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lilsoftext · 5 months ago

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•~* ARGUMENT T BEFORE BED *~•

-chris sturniolo x female reader

summery : chris and sof had argument before bed

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The dim light of the living room cast long shadows on the walls, a silent witness to the tension that hung heavy in the air. Chris sat on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped tightly together as he stared at the floor. The remnants of dinner sat cold on the table, plates barely touched, as if their argument had sucked all the life out of the evening. The room felt unnaturally quiet without Sof’s usual presence beside him, and the weight of their argument pressed heavily on his chest.

The fight wasn’t even that big, Chris thought to himself. But somehow, like many things between him and Sof lately, it had spiraled into something much larger. It was always the same argument: Sof spent too much time at work. Chris felt neglected, and Sof felt misunderstood.

“I don’t even know how we ended up here,” Chris muttered under his breath.

He sighed deeply, running his hands through his hair, frustration and guilt swirling in his mind. In the distance, he could hear the faint sound of Sof moving around in the bedroom, the soft creak of the bed frame as she settled under the covers. She hadn’t slammed the door, but the quiet way she’d closed it hurt just as much.

Chris played the argument back in his mind. He hated how these moments seemed to unfold the same way every time. He’d approach Sof about how absent she’d been lately, and she’d respond with how much she was doing for them. The look on her face when he’d brought it up again tonight—it wasn’t just tiredness, it was more than that.

"I feel like you’re never here anymore," Chris had said, his tone more exasperated than he intended.

Sof had frowned, crossing her arms as she stood in the kitchen, her back to him. "Chris, I’m working. It’s not like I’m out there doing nothing. You know how much this job means to me."

"I do," Chris had shot back, unable to hide the frustration in his voice. "But it feels like your job is all you care about sometimes. What about us?"

Sof had turned to face him, her eyes flashing with irritation. "I’m doing this for us. To build something for our future. You make it sound like I’m choosing work over you, but I’m not. I just have responsibilities, and it’s not like I can just drop everything whenever you feel lonely."

The words had hit Chris harder than he wanted to admit. He knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him, but it still stung. Every time they had this conversation, it ended with both of them feeling worse, like neither of them was truly being heard. The argument had escalated from there, both of them too entrenched in their own frustrations to see the other’s point of view.

Now, sitting alone in the living room, Chris felt that familiar knot of regret tightening in his stomach. He hadn’t meant to make her feel like she had to choose between him and her career. He was proud of her—more than proud, in fact. Sof was brilliant, passionate, and determined. She’d worked so hard to get where she was, and Chris admired her for that. But lately, it felt like she was always gone. Late nights at the office, weekends spent catching up on work, her phone constantly buzzing with emails and notifications. And Chris missed her.

He missed the small things, the little moments that had once filled their days. Cooking dinner together, laughing at some stupid meme on her phone, sharing a blanket while they watched Netflix. He missed the way her eyes used to light up when she talked about something she was excited about, missed the way she used to fall asleep on his shoulder while they were watching TV.

But more than anything, what gnawed at him now was the fear that their last interaction had been a fight. It wasn’t the first time they’d argued, but this time felt different. Maybe it was because they hadn’t spent much quality time together lately, or maybe it was because the argument had ended so abruptly, with Sof retreating to the bedroom without a word. Chris had called after her as she closed the door, but there had been no reply.

He rubbed his face with both hands, his heart heavy. He hated going to bed with things unresolved. What if something happened in the night? What if one of them didn’t wake up? He knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t shake the thought. He’d lost someone before—his older brother, in fact—someone he never had the chance to make amends with. It had been sudden, a car accident, and Chris had been left with a lifetime of regret. They had fought the day before. It was the last thing Chris had said to him. Since then, Chris couldn’t stand the idea of leaving things unresolved with anyone he loved.

Sof knew this about him. She knew that Chris couldn’t sleep after a fight, couldn’t let things sit unresolved, especially not overnight. He’d told her once, early in their relationship, about his brother and the guilt he still carried with him. Sof had been so understanding back then, holding his hand and promising she would never go to bed angry. But tonight, everything felt different.

Chris stood up slowly, pacing the room. He glanced at the clock on the wall—it was well past midnight now, and he hadn’t heard a sound from the bedroom in over an hour. His heart pounded in his chest, the fear and guilt eating away at him. He couldn’t leave things like this. He couldn’t go to bed knowing that Sof was upset with him.

