clark’s parents had been married on this farm, and their parents, so forth and so on. You wanted to follow that. 

There was a river close to their home, with a gorgeous tree and the perfect little shady clearing spot, it was something you found on one of your first trips out here with Clark and when he found out you wanted to get married at the farm he offered your reading spot. You had been confused since you never thought you had a spot and he explained that whenever he was done with something he could always find you there reading. 

And today he led you down there, to where you both would be getting married, to where his mother currently stood, setting up decorations around the prettiest set up you had ever seen. 

“Oh….” You manage to gasp out, letting go of his hand to step closer and admire it all. 

“Oh as in this is amazing or oh as in you hate it and are processing adrenaline?” He questions, his voice tight with anxiety. “Your heartbeat is going so fast and I can’t tell.” 

“This is…. Absolutely stunning.” You mumble out, tracing a finger along one of the benches they laid out as you follow the path to the alter. 

It was handmade, that was obvious, but not because it looked bad by any means. It just screamed Clark, from the precision of the cuts and the detail of the designs carved in, suddenly all the late nights in the barn made sense. He had built the alter you would be getting married under. 

“I made a swing for it.” He explains, coming to stand beside you as you marvel at it. “So that once we are married, whenever we come back here, you’d have a comfortable spot where you always read.I just have to hang it once we are done today.” 

It’s easy, the feeling you get when you turn back to him, the way you pull him in and press your lips to his. And yet, it hurts. Because sometimes it feels like you have so much love bottled up inside, he’ll never quite understand just how much you need him. How deeply you breathe for him. And then he does things like this, quiet, thoughtful gestures, and the love only grows.

Maybe that’s the real magic of Clark Kent. Not the flying, not the powers, not even the cape. But the way he sees every part of you and still wants to give you the world. He’ll never know how impeccable he is. But you’re about to get a lifetime to try and show him.

He gets lost in your kiss, his arms pulling you close, the sound of the river behind you, your hands tangling in his hair and the back of his neck. Morning sunlight spills over your skin as you move in perfect rhythm with him, the warmth of the kiss beginning to match the warmth of the day. 

“You’re supposed to kiss her after the ceremony, dingus.” Martha Kent’s voice breaks through the moment, and you both laugh, breathless as you pull away and try to fix your lips before turning to face her.

She’s wiping dirt off her pants, but you rush over to help her anyway, even though you know she’ll just wave you off. She does, of course. But she catches your hands instead, guiding you to see the flowers she’s arranged.

Colorful wildflower bushels sit at the end of each oak bench, lining the aisle in bursts of color. There are still boxes left to be unpacked, and guilt nips at you when you realize they’ve been setting all this up while you slept in.

“You did all this? Why didn’t you wake me up? You didn’t have to—”

“You needed sleep,” she interrupts, her smile warm as she kisses your cheek. “Besides, I was just getting these in place before the florist gets here.”

A yell cuts through the trees.

“Oh boy,” Martha sighs, glancing toward the sound. “Someone get that kid on stress meds.”

George Hansu, your wedding planner, barrels toward you, arms around a dangerously tilting box. 

“Guys! We need to move! Florist’s here, the food’s almost here, and don’t even get me started on-” He skids to a stop, eyes flicking between you and Clark. “Why… why are you both standing here and not getting ready?!”

“Well, I-” you start, just as Clark stammers, “I just-”

“I do not care.” Geoge cuts in sharply, holding one hand in the air like a traffic cop and squeezing his eyes shut like your lack of urgency physically hurts him. “Let’s get a move on, people. I need you both in your rooms getting dressed. Immediately.”

Martha snorts behind you, and you whirl around to shoot her a betrayed look, only to see her full-on laughing, hands on her hips like the two of you being lectured is the best entertainment she’s had all week. But then George turns on her with terrifying precision, enough flare behind his eyes that you both take a step back. “Mother of the groom,” he says, voice suddenly sharp as glass, “mind telling me why you’re not dressed?”

She blinks, startled by his tone, and you instinctively grab her arm like she’s a fellow soldier under fire.

“Yes, sir,” you nod solemnly, tugging her toward the house.

“That boy is scary as all heck when we go off schedule,” Martha mutters under her breath, a bit winded as you hustle away.

“A schedule demon, really,” you huff, sparing one last glance over your shoulder. Clark’s still standing by the altar, looking somewhere between amused and helpless as George barks orders into a headset that you're pretty sure isn’t connected to anything.

You don’t stop running until you and Martha are safely inside with the doors closed, laughter spilling between you as the chaos rages on outside. John is there with a couple plates of food, shuffling closer as you grab the plates to help him out so he could kiss his wife. 

“Alright Kents,” Martha orders, clapping her hands. “We gonna have a nice breakfast together, then little miss bride to be is gonna go shower and start getting ready.”

“Sounds like a plan.” John smiles, and they both guide you to the dining table where Clark soons joins.  Even in the pure chaos the Kent family finds a way to root things down, and you couldn’t be any happier. 

- 

Clark proposed after a picnic, the spring breeze cutting across your skin as he stuttered through his words and you tried not to cry. It had been a perfect day—one of those gentle, golden ones—and you try to think back to it now, while Lois Lane jabs bobby pins into your scalp in a panicked, fix-it frenzy.

“Ow!” you yelp, jerking your head forward to escape her hands. “Oh my god, stop moving, you’re making it worse.” “You’re making me bleed,” you hiss, swatting her away. “Can I please do it myself?”

She practically leaps at the offer, dropping every hair product in her arsenal with a dramatic sigh and plopping onto the edge of the tub. She watches as you undo everything she just did. Lois Lane is nothing if not practical, and always on the move for her next story—she's a get-your-hair-done-on-the-subway kind of woman. Wedding hair? Not her specialty.

...Not yours either.

“Is it embarrassing to ask Jimmy for help?” she blurts after a moment, just as a soft knock sounds at the door. Martha steps in, looking nervous in the pearl-colored dress you picked for her.

“Well, I just don’t know about this…” she murmurs, tugging at the skirt as her cheeks turn pink. “It’s your day, sweetheart.”

“No!” you grin, rushing to hug her. “I want you to wear it—we chose it together.”

It was meant to be a sweet gesture. You’d been so nervous to meet the Kents, and yet she welcomed you in with the warmest hug and open arms, like you’d always belonged. You wanted her to feel special.

“But it’s white,” she whispers, clearly still uncertain.

“It’s off-white,” Lois argues from the tub, already smoothing the hem. “A pearl color,” you say, helping her with her necklace, “for a pearl.” You kiss her cheek gently.

“You girls are far too much,” she giggles, her accent thickening with affection. “Don’t you both look so jolly.”

Lois beams, proudly flaunting her bridesmaid dress—a deep purple you paired with a smaller wildflower bouquet. She even let you tuck a flower into her updo. You were going to be surrounded by gorgeous flowers all day, friends and family included in that. 

“Let me help with your hair now, sit back down.” Martha orders, helping you sit before beginning to work on your hair, humming softly as she goes. Soon enough she has it styled with a couple flowers placed in for color, tracing your cheek motherly before patting you to go get on your dress.  

They help you get into it,  and soon enough you are all dressed up in white. The lace, the veil, the dream….. The nerves. 

That moment, the hush that falls over the room, the way you see yourself in the mirror, is all at once real and completely dreamlike. The dress fits like it was sewn from the threads of your own hopes. Louis steps back to admire you, wiping under her eyes with an uncharacteristically delicate touch. Martha clasps her hands together in front of her chest, breath catching like she’s seeing her own daughter off to something sacred.

“You look…” Louis starts, then clears her throat. “God, Clark’s going to faint.”

“You think?” you whisper, heart fluttering.

“I know.” She smirks. “He looked like he might cry just seeing the menu yesterday.”

Martha laughs, her voice soft and proud. “You’re everything he ever dreamed of. I know that for sure.”

There’s a knock, two quick raps that make all three of you jump, followed by George’s  voice: “Five minutes!”

The air thickens. Time collapses into that tight squeeze in your chest. You glance down at your hands, perfectly manicured and slightly trembling, then at the bouquet made of wildflowers, fresh from Smallville, wrapped in twine and love.

“You ready?” Louis asks, nudging your side.

“No,” you breathe, “but I want to do it anyway.”

And that was love, wasn’t it? Not always certainty, not always ease. But the wanting. The aching to step forward even when it’s terrifying. So you do, veil down and flowers in hand, heart on your sleeve not that you had to worry about it because you knew Clark would have his just the same. 

You’re about to walk toward forever.

“Kara is here.” Jimmy explains when you come out of the room, smiling from ear to ear while you lean forward to give him a hug. “And we are all set for the photos.”

And so photos ensue, everyone smiling and having fun. Bridesmaids and groomsmen. But both you and Clark have yet to see each other. Jimmy makes sure of that like his life depends on it. At one point, when you step out of the barn for a quick breath of air, he practically jumps  from behind a tractor like a wedding ninja. “Nope! Nope nope nope! Back inside, bride! Groom perimeter still active!”

You hold your hands up, laughing. “Alright, alright! You’re terrifying.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Jimmy mutters, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye as George tries getting Krypto to run over. And you can only stare at the dog who has now been put in his own puppy version of a tux without the cape, trying to blend in like a normal dog in front of George. 

Inside the barn, Kara spins in her bridesmaid dress, giving you a wink. “You look like you stepped out of a storybook. Clark’s going to short-circuit.”

“I feel like I already have,” you admit, brushing your fingers nervously over your skirt.

“Wait until he sees you,” she grins. “He’ll be a goner. Straight-up puddle. Oh, as much as I miss home I have to admit this earth wedding style is soooo much better.”

It’s those words that remind you of the surprise you had in store for Clark later, twisting to look at Kara with a knowing look. “Did you bring it?”

“Oh! Of course.” She laughs, pulling you to where she had it hidden. 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the property, Clark is going through it.

“You’d think I’d be calm,” he mutters as Bruce adjusts his tie.

“You’d think,” Bruce deadpans. “But you’re sweating like you flew through a thunderstorm.”

Clark shoots him a glare. “I just, what if I trip? Or cry? Or float?”

“You’ll definitely cry. Try not to float. And don’t worry,she’ll say I do since she already said yes.” Bruce claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve already done the hard part. You found each other.”

Back by the barn, George pokes his head in one more time. “Alright, places everyone. It’s almost time.”

And that’s when the butterflies return. Not the bad kind. The good kind. The he’s-waiting-for-you kind.

Because the next time you see Clark… it’ll be at the end of the aisle.

You are confident in your decision, there was no question about that, yet when you stand off to the side waiting for the processional to begin all the nerves begin eating at you. Suddenly you can hear everything. 

The sound of the lake running, the buzz of flies nearby and the sounds of the music preparing for your entrance. It was all brashing against your ears, beginning to stress you out even more. You hear Martha call John a big ol  softie and Louis complaining about Jimmy wearing pants. 

Krypto leads with a bark, a basket hanging from his mouth so that he would drop the petals along the path which Kara follows with a small bouquet in her hands. Louis is next, doing her best smile as she moves to stand alongside the others towards the front. You catch Jimmy sending Louis a smug smile, Bruce elbowing him softly to stand straight before Martha kisses your cheek and heads to walk down the aisle herself. 

The loud brashing in your ears is louder now, practically ringing as John lets you loop your arm through his and with uneven breaths and a buzzing under your skin he begins to lead you down the aisle. You don’t remember the first few steps.

The trees blur past, sunlight breaking through the canopy in fractured beams that dapple the path ahead. The air is warm and damp, thick with summer, and the hum inside your chest feels like it might burst free and take you with it. Your heart pounds harder with each step,like it's trying to keep pace with something you can't quite see.

Then your eyes find him. Clark.

He stands at the end of the aisle, hands clasped tight in front of him, shoulders stiff like he’s trying not to float an inch off the ground. The nerves in your stomach coil tighter when you realize he's smiling, not the small polite one he wears for crowds or headlines, but the one he only ever reserves for you. That soft, reverent one, like he still can’t quite believe you’re real.

And suddenly the ringing quiets.

You barely hear the breeze anymore or the music trailing behind you. All the chaos fades into the distance. Suddenly it’s like it’s just the two of you. Krypto’s basket is now overturned by someone's feet, Jimmy is trying to whisper something to Bruce who was blatantly ignoring him to watch his friend, Martha wiping her eyes with John's handkerchief. None of it mattered, because Clark was looking at you. 

John squeezes your arm just once before letting go, his face unreadable but his eyes kind. You step forward alone now, drawn toward Clark like the gravity was never in the earth beneath your feet, but in him.

He mouths something when you’re close, and it takes a moment for your brain to process it. “Hi.”

It breaks the tightness in your chest with something warm and bright. You can’t help but smile back. “Hi.”

He takes your hand like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, and the world settles.

Even if you never remember the vows exactly, or which side the flowers were on, or what Krypto ended up chewing in the background, this moment, the quiet between you and him, burns itself into your bones.

You're home.

You know you’re home. Home is Clark’s big blue eyes, with his bulky glasses he uses in front of strangers. Home is in his smile, ever so endearing, always there even in the worse of times. Home is in his family, the Kent’s, who managed to do the bravest thing by raising him and never once regretted it. Home is in all the heroes sitting behind you, all of which came to celebrate their friend getting married, all of which have had both your backs on numerous occasions. 

Home was Clark, and he was looking at you like you were his. Like no matter what the rest of the world saw or wanted from him he could depend on coming home to you. And that was more than enough for him. 

You can feel the tears prick at your eyes, but you don’t dare look away, not now, not ever. You want to remember the way he stands, tall and strong and somehow still nervous. You want to bottle the way his thumb traces the edge of your hand like he can’t believe you’re real. Like touching you makes it true.

There’s a hush in the crowd as the officiant speaks, but all you can hear is your heartbeat, and maybe his too, steady and sure and so very alive, thrumming under your skin as adrenaline begins to ease you into this all. 

“You made it,” Clark whispers, just for you.

You nod. “We both did.”

Then you squeeze his hand, and together, you turn to face forever.

The officiant makes quick work of it all, quoting scriptures and drawing chuckles from the crowd. By the time the vows come up everyone is silent, waiting to hear what you both have to say. And neither disappoint of course. 

When it’s his turn his hands keep ahold of yours, his voice steady and sure, sending a thrill down your spine. “You have seen me in every version of myself. As the farm boy, the reporter, the hero. You’ve seen the man beneath it all and somehow you stayed. You believed in me even when I doubted myself. You are my greatest grounding force. My quiet when the world is too loud. My courage when I’m unsure. My laughter when the weight of everything feels like too much.  I vow to show up for you every single day. To never let this world, or any other, dim what we’ve built. I will protect your heart with all the strength I have and not because I’m Superman, but because I’m yours.I promise to love you when we’re strong and when we’re stumbling. When the sky is clear and when the storms come. I promise to choose you in every version of this life. Always. Without question.”

There is a deep gasp from the crowd as he finishes, before it’s your turn. 

“Before you, I thought strength meant standing alone. Holding everything in. But you taught me that love is not a weakness. That letting someone in can be the bravest thing a person does.  Clark Kent… you are the safest place I’ve ever known. Not because of what you can do, but because of who you are. The man who fixes tractors with his bare hands and still calls his mom to check in. The man who carries the weight of the world and still holds room for mine. I vow to love you fiercely, tenderly, and without condition. I will be your partner, your shield, your home, just as you are mine.  I promise to never take this for granted. Not your heart, not your kindness, not your quiet strength. I will stand beside you, in cape or flannel, for every chapter we write together.”

The I Do’s are firm, no question and no nervousness. And the two of you are already leaning in for a kiss by the time the officiant is announcing you to do so, your lips pressing into each other as claps break out all around you. 

Your lips meet with the kind of urgency that only comes from years of knowing and choosing each other again and again. It’s not rushed, but it’s hungry, reverent. Clark’s hands cradle your face like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever held, and in his arms, you feel both cherished and utterly claimed. His lips are soft, but the way he kisses you is anything but timid, it’s full of the quiet fire that’s burned between you for so long.

You kiss like no one’s watching, even though the world is.

There’s a moment, just one, where you both smile against each other’s lips, laughter bubbling up between the kisses. And then he leans back in, pulling you closer, one arm firm around your waist, the other threading gently into your hair. His kiss deepens, slower this time, like he’s memorizing the shape of this moment.

When you finally pull away, breathless and glowing, Clark rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, as if grounding himself in the feel of you, his wife. And the crowd cheers louder. Kara whistles. Bruce definitely clears his throat.

But Clark doesn’t hear any of it, neither do you. All you need right now is each other. 

They play you a song to walk out, and Clark keeps a hand on yours as he guides you through them throwing petals over the two of you, laughter and warmth surrounding you both.  You switch to take the lead, pulling him into the kitchen of the farmhouse where the sunstone Kara brought home currently sat on the table. 

It had been rough, trying to find ways to marry Kal El and Clark in the same go. They were the same person, sure, but in truth there were traditions and ways on Krypton that he would never get to experience, and that is where you enlisted Kara’s help. 

Weeks of the both of you plotting ways you could make this work, weeks of you learning the traditions and courting ways. Weeks leading up to this. 

“How… did you?” He starts, eyes blinking slowly at the sunstone as his hand stays gripped in your own. 

“Well Kara… took me through some traditions.” You begin explaining, pulling him closer to the two necklaces. “They combined sigils… but it’s not like I had a family sigil. They wore cloaks with silver lining but by the time I heard about that one we had already-”

You cut off your ramble when he kisses your cheek softly, easing you before reaching around you and grabbing one of the necklaces. 

“Sunstones are shared between couples,” You explain. “You already know that, but I figured it would be my gift to you.” 

You're a ball of nerves when he holds it up, letting it catch in the light before turning to you with a smile. “I put your families sigil-”

You can’t finish the sentence, because he is whirling around to pull you into a fast kiss. It steals the breath right from your lungs. One moment, you’re nervously stumbling through your explanation, trying to express the weeks of effort, of hope, of wanting this part of him to be honored and the next, he’s kissing you like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. Like the weight of everything, Earth, Krypton, all of it, has fallen away and only you remain.

His hand cradles the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, the sunstone necklace still hanging from his other fingers, momentarily forgotten. There’s something reverent in the way he holds you, but also something desperate, like this kiss is where he finally lets himself feel the full scope of what today meant, not just the vows, not just the celebration, but that you saw him. All of him. Kal-El and Clark. And you chose to marry every piece.

