PeerlesMelons

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Pretty self indulgent. Varka(he's very tall, he's a mythological beast lmao) she/her used for reader sowwy. It's just a prologue. Varka also have horns.

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The waterfall thundered through the forest, silver water crashing against black stone hard enough to shake the ground beneath your feet.

You shouldn’t have been there.

The elders in your village always warned about the northern woods — how compasses stopped working there, how hunters vanished after crossing too deep between the trees. But curiosity has always outweighed common sense for you.

You carefully pushed aside a curtain of glowing vines and froze. A man stood beneath the waterfall.

No — not exactly a man.

He was enormous. Broad shoulders slick with water, dark hair hanging down his back in damp strands, muscles shifting beneath tan skin marked with faint glowing patterns. Heavy horns curved from his head, partially hidden by wet vibrant blond hair.

He looked like a mythological creature.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He looked almost unreal standing there beneath the roaring stream, eyes closed while water crashed over him as if the force meant nothing. Like some ancient forest god taking his evening rest.

You leaned forward for a better look.

A twig snapped beneath your shoe. The man’s eyes opened instantly. They were blue, sharp and predatory. If the circumstances would've been different his eyes would've been as smooth as the ocean.

Your stomach dropped. Before you could even gasp, he vanished. Something massive appeared behind you.

“Human.”

The voice rumbled deep enough to vibrate in your spine. You whipped around so fast you nearly fell backward.

Up close, he was even bigger.

He towered over you like a mountain, steam rising from his skin in the cold mist. His eyes narrowed while he stared down at you suspiciously.

“…A child?” he muttered.

“I’m not—”

Large fingers suddenly grabbed the back of your shirt.

And then—

You squeaked as your feet left the ground entirely.

“H-Hey?!”

He held you effortlessly by the scruff of your collar like an unruly kitten, your legs kicking uselessly in the air while he inspected you with a frown.

“How did a human boy cross the barrier?” he asked. “Did your village send you?”

“BOY?!”

“You’re tiny.”

“I’m not a boy!!”

“You shouldn't roam around here-”

You with all your might, kicked his side. He didn't even flinch that's how weak you were against him. But you manage to yell at him “I'M A GIRL! AND NOT A CHILD!”

He blinked once.

“…You’re a girl? And.. not a child?”

“Yes!”

His grip loosened slightly as he stared harder at your face, clearly reevaluating every assumption he’d made in the last thirty seconds. Silence fell over both of you.

The waterfall roared behind him.

Then—

Color crawled slowly across his face. From his neck. To his ears. To the bridge of his nose. Your eyes widened, your poor heart started working overtime, racing so fast you started breathing heavily.

The giant who moved so precisely, who managed to intimidate you so badly that even your special kick had no effect was blushing like a preteen girl.

“Oh.” He looked away immediately. “…That is unfortunate.”

“What does THAT mean?!” you yelled still trying to calm down your racing heart.

“You are still very small,” he muttered defensively, but a lopsided smirk made its way to his face.

“Please put me down!” You squeaked out, greatly embarrassed by this whole misunderstanding. At first you wanted to apologise but now, all you wanted was to kick his smug face; wait, you can achieve that. Just swing your legs hard enough and boom. But even you didn't want to damage that pretty face.

The man put you down immediately, as if realising how inappropriate that was. “Sorry about that, my lady.” He bowed.. yes, actually bowed. You expected him to be a jerk but he was a gentleman, how rare. “Hey, say something..”

“You do realise no normal human uses ‘My lady’ on a daily basis..” You blurted out, without even realising. The man visible shrinked down a little before muttering something incoherent.

“Damm you Flins..”

Before you could ask anything, the space beside you distorted. It's like the reality beside you was warping and forming a portal. Varka stepped forward, pulling you behind him.

“Alright Miss lady, I shall take my leave. Once you leave this forest, you'll forget about this interaction.”

You scrunched up your face.. “How?” The man just smiled before kissing your forehead, pushing you ahead and slipping inside the portal.. You were shocked for a moment but soon looked back to see where he went, you were tempted to follow him but stayed put, testing the portal by sticking your hand in.

“Guess I'll go back home..” you turned around withdrawing your hand and before you could take one more step, a six eyed spider with 12 or more legs was looking at you.. its fur was dark blue in colour with white tips at the end. it was as big as your face. You shrieked, stumbling backwards, trying to defend yourself, accidentally falling inside the portal, the hand that you once used to test the portal tried to grab it but the portal was not something solid. Instead the spider landed on your hand.