Quietly, Chris made his way down the hallway to the bedroom, his footsteps barely audible on the hardwood floor. The door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, he could see the soft glow of the bedside lamp still on. Sof was lying on her side, her back to the door, a small, still shape beneath the covers.

He hesitated for a moment, guilt washing over him. She looked like she was already asleep, and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her rest after such a long, stressful day. But the thought of going to bed without making things right weighed too heavily on his mind. What if one of them didn’t wake up tomorrow? The thought chilled him to his core.

Gently, Chris pushed the door open and stepped inside, the soft creak of the hinges almost imperceptible in the quiet room. He walked over to the bed, stopping just beside her, and knelt down so he could be at eye level with her if she woke.

"Sof," he whispered, his voice soft and tentative. "Sof, wake up."

She stirred slightly, shifting beneath the blankets, but didn’t wake up. He hesitated again, biting his lip, but then reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Sof," he whispered again, a little louder this time.

Her body shifted, and she mumbled something under her breath before her eyes fluttered open, groggy and unfocused. She blinked a few times, clearly trying to shake off the fog of sleep.

"Chris?" she mumbled, her voice thick with drowsiness. "What… what is it? What time is it?"

"It’s late," he admitted softly. "I’m sorry for waking you, I just... I couldn’t sleep. Not like this."

Sof pushed herself up slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Like what?"

Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t want to go to bed with you mad at me. I hate it when we fight, and I hate it even more when we don’t make up before going to sleep."

Sof looked at him for a long moment, her expression softening as she processed his words. She knew about his fear—the anxiety that something could happen in the night, and that their last words to each other could be angry ones. It was one of the first deep conversations they’d ever had, back when they were still learning about each other’s pasts. She knew how much it weighed on him.

"I’m not mad at you," she said quietly, her voice still laced with sleep. "I was frustrated, but I’m not mad."

Chris felt a wave of relief wash over him, but it was quickly followed by guilt. "I didn’t mean to make you feel like your work isn’t important. I know how hard you work, and I know it’s important to you. I just... I miss you. I miss us."

Sof sighed softly, her eyes gentle as she looked at him. "I know. And I miss you too, Chris. I don’t want you to feel like I’m not here for you, but sometimes it feels like you don’t understand how much pressure I’m under at work. I’m doing my best to balance everything, but it’s hard."

Chris nodded, his throat tight. "I know it is. And I don’t want to add to your stress. I just... I just want to feel like we’re in this together. Like we’re still a team, you know?"

Sof reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "We are a team. And I’m sorry if it doesn’t feel that way sometimes. I’ve been so focused on work that I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting us."

He squeezed her hand back, the tension in his chest easing a little. "I just want to be with you, Sof. Even if it’s just for a little while before bed. I don’t need grand gestures or anything. I just miss being close to you."

Sof’s expression softened even more, and she shifted over in the bed, making space for him. “Come here,” she said quietly.

Chris didn’t hesitate. He climbed into bed beside her, and as soon as he lay down, she curled up next to him, resting her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and for the first time that night, he felt a sense of peace settle over him.

They lay there in the quiet for a while, the warmth of each other’s bodies a silent reassurance. Sof’s breathing was soft and even, and Chris could feel her heart beating against his side, steady and comforting.

“I love you,” Chris whispered into the quiet, his lips brushing the top of her head.

“I love you too,” Sof murmured, her voice barely audible as sleep began to pull her back under.

Chris pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, his arms tightening around her. The fear that had gnawed at him earlier was gone, replaced by the warmth of Sof in his arms, by the knowledge that they were okay. That they were still a team.

And as they lay there, their bodies entwined, the argument from earlier felt like a distant memory. Whatever tomorrow brought, they would face it together.

thats all. i hope you enjoyed it. let me know down below if you have any ideas or if you want me to write something that you want.

lilsoftext<3

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #sturniolo triplets #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo

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savagewildnerness · 10 months ago

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Sam Reid: such a master at, with a flicker of emotion spelling a world of words unsaid.

When we get books from Lestat’s perspective, we discover the eloquence & complexity of Lestat’s thinking & we understand the depth of his emotions. And sometimes Lestat explains how these very eloquently articulated feelings & thoughts on the page; he never actually said them aloud to someone. I think it likely that many of us here, expressing our lives & loves in written words in online spaces may relate to a difficulty doing that verbally? Well, I relate, anyway.

But for Lestat it is very different than for me. I find verbal words much harder than written ones. But Lestat has been told & shown over & over again that he is “too much” and so when he has his big thoughts & feelings, in the moment, he doesn’t know how to contain them enough when they’re important enough to actually tell them to people without the recipient finding him “too much” too.