When he pulls back just slightly, his forehead presses to yours, and his voice comes low and unsteady. “You did this for me.”

“I wanted you to have it,” you whisper. “I wanted you to feel like… like all of you got married today. Not just the part that grew up in Kansas.”

He smiles, wide and warm and so full of love it nearly undoes you. His thumb brushes against your cheek as he lifts the sunstone again, this time draping the necklace gently around your neck first, like a vow all its own. Then he takes the second one, the one with both your sigils side by side, and fastens it around his own neck.

“Alright, you two,” George calls, already pushing the door open as he knocks. His eyebrows wiggle as he grins. “We’ve got a few private couple photos to get through, and your party’s out enjoying drinks for cocktail hour. Dinner’s still set for five….everything’s running right on schedule.”

“Brilliant. Thank you so much, George,” Clark replies warmly, leaning around you to shake his hand. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

The compliment has George visibly relaxing, his shoulders dropping as a proud smile spreads across his face. You can’t help but smile too, of course Clark would be the one to soothe even the most tightly wound wedding planner.

“Ready for photos?” George asks.

“Absolutely!” Clark calls back, already tugging you along with a boyish grin.

The photo session flows effortlessly. Clark makes it his mission to keep you laughing between each pose, whispering sweet nothings and the occasional joke that has you doubling over. By the time the photographer gets everything he needs, you’re breathless and glowing, full of warmth and joy.

You’re finally released to the dinner hall, and as you step through the entrance, your wedding party is already there waiting, cheering, smiling, arms outstretched. It’s all laughter, hugs, and celebration as you walk in hand in hand, ready to begin the next part of your day.

"Love Will Keep Us Together" blares over the speakers as your wedding party begins their entrance, the crowd already clapping along. Kara and Krypto lead the way, Krypto bounding in with a bark, a ribbon around his neck. At the last second, he leaps over Kara, earning a cheer loud enough to shake the rafters.

Jimmy follows, adjusting his suit collar before doing a suave little spin, plucking a flower from his pocket and handing it to a guest who dramatically pretends to faint. Laughter erupts. Then comes Bruce, doing the world’s most awkward wave, which sends his sons at the table into howling fits of laughter. Louis enters next, mock-filming the crowd with her phone and nearly doubling over from giggling.

Ma and Pa Kent are next, dance-walking to the head table in step, their joy radiating. You feel it in your chest.

As the chorus swells, Clark turns to you, hand tight around yours, eyes sparkling. “Ready, Wife?” he whispers. “Show me what you’ve got,” you grin.

With that, he scoops you up in his arms and spins you through the entry, bridal style. The cheers are deafening. Napkins twirl high in the air, champagne, dusty rose, sage, lilac, all the joyful colors you chose for the day.

The reception space is magic. Wildflowers burst from every table. Fairy lights loop across the ceiling beams like constellations, mingling with flickering candles and mismatched china, every piece thrifted, just like the teacups, just like the gold stands holding table numbers beside old photos of you and Clark from years past.

At Table 8, your aunts table, a snapshot of Clark fishing with John, and one of you as a child on a swing. Table 20 features a blurry selfie of Clark with his glasses, caught mid-sentence, your phone still moving when you snapped it.

Dinner is a laid-back barbecue from one of John’s favorite joints in Smallville. And every few minutes, Clark leans in to whisper, “Hello, wife,” like he’s still surprised. Like he’ll never stop saying it.

Martha gives the first toast, her voice cracking as she talks about her little boy growing into the man of steel, and the man of love.  John follows, choking up almost instantly, but manages through tears to tell you: “You are the perfect daughter.”

Jimmy has the whole room laughing with stories of Clark debriefing after your early dates. And then Louis stands and roasts you, recalling in detail every voicemail you left the night you thought Clark was ghosting you. (You hadn’t known he was Superman, in your complete defense.)

Cake cutting comes next. Simple, sweet, chaotic with flashing cameras. You lean into Clark to hide, feeding each other carefully through the blur.

The dessert table is a spread of homemade goodness, but the pride of it is Martha’s pies, each named after the two of you. “The Clark” is the classic apple pie with a cinnamon glaze. Yours is a cherry pie, tart and sweet, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, just how you like it.

But it’s the dance floor that sets the night on fire.

Your first dance is to “Heroes” by David Bowie, and near the end, you and Clark break off to pull your parents in, opening the floor to everyone.

The barn glows with string lights draped from beam to beam, lanterns swaying gently, flowers tucked into every corner. The DJ plays the hits, and Bruce is immediately dragged to the floor by his sons, much to Selina’s amusement.

A chalkboard by the floor reads: “Dance Like No One’s Watching” and it’s signed by both you and Clark, only you got to sign Kent on this one. And that’s exactly what happens.

Clark and Jimmy lose their ties. Somehow, Dick ends up with one around his forehead as the entire group screams off-key to “You Can Call Me Al.”  Louis loses her mind when “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” starts. The two of you bust out choreography you haven’t done in years.

Then Martha Kent outdances everyone to “Signed, Sealed, Delivered,” with John valiantly trying (and failing) to keep up.

“You Get What You Give” by the New Radicals plays next, and Clark pulls you into the middle of the floor. The two of you scream-sing every lyric. “DON’T GIVE UP! YOU’VE GOT A REASON TO LIVE!” Clark can’t dance. Not really. But he throws his entire heart into it, limbs everywhere, grinning like a fool. You pull him closer by the collar and spin wildly, dizzy with love.

Louis surprises everyone with “Kryptonite.” You and Clark laugh until you cry.

Then Martha claps loudly and kicks everyone out for the final song. Just you and Clark remain.

“Starman” by Bowie begins to play.

Clark wraps his arms around you, cheek to your temple, swaying gently, and then… you begin to float. Just a few inches. Then a foot. Then more. He doesn’t even realize until you both start laughing softly, suspended in the air, alone in a glowing barn.

When the doors finally open, your guests are waiting outside, forming a tunnel lit with lanterns and fairylights. As you walk through, petals fall all around you, laughter and cheers echoing as you make your way to the car, hand in hand, breathless.

You had just married the man of your dreams.

Your guests all leave with jars of homemade jam labeled The Kents, each paired with a small packet of wildflower seeds and a cheesy handwritten note about “letting love grow.” Lois scoffs at the sentiment—but still tries to snag the recipe from Martha, who just shoos her off with a knowing smile.

And when the night settles and the two of you are finally alone—shoes kicked off, shoulders touching, hearts still full, there’s nothing left but quiet, steady love.

“You ready for our next journey?” He whispers, and you can’t help but laugh. 

“With you? Always.” You answer back, placing your forehead on his. 

“Good, cause I have some plans for our honeymoon.”

- 

One year later. 

The apartment is quiet except for the soft static hum of an old record player warming up. The air smells faintly of sugar and wildflowers, your mother in law Martha insisted on sending a fresh bouquet, and Lois dropped off leftover jam “for the symbolism,” she claimed. Mostly you wer sure she just wanted to rub in that she managed to get the recipe…. And Clark suspected that Jimmy helped her make it. 

You come down the hall in your wedding dress, the hem slightly frayed from the outdoor ceremony but still just as perfect. Clark’s already waiting in his suit, jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened just enough to make him look like a very handsome daydream.

“I can’t believe it still fits,” you tease, smoothing the fabric.

Clark grins. “I definitely had to re-stitch a button.”

You both laugh as he holds out his hand to you.

There’s leftover cake in the kitchen, just one slice each, defrosted from the back of the freezer. The jam is slathered between the layers. It’s sweeter now, somehow.

Then Bowie’s Starman starts to play, the familiar guitar riff floating through the old wooden beams.

And there in your little kitchen, barefoot and still glowing from the inside out, the two of you dance like it’s the first time. No guests. No photographer. Just the two of you in your own bubble. 

Clark spins you once, holds you close, and murmurs, “Same time next year?”

You smile against his chest. “Always.”

✨Starlit Archive ✨ Stardust Inbox ✨

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˚✧₊⁺˳ Farmboy Flush ˳ ₊⁺˳✧

Clark Kent x Wayne!Reader

(18+, suggestive, mild nsfw) The aftermath of Little Miss Wayne giving Clark the night of his life.

The room was quiet.

Not silent— never. That might’ve been virtually impossible with Clark’s nerdy ramblings and your incessant yapping.

Your breathing still was still shaky, much like your leg which refused to stop trembling— to your embarrassment.

The thick wetness dripping down your thighs— distinctly him, quickly bringing you back to the intimately awkward reality.

His heart was still racing— in fact, you weren’t even sure that alien brain of his was presently on Earth, but everything felt softer…slower.

The adrenaline had faded, and all that was left was pure tenderness. One so intimate your body felt numb— suspended in some lovey-dovey nebulousness that was all Clark.

The man in question lay beside you, half-propped on one elbow, so he could still see your face (the lovesick fool) his other hand resting gently on your waist like he would completely disappear if not one part of him was touching you.

His cheeks were still pink.

His hair was a mess.

Looking at you like you had just personally saved the entire Universe— he had, on many occasion. All you had done is— well. Show him just how much he really meant to you.

You nuzzled into his bicep and he could feel your grin despite thinking his soul might just burst from the confines of the skin your rosebud lips were currently smushed against. “You okay, Farmboy?”

His voice cracked. “I… yeah. I-I’m great. I’m m-more than great actually— gosh.”

You snorted softly. “You look like you just got your ass handed to you by Luthor and you’re still speaking all Kansas?”

Clark rolled his eyes, covering his face with his hand, embarrassed. “Honeyyyy….” It came out muffled…gravelly.

He didn’t have to know you secretly found it sexy.

You scooted closer, nudging your nose against his jaw. “Was that your ‘I just lost my virginity’ voice?”

He groaned into his hand. “You promised you wouldn’t tease me anymore about that!”

“Nuh uh,” you continued, voice as sickly sweet as the look he was unable to hide whist facing you, “I absolutely have to. You’re blushing like a schoolboy!”

“I am a schoolboy— Emotionally…”

“Baby. You’re literally Superman.”

He peeked at you through his fingers. “N-Not right now I’m not.”

You rolled onto his chest then, feeling him stiffen as your breasts pressed against him, kissing the corner of his mouth in delight.

“No. Right now you’re just mine.”

That got him.

His hands found themselves at your waist, dwarfing your form as his expression completely melted— if that was even more possible. Fingers curling gently into your hip like he was grounding himself with you (as you resisted the urge to ground yourself back on him).

“I-I never…” His eyelashes fluttered against his rosy cheeks as he struggled to maintain eye contact. “I…I didn’t know it would feel like that,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “M-More than just physical. I feel…”

“Take your time Sweet Boy,” you cuddled into his chest, pressing your ear against his heart and finding solace in the rhythm. There was nothing you wanted more than him— ever.

“It…It felt like being seen. Completely.”

You smiled, one void of all taunt, your digits ghosting the muscled plains of his abdomen.

“That’s what love feels like, Smallville.”

Clark let his forehead drop against your hair then, surrendering, wrapping his body around you entirely— encasing you in those strong, gentle arms of his like you were his whole world.

Because, really…you were.

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‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤtoo busy bein’ yours to fall for somebody new!

— notes 𖹭 j. todd x wife!reader. agents of gotham au. married life shenanigans!!

JASON TODD was kneeled down before you, on his knee, working ever so gently to slip the black leather heel onto your foot, adjusting the ankle strap perfectly.

once he was done, he lifted your leg and pressed a kiss against your thigh, lingering for a quiet moment before standing up right, his hands immediately settling onto your waist.

in response, your own hands trailed over his chest before arranging his suit, fixing his tie just to tug it once more, pulling him close so you could kiss his cheek. lipstick remained where you did not, and you chuckled delicately, running your thumb over it.

“something funny to you, mrs. todd?”

“a little. you, actually.”

“oh, really now.” he whispered, his lips a mere inch away from yours.

“mhmm.”

he chuckled himself, the sound reverberating around your insides, shooting shockwaves up your spine, and sewing itself into the walls of your heart.

a million little words, so many promises, scattered across his eyes. how many could you count in a second? and how many could you translate before he blinked?

“you’re breathtaking.” he murmured, skillfully leaning down to steal a proper kiss, fulfilling every dream you possibly could have dreamed. he was a sanctuary, you could rest your entire soul in his arms.

“and you’re sweet.” you inched away, pressing a hand against his chest. “but we still have work to do.”

“you’re no fun.”

“i’m plenty fun, and you know that.” you tut, taking a handkerchief and wiping away the red mark on his cheek.

“my wife... married to the job before me.”

“oh, hush. ceo of the sassy man apocalypse.”

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Jason Todd is lucky enough to have a s/o who gets the vigilante thing, you have since he was Robin. Of course you’ll worry and fuss and absolutely rip him a new one while patching him up when he comes home hurt, but you let him do his thing, let him go out on patrol, because you understand it’s important - to him and the city.

And then one day he comes home to find his gear haphazardly hidden throughout the apartment. It’s not particularly well done; his helmet comes tumbling out from the cupboard under the sink when he opens it, his guns peek out from behind the plates and part of his armor almost trips him up from its’ new place under the couch. Meanwhile you’re nowhere to be found and he’s desperately trying to figure out if he’s walked into some half cooked, ridiculous prank or if he should actually be worried. And then the front door opens to you, balancing several containers from your favorite takeout place in your arms, and greeting him with a smile like always.

It takes Jason all of ten minutes to understand that, despite your best efforts to keep up appearances, something’s wrong.

It’s in the way you don’t let him out of your sight for more than five seconds at a time. In the way your eyes will find your wristwatch every other minute, like you’re waiting for something and time can’t seem to pass fast enough. In the way you’re constantly touching him one way or another: an arm around his waist, a hand on the small of his back or your shoulder against his when you both finally end up on the couch, takeout containers in hand and some silly, brightly colored game show on the TV in the background.

After you get up for the third time to convince yourself that the door and all windows are definitely locked, he almost asks what’s going on, but then you trudge back over and all but collapse on his splayed out form on the couch with a heavy sigh, body coiled tight like a spring and an absolute death grip on his shirt. And he decides against prying right then and there, because… because he’s had days like this.

Days when everything feels wrong and he’s hurting. Days when he doesn’t want to talk about that drug lord that got away or the kid he wasn’t fast enough to save or his last fight with Bruce. Days when he just wants to exist in the same space as his favorite person for a while without having to explain himself - and you don’t push or prod in those moments, you just let him be. He knows he can talk to you if he wants, but that’s not always what he needs. Not extending the same courtesy to you right now would make him nothing more than a cruel hypocrite.

So he simply wraps his arms around you a little bit tighter and gently, teasingly reminds you that, “You can always ask me to ditch patrol and stay with you. No need to turn my gear into a tripping hazard.” He receives a quiet, affirmative hum in response and that’s good enough for now. Eventually, even though he tries to fight it for a bit, he dozes off with you still tucked safely against him, his nose buried in your hair; god knows when he last allowed himself a proper nights’ rest. Any other day this would be enough to calm you; having him right here, letting his strong, steady heartbeat lull you to sleep - not today.

No, today you will not find rest for another hour and forty two minutes at least, if experience is anything to go by. Experience that says that the tension keeping your body wound tight and your brain abuzz with anxiety will not subside until you can watch the hands of the clock on the wall crawl over the twelve, signaling the beginning of a new day.

You’re not sure if he’s realized what today is; if he’s figured out the pattern. That you use different methods to virtually trap him inside the apartment on the same damn day every year. If he has, he’s playing along for your sake, if he hasn’t… just as well, you don’t want him to know. Rationally speaking, you’re aware that this is utterly ridiculous. It was a random day back then, it could be any random day now. And yet… you can’t help it.

He can go be a hero and risk his life any other day of the year, but April 27th? April 27th he stays right here with you, where you can keep him safe and sound and make sure history doesn’t repeat itself.

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going to your best friends house just to fuck his brother ?!?!

Jason is 18 and reader is 19 :3

You woke up with a message from your best friend, Dick. "Wanna come over?" you loved going to Dick's house, you liked his dad, he was really nice, the house was big and comfy. But what you loved the most was his brother Jason.

You arrived at lunch time, Dick went to open the door excited. His little brother Damian ran towards you and hugged you. "Hey little man" you messed up his hair playfully.

Dick made you sit on the table next to him, with his dad on the other side and Damian, there was a place where no one was sitting at. "Where's Jason?" Bruce asked. "Upstairs" Dick mumbled as he ate his food. "Do you want me to go get him, Mr Wayne?" you asked, he allowed it and you ran upstairs to go get Jason.

You knocked his door. "Fuck off!" he shouted, but you opened the door anyways.

"Hi Jay" you greeted him as you looked around his room. he blushes instantly and move from his bed, leaving space for you to sit. "you missed me?" your hands played with his hair.

"yeah" he pulls you on for a kiss, and after a couple of kisses he's on top of you, covering you with his big body, kisses came and go and his hand was already playing with your pussy through your panties. "did she miss me as well?" you nodded as you grip at his shoulders. he takes his shirt off, allowing you to see his toned body.

you pulled his sweatpants down, making his hard cock slap against your tummy, he slowly entered it into your hole, and you almost let out a moan, but his hand covered your mouth. "shh, you don't want anyone to hear us, do you?" you shaked your head, he tried to keep it quiet, but the pounding made the bed squeak. and without realizing, everyone downstairs knew what you were doing.

suddenly the door opens. "Jason" he turns around and Bruce is standing on the frame "where's Richard's friend?" your head appears on his sight, your makeup was ruined and Jason's hand was on your mouth. "get dressed, Jason."

requests and reposts are appreciated !!

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🜼 ⋆ clark kent using his super strength to fuck you mid-air.

clark knows it’s over if you’re both caught doing this.

yet here he is, his tie shoved up over his shoulder and your panties dangling from your feet somewhere around his ankle. the office door is locked—maybe, you’re both far from going a slight fuck—and the blinds are half-closed, and your desk chair squeaks in protest every time he thrusts up into you with too much force.

but clark’s kissing you like he’s been waiting all day to get his mouth on yours, and fucking you like he can’t afford to wait anymore.

you’re straddling his lap, knees barely clinging to the edge of the seat, your body rocking with every desperate grind of his hips. his cock’s buried so deep inside you it’s dizzying—too deep, thick and stretching, every roll of his hips punching little gasps out of you that he swallows whole.