You closed your eyes tightly, screaming like a banshee while you were still falling. The spider as if having a conscious mind of his own let go and jumped down to get ahead of you. You have a feeling it's not going to be so fun anymore.

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The north wind feels cold now Epilogue-2

Story-

Epilogue -1 (angst)

Tw: FLUFFY YIPPEEE

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You wake with a gasp.

Cold—

That same biting, hollow cold clings to you for a split second, your chest tight, eyes stinging—

And then—

Warmth.

Solid. Real.

Your fingers curl instinctively into fabric—not your cloak, but something thicker… familiar. A steady rise and fall beneath your cheek. Heat that seeps into your skin, chasing away the remnants of that freezing emptiness.

“…Hey—hey, easy.”

His voice.

Close. Too close.

You blink, vision blurring as tears spill over before you can stop them.

Varka is right there.

Propped up beside you, one arm already around you, the other brushing your hair back in a hurry—like he doesn’t know where to touch first to make sure you’re really okay.

“…What happened?” he asks, voice low, rough with sleep—and something sharper. Concern. “Why are you crying?”

You can’t answer.

Not when your throat feels tight. Not when your heart is still racing like you’ve just run miles through something you never want to see again.

So instead—

You move.

Arms wrapping around him tightly, almost desperately, burying your face into his chest like if you let go, he might disappear.

For a second, he stills.

Then his hold tightens immediately, instinctively, pulling you closer.

“Hey… hey,” he murmurs, one hand cradling the back of your head, pressing you gently against him. “I’m here.”

His heartbeat is steady.

Warm.

Real.

“No one’s going anywhere,” he adds quietly, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles against your arm. “Not me. Not like that.”

A pause.

Then softer—

“…Bad dream?”

His grip doesn’t loosen.

If anything, it tightens just a little more—like he’s already decided he’s not letting you drift even an inch away from him again.

There’s no distance.

No cold.

(My ibis paint crashed very bad)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeerlesMelons

Thank you for reading my silly fics 🪿. I love all of you equally. Know more about mee.

My Twst Oc is Ruoye. Haven't really updated her, made her a really long time ago.

Epilogue- 1 of 2 "The North wind feels cold now"

Angst ending

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You woke up to cold.

Not the gentle kind that fades with movement—but the kind that settles deep, clinging to your bones like it belongs there.

For a moment, you don’t move.

Your eyes open slowly, the pale morning light barely cutting through the grey sky above Mondstadt. The ground beneath you is hard, unforgiving. You must’ve fallen asleep out here… sometime after everything.

After him.

Your fingers twitch slightly, brushing against the edge of your cloak. Still damp with dew. Still cold.

There’s no trace of warmth left.

Not even where he stood.

The city is already awake when you return.

Knights moving through their duties. Merchants setting up stalls. The usual rhythm—unchanged, untouched.

Like nothing ever happened.

Like nothing ever happens.

You don’t report in immediately.

You don’t need to.

Your feet carry you somewhere else first.

The tavern doors are open again.

Laughter spills out—loud, unrestrained.

Familiar.

You don’t step inside.

You don’t need to.

From where you stand, just out of sight, you can see enough.

Him.

Varka.

At the center, like always.

A mug in hand, head tilted back slightly as he laughs—easy, effortless. Surrounded by knights who admire him, who follow him, who don’t see anything beyond the man he chooses to be.

The Grandmaster.

Unshaken.

Unbothered.

Unchanged.

Not a trace of last night in his expression.

Not a flicker of hesitation.

Not even… regret.

Your chest tightens—just for a second.

Then stills.

Of course.

Why would there be?

The wind brushes past you again.

Cold.

Familiar.

Distant.

You watch for a moment longer.

Long enough to be sure.

Long enough to understand.

Then—

You turn.

No hesitation.

No sound.

Your steps are light, almost silent as you walk away, the noise behind you fading with each step.

You don’t look back.

There’s nothing left to look at.

By the time the tavern door swings shut again, you’re already gone.

Just another knight.

The north wind feels cold now.

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Varka x Reader I love Varka istg. Here's some angst.

tw: Heavy ooc, angst, hurt no comfort, english is not my first language nor i want it to be. Anyways enjoy.

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You never know when it started.

The memory never left you.

Not really.

It lingered in the quiet spaces between breaths… in the way the wind curled around your ankles… in the ache that came whenever you looked at him now.

Back then, you were smaller. Not just in height—but in presence.

The training grounds felt too big, the other kids too loud, their laughter too sharp. You still remembered the sting of it—mocking voices, the way they circled you like wolves.