“you feel—fuck—you feel so good,” he pants, voice ragged in your ear. “can’t believe we waited this long—fuck—”

and then, it’s subtle at first, you clamping on him.

you shift just right, tighten around him without meaning to, and his hands flex where they’re gripping your thighs. too tight. not painful, but like his restraint is cracking.

“clark—” you start, but don’t finish, because suddenly the chair tips back a little and then— nothing.

your breath catches.

you’re not sitting anymore, matter of fact, you’re off the floor and clark motherfucking kent is holding you mid-air, hands gripped under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing, like you’re just something to keep in place while he fucks up into you from below—harder now, sharper, angling deeper with each thrust like gravity doesn’t even apply anymore.

“clark—what—”

“shhh,” he leans in. muttering words, his forehead pressed to yours, hair falling over his brow, eyes dark behind his glasses. “can’t hold back—need you, baby—need to use you—”

and he does.

he fucks you like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, like you’re just the perfect fit to keep his cock warm, to fuck into and stay buried in. his grip never slips, never falters, never even shakes—he just holds you mid-air like you’re weightless, bouncing you on his cock like your body was made to take it.

you’re gasping, half-senseless, clinging to his shoulders like it’ll stop the way he’s fucking the soul out of you. you don’t even think to question how strong he is.

he’s clark.

your sweet, soft-spoken, infuriatingly humble clark and right now he’s rutting into you like a goddamn machine, leaving you breathless and spasming on his girth-y cock.

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My Name is Brutus (And My Name Means Heavy)

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader

The legacy of your grandfather comes with a heavy crown, one partially melted and reformed in flames that should have killed him. Akin to the fire that should have killed you but took your mother instead, leaving you with the same scars that Niki Lauda wouldn’t wish on another, least of all his own grandchild. Yet here you stand, drawing the ire of McLaren’s golden boy, with a twisted crown of his own to wear as you throw everything he was used to to the flames. You force him to adapt overnight when you join the team suddenly after an unknown incident that sends you sprawling as you try to cope with the sudden change in team. You terrify him. And he terrifies you. And somewhere, James Hunt is cackling that Niki Lauda’s child is frighteningly similar to him.

masterlist | ask about the series | A/B/O Stuff

I. ive been watching him for my entire life II. I hate the air he breathes his foolish decrees III. his words so contrived IV. and I hate the way the townspeople gather outside V. they hang on every breath VI. cling to his chest VII. home to his heart full of pride VIII. the oracle told him to beware the ides

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Incorrect Quotes (Telemachus x Fem! reader)

Note: Most of these are within the context from my work "Noctuary" so i recommend you to check it out if u haven't :D

Some quotes are a little intimate but overall it is just crack dkdbdi

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

Odysseus : So you're the one my son keeps writing poems about?

Reader : ....He writes poems about me?

Telemachus : FATHER!

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

Reader : *Sighs* I have no friends...

Telemachus (Visibly Offended) : AHEM? Woman? What am I? a Roach??

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

Telemachus : Oh god you're bleeding!Quick! What's your type??

Reader (hissing in pain) : Ah... Tall.. Dark curls... Sweet.....Adorable....Looks good covered in blood...

Telemachus (blushing) : W-what?!

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

" WHO'S THAT MACHUS? (Pokémon) "

Reader : It's Telemachus!

" It's Eurymachus ! "

Reader : FUUUCCCKKK.

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

Antinous : Aren't you a little too young to be a handmaiden?

Reader : Aren't you a little too young to be courting the queen?

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

Telemachus : I punched Eurymachus in the face today.

Reader : What!? Are you crazy?!

Telemachus : No..? My mother had me tested.

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Nurse Eurycleia : You are bleeding, unarmed, and barefoot in the royal halls!

Odysseus/Telemachus : You can't arrest me, I'm in love!

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Telemachus : Can I try to flirt with you?

Reader : Sure..?

Telamachus : PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

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

Reader : You look good in your chiton

Telemachus : Thank You! You know where else I'd look good on? :3

Reader : On top of me.

Telemachus : By your side— what?

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

Reader : I'm not ready to go outside.

Telemachus : That's okay. I'll stay inside with you forever if that's what you want.

" YOU'RE THE CROWN PRINCE YOU CAN'T JUST- "

Telemachus : SHHHHHΗΗΗΗΗ

Reader : 🧍

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

Telemachus : I missed you so much.

Reader : I just went to the bathroom.

Telemachus (dramatically) : You don't know pain.

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

Reader : Did you lie to the Queen.

Telemachus : ..Define lie?

Reader : Telemachus.

Telemachus : Okay but in my defense.....okay, i don’t have one.

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Telemachus : You're not allowed to say I’m dramatic when YOU are the one who threw a fig at Antinous for looking at me

Reader : Telemachus. He insulted your hair and said you looked like a girl. I was defending your honor.

Telemachus : ..You're so perfect for me.

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

Telemachus : Truth or Dare

Reader : hmm truth

Telemachus : How many hours have you slept this week?

Reader : ..I choose dare..

Telemachus : I dare you to go to sleep.

Reader : I don't like this game.

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

Reader : Telemachus, you do remember when we agreed we were better off as friends, right?

Telemachus (half naked in bed) : No, I absolutely do not.

Reader (already taking off their clothes) : Damn... Me neither.

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

Reader : I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine.

Telemachus : But, darling, I'll be so lonely without youu. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again.

Reader : Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns??

Telemachus : Is it working?

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

Thirteen year old Reader (trying to flirt) : So... you come around here often?

Thirteen year old Telemachus (confused) : I mean, this is my house, so yeah.

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

Reader : I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you...

Telemachus : Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.

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

Reader : Stop doing that.

Telemachus : Stop doing what?

Reader : Saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell out of you.

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

Odysseus (talking to Reader and Telemachus) : You two look good together. I'd put you guys in a boat.

Telemachus : You'd put us in a boat?

Odysseus : Yes, a boat. Isn't that what young people say when they think two people would make a good couple?

Reader : You mean you ship us?

Odysseus : Yes. I "ship" you two.

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

Reader : Do you ever just see something that changes your life and you're just like, huh.

Telemachus : I saw you.

Reader : Honestly that's so nice and sweet and it makes this really awkward because I was just gonna show you this drawing I made of antinous as an antidepressant pill

I KNOW I SAID THAT WAS MY LAST TELEMACHUS FIC BUT I COULDN'T HELP BUT MOVE ON FROM EPIC AAAAAAA, some of these I got from Tumblr, vines and even some just made up, BEKDBDKD just wanna say thank you for everyone support and love!!! Mwa mwaaa

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geek out | henry loomis

summary: henry convinced you to come along to Ile Saint-Hubert, you both are excited to see living dinosaurs

warnings: Jurassic World Rebirth spoilers

word count: ~1.5k

notes: I didn’t proof read ❤️ never will ❤️ I love him ❤️

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Each and every part of this trip continued to leave both you and Henry in complete shock and awe. It began with seeing the Mosasaurus in the water, the two of you likely being the only ones to actually smile at the sight. How could you not? The creature was gorgeous. She looked so healthy, and was so impressively living.

And, although Henry and you had shouted the dangers and cautions to the team as you escaped the spinosaurus’ on shore, the two of you had also spent several minutes together afterwards marveling at their speed in the water, and their wits in circling prey for the Mosasaur. Excited smiles, and overlapping words as you both spewed compliment after compliment for these creatures. You’d earned several eye rolls from Martin at this point, and a handful of concerned looks from Zora.

“I don’t get how the two of you could be so excited when everything we’ve interacted with has tried killing us.” But she had a smile too. It was somewhat endearing, if she was honest. The two of you were cute enough to watch as you geeked out with one another.

You’d stayed close together on the walks in between, arms often bumping in to one another as you were hardly focused on your path. Your eyes were too distracted by trying to take in the plants around you, and attempting to spot any other hidden creatures. You squeezed his hand as you both whispered about what you hoped to see on the trip.

And as the mission continued and you got the second necessary blood sample, Zora began to understand your reason for excitement. Seeing the Titanosaurus was life changing. For Zora, seeing something so massive yet so gentle was nearly incomprehensible. The way the creatures moved together, clearly having some sort of connection that she never even considered to be a possibility.

For you and Henry, it was an exciting confirmation of everything you could ever dream of. To see them existing, and seeing the way that they were just like every living thing. Seeking love, seeking connection. Both of you were brought to tears, enveloping one another in only the biggest of hugs and warmest of kisses.

But, eventually, you had to move on. There was a final sample to get and both you and Henry found yourselves bubbling with yet another excitement at the prospect of not just seeing but holding a dinosaur egg. And not just any dinosaur, but a Quetzalcoatlus. It was another moment of complete and utter adoration even in the face of danger.

You and Henry had shared another impressed smile when she made her way to her eggs. Your smile was quickly wiped when the dino began pecking, (with her stellar beak that was nothing less than impressive to see) but both of your observations of her continued. The way she moved, her instinct to protect her eggs, the color of her eyes, her response to auditory distractions. You both wanted to soak in every possible detail you could catch, planning to pull out a notebook and write it all down.

However, your heart fell to your stomach the second that rope snapped and sent Henry over the edge. Zora was quick to react, and it was good for your sakes that the Quetzalcoatlus had left the cave, but Henry was so determined.

“It’s gonna snap!” Zora shouted to him, both your eyes glued right on where the rope was fraying.

Your palms had never felt this sore before, holding desperately on to the rope to help as best you could. But it was no use, both you and Zora hardly had a good position yourselves, and Henry was determined to get the sample as it rested just on the ledge.

The rope snapped, your stomach dropped. Henry had shouted happily about getting the sample just before plummeting to the ground. Your mind was screaming as you ran as fast as you possibly could, through ancient ruins that you otherwise would’ve so desperately wanted to explore had Henry not been in such danger.

“Fuck,” You muttered as you stumbled and nearly fell.

Zora grabbed your arm to help you keep your balance as you both bolted. “Hey, slow down. We’ll be of no help if we both eat shit on the way down.”

You could hardly hear her as you continued on. He’d hit vegetation on his way down, that was a good sign. You had hoped it was enough to soften his fall and land him safely because you needed that to be the case. You’d come too far on this mission, and loved Henry too much to have this be the end.

The sun blared through the ruin’s opening, your eyes squinting as you rushed out and immediately began looking for him. You heard movement in nearby water and went that direction with no hesitation. Zora was somehow still shocked by your lack of self preservation even after everything that had just happened. You were lucky it wasn’t something dangerous in the water.

“Henry!” You shouted, eagerly hoping and waiting for a response.

More splashing could be heard. “Did you see that?” An excited voice. It was him, you recognized him immediately.

Your heart allowed itself to slow down, and your shoulders had a weight lifted. But your brows were still furrowed with concern, and now there was an overwhelming relief washing over. Your pace quickened, if possible.

Henry was absolutely beaming with an ear to ear smile. He was sat in a small body of water, sample canister in hand and entirely soaked from head to toe. You both were laughing, likely just processing everything that happened and both glad to see you made it out. There was no hesitation as you trudged right into the water, successfully soaking your own clothes now.

“Are you hurt?” Your hands cupped his face, tilting his head in various directions as you checked for any obvious injuries.

Henry just kept smiling, his free hand resting on your waist. “It was breathtaking,” he wasn’t talking about the fall. “She was gorgeous, and those eggs. I actually held the egg of a Quetzalcoatlus.”

Zora stood at the edge of the water and watched the two of you. Henry was moving, and talking. She took those things as a good sign, and was less amazed at this point that he wasted no time in gushing about the damn dinosaur.

And the second that you knew he was okay, you jumped right in too. “She looked so much like Mark Witton’s depiction.”

“The blue pycnofibres!” He exclaimed in agreement and another burst of excited laughter.

You smiled down at him, his face still in your hands. His eyes showed no signs of regret in going for the vial and inevitably falling, just a genuine love for his work and excitement in getting to share it with you.

“Think it’s about time you thank me for convincing you to come along.” Henry joked as his hand gently squeezed your side. “After all, you have seen several dinosaurs while here.”

Another quiet laugh, your thumb skimmed over his cheek. None of it felt real. “I’ve also seen my husband nearly die, and almost died myself.”

He hummed, kissing your lips and trying to sound convincing at a whisper. “But you also saw a Titanosaurus… and Apatosaurus, Mosasaurus…” another small kiss. “Ankylosaurus, Spinosaurus, Quetzalcoatlus.”

He gave another kiss, although you accepted it you also rolled your eyes.

You hadn’t noticed, but everyone had regrouped by this point. Martin pulled you both back to your reality as he shouted to ask about the sample. The only thing that mattered to him.

You looked at him over your shoulder, letting go of Henry. Krebs was a selfish, greedy bastard. He hadn’t known what happened, and didn’t care to know. No use in retelling it to a man who only spoke one language. He wanted money. That wasn’t Henry’s reason for risking his life for that sample.

Henry leaned over to proudly show him the canister, hand still on your hip. “You thought we’d leave without it?”

Martin let out a sigh of relief, hands on his knees as he caught his breath from the run. The others were resting too, recuperating and doing their damn best to previously ignore the dino rant from you and Henry. They all hated that beast and couldn’t stomach the idea of appreciating a thing about it at the moment.

Henry finally stood from the water, holding your hand for support. Both your hands held on, and you stayed closer to him now than you had before. Just because you could still admire these creatures for what they are didn’t mean you didn’t become increasingly more cautious of their dangers. Henry too.

He squeezed your hand, giving you a kiss atop your head. His smile still had yet to falter. “Well, let’s see what we come across next, hmm?”

do y’all want a fic about medic!reader next, or a total switch up about the rock wall at his gym 🤭 let me know

check out my first henry fic

[randomgurl2326]

Superman vs. The Flu - Clark Kent x f!reader

a/n: it's been 84 years... sorry this is trash. I haven't written in so long. Going to dissociate at work and not think about this.

Warnings: sickness, vague allusions to sex

Summary: Being married to Superman is all fun and games until you get the flu and he, a Kryptonian, has never experienced illness.

Masterlist // Mobile Masterlist

It was easy to forget that your husband was an otherworldly being, and not the human man he pretended to be. But when you woke up on the couch to him literally hovering over you, it knocked the sense right back into you.

“Are you okay?” Clark asked. Panic laced his words and he reached out to cup your cheeks, his brows furrowing when he felt the heat radiating from your skin. What started as a minor headache when you woke up that morning had turned into a full blown body ache by lunchtime. You left work early and tried not to fall asleep on the bus ride home, and nearly tripped going up the stairs to your apartment. In a valiant effort to get some work done at home, you gave up when your teeth started chattering from both the cold and the aches in your bones. That’s when you decided to take a nap on the couch, forgetting to text Clark that you left work early and he didn’t need to wait for you outside of work.

“Hey, sorry,” you mumbled out. You began to sit up, but he pressed his hands gently against your shoulders and guided you back down to the soft cushions below you.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Poison?” His words came faster and faster as he ran his hands along your body. You waved him off and burrowed closer to the pillow.

“‘S just a cold,” you murmured. “Head hurts.”

His shoulders relaxed with his exhale, and you immediately regretted not texting him. Clark shouldered the burden of the world’s problems, and here you were, making it worse.

“Sorry I didn’t text. I fell asleep.” Clark’s gaze softened and you wanted to melt under the gentle smile he offered you. He leaned closer so he could draw the edges of a blanket up and over your shoulder. His movements offered you a peak under his disheveled shirt, exposing a sliver of the blue uniform he wore underneath. You felt like a Victorian maiden seeing a man’s forearm. Clark wore his wedding ring proudly, as did you, but you still felt like a blushing virgin sometimes when it came to this man.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You just rest, okay? Anything you want for dinner?”

You weren’t nauseous, per se, but the idea of stomaching down a lot of food wasn’t appealing. “Just some toast, please.”

The furrow between his brows grew more pronounced. “Alright. I can manage toast.”

When you woke the next morning, it felt like you had been struck by a train or stepped on by Solomon Grundy. Your head and muscles both ached, and now your throat ached. It felt like even your teeth hurt. A raspy cough escaped you and you winced.

“Hey.” Clark stood in the doorway of the bedroom, his tie half tied. You sat up and pressed the back of your hand against your forehead.

“Can you grab me the thermometer?”

Clark put a little bit of his enhanced speed into his walk from the bathroom and back. He sat beside you on the bed and raised the plastic to your lips. You eased it under your tongue. As you waited for it to beep, Clark settled his hand against your back.

“You’re hot,” he murmured. You wiggled your brows at him, but he clearly wasn’t in a joking mood based on the unimpressed stare you received in return. The thermometer beeped and you reached up to look at the number.

“Shit.” Your voice was raspy and strained. “I’m going to have to call out.”

Clark flipped the thermometer so he could see it and immediately reached for his phone. “99.7? I’m calling out too.”

“No, Clark, you don’t have to. Really, I just need to rest and I’ll be fine.”

Instead of answering you, Clark held his phone up to his ear. “Yeah, Perry? I’m not going to be able to come in today. My wife is sick and she needs me.” He paused and listened to the other man’s reply. “I can write whatever you need me to from home. Yeah. Thanks for understanding.”

“You’re an ass,” you mumbled into your pillows. Clark ignored you once more and kept his focus on this phone. He tapped the screen and set it down between the two of you, a smug grin on his face.

“Hi Ma,” he said once the line picked up. “You’re on speaker.”

“Are you with my favorite daughter-in-law?” Ma Kent exclaimed.

“Yeah, she’s not feeling too good.” You rolled your eyes at the way his Kansas accent slipped just a little into his words as he spoke, but it was out of fondness. Clark stood and began to strip off his work clothes.

“It’s just a cold, Mrs. Kent,” you tried to explain.

“Fever nearly at 100,” Clark shouted from the closet. He re-emerged clad in some basketball shorts and a soft, worn t-shirt from the Smallville FFA club.

“What’s your symptoms, sweetheart?”

“Headache, muscle ache, fatigue, fever, chills, sore throat, cough…” Your nose scrunched in thought. “My head hurts.”

Ma Kent let out a hum. “Sounds more like the flu than a cold, darling. Have you called out sick from work? You need to rest.”

“Already emailed her boss,” Clark butted in, and you had half a mind to throw a pillow at him.

“Clark, you listen here,” Martha’s voice trailed off as Clark snatched up the phone and hurried into the kitchen to grab a notepad. You settled back onto the pillows and let out a raspy sigh. Sure, the flu had been making its way through Metropolis, but it was one of those things that you were vaguely aware of. Usually, your mind was on other things, like making sure Clark wasn’t getting the snot beat out of him on the regular, and what to make for dinner.

Damn, you were shivering, you noted. You drew the blankets up and huddled closer to Clark’s spot on the bed where the remnants of his warmth lingered. When he returned to the bedroom, he could only see the top of your head from under the duvet.

“I’m going to run to the store really quick and grab some stuff Ma told me to get,” he explained. He knelt by the bed and reached out to card his fingers through your hair, the callouses of his fingers brushing gently against your temple. “Will you be okay for a bit?”

“Of course. I’ve had the flu before, baby,” you assured him. “I’ll be fine.” All you needed was some rest and some fluids and you would be set.

When you woke up again, the sun was significantly higher than it had been when your alarm first went off. You heard shuffling in the kitchen and emerged from the bedroom, your fuzzy Metropolis Meteors blanket wrapped around you. Clark smiled when you made a beeline for the couch and immediately flopped onto the worn cushions.

“That was a long shopping trip,” you said without accusation.

“Some slime monster attacked the Taj Mahal,” he admitted. “And then I had slime all over me so I flew through a rainstorm in England-”

“Likely place for it to be raining.”

“And then I found a nice slip stream to fly through to dry off. Then I went shopping.”

“Did you stop in to see your other family on the way back?”

You could practically hear his eye roll. It was always a running joke between the two of you. You loved giving him shit for his understandable disappearances, and Clark was a good sport.

“Yes, my other wife says hi, by the way,” he drawled. 

“As the founding member of the Superman harem, I should really send her a fruit basket.” You sighed dramatically and laid your head back against the couch cushions, watching your husband putter around the kitchen. When he finally put the last items away, he made his way to you with a bottle of Gatorade in one hand and medicine in the other.

“I got the severe to help knock out that fever,” he explained as he poured the thick liquid into the little cup. You gratefully took it from him and studied the color.

“You got the berry flavor,” you said, unhelpfully. He frowned and reached to take the cup back but you pulled away and downed it quickly.

“Of course. You hate the taste of artificial cherries.”

And that is precisely why you married him. Even though he had to stop mid-thrust to go fight some kaiju, Clark Kent was the most thoughtful, conscientious person you knew. And you loved that about him.

You put the cup down on the coffee table and scooted over, patting the empty cushions beside you. He huffed out a quiet laugh and settled down on the couch. You immediately gravitated towards him and he laid down so you could plant yourself on his chest, your cheek resting right where he usually displayed his symbol.

“Feel okay?” He slung one arm over your back and the other across your shoulders. His hand tangled in your hair and he scratched your scalp. Bastard, you thought as your body practically melted into his arms. He knows this is my weakness.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Jus’ tired.”

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here.”

The two of you watched reruns of Ice Road Truckers until the Nyquil took hold of you and you slipped into a drug-induced sleep as your alien husband stroked your hair.

Your alien husband who wasn’t affected by human pathogens.

Your alien husband who didn’t realize that the flu got worse before it got better.

Your alien husband who battled monsters, mayhem, and madmen, and was about to be defeated by worry.

The first day was uneventful, but it was the second day that things changed.

“Noooo,” you whined when Clark left the bed, letting a draft of cool air into your blanket pile. You shivered and tucked the blanket around you once more. Your teeth rattled with the force of your trembles, and you blinked up at Clark with bleary, blood-shot eyes.

“You’re burning up.” Panic laced his words and you wished you had the mental capacity to calm him down, but all of your energy was focused on not coughing up your lungs. Clark was at your side the second a muffled cough escaped you. He held the thermometer out for you to take and you tried to keep your jaw from shaking as you slipped it under your tongue.

Clark always made sure to keep that cool, steady composure around you, but you still recognized the fear in his eyes. You reached out from under the blankets to blindly fumble for his hand. He grasped it and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, and then leaned forward to lay one against your temple too.

“102,” he said once the thermometer beeped.

“‘M cold and hot at the same time,” you mumbled. “And my head hurts. And throat.”

Clark hesitated. He was so used to being the person that jumped into action without a second thought and now he was stuck between a million different ideas and decisions. What did he do? For someone so used to using his fists to beat back problems, Superman was at a loss.

Seeing you curled up into a ball, clearly in pain…he was powerless.

But there was one person he knew he could reach out to who had the answers.

“Ma, her fever has risen,” he said quietly into the phone. Clark stood by the bedroom door so he could peek in and check to make sure you were still breathing. It wasn’t as if he had super hearing or anything. “Should I take her to the ER? Call her doctor?”

“Hey.” Martha Kent could always tell when her son started to get riled up. “Hey, Clarky, she’s going to be fine. Just breathe. Go fill up the bathtub with lukewarm water. It’ll help her body sort out what to feel.”

She rattled off a few more instructions that he made a mental list of as he turned on the faucet. Just hearing his Ma’s voice helped calm down some of his panic and he mentally repeated her instructions once he hung up.

“Okay, baby, let’s go,” he announced as he drew the blankets back. You grunted in irritation, but he ignored your ire in favor of scooping you up into his arms. Clark was always so warm and strong that you wanted to just nestle your face in the crook of his neck and never leave.

But then he set you down on the toilet lid and started to lift your shirt. Now, you weren’t one to turn your hot alien husband away, but you had a raging fever and hadn’t showered in two days.

“Gotta get you in the bath, honey,” he said in response to your confused look. Oh, that made sense. Clark helped you shimmy off your plaid pajama pants, emblazoned with the Superman logo on the ass, and then stared blankly at your underwear.

“Really?” You started to tug down the offending fabric with a shrug.

“There was a buy five, get one free deal, okay?” You tossed the Green Lantern thong onto the pile of clothes and made to stand. Clark was by your side in a second, his hands encircling your waist as you stepped into the tub. He helped you ease down into a sitting position in the cold water and then he gathered your hair and pinned it out of the way.

“Alright, we’re just going to stay here until the meds kick in and we can bring that fever down a little.” Clark already had a bunch of items lined up on the sink. He sat crosslegged beside the tub and tore off a piece of toast. You reached out to grab it, but he shook his head and lifted it to your lips. He did this piece by piece until you finished the toast and then he grabbed a banana and kept up the same task, diligently feeding you. 

You curled your legs up to your chest to provide you with a tiny semblance of modesty. Sure, he had seen you naked hundreds of times. He had carved you open with his touch and kissed you with enough fire to make you burn, but this was different. This was intimate in a way you had never experienced and for a moment, you felt a rise of guilt boil up in your throat.

And to your mortification, tears built in your eyes. Maybe it was the delirium from the fever or maybe it was because your jaw was still clattering from chills. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you were the wife of Superman, the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and despite your best efforts, here he was, having to take care of you too.

You tried so hard to not burden Clark with your problems because home was supposed to be the place he could shed the weight of Superman, and just relax. Sure, you regaled him with stories of office drama and your friend’s antics, but you tried to solve all of your problems before they could reach him. And this? This was the opposite of that.

“Hey.” God, his voice was so gentle that it made the tears come faster. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

You shook your head, not able to bring yourself to speak. Instead, you just buried your face in your knees. His hand rested on your back and he rubbed circles into your skin, making you want to cry harder. You were a mess. A snotty, fever-riddled, emotional mess. He deserved better. He deserved stability and calm and…and…

“Do you remember that time when I tripped on my cape and fell face first into manure?” Clark’s thumb traced shapes into your skin as he spoke and you sucked in a shaky inhale. You turned so you could see him, your cheek pressed against your knee. He offered you a small, gentle smile and kept talking.

“Or that time you and Ma were baking pie until you realized Pa and I had given all the apples to the horses? Never seen Ma so mad. And the look on your face.” He huffed out a quiet laugh and then gently rubbed his knuckles against your cheek, swiping away tear stains.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, honey?”

You pressed closer into his touch and he shuffled closer to the edge of the tub. Clark drew you towards him so your head rested on his shoulder and he could stroke your cheek. His breath tickled your hair, but you savored how close he was.

“I’m sorry you had to call off work to take care of me,” you mumbled. Clark’s muscles bunched up underneath your cheek and you shut your eyes, not daring to look at him.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” More of his Kansas accent bled through his words and you knew he was mad. “Sweetheart, I made a vow to take care of you.”

“I know.” The whine in your voice was pathetic, but you were too wiped to care right now. “But you’re always so…so on for everyone else that I don’t want you to feel like you have to be Superman here too! You give so much of yourself to the world and it’s not fair to expect you to have to give even more.”

“Hey.” He drew your chin up and waited until you opened your eyes, meeting his steely blue gaze. Clark thumbed at your bottom lip and studied your face for a moment. “In this home, with you, I’m your husband. That’s all that I care about. I made a vow, in sickness and in health, and I take my vows seriously.”

“I know. I just feel bad,” you whispered. He sighed and let his head fall, his forehead pressing against yours. You let your eyes flutter shut once more as he brushed a kiss against the bridge of your nose.

“I love you,” Clark murmured. “And I never want you to feel like you’re a burden because you’re not. You’ve picked me up a million times. You’ve seen me at some of my lowest moments. You’ve watched me get my ass kicked over and over, and yet you stayed. This? Us? This is a partnership, sweetheart. There’s no debt or tally. It’s you and me. Not you versus me.”

“But-”

“If you keep arguing with me, I swear to-”

“Okay!” You laughed at his growing irritation and opened your eyes. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Clark stole a quick kiss from you. “Good news is your fever is dropping. Time for meds.”

He carefully hauled you out of the tub and wrapped you in a towel. You were smaller than his huge form on a good day, but right now you felt practically miniscule next to him. Clark bundled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head.

“I love you,” you whispered. You knew he heard it.

When you were sufficiently dried off, Clark tugged one of his threadbare Smallville High shirts over your head. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched you carefully for any sign of wavering steps. You decided not to comment on his choice of undergarments and merely pulled the Superman thong on. Once finished, he pulled you in between his spread legs and settled his hands on your waist.

“Good?”

You nodded and held up your hand, pinkie outstretched. He wrapped his around yours and laid a kiss against your intertwined fingers. “Good.”

He was right. The two of you made a vow. To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. And if he cried at the end of Pitch Perfect (“it’s just so nice to see them achieving their dreams”), you wouldn’t tell a soul. To love and to cherish, and all that.

[randomgurl2326]

so i watched superman tonight and my mind is pooling out of my ears thinking about clark kent being dropped off at his parent’s ranch after he’s hurt and bumping into the sweet girl he hasn’t seen in years who still brings his parents milk and cheese from her cow, and offers to feed their chickens, and she’s so cute with her frilly blouses and denim shorts, all flushed cheeks and shy smiles and he looks so different! in all his city boy glory, but she stills sees the young gangly clark she grew up with and had a massive soul-crushing crush on and nggghhhh

[randomgurl2326]

Roll for Love

Chance x Reader

Fandom: Date Everything

Note: Surprise, I now write for Date Everything! I have not played through the entire game yet, so I tried to namedrop people, but there are definitely some missed opportunities here. But yes, welcome to the thing that has been living in my head rent free for the last month or so. Genuinely probably the best $30 I have spent in recent years. Also, I have not played much D&D irl, so my G&G lingo is dubious at best. This is set pre-canon and pre-Dateviators, so just roll with me here (hehe see what I did there). ((Also I skipped Nightmare’s route, so I’m sorry if she’s a little out of character. It’s set before the game, so I figure her relationship with Reader probably isn’t great right now anyway))

Summary: For the last couple years, you've been taking ValdiVitamins brand Melatonin every night to get to sleep, but they have some...weird side effects on your subconscious at night. Before college graduation, before your job at Valdivian, you had Chance, even if your waking mind didn't always know it.

Warnings: Nightmares, panic attack/sleep paralysis symptoms, hurt/comfort, some swearing

Word Count: 14.1k

Reader Is: Human, female, in college

Dealer’s Choice

Since you’d started taking melatonin your sophomore year of college, your dreams had been…weird, to put it lightly. But if your options were sleepless nights and odd slightly-lucid tumbles through your dreamscape every night…the choice was pretty clear.

And therefore, you had been running for…well, you weren’t sure how long, from a giant creature with a horse head and a giant gaping, glowing mouth where its stomach was supposed to be.

Your foot caught on something and you tripped headfirst into a…pillow fort? Or a massive tent of some kind, maybe, fabric stretched across the ceiling and walls, mounted with what appeared to be massive pencils. Gold shapes were etched into the black fabric. It was familiar, in a way, but you didn’t have the wherewithal to put together where you recognized it from.

You’d never been in here before, you were sure. You would certainly have remembered somewhere so cozy and…warm. A few paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, strings of lights filling in the blanks.

Over at a large table, there was a guy hunched, a pencil in his hand, the other deep in a bag of chips. He looked up at you, eyes widening. After a long moment, frozen, he pulled his hand out of the bag, brushing the crumbs onto his pants and scrambling to his feet, over towards where you were collapsed.

“H-Holy crit…Hi…” He stared at you, his eyes gliding over your form, shielded by his square, red-tinted glasses. He had a quaff of dark brown hair, swept up and away from his face. Square jaw, soft, smooth skin. Flushed cheeks, at the moment. He was a big guy, tall and broad, solid, a good bit of heft in his middle. A pair of black sweatpants sat on his hips, a red cutoff hoodie atop a white undershirt adding to his overall very huggable appearance.

“Hi. Um…”

“I never thought you’d come in here. I heard you’d been bopping around, but…”

“You…you know who I am?”

His gaze softened and he knelt down on the rug beside you, assessing you for damage. “Of course I know who you are. You’re (Y/N). Are…are you okay?”

“I…I had a pretty bad nightmare. I get them sometimes. I’m okay now.” You insisted, dusting yourself off. You glanced back towards the entrance of the fort. He did, too, something in him sinking at the thought of you leaving so soon.

“You, uh…you don’t have to go back out there. You can stay.”

“I don’t want to intrude. Really, it’s…it’s fine.”

“No, really. Come on in. Sit down over here. I’ve got a beanbag I know you’ll love and more snacks than you could ever need.” He offered a large hand, helping you up with ease. Unlike some of the other characters you had met in this place, there didn’t seem to be a twist to this one. No tricks, no games, well, aside from the tabletop one he seemed to be planning on his table. He was just a nerd. A friendly one. You could tell you were safe there.

He guided you over to the aforementioned beanbag, tucked into the corner of his cozy little workspace, a big cushy thing. It was red and yellow striped. You settled into it with ease. He dug through the snack cabinet on the wall. “What are you feeling, sweet, salty, dealer’s choice?”

“Surprise me.” You said, crossing your legs and getting comfortable.

He grinned, handing you a bag of chips. “Sugar gives you nightmares. Seems you’ve had your share of those tonight.”

“Thanks.” You tilted your head, studying him. He was…definitely your type, right down to the kind sparkle in his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Chance. Should have introduced myself earlier, sorry. I just got a little distracted.”

“Chance. Nice to meet you. Thank you for…this.”

“No need to thank me. This place…it’s meant to be a refuge for any weary traveler. You’re the first. Aside from my friend Parker, I guess, but he hardly counts.” He grinned when you laughed, eyes soft as he took in the sight of you. “Stay as long as you need. Come back whenever you want, I’ll be here. I’m always here.”

He tried to make it sound casual, but you could tell it was a big deal that you were there, that…maybe in some corner of his mind, he had been waiting to meet you, wondering if the day would ever come. You didn’t know why. Maybe you never would. But you were glad you’d found your way there, one way or another.

Girl Math

It was like clockwork every week. Try as you might, you could not stay awake in your stats class. And sure enough, glancing down at them, your notes were once again a jumble of nonsense that you’d have to decode later. Girl math be damned.

You shook your head and tucked it into your bag. Well, that was a problem for later. Nothing you could do about it now. Besides, what would a Customer Service major use statistics for anyway? It’d be fiiiiiine.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked through the math building out onto campus.

“Boo!”

You gave a playful shriek, bumping shoulders with your friend Valerie as she joined you. “Hey, girl.”

“Hey yourself. How was class?”

“Boring. As always. And the notes I took are basically hieroglyphics, so I’ve gotta translate those.”

“You know, you’re really good at math when there’s dice involved. Maybe you can get a G&G-playing tutor to kindly mansplain it to you.”

You chuckled sardonically. “Oh, I’m sure the G&G club has no shortage of those.”

“Speaking of: session this Friday?” She shot finger guns with her neatly manicured nails.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You grinned. “We gotta get our guys out of that pinch.”

“Where are you going now?”

“Library. Gotta hunker down and finish some stuff if I wanna drink Friday night and sleep it off Saturday morning.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. Good solid plan there. Mind if I join you after my last class?”

“You know where I’ll be.” You grinned, splitting off once you turned towards the library, while she continued along her own path towards the science building. You took the back entrance, slipping inside the familiar academic building, following the sound of the coffee grinder to the louder, more ambient area of the first floor. Handfuls of students gathered around the tables there, sipping from their caffeinated drinks. You stood in line at the counter for a few minutes and then ordered your own, checking your phone while you waited for the barista to make your iced mocha. Once the top of it had been sprayed with whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate syrup, you carried it back to your usual table, sliding the prongs of your laptop charger into the power outlet with familiarity.

You browsed online for a bit, a break from studying for just a little while before really getting to work, clicking out of pop up ads from Valdivian’s new streaming service. You added a few things to your Shopazon cart, did a quick scroll through Zumblr, and made sure you hadn’t missed any emails from Ao6.

With that out of the way, you locked in, typing up a quick paper and knocking out some discussion posts, crossing each assignment out on your planner once they were done. Next order of business, Stats homework. Ughhhhh. It was only five problems, but at the rate you figured out the equations, it would be the bulk of your work. Maybe Valerie was right about you needing a nerdy man to gently mansplain it to you. Certainly, it couldn’t hurt.

You took a sip of mocha, rolled out your neckbones, and pulled out your dicebag, a decent fidget to have tucked in there for times like these. It was a sizeable bag, big enough to carry three or four sets of dice with ease. Instead, you had your favorite set, a matching one made of clear, deep red resin, with gold flakes and glitter suspended within, matching nicely with the gilded numbers painted into the grooves on the sides. With them, your lucky D20. It matched the rest of them, but it was like thrice the size of a normal one, nice and substantial. It was weighted, fit comfortably in your palm, and always rolled well, especially when you needed it to. So much so that sometimes, your companions demanded to test it out, make sure it was still rolling fair.