“Too short.” “Too weak.” “Why are you even here?”

And then—

A hand grabbing your wrist.

Firm. Warm. Certain.

“Oi. Back off.”

You looked up.

Him.

Varka.

Not the Grandmaster. Not yet. Just a boy with messy hair, a grin too confident for his age, and eyes that burned with something fierce and unshakable.

He didn’t even look at them again. Just tugged you along like it was obvious—you belonged beside him.

“You okay?” You nodded, even though your throat felt tight.

He squinted at you for a moment… then smirked.

“Good. Then no more crying, yeah? If they mess with you again, you come to me.”

“…Why?”

He blinked, like the answer was obvious.

“Because I said so.”

It started like that.

Clumsy wooden swords. Bruised knees. Breathless laughter.

He taught you how to stand your ground—literally, adjusting your stance with his foot nudging yours.

“Balance,” he’d say. “You fall because you’re scared of falling.”

“Easy for you to say…”

“Hey,” he grinned, tapping your forehead, “you’ll get there.”

And you did.

Slowly.

Painfully.

But always with him beside you.

One night, after a long day of training, you both collapsed into the grass outside Mondstadt’s walls.

The sky stretched endlessly above you, stars scattered like spilled salt.

The moon hung low—bright, watchful. Your chest rose and fell heavily, muscles aching, but… it felt good.

You turned your head.

He was staring up at the sky too, arms behind his head, unusually quiet.

“…Hey,” he muttered.

“Mm?”

“I’m gonna become the Grandmaster someday.”

You blinked, then let out a small huff. “Huh? That came out of nowhere.”

He didn’t laugh.

Didn’t grin.

Just… kept looking at the moon.

“Yeah.”

“…Why?”

A pause.

Then, softer—

“So I can protect you.”

Your heart skipped.

“…Why protect me?”

He turned his head then, eyes meeting yours.

For once… no teasing. No cockiness.

Just something raw. Something real.

“…Silly you,” he murmured. “Still not understanding?”

Your breath caught.

And then—

Quietly. Almost like he was afraid the wind might steal the words away—

“I like you.”

The world stopped.

Or maybe it just felt like it did.

Because suddenly, you couldn’t hear the crickets, or the rustling leaves, or even your own breathing.

Just him.

And the way your heart was beating so loud it hurt.

The wind feels colder now.

Sharper.

You stand behind him—straight-backed, composed, silent.

“Report,” he says.

His voice is deeper now. Controlled. Commanding.

You don’t hesitate.

“All patrol units have returned. No casualties. Minor disturbances in the lower districts, handled.”

“Good.”

That’s all.

Just one word.

No glance. No smile.

No you did well.

The tavern is loud tonight. Knights celebrating. Glass clinking. Laughter filling the air.

And at the center of it—

Him.

The Grandmaster.

Admired. Respected. Untouchable.

You remain in the shadows, exactly where a right hand should be.

Efficient. Reliable. Replaceable.

Not the girl who once lay in the grass beside him.

Not the one who held his promise like something sacred.

Just… a knight.

You turn to leave.

“Wait.”

Your steps halt instantly.

You don’t turn right away. You’ve learned not to move unless necessary.

“…Yes, Grandmaster?”

A pause.

You can feel it—that hesitation.

Faint. Almost nonexistent.

“…You’ve improved,” he says.

Professional. Measured.

“Your Anemo control is… impressive.”

Of course it is.

You earned it.

Through training.

Through pain.

Through the hollow space he left behind.

“Thank you, sir.”

Sir.

The word tastes wrong.

Silence stretches between you.

And for a fleeting moment—just a heartbeat—you wonder if he remembers.

The moon.

The promise.

The confession you never answered.

“…Dismissed.”

Just like that.

You nod once.

Turn.

And walk away.

The wind follows you.

It always does now.

But it doesn’t feel like freedom

It feels like something you gained…

Because you lost something else.

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Doing everything except writing now. Also i gave up on Malleus's clothes. He can stay OB idc.

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He always knows.

The first time Mobei Jun growls at him, Shang Qinghua assumes he’s about to die.

It’s a low, rumbling sound, somewhere between thunder and a very large cat contemplating murder.

Shang Qinghua drops to his knees immediately. “Your Majesty, if this humble servant has erred, please spare my dog life—”

The growl shifts. Shorter. Sharper.

Shang Qinghua blinks.

“…You’re cold?”

A pause.

Then a softer sound. Almost a huff.