It was. Obviously, it was. It just seemed to like you.

You grabbed a pencil, beginning the process of plugging numbers into the problems spread out before you, cradling the lucky die in the other hand, expertly spinning it between your fingers while you worked.

Valerie joined you a few hours later, once the sun had begun to dip beyond the horizon, paint the sky a brilliant orange that glittered in the gold flakes of your dice. She eyed them up with a grin. “You trying to attract that nerd the old fashioned way?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. You know I have to keep my hands busy.” You chuckled, setting the die down, 20-side facing up. You took another long sip of coffee, letting the bittersweet taste roll over your tongue as you approached the end of the cup.

“Yeah, whatever, nerd.” She grinned, opening her laptop and stretching out her back on the shitty library chair. “You done with your Stats?”

“Against all odds, yes. You know what that means.”

She laughed. “Adding to your obscene collection of fanfic?”

“Duh. I’ve gotta be over a terabyte at this point.” It was mostly a joke when you said it. Mostly.

“Who are you writing for now?”

“Dunno. But I shall scroll until inspiration strikes. Writing up a oneshot always puts me in a better mood.” You chuckled. “I’m gonna fill up my water bottle. I’ll be right back.”

You took your empty coffee cup to the trash on your way to the water fountain, toting your sticker-covered metal bottle over to the nice, filtered water fountain embedded in the wall. Your eyes wandered to some of the guys from the school’s G&G club. You’d been in there for a few months. They all checked the same boxes: mansplainy, know-it-all, condescending losers. That was why you preferred to play with your own friends, separate from their horde. Cool nerds, you had dubbed your noble party, although that felt like an oxymoron in and of itself.

Grottos and Gargoyles was meant to be fun. You all kept it that way. No rule sticklers or exclusionary assholes allowed.

Yet, looking at them, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to--

Water spilled over the rim of the bottle and you snapped out of your trance, chuckling to yourself as you lifted it to your lips, sipping the water down so you could twist your lid and straw back into place.

You sat back down at the table, trying to lock into your fanfic endeavors, but getting caught almost immediately, eyes glazed over as you stared at the table between your dice. It felt like there was something you were forgetting. Hmm. Funny how that happened.

***

When you got back to your apartment, you went through your night routine. Put on your pajamas, did your skincare, haircare, brushed your teeth, and then stared at the bottle of melatonin in the medicine cabinet. ValdiVitamins. They weren’t the best brand, you were sure, merely from an ethical standpoint, the company making your entertainment and hosting your internet probably shouldn’t also be making vitamins, but they were the cheapest ones and they got the job done.

You popped two, 10mg total, and then retreated to your bedroom for the night, climbing beneath the covers. You had a nice, healthy doomscroll before passing out for the night.

And as you faded from consciousness, the voices rose once more, as they so often did, the nearest one floating smoothly from the phone in your very hand. “Get some rest, baby. We’ll take it from here.”

The Forever GM

The horrors you had just witnessed were enough to make you handwash your dishes for the rest of your life. You crawled backwards, soaking wet, breathing heavy. Eventually, the cold tile gave way to carpet and warm light. A few soft murmurs left your lips, not quite words and not quite calls for help.

“Woah, woah, hey, what…?” A friendly, familiar voice approached from behind you as you stared out of the mouth of the pillow fort, trembling. “What happened out there?”

You were frozen, staring out into the abyss beyond the curtain. Or was it a fabric wall? A sheet? Hard to say. You swore somewhere in the distance, you could still hear its laugh, its grating electronic tone.

“Hey, they can’t get you in here. See?” Chance stepped in front of you, pulling a rope near the entrance, drawing it shut tight. “They'd never fit in here anyway.”

That did make you feel a little better, though it raised a few questions. Or would have, if you weren’t preoccupied with your other thoughts.

“T-T-There was a…well, the dishwasher had…razor sharp teeth and…g-glowing eyes and…and there was water everywhere, like…like a fucking hurricane in the kitchen and…”

He nodded in understanding. “Ahh, Dishy. Yeah, that guy’s a freak.” He took stock of you, hands on his hips. “Come on. Let me get you fixed up.”

You tried to stand, but your legs were jello. A common nightmare symptom, right along with the cotton mouth that prevented you from speaking.

“Here, hold on.” Chance crouched down, scooping you into his arms with ease. You blinked in surprise. He was a lot stronger than he looked. “I’ve gotcha. You’re okay.”

He carried you deeper into the fort, back towards his little corner. He had a bunch of minis spread out on the table, some paint laid out. He set you in the beanbag chair again, a careful hand smoothing some hair out of your face. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, taking stock of yourself. Everything seemed to be in place. No head trauma, no blood as far as you could tell. “No, I’m okay.”

“Listen, when I said ‘weary travelers’, I didn’t mean you needed to get tangled up with that guy to come back here. You can just visit, if you want.” He said with a soft chuckle, pulling open the little minifridge against the wall. He ruffled around and then pulled out a juice pouch, handing it to you.

You pulled the little yellow straw off of the front of it, freeing it from the clear plastic it was packaged in and then plunging the pointy end into the pouch. You took a few sips. It helped. Something about the taste grounded you just a little. It felt so real. You knew it wasn’t, though. And neither was he, the kind nerd that was looking at you like you were everything. It was a shame. He really was very your type.

“Why do you have all these snacks and stuff?” You asked softly, staring at the art on the front of the bag, a friendly little juice pitcher with a vintage cartoon-style face. It was a little reminiscent of your new acquaintance, Dishy, but not enough that it set you off.

He walked back over, carrying a thick orange crochet blanket and draping it across your legs. “Come on, GM is always in charge of snacks. Gotta keep my players fed when we’re plunging Grottos.”

You perked up at that. “You play Grottos and Gargoyles?”

Chance blinked a few times, a shocked look on his face for a moment before he masked it with an excited grin. He wasn’t sure what all you knew, having been poking around aimlessly in whatever this place was that his soul and the souls of the rest of your furniture and other inanimates inhabited. 

But this confirmed at least one thing for sure. You had no idea he was your D20.

And he decided, in that moment, that he’d like to keep it that way.

You had no idea that he was your favorite and most loyal fidget toy, no idea that he had accompanied you to G&G every Friday night for the last three years since you’d gotten him, no idea that he had felt every little lucky kiss you’d pressed to his 20-side before a big roll.

Your back was to the wall that had his framed paintings of your G&G characters on it. You looked up at him, all sweet and unknowing, sipping from your juice pouch as you awaited his response.

In your eyes, he was just Chance.

He gave a chuckle, honing his words. This was all very fragile. He couldn’t fuck this up. Time to slip into GM mode. “Yeah, of course I play G&G. I’m a nerd. I’m kind of a forever GM, so I never get to make an adventurer, really. Lots of NPCs and BBEGs, though, and I have a lot of fun with those. Tell me about your character, who are you playing right now?”

The words fell out easily, as though he didn’t know every detail about Tobias Sweetwater, your current and longest-running character.

You smiled, happy to level with someone about it. It wasn’t often you met someone like Chance, really. Someone like the friends in your group, a friendly nerd who wouldn’t trample all over your ideas, or tell you that certain things were “technically against the rules and wouldn’t be accepted at a regulated G&G table.” A direct quote from the president of the G&G club, Josh. But if his constant offers of snacks was anything to go off of, Chance didn’t seem like that kind of nerd.

“His name is Tobias. Chaotic good, but he doesn’t really mean to be so chaotic. He’s clumsy, is what it is. An inventor. He writes a lot because he’s forgetful, but he’s constantly losing his blueprints. Worked as a henchman for a little while, but it wasn’t paying enough, so he joined his current adventuring party, the Wandering Walruses. It’s a working title.”

He chuckled at that, recalling the many discussions pertaining to the team name in question. “I like it.”

“It’s really bad.”

“In a charming way, though.” He grinned, sitting down at his table, pushing his glasses up his nose with a practiced finger.

“Yeah, I guess.” You chuckled. “I wish we could play together.”

He sat up a little straighter. “Hmm?”

“I wish you could play G&G with us. My friends. Out…there.” You murmured, mulling over a lot of questions you didn’t want the answer to. Part of you knew this was fleeting. That you weren’t supposed to be here, wherever here was. “I wish you could play with us.”

He nodded at that, letting out a long breath, a wistful look on his face as he gave you a thoughtful smile. He had played with you, more times than he could dream to count. Not that he could tell you that. Instead, he settled for a, “Yeah, me too. That…would be really nice.”

You woke up shortly after that, the blanket dropping down onto the beanbag once you faded from existence, your empty juicepouch fluttering to the rug. He picked it up, dutifully tucking it into the trash can.

Then, to the empty beanbag, he promised, “See you Friday, (Y/N).”

No Pressure

“(Y/N), not to alarm you or anything…but I think this is a job for the big fella.” Your friend Jake advised, running the calculations for how much damage he had just taken. Yeah, his elven Hotshot might be down for the count…

“I agree.” Lance corroborated. His guy was down, too.

You were low on hitpoints, but you had a few tricks left up your sleeve. Namely, the spell marble you’d been holding onto since the first village. It had been a gift from a little girl, the daughter of a powerful witch. And with your slingshot, you might just be able to…

“I still have that spell marble in my pouch. The one from the little girl in Stonesthrow. I’d like to use it now.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Delaney, your resident GM asked, pressing the tips of her fingers together menacingly.

“With my slingshot.”

“It’s seen better days. You sure you want to risk that?” She asked, voice edging on evil.

You looked around the table, into the hopeful eyes of your weary companions. These Walruses needed you. “I think I have to.”

“Okay. Roll for attack.” She goaded, her eyes falling on the big guy. Your infamous lucky die.

You picked it up with a familiar movement, clutching it in your fingers comfortably. You rubbed your thumb over the 20 on its side, holding your hand to your lips and murmuring very softly, “No pressure or anything.” And then you let it fly, dropping into the middle of the map, right beside your mini of Tobias.

Nat 20.

Delaney looked down at her notes, pencil scratching against her notebook. She made a thoughtful face, considering. Then, she uttered those fateful words. “Alright. How do you want to do this?”

The table erupted in cheers and you smiled, lining up the attack in your mind’s eye.

“Tobias, with a shaking hand, draws his slingshot from the pouch in his bag. He holds it up towards the sky, a desperate plea to any of the gods that are listening, and then loads the spell marble into the pouch, drawing it back and aiming for Malthor’s good eye. He lets it fly, ducking to safety in the bushes, where Derevin is hiding.”

She chuckled, nodding. “The orb melts straight into his glowing eye. Immediately, a giant hand slaps over the spot as he stumbles back. ‘OOOOOWWWW! OW! MY EYE!’ He groans and gurgles and eventually falls back with an impossibly loud thud, crushing the shack at the edge of the village. Luckily, no one was inside, as Serah evacuated them all in time. The villagers cheer, rushing the giant’s body, kicking him and hitting him with their improvised weapons, glad that their overbearing evil overlord, Geoff Behsohz, has finally been overthrown.”

Your group celebrated. You finished your glass of wine, retrieving your lucky die from the center of the table, where it still sat. You set it upright on your coaster, head tilting as you looked it over. Every time, without fail. Every saving throw, every final battle, it had been there through it all, making sure your characters never died at the hands of Delaney and her twisted campaigns.

You gave it a few rolls just for posterity. 12. 18. 5. 7. 12 again. Yep, still as fair as ever, just also still as lucky as it had ever been.

You’d bought it from a man dressed as a wizard at the Renaissance Festival. Maybe the beard and the pointy hat had been more than a costume after all.

The celebration was interrupted by your growling stomach. Unlike another GM you knew, Delaney didn’t often bring snacks. But…Delaney was the only GM you’d ever had, so…where had that thought come from, you wondered? Strange.

“Can we order something? I’m starving too.” Lance raised a hand.

“I am one step ahead of you. What kind of sushi do you want?” Jake said, looking up from his phone.

You chuckled and told him your order, CashSend-ing him right after to cover the difference. Delaney wound down the campaign, reading you all your happily ever afters, and once the sushi arrived, you discussed the future of the campaign, which you would pick up after winter break. One last campaign for one last semester of college.

But yeah, no pressure or anything, right?

“I was thinking we could do something about legacy? Like…the kids of these characters, since we’ve done so many adventures with them already. I think it’s about time we move onto whatever comes next.”

“In real life or…?” Valerie asked, her questions met with a round of nervous chuckles.

You didn’t like to think about it often, but graduation was looming ever nearer over all of your heads. After that, the unending expanse of adulthood. Wooooo, so fun and not at all nervewracking.

But that word…Legacy. It felt so big. You’d have to give some thought to what a child of Tobias would look like. Who they would be and…who he would have them with. What the rest of his life looked like. It was a lot easier to map out than yours would be…

***

Back at your apartment, you unloaded your G&G bag, making sure everything was accounted for.

You pulled out your lucky die, turning it over to admire the way the letters gleamed in the dim light. Grinned, chuckled, let out a soft, “Thanks for that. You never let me down.” And then shook your head, feeling silly for talking to a hunk of resin.

You tucked him--it…tucked it back into your dice bag and started getting ready for the night. 

But now that you looked at it…Hmm…you swore you’d seen that pattern somewhere else before. And not just at the fabric store where you’d gotten it…

***

For the first time, you found yourself in the pillow fort without horrible circumstances driving you there. This time you didn’t stumble, you didn’t crawl, you just…walked inside, looking around.

“Chance? You here?”

It was a rhetorical question. He was barely anywhere else.

He gasped. “Hey, you! I…I was hoping you’d come. It’s been a while.”

“I think I’m getting better at this dream-navigating thing.” You chuckled, stepping further into his den.

“It would seem so.” He looked you over for the typical signs the others had put you through the ringer, but you weren’t trembling or crying this time. He gave a lovesick smile, tilting his head.

“What are you up to tonight?”

“Celebrating, actually.” He admitted.

“Celebrating?”

“Yeah, my, uh…” He hesitated. Uh-oh. Careful now, Chance. “My G&G group won our campaign tonight. We’ve been playing this one for a while. Kind of a big deal.”

It was kind of sad when he thought about it, celebrating a campaign he hadn’t even played, not really. But it was the little things. You’d kissed him, even if you didn’t know that. His cheeks flushed just thinking about it. How embarrassing.

“That’s worth celebrating, I think. Do you mind if I join you? I would have brought champagne, if I knew…”

“Come, sit.” He pointed to the chair next to him, brushing himself off. He glanced up in time to see a few figures in the doorway, peering in curiously. He held up a hand, motioning for you to stay at the table. “One sec.”

Daisuke and Beverly were lingering in the doorway, talking quietly between themselves.

“That’s the human? She’s cute.” Beverly mused, looking you over from the distance. She handed Chance the bottle of champagne he’d asked for.

“Yeah, she is. Thank you for this. And this, Daisuke.” He said, turning to the other inanimate. You and your friends having sushi had given him a serious hankering for it. Luckily, Daisuke had been dabbling with some new recipes and was eager to get some opinions on it. And Chance had asked for enough for two. Wishful thinking on his part, surely, but it had paid off.

“Has she told you what she is doing here?” Daisuke asked. “Why she wanders our plane?”

“She doesn’t know. I don’t either. I can’t figure it out. But I’ll keep you posted if I do.” Chance promised, gazing down at the sushi container with a soft smile.

“Go. Enjoy it. She’s never down here for long.” Beverly encouraged with a grin, giving Chance a push back inside.

He turned, heading back towards the table where you were sitting, looking around his space again. You eyed the pair of plates at the table, the fact that there were two. Two glasses, two napkins, two sets of chopsticks.

“Are you expecting someone?”

Chance chuckled, giving a shrug as he unpacked the food onto the plates, setting down each platter with care. “You, admittedly. I…I mean, like I said, I was hoping you’d show up.”

“I love sushi.”

I know. Chance thought, but his wit was quick enough to catch it before it slipped out. “Who doesn’t? And, as the lady requested…champagne.”

“You read my mind.” You chuckled, watching as he popped the bottle open, his big hands surprisingly dextrous and unsurprisingly strong. “Who were, um…those people over there?”

“Ah. Uh…some of the…other people from this place. Daisuke is trying to open a sushi place. Beverly handles the, well, the beverages around here.” Chance shrugged. “They’re nice. I don’t see them often, but they were curious.”

“About me.”

He hesitated. Nodded. “Yeah, about you.”

Thankfully, you didn’t prod. “Mmm.” You picked up your chopsticks, freeing them from the paper they were in and then rubbing them together out of habit, trying to get the stray splinters of bamboo off the ends of them. “My group won our campaign tonight too.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, sounding as casual as he could, weaving surprise into his tone. “Did Tobias save the day?”

“You know it. Rolled a Nat 20 right when I needed it.” You said, proud, unaware of the way Chance’s heart was absolutely racing. “Slingshotted that bitch in the eye.”

He stammered, staring at the edge of his plate for a moment before giving a sheepish chuckle and meeting your gaze. He’d definitely…adjusted your odds a bit. He always did. He couldn’t help himself. “L-Lucky shot, it sounds like.”

“Super lucky.” You agreed, picking up a piece of sushi and popping it in your mouth. It was good stuff, the kind you’d just had in the waking world, flavors melting against your tongue just as real as they had mere hours before. “This is good stuff.”

“It is.” He agreed, tongue darting out to get the stray piece of rice in the corner of his mouth.

“What was your campaign like?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your G&G campaign tonight? You’re GM, right? So…how’d that go?”

“Ah, yeah, they beat up my BBEG pretty good. One of the party members sacrificed himself. It was really brave. They were fighting a djinn that got loose on their university campus. It was kind of their fault, but then one of their mentors joined up with him and it got really bad. But they won in the end.”

It was an old campaign. He hoped you didn’t recognize it, given how vague he’d left the details. But it was one he’d been wanting to repurpose anyway for a campaign of his own, if he ever got the chance. Ha. Pun intended.

He’d been wanting to get a group together, but it was hard. Parker had some interest in playing a chaotic neutral Troubadour. Mac might play. Dasha and Jerry if he asked nicely. And Lux, but…he didn’t really think they were cut out for it, to be quite honest. Still, he’d give them a shot, see how it went.

“Sounds like a hell of a time. I bet you’re a real good storyteller.”

Chance nodded, eyes soft. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I like to think so. My players, too. My last campaign, I put them all in this giant library in a tower, and each level of it represented one of the stages of grief, which corresponded with one of their characters’ backstories in a twisted and beautiful way. And to get to the next level, they had to solve a puzzle and then beat up a monster based on their trauma.”

You stared at him for a long moment, awestruck. “You…you’re the real deal.”

At this point, he didn’t think he could stop smiling if he wanted to. You were just…perfect. But he’d known that all along. “You think so?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I…I’d love to play with you sometime. If…if that’s how this works. I can’t promise I’ll be on schedule, since…you know…my time down here is always so fickle, so…no pressure or anything, but…”

“No, I get it. Whenever you can. It’s…it’s a date.”

The Girl Made of Letters

Your teddy bear gazed up at you lovingly as you sat on your bed in your childhood bedroom over winter break. You’d found him in your mom’s closet, just sitting there. How he’d gotten in there, you weren’t sure, but he didn’t belong in there collecting dust.

Without classes for the month, your homework had instead been rolling up your new character. You’d been stuck for a while, but you’d finally had a spark of inspiration that involved a call with Delaney to make sure the lore allowed it. And somehow, against all odds, she’d given you the okay.

One last time and all that.

Using your lucky die, you rolled up a few stats, letting it land on your binder, as flat as you could get it on your bed.

You laid down for a moment on your side. It was late, but you still had the lights on, working diligently to finish so you could use the rest of your very limited winter break brain power to finish the fanfic that had been burning a hole through your brain. You really just…needed to rest your eyes for a bit. Yeah, that was it.

Obviously you dozed off immediately.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were not back in that familiar pillow fort, as you’d expected. Instead, you were still in your room, on your bed, but a weird, dreamy glaze had settled over the place, like there was a fog machine somewhere, pumping the faintest bit of haze into the room.

“Ohhh, Betty is gonna have a field day with this…Hey, Teddy.” The voice was right behind you. You stirred a little, pivoting. “Oh. Um, hi.”

You turned to find Chance, sitting on the bed, looking down at himself in barely-corked awe. He’d never been this big before. Granted, he didn’t leave the dice bag much. But part of him had expected to remain that size, his usual stature, small enough to sit comfortably in your palm. He was glad that wasn’t the case, though, or you really would have had some questions for him. 

He was sitting on top of your binder, though, right where your lucky die had been resting before you’d shifted onto this slightly parallel plane of existence. Chance chuckled and slid off of it, onto your comforter instead, and, more or less unintentionally, closer to you.

“Hey, you. Who’s…Betty?”

“A friend of mine. Don’t worry about it.” He smiled softly, eyes glittering as you sat up, adjusting your hair. Clearly you were asleep. This was a dream. And yet, like the others, it felt so…vivid. The mattress seemed to dip beneath his weight, the lights seemed to hum. “Hey yourself. Got a project going, huh?”

You motioned to the character sheets spread across the bed. “Rolling up a new character for my last college campaign. It’s taking longer than I thought it would. I’ve made good progress, though. Aside from…well, literally falling asleep in the middle of it, I guess.”

He grinned, all too excited by the prospect. Now, you were speaking his language. He always loved the characters you came up with. “Hit me with it.”

“Her name is Elodie Sweetwater.”

“Elodie…pretty name. Mmm, Sweetwater sounds familiar.” He mused, playing dumb perfectly, reaching for another piece of your dice set to fiddle with idly, expertly rolling it in his wide palm. Notably, your lucky die was missing, but you hadn’t seemed to notice. After all…he was sitting right in front of you.

“She’s Tobias’ daughter.”

“Who’s the mom?”

“No mom.” You replied, chuckling. “It’s a little out there, but…she’s made of love letters.”

Chance raised an eyebrow. You could tell he was hooked. “Elaborate on that.”

“Tobias wrote a bunch of love letters to his…well, his husband, Merlinus--”

“MERLINUS?! MERLINUS DEVAIN?!” Chance exclaimed, jaw slack, eyes wide. Merlinus had been the BBEG in the first campaign your college friends had done. He wasn’t…super evil, but he had in fact been evil. And now he was married and would apparently be celebrating Father’s Day.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I know, I know, but I got permission from my GM. We decided that he’s in magic rehab and he’s been doing therapy, so it’s fine. Besides, the theme of our campaign is legacy, so I thought that was a good way to tie it all back together.”

“Right. I mean…it’s certainly a little unpredictable, but very creative. Anyway, tell me how this works. The love letter thing.” He said, hoping to distract you from the fact that…he very much wasn’t supposed to know about Merlinus. The two of you hadn’t talked about him. But of course, Chance had been there for that campaign, picking up every roll. Of course he remembered the first BBEG you faced together.

“Right, so she’s made from love letters that Tobias wrote to Merlinus. They were sitting on the desk in his workshop and one of his potions of Enlightenment accidentally spilled onto it and turned it into a little baby girl. It’s been about twenty-two years since then, and now Elodie is ready to embark on her first real adventure.”

It was really sweet, creative in your unique flavor that he loved so dearly. And Chance couldn’t help but latch onto the fact that…even if you didn’t understand the weight of it…you were writing about an inanimate. Someone like him. It made his heart go fuzzy.

You shrugged, letting your eyes wander along the edge of the bedspread. “I know it’s kinda…I know it needs work, but…”

He’d been thinking too long, quiet. Chance took one of your hands, touch warm and delicate, but reassuring in a way that chased those insecure thoughts right out. “No, no, it…she sounds great! The love letter thing is so fresh and sweet. What class is she?”

“She’s a Troubadour. I haven’t played one before. I thought it would be a good opportunity. Seemed to suit her. She’s a bit of a dreamer. Head-in-the-clouds type of girl.”

“Sounds like you.” He couldn’t stop himself from saying it, the words slipping right out. They seemed to land okay, though, judging by the look on your face. Maybe not a Nat 20, but certainly a seventeen or eighteen.

You gave his hand a squeeze, searching his eyes as best as you could through his ruby-tinted lenses. “Do we…know each other? Out there?”

Hope crested at the edge of your voice, like you wanted him to be someone you knew, someone tangible. Someone you could find. Chance shook his head, nipping that in the bud before you got the wrong idea. “No, that’s not how this works, unfortunately.”

“Hmm, figured.” You nodded, pondering for a moment before asking, “Then you’re, what, my conscience? My muse?”

Chance’s heart fluttered at the accusation, specifically the second one. He laughed, the tips of his ears tinted red. “I’m honored you’d think I could be either of those.”

“Then…what is this? Why do we keep…?” You exhaled a breath, head shaking ever so slightly. “Finding each other?”

“I don’t know why. I wish I did. But I’m glad we…keep meeting like this. As for what I am…I’m Chance. Just Chance.” He faltered a little, thumb brushing over your knuckles as though that action alone could steady his shaking soul. “Is…is that okay?”

You nodded, a wave of something warm sweeping down your chest. Your fingers curled a little tighter around his. The flush you felt spread across your cheeks meant you were probably looking pretty rosy. You hoped he didn’t mind. Maybe he couldn’t even tell, the way his glasses were tinted like Cyclops’ visor. “That’s okay. I…well, I think I like Chance, to be honest with you. A lot. Probably more than I should, considering he’s relegated to my dreams.”

His eyes widened, sparkling like you’d just handed him three new G&G manuals. “I…I like you too! Obviously. I…yeah. You’re…you’re perfect. I never thought I’d get to meet you like this. It’s been a dream come true. Pun intended.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’m not perfect.”

He scoffed, grinning. “Alright, well, agree to disagree.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to wipe the smile off of your face. “Dork.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kind of into it, though. Unless I’m reading this wrong, but…I rolled a Nat 20 on my insight check of you, so…I’m pretty sure you’re perfect. Argue with Walla--ahem with the wall.”

You squeezed his hand, leaning in to press a kiss to his steadily reddening cheek. He caught your eyes as you pulled away, the self-consciousness that had been cradled in his gaze huffed out immediately, replaced only with love. Just love.

Chance knew this was reckless. It was selfish and dangerous to string this lie out any further. To not tell you what he truly was stripped you of your choice in the matter of whether or not you actually wanted to foster anything with him. When you found out, surely you’d be mad at him. Maybe not for what he was, but certainly for not telling you sooner.

And yet, as he met your gaze, brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face, leaning ever so closer…telling you…losing this…it just wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

Other Nights

Winter break made its graceful exit and you moved back to school. Same apartment as last semester. Same roommate, who was so quiet sometimes you forgot she was there. Same friend group, although another one of your friends had climbed on board for your last G&G campaign all together. She’d always talked about joining the rest of you, but had never made the time. Senior year was a good time for pushing people into finally doing things, it seemed.

Sam slipped right in, surprisingly. She was good at G&G. Her character was a punk rock Hotshot who was on the lookout for their dad, a famed evil sorcerer, who had all but dropped off the planet a few years after she was born. Obviously this sorcerer was Merlinus, though Sam’s character, Ruby, had not yet divulged this information. And no, your characters had no idea that they were, in a sense, sisters. But you couldn’t wait for them to find out.

Your third week back, you had a few tests looming nearer and one decently long paper that your professor had assigned on the fly. He was well-meaning, if not a little scatterbrained, which was why, somehow, he had neglected to mention you had a five-page term paper due by midnight on Sunday. It was in the syllabus, but you hadn’t looked at that since, well, syllabus day. Who the hell did that anyway?

And so, Sunday evening, you were camped at the very empty library, making poor decisions left and right. Not least of which was the tall can of Zinger sitting on the table beside you. 100mg of caffeine this late at night was surely a bad idea, but given the work cut out for you, you had no choice. The clock was ticking, and this paper wasn’t going to write itself.

So, you tipped the can back, letting the sweet Raspberry-and-battery-acid flavor rush down your throat and into your waiting organs, who surely would not let you forget this decision.

***

You tossed and turned a lot that night. And when you finally did fall asleep, you had something akin to the worst sleep paralysis you’d ever experienced, flat on your back in the pitch black room. It felt as though your jaw was wired shut, your eyes strung open. And that whispery, familiar voice rolled through your ears like smoke. Thick and heady. Liquid nitrogen poured down your spine and you felt her arms coil around you.

Nightmare.

“Oh, darling…you couldn’t scream if you wanted to. You’re mine, tonight. May as well get comfortable.”

You tried to move, but didn’t budge an inch, quite literally held in place by her inky tendrils. You steeled yourself, trying to calm your breathing, trying to do anything, really. The feeling of entrapment unsettled you to your bones, and the weight on your chest felt as though it really could crush you.

“All that caffeine is bad for a sleeping mind. You should know better than that. We’ve got quite the night ahead of us…buckle up.”

***

It was hours later that you finally managed to rip yourself free, literally crashlanding into Chance’s fort, but it felt like you had been shivering there for centuries, bound and helpless as hallucinations clawed at the edge of your vision. Whispers, screams, you weren’t sure what was worse, but both filled your ears for the hours Nightmare held you, both gentle and vicelike simultaneously. It was enough to make your head spin. And it was, ragged breaths tearing themselves from your lungs, ears ringing, muscles reduced to jelly.

By the time you came to, you weren’t sure exactly how long you’d been laying there on the patterned rug, staring up at one of the twinkle lights as it blinked on and off. Chance stood over you, frowning down at your trembling, collapsed form.

“Are you okay?” He hesitated, unsure whether or not he could touch you, or if he should try in your state. Sometimes rousing someone from sleep paralysis was worse. He didn’t want to send you into shock or something.

You tried to speak, you really did, but it was like your jaw was still wired shut, an icy ribbon threaded through your lips, preventing you from doing anything aside from moaning pathetically and reaching out for him.

He knelt to the ground immediately, scooping you into his arms and brushing your hair back, shushing you. Chance made an effort to soothe you, strong hands smoothing down your arms, chasing away the sensation of the frigid tendrils that still lingered along the edges of your skin.

“I’m gonna move you, okay?”

You whimpered, nodding. As he’d done before, Chance scooped you up with ease, carrying you back to the warmer, safer corner of the fort, but when he went to set you down, you latched onto his arm, shivering still.

“Do you want me to get you a blanket? Or…or juice or…?”

Tears welled in your eyes and you shook your head, the muscles in your neck burning, eyes aching and red. God, it always hurt to cry in your dreams, and this was no different. You gave his arm a weak little tug, trying to get him to stay with you, unsure how else to convey it other than the silent pleading you were doing.

He melted immediately, understanding in his eyes. You’d had a lot of nightmares, but…he’d never seen you like this before, shaking and nonverbal. Whatever that horse had done to you…it made him want to go and give her a piece of his mind. If she didn’t vanish the moment you were awake again, that was. “Okay, okay, here, let’s…” He picked you up again, getting you to your feet so he could sit down first, gently coaxing you down on top of his large, welcoming frame.

His warmth helped. It helped a lot. You closed your eyes, resting your head on his chest for a long moment. A gentle hand pet your head, goading you back down to earth slowly, bit by bit. Feeling trickled back into your fingers, your toes. You tested your voice, but it was still hard, inaudible and crackling like a radio without signal.

“Don’t push yourself. I understand.” Chance assured, resting his chin on top of your head. “Nightmare?”’

You nodded.

“Bad one?”

You nodded harder, letting out a shaking breath. You managed to croak out a, “Sleep…’Ralysis”

“Sleep paralysis?” He asked softly, voice as tender as his touch. He pressed his lips to your forehead, reaching for one of your hands, fingers lacing with your own. “No wonder you’re shaken up so bad. That’s some serious stuff. You’re so brave.”

All you could manage was a scoff.

“I mean it. I’ve never met Nightmare, but…I think I’d be a lot worse off than you right now if I had. Have you been with her all night?”

You winced. Nodded.

“We don’t have to talk about her. I’m sorry.” He hooked a warm finger under your chin, tilting your face up so he could meet your eyes, make sure you were still with him. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? You’re safe here.”

You could feel yourself thawing, both physically and emotionally. Breathing got easier. Not right away, but little by little. You tilted your head forward, resting your forehead against his cheek, eyes fluttering closed.

“You’re so warm…”

He smiled against you, a large hand rubbing soothing circles in your back. “You think so?”

You nodded, an arm looping tighter around his soft middle. A long breath floated from your lips, heartrate finally beginning to slow to something that could be considered normal. “It’s helping. A lot. Thank you.”

“She really has it out for you, huh?”

You rasped a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, it’s…my fault this time. Chugged a Zinger before bed. I had to churn out a term paper.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? And how’d that work out for you?”

“Fine. Until it wasn’t. Thank you. For this. You uh…you really know how to handle a panic attack. I think that was record cooldown for me.”

“My buddy Parker…gets them. I’m usually the one who has to talk him down. We don’t usually end up, well, like this, though.” He chuckled, motioning to your position, sprawled atop him. “Not that I mind. You make a great weighted blanket.”

You laughed at that, pulling away to look at him, at the soft, reassuring smile on his face, the way his eyes kept searching your expression, just to make sure you were still alright. One of your careful hands reached up towards his face, still trembling ever so slightly, but not enough to hinder you from this.

He leaned into the touch, voice impossibly soft as he whispered, “You okay?”

“I’m okay now, yeah. Thank you.” You looked around the pillow fort, taking stock of everything. 

Most of it was unchanged since the last time you’d seen it, although, instead of two frames on the wall, there were three. From that angle, you still couldn’t see what, or who was on them, but it wasn’t your main concern. Instead, your gaze fell on the game pieces Chance had set up, his GM divider standing upright on one side of the table, a few minis planted on his gridded map. It was clear he was ready to play a game with you, whenever you stopped by next, which was now. And instead, you were…

You frowned a little, guilt welling in your chest. “Aww, Chance…”

“Don’t you dare apologize for getting sleep-kidnapped and having a panic attack,” he said, voice mock-stern.

“But you got everything ready, and--”

“There’ll be other nights.” The way the words sat between the two of you, you could tell he didn’t fully believe them.

Every time you closed your eyes, it was a gamble of where you’d end up, who you’d end up with. There was no guarantee this wasn’t your last time there with him, in his dice bag. No promise that these weird dreams wouldn’t cease as quickly as they’d begun, leaving you both with the increasingly heavy question of what could have been. You might never get to play that game he’d spent so long crafting just for you. He might never tell you that he was your lucky and faithful D20. Maybe someday you’d downsize your dice hoard and get rid of him by mistake. That outcome…wasn’t so likely, admittedly. You were a pack rat and he held a lot of emotional value to you even in his resin form. But still, it was something he’d thought about on lonesome nights when you were elsewhere, one of the points his own anxiety liked to kick around his head just to make him sad.

“Chance…”

“Listen, there are worse ways to spend my night than cradling the woman I…” It almost slipped out then. You could feel it. And the way your heart caught, it was almost as though it had. “Than, you know…cuddling with…with someone I care about, alright? I’m perfectly content right here. This is good for me.”

“We could…try to…”

“There’s no time. Sun’s came up a little while ago. Your alarm goes off a few hours after that.” Chance recited. That’s all it was. Patterns and routines. Simple facts. Nightmare had stolen most of your sleeping hours tonight, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make the most of what he had left.

You frowned, gazing up at him.

He chuckled. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine. This is fine. I could never blame you for anything, let alone this. My…my realm, this place, is beyond your control.”

He didn’t say it, but you could see it in his eyes. Chance was willing to take anything he could get when it came to you. That made you feel worse. He deserved…everything. Right now, the way your little arrangement worked, you didn’t feel like you could give it to him.

Before you could protest, Chance gathered your hands together, cupping them before pouring a little pouch of dice into your palms. His own personal set. They were gemstones with gold lining around the edges, cool to the touch and smooth against your skin. An emerald D6, an amethyst D4, a topaz D12, and of course, the showstopper, his ruby D20.

“I have a red one, too.” You murmured, turning it over carefully. “It’s like three times the size of this one, though. My lucky one.”

He took stock of himself as you unknowingly spoke about him, chuckling as he thought it over. “A big guy, huh?”

“Yeah. My big fella. Weighted. Rolls really nice.”

“That’s your favorite one?” He felt a little guilty, fishing like that, but he did genuinely want to know, and this might be the only time he could get an objective answer.

“Oh, definitely. There’s not a single session I’ve played without it. I misplaced it once between moves, when I was moving back to college from home. A full forty-eight hours where it was unaccounted for. I had the crashout of the century.”