“Oh.” Shang Qinghua scrambles up, already shrugging off his outer robe. “Of course you’re cold. Ice demon. Northern territories. Drafty palace. This humble servant is blind.”

Mobei Jun stares at him, eyes pale and unreadable as snowfall. Shang Qinghua wraps the robe around his king’s shoulders.

Mobei Jun makes a quiet, almost pleased rumble.

And that is how it begins.

Years pass like that.

Mobei Jun does not speak.

He growls when displeased. He huffs when impatient. He makes a low, almost purring vibration in his chest when Shang Qinghua is close—usually when Shang Qinghua is rambling about budget reports or northern grain shipments or how unfair it is that as the author he doesn’t even get royalties in his own novel (Not that Mbj will understand lmao)

“Your Majesty says we’ll cut the southern tariffs by three percent,” Shang Qinghua declares brightly to a trembling court of demons.

Behind him, Mobei Jun gives a single, clipped grunt.

“Yes, yes, that means immediately.”

Another grunt.

“No, not five percent. Three. His Majesty is merciful, not foolish.”

The ministers bow, awed. They think their king is concise. They do not realize he has not spoken a single word in centuries.

It becomes second nature.

A sharp exhale means no.

A low rumble means stay.

Two short grunts mean explain yourself.

A quiet, nearly inaudible sound in the back of his throat means come here.

Shang Qinghua never questions it. Of course he understands Mobei Jun. He wrote him.

He knows the tilt of his brows, the faint tightening at the corner of his eyes, the way his claws flex when annoyed. He knows the difference between a territorial growl and a tired one.

He knows.

He always knows.

It isn’t until a joint meeting in Cang Qiong that the illusion cracks. Shen Qingqiu fans himself lazily, watching the northern king with narrowed eyes.

Mobei Jun stands beside Shang Qinghua, silent and imposing.

As always.

A disciple finishes speaking. Mobei Jun makes a low sound in his chest. Shang Qinghua nods. “His Majesty agrees.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan stills.

Later, when they’re alone beneath the bamboo eaves, Shen Qingqiu tilts his head. “How do you always know?” Shang Qinghua blinks. “Know what?”

“What he’s thinking,” Shen Qingqiu says lightly. “He never speaks.” Shang Qinghua laughs. “What do you mean he never speaks? He talks all the time.” Shen Qingqiu raises an eyebrow.

There is a long pause.

From behind him, Mobei Jun makes a soft, questioning sound. Shang Qinghua turns automatically. “It’s nothing, my king. Don’t worry.”

Silence.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze sharpens. “He just made a noise.”

“Yes?”

“And you translated.”

“Yes?”

“And you’ve done so for years.”

“Yes?”

Shen Qingqiu closes his fan with a snap.

“…Has he ever actually said a word?”

The world stops.

Shang Qinghua opens his mouth. Closes it. Replays every memory—

The growls.

The grunts.

The purring rumble against his shoulder at night.

The way he fills in the gaps without thinking.

The way he answers questions Mobei Jun never technically asks. Slowly, very slowly, he turns. “Mobei Jun,” he says carefully. Mobei Jun looks at him. “…Can you speak?”

The courtyard is quiet.

Wind rustles the bamboo leaves. Mobei Jun’s expression does not change. He opens his mouth. And makes a low, familiar sound.

Shang Qinghua stares. “…That’s a growl.”

A pause..

Mobei Jun’s jaw tightens slightly.

Another sound. Softer. Almost embarrassed.

It is not a word. It has never been a word.

Realization hits Shang Qinghua like a heavenly tribulation.

“Oh my god,” he breathes.

For years.

He has been the voice.

The court decrees.

The commands.

The negotiations.

Every time someone asked the king a question, it was Shang Qinghua who answered. Not because he was translating. Because there was nothing else. Mobei Jun steps forward.

He makes a quiet sound—low, hesitant.

Shang Qinghua feels it in his chest.

Stay.

He swallows.

Behind them, Shen Qingqiu makes a thoughtful noise. “So,” he says dryly, “you’ve been acting as the northern king’s voice for years without realizing it.”

Shang Qinghua covers his face. “I hate this novel.”

Mobei Jun steps closer. The purring vibration returns, deep and steady.

Shang Qinghua lowers his hands. “…You know,” he mutters, “you could have at least learned one word. Like ‘yes.’ Or ‘no.’ Or ‘Shang Qinghua is very competent and handsome.’”

Mobei Jun leans down.

Foreheads touching.

A soft rumble.