He chuckled at the mention. Chance definitely remembered that, being tucked in the crate where you kept your blankets due to a packing mishap. He hadn’t minded spending some time with Mateo, of course, but he could hear snippets of your crashout from within the cozy depths and…it didn’t sound so great… “But you found it, I take it.”

“Oh yeah. I found it.” You reassured. “We’re on good terms. A few weeks into our last campaign now. Always rolls exactly what I need, exactly when I need it.”

Chance found himself blushing at that, unable to convey exactly what the praise meant to him aside from holding you a little tighter, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Not that he wasn’t already blushing from hearing you call him ‘your big fella.’ But he was steadily taking on his familiar red hue.

He should tell you. This was the perfect moment. You seemed to be putting the pieces together a little bit, at least so far as Nightmare went, that she was the personification of night terror itself, which meant that he…must be something similar. That was it. His mind was made up. He was going to tell you.

“Uh, I…so actually…” He opened his mouth to say something, but that train of thought was derailed when you sat a little straighter in his hold, carefully smooshing his dice into one of his large, soft hands, curling his fingers around them for safekeeping.

“Ooooh, there it is. I’m slipping.” You crooned, turning towards him. Your eyes scanned his face. Even as you became less solid in his lap, you were still so worried about him, his feelings. One semi-transparent hand cupped his cheek as you leaned closer, pressing a long, deliberate kiss to the corner of his lips, so tantalizingly close to his own. So close, in fact, that his lips moved of their own accord, puckering ever so slightly in response, chasing the whisper of yours as you faded from his grasp, surrendered to the sunlight. “See you later, Chance.”

“Y-yeah, later…” he murmured to the empty room.

Crit Fail

“I want to seduce the door.”

The table devolved into chuckles and Delaney shook her head. “You can’t seduce the door.”

Sam retorted, indignant. “Why not?!”

“Because it’s a door. Made of wood. Next question.”

“Right, but do we know the door can’t feel? Maybe the door has dreams. Maybe the door is lonely.” 

“Roll for insight.”

She did. “Nat 20.”

“The door doesn’t have feelings, or dreams. You’re not seducing the door.”

“Dammit.” Sam huffed.

“I would like to try to pick the lock.” You announced. “That Swashbuckler I met in the pub in Bloomsbury gave me a metal hair stick.”

Delaney grinned. “Quick thinking. Give me a roll for that.”

You rolled your regular D20, playing with the other one in your other hand, letting it tumble against the table beneath your palm. “15, with a +2 modifier.”

“Alright, yeah, you work on the lock for a few minutes and the door drifts open. From within, you hear a whisper of a voice. A feminine one. She beckons and…something in you wants to follow. You could close the door again…walk away…or you could follow it. What would you like to do?”

The group deliberated before deciding to very cautiously venture inside. You rolled a Crit Fail and tripped head first into a pile of haunted portraits, freeing their very angry residents into the room for all of you to fight. After that, your little D20 was relegated to timeout and your lucky one finally got its chance (hah) to shine.

The battle was long. It was a rough one. You all had some pretty bad scrapes, so you took a long rest after to recoup and rethink your approach to the manor you’d stumbled into, which seemed to be the key to finding the Legacy Stone.

Elodie sat at camp, writing letters to her dads back home and was joined by Ruby, who asked about her parents and, as the party watched on in glee, the two finally discovered they were sisters, in a strange sort of way. Some of your friends hadn’t figured it out yet, so it led to a lot of shock and elation as the two of you made plans to get in contact with Merlinus as soon as you could, since Elodie had been raised by him and was on good terms with the guy.

When the other members got their moments, your mind wandered a bit. You rested your cheek on your fist, elbow on the table. In your other hand, your lucky die, two of its points pinched between your thumb and middle, spinning it idly with your ring finger. You watched the numbers go around and around. Something about it…

You adjusted your hold, looking deeper. Your memory tickled with the sensation of a cold set of dice in your hands. Gemstone dice. A ruby D20, much smaller than this one. Had you…seen them at the mall maybe? In that card shop? In the metaphysical store? No…no, you’d held them. You’d handed them back to someone, curled his fingers around them. His big, warm fingers.

Chance.

Somehow, in all of it, you’d forgotten about Chance.

Chance and his careful, comforting touches. Chance and his reassuring voice that carried you through the worst of the worst. Chance, who gave you snacks and juice pouches and kisses on the forehead. Chance, who played G&G, who listened with rapt awe to your new character as you laid her out for him. Chance who…

Chance who…knew who Merlinus Devain was…somehow…

You took a sip of your smoothie, eyes narrowing in thought. You pretended to be strategizing, pencil hovering over your notes.

You hadn’t told Chance about Merlinus. How had he known who Merlinus was…? He was from a campaign so long ago, he was barely relevant anymore, aside from his connections to Elodie and Ruby in this campaign.

“I never thought you’d come in here. I heard you’d been bopping around, but…Of course I know who you are. You’re (Y/N). Are…are you okay?”

Of course I know who you are, he’d said. If this worked like…Nightmare being your nightmares, Dishy being…your dishwasher…Then that stood to reason…

The session ended quietly and you reached for your dicebag, stopping when you had both in hand, your lucky D20 and your dicebag, and you froze, staring at both. The walls of Chance’s fort looked…looked just like the fabric your bag was made of. Which meant that…if Chance was always in there…well…

You stared at your D20, realization cutting through your chest as your thumb gently grazed its--his…side.

“Aww, shit.”

***

After a long, riveting conversation with Sam about her job lined up at Valdivian and her offer to try to get you in there, too, you headed back to your apartment. 

You filled up the water filter in the fridge before getting ready for bed. Put on your cutest pajamas, did your skincare, took your ValdiVitamins, brushed your teeth extra good, and then returned to your bedroom.

You hesitated for a moment, but took your dicebag out of your tote bag, fishing your lucky die from inside and setting it, ever so carefully, on the surface of your desk. You gave it one long look before tucking into bed to see if you’d managed to crack the case after all…

And if not, maybe you were finally losing it.

Here and Now

You didn’t sit up for a long while, laying still as you felt everything shift around you, slipping into that other place, that ephemeral place that always seemed to slipped from your waking self’s memories. But not this time. No, this time you were determined to hold on.

You opened your eyes slowly, overly cautious after the Nightmare incident. But when you finally dared to peek, all you saw was Chance sitting at your desk, fidgeting with the rest of your dice set, head hung in something between nervousness and shame.

The D20 was gone. Your lucky die. Well…not gone, exactly. You gave a soft, sad little smile.

“You’ve always been pretty clever. I really didn’t expect you to figure it out, though.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes, staring at the edge of the desk, then the little dice in his hands again.

You…well, you didn’t really know what to say to that. You took a long moment to look him over, with the new knowledge in mind. His broad shoulders, his strong arms, the bit of pudge that clung to his middle. He was a weighted die, it…well, it made sense he was built the way he was. Your big guy.

Your soft chuckle broke the otherwise very cold silence that had settled between the two of you.

“Are you mad?” He asked softly, voice pulled taut like he was bracing for a punch.

“No, I am not mad. Why would I be mad?”

“I…I’m made of resin. I fit in the palm of your hand, I…” He was getting choked up, face flushed red. He set the dice back down on the desk, huffing a breath. “I would be mad at me. I…I am mad at me. But…I mean, how was I supposed to explain all of this to you? That we’re all…here.”

You let his words sink in, the confirmation of your wild, half-baked theory, that the kind nerd with the big, big heart was your lucky die…It was almost too much to comprehend. But the look in his eyes, the guilt, the shame…it was real.

“Dishy is the dishwasher. Nightmare is…as the name suggests, I guess.” You said quietly. “So, the others?”

“Betty is your bed. Daisuke is the dishes, Beverly’s your wine cabinet.” He confirmed. “And my friend Parker is the pile of board games in your parents’ attic. But he sometimes hitches a ride on your Uno deck if he wants to spend a semester here. That’s…why he gets panic attacks. There’s not a lot going on up in the attic. He never has anyone to play with.”

You were quiet, thinking. You didn’t know what to say. You had a million questions, yes, but none that seemed okay to ask. You had gotten Chance at the Renaissance Festival your freshman year of college. Had he been conscious before that? Had he gained consciousness when you chose him? And by that measure, how long had the others been awake?

“No…human has ever been on our plane before. Whatever this is, it’s an anomaly.” Chance said, solemn and sure. “It shouldn’t be happening.”

“It is, though.” You murmured, voice steady, despite your racing heart.

“Right. It is.” He nodded, lips pulled aside in concentration. He still wouldn’t look at you. Maybe he couldn’t. Couldn’t face whatever it was in your eyes now that you knew the truth. “But we were not supposed to meet, ever. Definitely not like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because! It’s not--!” He huffed, cheeks even redder than before. He shook his head, letting out a slower breath in an attempt to keep a lid on it.

You shifted in the bed, letting your legs hang down, bare feet dangling above the carpet as you faced him. “Chance.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

He finally turned to look at you, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, giving you a good look at the shape he was in. He pushed them up again, like a shield, a thin red film to hide behind, just like his GM divider.

Chance studied your face, searching for some telltale sign of rejection. Of disgust. There wasn’t one. He softened a little, a bitter chuckle floating between you. “Listen, I…I’m used to getting thrown around, okay? It’s what I do. I roll with it. B-But…I…I don’t think I’d recover this time.”

You stood, letting him accept that movement before making another, taking slow, careful steps closer to him. He just watched, preparing himself to field whatever words came out of your mouth. He didn’t expect you to plop right down in his lap, though.

And yet, that didn’t stop his arms from wrapping around you, his forehead tilted forward, resting against your jaw. He let out a long breath, face falling into the crook of your neck, seeking warmth and comfort. You wrapped an arm around him, the other venturing up to comb through his dark hair.

“This isn’t a game to me.” You murmured softly. His slow, deliberate inhales meant, you hoped, that your words were sinking in. “I am not playing with your heart.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s kind of what I’m afraid of. That…this, these feelings, these dreams…they’re real to both of us in the way they’re real to me and…and it doesn’t matter anyway. That you’ll wake up one day and all of this will be gone. You’ll go about your life, get a normal partner, a house, a car, some kids and…and I’ll get to sit on your shelf for all of eternity, collecting dust in my own front row seat to your happily ever after.”

It sounded like torture. You were sure to him, it was. He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the years you’d had him, you were sure. But you couldn’t imagine what it was like to fall in love with someone who couldn’t see you. Someone who you couldn’t communicate with unless she was asleep.

And then the possibility that it would all evaporate, the connection you’d painstakingly built piece by piece, gone in an instant…that he’d be trapped, doomed to be…nothing. That he’d have to watch. It all but shattered you.

“And…and I want you to. I want you…to…have something nice and normal. I can’t give you anything real aside from a good roll here and there when you really need it.” He said, voice edging into mischievous territory at the end there, though his eyes remained serious.

“You’ve been fudging my rolls?”

“Yeah, a little. Not the point. You deserve so much. Certainly more than me.”

You stared at him for a long moment, guiding his face out of the crook of your neck so you could get a better look at him. He met your eyes reluctantly, letting you look him over for a good, long moment. He still looked like forever to you.

God, this all sucked so bad.

“I can’t promise you that won’t happen. My memory of all this is a little fuzzy out there. I…I don’t know how any of this works. Why the dreams started, what’s causing them, if they’ll ever stop someday.” Your thumb soothed a circle into his cheekbone, palm anchored against his soft skin, just below the rim of his glasses. “But I know I’m in love with you. Here and now. And it’s real to me. You are real to me.”

You could have gone on. Could have given a monologue so good it would put any BBEG’s to shame. But you didn’t have the chance.

He was already kissing you.

It was a hungry kind of kiss. An experienced one. You didn’t know who (or what? You weren’t sure the semantics) had been kissing your D20, but whoever they were, you thanked your lucky stars for them.

One of his large hands slipped lower, giving your thigh a squeeze, while the other anchored itself on your face, keeping you right where he wanted you. And you all but melted into him, caught up in the motions, crossing the line in one swift movement into something decidedly more.

“I love you, too.” He murmured, catching your lips between words, punctuating it with another long one. You parted just an inch, his forehead hovering just in front of yours, warmth melding together until you weren’t sure where yours ended and his began. He met your eyes, smiling a little. “But you knew that.”

You nodded, letting the clipshow of your moments together play in your mind while they were all accessible to you. Your nights spent curled together, your shared meals, aimless nights where you talked about everything and nothing and laid on the rug inside what you now knew was your dicebag. You’d had so much time together, and yet, it didn’t feel like enough. It never could be.

You wanted a life together, and you couldn’t even have a waking day.

Still, you spent the whole night there, tucked in his lap, kissing him, murmuring promises you couldn’t keep. And when you woke up the next morning, his warmth still lingered on your lips, your faithful D20 sitting on the desk.

Everything Leads to Love

It was a weird little thing when it happened. You ran out of melatonin gummies. Went to the store to replace them, and the entire shelf of ValdiVitamins was cleared out. There was a recall. Apparently people taking them had reported…weird side effects, including but not limited to auditory and visual hallucinations and incredibly vivid dreams.

That explained that little thread.

For a while, you held onto Chance. Looked for him when you were lucid, which wasn’t often anymore. Never found him. Never even found his fort or any of his friends. Your dreams were normal. Your nightmares were, too, returned to awkward memories from work, bad days in high school, and public speaking and realizing you weren’t wearing pants. That whole world was cut off and, as far as you knew, you had no way to get back.

It got easier when you started to forget, as awful as it sounded. You knew there was something special about your lucky D20, aside from its luck. But his features blurred in your mind. His voice had gone first, followed by his name, and pretty soon, all you had was the feeling of his hands around yours. A year later, and that was gone, too. You figured he must have been one of the guys from the G&G club at your college, a member of the nerd herd, whatever vague memory of him was left got neatly sorted away with those.

You moved back into your childhood home. Your parents moved out, headed for warmer weather down south. Your Dad had turned the other upstairs bedroom into a gym, though you barely used it. The attic door was locked, and you weren’t sure where the key was, but…there wasn’t much up there anyway, just some holiday decorations and some board games, you were sure.

Surprisingly, there weren’t a ton of jobs readily lined up for someone with a Customer Service degree. But thanks to your friend Sam, you had gotten a foot in the door at Valdivian. They were one of the biggest companies in the world. It was a big deal.

Your first day was going relatively smoothly until you got more or less fired on the spot, replaced by VAL 9000, an AI assistant. Well, technically not fired, just…put in “labor limbo” until they could figure out what to do with you.

You sat at the desk, shell-shocked. “Huh. Great.”

Your eyes wandered to the D20 you kept sitting on your desk. The red one from college, your lucky die. You didn’t have much time to play anymore, with all of your friends scattered to the winds, but it still made a good fidget when you were knee deep in paperwork, job applications, and fanfic. You reached for it, but were interrupted by a ping on your phone, a Thiscord message from…some rando.

And to make a long story short, a drone floated past your windows, carrying a neatly wrapped blue and yellow box. You opened it, watching in awe as a pair of pinkish-orange glasses floated right out of it and…onto your face.

Yep, you were doing this.

***

You laid in bed the next morning, staring at the ceiling. Maybe it had been a dream. The glasses. The phone lady, the bed lady, the handsome door guy, the magnifying glass. Maybe you had a gas leak or something. Black mold?

You turned to look at the glasses sitting on your nightstand, however, and realized that it was very much real. Your house was alive.

Your…your house was alive. Why was that so familiar? You reached for the Dateviators, putting them back on and getting out of bed. Well, there was only one way to find out.

You poked around the house a bit, using three charges to meet a cluster of himbos in your closet, an Elvis impersonator in your shower, and a bubbly ginger running your mom’s minibar. When you woke up the table, however, a big, kind cowboy named Abel, he had some advice you weren’t expecting.

“Well hey there, (Y/N), wasn’t expectin’ to see you so soon. I thought you’d be tucked away in the office by now.”

“The office?” You asked.

He gave a knowing chuckle. “Why don’t you go take a look in there? I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you, Abel. I’ll…I guess I’ll go take a look.”

You walked up the hallway to the office, each step slowed by your thoughts, mulling over exactly what, or who could possibly be waiting for you in there, when it hit you all at once.

Those nights in the dice bag came flooding back.

His silly little laugh that curled into a snort more often than not, those kind red eyes he always sheltered behind his redder glasses. The way his cheeks would flush any time you complimented him, the way his big, warm hands would cup your face when he was reassuring you, making sure you absorbed every bit of his words, that you breathed until you calmed down after particularly bad nightmares. The way he so easily scooped you into his arms, holding you until you woke up back in bed. The way his lips so perfectly chased yours, smooth and soft and passionate and hungry all at once, sending flutters of pleasure and warmth through your middle. 

Chance, you remembered. His name was Chance. A fitting name for a D20.

In all meanings of the word, he had been your boyfriend, and…

You’d forgotten him. God, you’d really forgotten him! All of his fears had come true. You’d gone about your life, you’d had a handful of shitty dates, hell, you didn’t even play G&G anymore! He…he’d been sitting there for so long, collecting dust, aside from the few times a week when you’d fiddle with him while working on things.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, parsing through the guilt that was threatening to spill over. What if it wasn’t him anyway? What if all of that, all of these memories you hadn’t touched in ages were just…dreams after all? And you woke up your D20 and it was just some other nerd?

You took a shaking breath. You had to try, though. You owed him that.

So, mustering what courage you could, you opened the office door, slipping inside. It was dark, night had fallen and you’d spent your whole day conversing with the furniture. God, Sam was going to think you were losing it.

You picked up the die with both hands, Dateviators locked on, and woke it up.

Standing in front of you was a man in a cloak, face shrouded in shadow, a gridded tabletop map hanging from his shoulders, character sheets wrapped around his collar, a rulebook shielding his front, and tucked into a pair of baggy trousers that looked like your dice bag.

Your heart sank to your toes, staring up at him. He…this wasn’t him. Chance. He really had been a figment of your imagination after all.

“Ho there, traveler!” He greeted, voice warbled a little as he presented himself to you. He was in good spirits, whoever he was, but you couldn’t fight the tears that were welling in your eyes, the disappointment swelling in your chest.

“H-hey there. Sorry.” You murmured, voice caught in your throat as you wiped away a stray tear. You were trying to be polite. No reason to get off on the wrong foot with this guy, despite the heartbreak ripping itself through your sternum. “I-I just…thought you would be…”

“Woah, woah, hey, it’s okay.” He faltered, hastily taking off his cloak and revealing his true self beneath the facade. His voice slipped into a more natural tone.  “This thing is kinda scary, I know. I come in peace. I…I’m Chance. I’m your D20.” He brushed himself off, straightening up again.

There he was. That upswept dark hair, those kind, vulnerable eyes that were searching every facet of you for some glimmer of…something.

Your voice was caught in your throat for different reasons now, just staring, unsure of what to say or…or how to say it. Total deer in headlights. Your heart raced, lip wobbling.

“...but I take it you…already knew that.” He said softly, sounding hopeful more than anything. But that little bit of hope went undetected in your emotional state.

You scooped up the pieces of your broken heart and blurted out the thing at the very forefront of your mind. “You don’t remember.”

“No, hey, of…of course I do. I…I didn’t think you would, since, well, since it’s been so long. Two years is a long time to be hung up on a chunk of resin, you know.”

You crossed the distance, arms wrapping around him immediately, his guidebook, well, corset acting as a barrier between the two of you. Yet, he pulled you close, a large hand cradling your head, the other wound tight around your back.

He let out a long breath, cheek smushed against your forehead, eyes closed. It felt…real. Not real real. There was still some level of fuzz there, given the nature of the Dateviators. This wasn’t a physical Chance, just a projection of him that your conscious could interact with. But to your nervous system and eyeballs…it felt pretty convincing.

“I’m sorry I forgot.”

He shook his head, voice soft. “It’s not your fault.”

“I remember now.” You reassured, looking up at him, meeting those gentle eyes through the red-tinted glass.

He pushed some stray hair out of your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I…I still can’t quite believe this is happening. I’m gonna wake up any second now.”

“No, we…we’re wide awake now. Both of us this time.” You said, voice certain.

“So what are these things?” He poked the bridge of your glasses with a careful finger.

“Dateviators, apparently. And they let me…interact with your plane again, the way I used to when I was asleep.” You told him. “I think they’re very stylish. And we match now.”

He grinned. “We do, don’t we?”

You explained the rules Skylar had laid out for you. Five charges a day, one charge per object each day, which meant that you wouldn’t be able to spend a whole day with Chance, but it meant you could come back and see him tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. It wasn’t perfect, but you’d take it.

“Holy crit. Well, that…yeah, that works. Do you have any plans tomorrow? I’ve been working on a G&G campaign for the last, say, two years that I think Elodie would be perfect for. If you’re still playing her, that is.” He cupped your face in his hands, nose dangerously close to yours.

“I could bust out those old character sheets.”

Chance grinned, eyes taking in your features, memorizing each crease and freckle like it was the first time. “I’ve been dying to play with you.”

“Like old times.” You murmured. “But better.”

“So much better. I think a few of the others are interested, too. But, uh…I wouldn’t mind having a one-on-one Session Zero. Make sure I know all of…you know, Elodie’s stats and stuff. It’s been a while.” His cheeks flushed red at the suggestion.

“It’s a date.” You promised, a hand smoothing up the spine of the book on his chest. You wondered if he still looked the same underneath. You hoped he did. “Well, what do you wanna do with the rest of this charge? We probably have an hour or two left.”

He grinned, glasses flashing in the light, making his eyes nearly unreadable. “Oh, I’ve got a couple ideas.”

[randomgurl2326]

We already know about grid's relationship with her but how about off grid celebrities and famous people's relationship with her? Like she's making history left and right here, there's no way that fashion houses or famous brands won't want to work with her. She's talented, hot, famous, beautiful and has this amazing energy...

oh totallyyy, everyone off grid is into her. fashion brands are all over her, celebs and popstars show up to races to support her and her team 😩

she’s got the whole package — talent, looks, vibes — no wonder everyone wants to work w her

more about driver!yn

We all know the paddock is obsessed with her. They all follow her around like lost puppies, reposting her podium pictures, they’re shouting her name out — we get it, they love her.

But outside of the paddock? Off-grid celebrities are adoring her too. She’s not just an F1 driver anymore, she’s become a full on icon. People who don’t even watch races know her name.

The fashion world, Hollywood, the music industry, and luxury brands are tripping over themselves to work with her.

First of all, the fashion world has already claimed her. Like fully adopted her as one of their own. She’s front row at fashion week whenever she’s not racing — sitting next to big names like it’s casual — wearing custom looks aren’t even available to the public yet.

Dior, Balenciaga, Gucci — you name it — they’re all sending her pieces months in advance. And she wears them like she was born for it. Some look awkward in customs but her? Never.

She shows up in a structured bodysuit with a long train and she still looks like she could jump into a car and win a race.

She’s done campaigns for LV and Rolex, and rumor has it she’s co-designing a racing inspired capsule with Coperni. Fashion girls love her because she’s effortless. She doesn’t try — she just is.

And then you’ve got the luxury brand side — which is also obsessed with her. She’s the face of multiple campaigns as we speak — stuff like skincare, watches, tech drops, fragrances — and they all fit her because she lives that high performance lifestyle.

She’s not the person who’s pretending to care about hydration or fitness or travel, because that’s literally her daily life. So when Rolex puts her in a campaign about ‘Precision under pressure’? It hits.

Or when Estée Lauder drops a serum collab and she’s like, “This is what I wear before race week” — people believe her. She’s got credibility and influence.

And Hollywood? Don’t even get me started. She’s become the girl everyone wants to hang out with. She’s being invited to all these private dinners and post-award show parties with Mike Faist, Hailee Steinfeld, Riley Keough… and she fits.

She walks into a room full of A-listers and she’s not intimidated — she’s the one they’re all circling around. There’s whispers about her getting film offers, documentaries, maybe even a sports biopic.

She’s that rare mix of inspiring and intimidating — the type that actors and filmmakers want to write about.

And the music industry? Unreal. Dua Lipa’s been seen at her races, Raye posted her with the caption “My hero,” and there’s this clip of her dancing with Harry Styles after a GP and fans lost their minds.

Countless artists allegedly tried to get her appear in their music videos. The Weeknd reposted one of her wins with a flame emoji… and it’s not just admiration.

They respect her. They see her as someone who’s breaking boundaries, not just in sport, but in the way she carries herself. She’s confident, she’s chill, and she’s not desperate for attention — which makes her even more magnetic.

And I think what really seals it is that she’s still herself through all of it. Like she’ll go from launching a designer collab to fighting for her life in the track. She’s not losing that grounded, authentic vibe, she’s not trying to be someone else to fit into spaces.

And fans feel it too — she’s not just being hyped for being attractive or famous. She’s loved for being who she is, how she talks, and what she represents.

[randomgurl2326]

size kink

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | He as a size kink. That’s it lol.

Warnings | Smut, size kink, manhandling, praise, creampie, gaping, cockwarming.

Words | 1k

Notes | 😵‍💫 that fucking comic panel tho

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 6: manhandling + size kink

Can y’all help me come up with a title😭 I’m literally so exhausted and I just want to pass out but I have to post it within two hours for it to still be day 6 skfhsk

Jason Todd has a huge size kink… He’s so massive that it’s honestly hard not to because there are barely any female body types that aren’t smaller than him. Tall, big, buff— all smaller than him, usually by a lot too. 

Especially you. You’re pretty much the same size as the average woman, but standing next to Jason— he practically dwarfs you. Whenever he holds your hand, you usually end up just holding two of his fingers because it’s more comfortable that way. Even when he places his hand on your thigh, he can completely cover the entire width of it. 

Even though he loves the way it feels to hold you, how easy it is to lift you and manhandle you however he wants… one of his most favorite things is how small your cunt is too. It wasn’t abnormally small— it was proportionate to your body— but compared to his abnormally large cock? Even just compared to his fingers, you could barely take it. 

He always tried to do as much foreplay as possible because, even though he thinks it’s hot when your face scrunches up in pain as you do your best to take him, he doesn’t actually want to hurt you or make it not good for you. So he usually eats you out, slowly working you open on his fingers. He almost always gives you at least one orgasm before even attempting to fit his cock inside you, but even after the time he made you come over and over again for two hours straight, you were still so fucking tight. 

You let out these soft whimpers and sounds of pain that make his cock throb. Sometimes you gasp out and desperately cling to him, trying to ground yourself. He always eases his cock in slowly, holding your hand or cupping your cheek and whispering soft praises into your ear. 

“So good at taking my cock, baby. I’m almost halfway.” You whined and squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on taking deep breaths and relaxing your muscles. Jason couldn’t help but look down between your bodies, watching his cock slowly disappear into your tight heat. “Almost there, princess.” His voice was low and thick with poorly restrained arousal. When he finally bottomed out, you let out a pained whimper and he closed his eyes, trying not to bust his load right then and there. 

“Such a good girl. You’re doing so good, baby.” He murmured tenderly, leaning down to kiss over your neck as his hand snaked down to rub your clit. You usually signaled whenever you were ready for him to start moving and he’d slowly draw his hips back, then push in again at the same pace. 

Sometimes though, he’d stand and hold you in the air, lifting you up and down on his cock, limiting your squirming significantly. Or if you were riding him, he’d grab your hips and move you however fast and hard he wanted— even if you put all your strength into staying seated or moving away, he was always stronger than you. It took practically no effort for him to lift you up and down, fucking you like you were his own personal sex doll. 

While he usually liked being able to kiss you and watch your expression contort in pain as your walls were forced to accommodate his cock, he also liked putting you on your stomach. Sometimes he’d put you on your knees and push your face into the bed, but he liked laying on top of you even more. With his large legs caging in your much smaller ones, it made you even tighter. He loved being able to completely lay on top of you and wrap his arms around you, forcing you to feel every inch of his thick cock going in and out of your pussy. That position always made you feel trapped, but more in an exciting way rather than an anxious way because you knew he’d get off of you in a heartbeat if you told him to. 

“That’s it… Be a good girl and just take it, baby.” He whispered breathily, lips brushing your ear. You let out a choked moan and he moved his hand to squeeze your neck. “You just lay there and let me use my favorite little fleshlight.” Every single time— without fail— your cunt would get impossibly tighter when he talked to you like that. 

Something else he loved; the amount of come he released was proportional to his body as well… Sometimes he liked to paint your pretty face, completely drench you in his seed, but usually he liked filling you up. He liked dragging his hips back until his cock finally dislodged from your tight pussy that was practically trying to suck him in, and watching his come dribble out of your gaping hole, down your puffy folds. 

“Oh, look at you, baby…” He cooed, voice raspy and thick. You whined and squirmed, enjoying the feeling of him filling you up and his seed leaking out of your abused cunt almost as much as he did. 

“Squeeze that little cunt, princess. Try to keep my come inside.” He ordered softly, grabbing your ass and pulling you open to get a perfect view of your holes. He watched them flutter, but even when you tried your hardest, his cock had stretched you out too much for your hole to be able to tighten up again so soon. 

“Poor thing… can’t keep my come in that needy little pussy.” He chuckled, collecting the leaking come on his fingers and pushing it back into your hole. “But that’s okay, baby. I’ll help you…” you let out a choked moan when he forced his cock back in, stretching you once again, “keep you nice and plugged up, huh?” He laid down over you again, but turned so you were both on your sides in a spooning position with his cock still deep in your pussy— It would usually stay there until you fell asleep, but sometimes only until he got worked up enough for round two. 

(I’m still bad at ending one shots lol)

[randomgurl2326]

Ex Boyfriend Interview w/ Lando Norris

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - I remember reading this 'Ex boyfriend interview' thing a long time ago when I had a different account and recently I found a screenshot I had of that. I think the person who originally wrote it has deactivated their account because I couldn't find them anywhere but they wrote it for Seventeen. So I thought about making something similar for F1.

: Also do you guys want this for other drivers too?

...

[The video starts with a minimalist set. Two black stools sit a few feet apart, facing each other. Between them is a small table holding two water bottles and a box of tissues.]

[Two people enter from opposite sides, take a seat on the stools, exchanging a quick glance before looking away]

Interviewer: We understand you were both invited by a mutual friend, thank you for coming. We know this might feel a little uncomfortable, since we'll be discussing your past relationship. There's no pressure to answer everything, feel free to take a break in between if needed.

Shall we begin?

...

Interviewer: How long were you guys together for?

"A little less than a year," says Y/n rubbing her arm in hopes to calm down her nerves.

"Seven months," Lando whispered, just barely audible all thanks to the mic.

Interviewer: And how long has it been since the break up?

"It'll be seven months next month," said Lando, answering the question this time.

Y/n nods at Lando's answer.

...

Interviewer: Who ended it?

"Um- I did," Lando said his voice laced with guilt.

Y/n didn't say anything, just nodded to Lando's answer.

Interviewer: Why?

"I thought I needed space," says Lando shifting a little on the stool which suddenly became a little uncomfortable. He continued, "The distance, our schedule difference, the season, it all became a bit too much. We could feel the distance."

Interviewer: Was it mutual?

"No," Y/n says quietly. "But I respected his decision," she finishes.

Lando finally looked at her and nodded.

"I didn't think you'd take it that well," He admitted, more to himself than the interviewer or even Y/n.

"Would you have preferred if I had begged you to stay?" Y/n said with a hollow smile.

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no idea how to answer this. Was there even a way he could?

...

Interviewer: What do you remember the most about your relationship?

Lando looked at Y/n, before saying, "Just how easy everything felt. Well...until I made things hard."

Y/n smiled at Lando, "Sunday nights," she says. "After every race we would cook dinner together and always end the night with a movie, no matter the race result," she finished.

Lando smiled at that, before letting out a soft chuckle, "even though both of us were shit at cooking," he said.

"Talk about yourself Norris, I made some killer pasta," Y/n scoffed, offended at the accusation.

"That you did," Lando said smiling softly at the girl in front of him.

...

Interviewer: Do you think you made the right choice?

Lando's smile fades at that question. He shifts slightly in his seat. "I thought the weight would eventually lift, but it never did," he said.

There's silence. No one says a word.

Lando quickly swipes his thumb under his eye, trying to play it off, hoping the camera won't catch the stray tear.

Y/n watches him, not reaching out but not looking away either.

...

Interviewer: Have you reached out since the breakup?

Lando shakes his head, slightly embarrassed. "I kept on writing messages but never had the guts to send them through," he said looking at Y/n.

Y/n looked at him and said, "I did see you typing this one time, then it disappeared."

"I was scared of how you'd react since I was one the who ended it," Lando said looking down.

Interviewer: What do you think went wrong?

"I thought I could handle everything but the race, the pressure, it all reached a point where I couldn't even recognize myself anymore," Lando said, running his hands through his curls.

"Instead of talking to me about this, you just left," Y/n says softly.

"I just didn't want to disappoint you," he says.

Y/n looked at him for a long time before saying, "You didn't. You just broke me a little."

...

Interviewer: Do you still love each other?

Lando doesn't speak up immediately, his gaze lingers just a little bit longer on Y/n before looking away. "I tried not to, I really did," he admitted.

"But?" Y/n asked, her voice barely audible

"But I think a part of me still does," Lando finished.

"I think," Y/n starts looking at lando, "there will always be a part of me that loves a part of you."

...

Interviewer: What did you learn from this relationship?

"That love isn't something you just feel," Y/n says, looking at Lando. "You have to be there through the good times and the bad. Especially the bad times," she finished.

He didn't say anything, just nods.

"I think, space isn't always the solution. Turns out going through things alone doesn't make you stronger, just lonelier," Lando admitted.

Interviewer: Would you like to stay in touch after this?

Y/n pauses for a moment, there is a look of hesitation in her eyes.

Lando took that as his sign, "More than anything," he said, looking straight into her eyes.

Her expression softens at his answer. "Yeah, I think I'd like that," she says finally.

"Yeah?" Lando questioned softly, unable to control the smile that spread across his face.

"Yeah!," Y/n answered, smiling softly at the boy

The camera lingers just a little bit longer focusing on the two before the screen faded to black.

...

Tags: @wobblymug | @evasmlp | @ln8118 | @piastri-fvx | @vannylen2144 | @freyathehuntress

[randomgurl2326]

been really obsessed with date everything lately. just thought about jason todd au… warnings for technical noncon but it is NOT as scary as it sounds i promise

him being the gun you’d purchased for self-defense, brought to life by the dateviators. the last thing you’d expected pointing those at your gun was a huge, scarred up, beautiful man—but you suppose it does seem kind of obvious now, in hindsight. he’s no-nonsense, but it’s obvious he cares deeply about you with his emphasis on your safety. the two of you bond easily, becoming friends and then toeing closer to more—but no matter what, it feels like you can’t get past his tough exterior. but you have an idea, a terrible idea, a wonderful idea.

so you, impulsively, buy another gun. it feels less offensive to learn to and then disassemble and basically strip the gun of its function, leaving it a solid object but unable to fire or cause harm.

you aim the dateviators at it, just to be sure it’s still him. there he stands, Jason—the same model of Jennings pistol that you’d bought before—but he’s naked.

Well, save for his boxers and a pair of cute mismatched socks. He’s embarrassed and confused, but you remain determined in your goal. You take the glasses off, grab the stripped pistol, and grind it against your entrance.

You can just imagine his expression, confusion and arousal as you open yourself up and slowly, gently, ease the pistol into your hole. It’s unwieldy and thick, making you squirm as it slowly fills you up.

You cream around it within minutes.

The next day (after thoroughly cleaning the gun and then tossing it under your bed in shame), you’re too anxious to talk to Jason again. And the next day, and the one after that. But you miss him, terribly, so you awaken him again. Within seconds, he’s grilling you, cheeks flaming red and eyes wide with confusion.

“I- I’m sorry, Jason, really,” You murmur into your hands where you’ve hid your face. “I had the idea and I went for it before thinking twice. I mean, you’re attractive, I… I dunno. I like you, you surely know that by now, but I should’ve asked, I shouldn’t have just acted.”

Jason sighs deeply, running his hands over his face. “Yeah. That… Woulda been nice. But, damn it, you’re not… Stop feelin’ bad, alright? I’m not… I liked it. It was sexy as hell, and I just wanted nothing more than to be able to fuck you properly. Not with a stupid object form.”

Suffice to say, you two didn’t sleep much. Skylar would’ve been mad in the morning with how you exhausted her charge, but she couldn’t be too mad considering your romantic success. At least she gets a break when you realize him.

[randomgurl2326]

oh yeah the sweet girl and her dog