Shang Qinghua exhales. “…Yeah,” he whispers automatically. “I know.” And that’s the problem.

Alternative AU

where Geto got help when he needed and now alongside Satoru he's teaching at Jujustu high. One day Yuji notices something weird with both of them. Matching rings!

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I was trying to write the last chapter of RE:TURN or complete the monster energy drink sqq/mbj but my mind wandered to SatoSugu so i wrote this instead 😭

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Yuji notices it by accident.

He’s bruised, panting, cursed energy buzzing unevenly in his veins while Gojo-sensei claps like this is a fun after-school club and not active near-death training. Geto-sensei steps in at the same time, calm as ever, correcting Yuji’s stance with a quiet voice and a hand on his shoulder.

Both of them gesture at once.

Yuji’s eyes drop.

Ring.

Left hand.

Simple band.

Gojo-sensei’s ring flashes briefly when the sunlight catches it—nothing flashy, nothing Gojo-like at all. Just… there. Familiar. Lived-in. Yuji’s gaze flicks to his Geto-sensei without meaning to.

Same hand.

Same finger.

Same ring.

Yuji forgets to breathe.

“—Itadori?”

He jolts.

“S-sorry!” Yuji blurts, bowing instinctively. “I was just–uh–thinking!”

Gojo grins. “Wow, character development.”

Geto’s eyes linger on Yuji for half a second longer than necessary, sharp and thoughtful, before he steps back. “Take five. Then we’ll resume.”

Yuji does not take five.

He sprints.

—

“NOBARA.”

Nobara looks up from rewrapping her arm. “If this is about that stupid earthworm–”

“They’re wearing matching rings.”

“…say that again.”

Yuji crouches like he’s revealing a state secret. “Gojo-sensei and Geto-sensei. Same rings. Same finger. I swear I’m not imagining it.” Nobara’s expression changes instantly–eyes bright, grin sharp, brain already running a thousand scenarios.

“Oh,” she says softly. “Oh this is good.”

Megumi, sitting a few steps away, pauses mid-zip of his bag. He does not look up.

—

They confront them after class.

Not subtly. Nobara does not believe in subtlety, and Yuji is vibrating too hard to pretend otherwise.

Gojo’s leaning against the hallway wall, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, posture lazy. Geto stands beside him with a stack of reports, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his wrist—and the ring.

Nobara plants herself in front of them.

“So,” she says.

Gojo hums. “So.”

Yuji points. “The rings.”

Geto blinks.

Gojo freezes for a fraction of a second—so brief Yuji almost misses it—then breaks into a wide, delighted grin.

“Oh,” Gojo says. “You noticed.”

Yuji’s soul leaves his body.

“WAIT–”

Nobara whips around. “YOU’RE NOT DENYING IT??”

Geto exhales slowly, like a man bracing for impact. “Satoru.”

“What?” Gojo shrugs. “They’re smart kids. Mostly.”

Yuji’s hands flap uselessly. “So you’re–"

“Married,” Geto says, calm, precise, inevitable.

Nobara screams.

Yuji makes a noise that might be a word if examined closely.

Megumi finally looks up.

“They know now?” he asks flatly.

Gojo beams. “Megumi! Proud of you for keeping the secret.”

Nobara snaps her head toward him. “YOU KNEW?”

Megumi sighs. Deep. Tired. The sigh of someone who has seen too much for his age.

“They raised me,” he says. “I figured it out years ago.”

Yuji stares at him. “YEARS?”

Megumi shoulders his bag. “You stop questioning it after a while.”

Geto reaches out without looking, straightening Megumi’s collar with habitual care. “You didn’t have to stay quiet."

Gojo laughs, loud and fond, and throws an arm around Geto’s shoulders. Geto lets him. Always does. Yuji’s chest feels strange. Not bad. Just… full. “You act like divorced parents,” Yuji says weakly. Gojo gasps. “Rude.” Geto smiles faintly. “Inaccurate.”

“Then why didn’t you tell us?” Nobara demands. Gojo tilts his head. “Did you need to know?”

Yuji opens his mouth. Closes it.

“…no.”

“Exactly,” Geto says.

There’s something soft in the way his thumb brushes over the ring. Something careful.

Megumi turns to leave. “I’m going to train.”

“Don’t go,” Gojo calls. “Family meeting.”

Megumi stops walking.

–

Later, when the sun dips low and the hallway empties, Yuji glances back once.

Gojo and Geto are still there, talking quietly now. No students. No performance.

Just two men standing too close, rings catching the same light.

Yuji smiles.