But it’s not an easy thing, with just a look to convey fully what’s going on in Lestat’s brain when Lestat doesn’t speak the words he feels to the person he feels them to.

Here, Claudia has left; Lestat: literally “The Light” of a creature: one of the most positive beings (at least in what he puts out into the world, if not always in what he feels inside) that exists is drawn into Louis’ gloom. But he can exist in Louis’ gloom & feel increasingly hopeless & depressed himself. Lestat can carry that & wait & be there as long as Louis needs him to, because he loves Louis. But he can’t carry that Louis doesn’t seem to care about him at all.

Louis so focussed on Claudia even when she’s absent… it’s so close to yet another soul Lestat loves abandoning him; neglecting him… as everyone has in the end: from parents to lovers to Mentors to people who told him they loved him or found him extraordinary once…. And does Louis care? Lestat is here anyway, but the pain flickers as Sam shows us, even while to Louis, seeming as though he’s perhaps annoying or being flippant or superior; superficial and unconcerned about Claudia when he actually turns In Louis’ direction…

But we, the audience can see & feel the full story. Thank you Sam!

#interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #anne rice #the vampire lestat #iwtv lestat #sam reid

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yuri-is-online · 7 months ago

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Pas de Deux: A Fyuuture Kid au pt. 2 (Rook x Yuu)

Once upon a time there was a house in the woods. Three people lived inside it and they were very happy because soon there was going to be a fourth One day a man in a suit came and knocked on the door of the house, but he did not want to say hello. He was not interested in how happy the people in the house were or that that day was very important. The man was there because he had decided there should only be two people in the house, and because the world is not always kind, and not all houses are happy ones, the man in the suit got his way.

And now there was only one person in the house and he felt very alone.

notes: this will not make sense if you have not read pt.1, so please do. They/them used for Yuu, and the name Oliver is used interchangeably Yutu. This contains lengthy one shot parts, but does still have some hc bullet points. WARNING: major character death, body horror, angst with a bittersweet ending. This is part of the fyuuture kid au, more of which can be found on my masterlist here under the series section.

"Is Oli awake yet?" The new boy, Roland, is an absolute mess and if he didn't look so pitiful you would have told Rook to dry him off outside and not in your Lounge. Rook isn't deathly serious about much, but he is about this and you can't help but feel a bit out of the loop even if it is clear that it somehow revolves around you.

"Non, I'm afraid you gave your brother quite the fright." Rook gently says, carefully massaging Roland's head to dry his hair and try to soothe the tension currently shuddering across his body. "Focus on yourself for now and let our dear Trickster take care of Monsieur Caneton." He smiles at you and you break eye contact to catch your breath, coughing to excuse yourself up the stairs to Yutu's room and away from your personal problems, content to let Grim bother the pair about cleaning up their mess.

You aren't as observant as Rook, but seeing Yutu's face had sparked a strange dissonant feeling in you that you think was triggered by his appearance. The color of his hair, the fat of his cheeks, the way his nose wrinkled when Rook had laid him in his bed (and not so subtlety flexed his biceps while you were watching) felt familiar to you. Absent his hood, he looked like you had spun DNA from yourself into yarn and knit him into being, borrowing ever so slightly from another source to sew his eyes and nose in such a way that a sideways glace would send even the strongest of beasts running. Even before those eyes fluttered open you knew what color they would be, but still you laughed at the forest green that looked up at you.

"Sleep well?" Yutu scrambles away from you, yanks the covers over his head and turns frantically around looking for his hood and mask you know are tucked away downstairs well out of reach. He is stammering, saying a random assortment articles together but failing to describe anything as you try to stick what you had planned to say. "Is it just 'Oli' or is that short for something?" Yutu pauses his searching, but he keeps the sheet between you and his face.

"... it's Oliver. But Yutu is still fine if that's easier." There are a few ways you can go about this, you think as you lean back in your chair.

"I don't really care about what's easier." Because it's true, if you did you probably would have run away from this school the second Crowley turned his back. Damn crow probably wouldn't have gone looking for you either. "I care about what will make you comfortable, since I don't think you planned on ever having this conversation with me." You reach forward slowly, making sure to pause just before you reach the sheet counting on him to intuitively know you are asking for permission. He lets it down himself, allowing you to go back to crossing your arms as you look at him. Oliver mirrors you, holding the sheet around himself taking several breaths before clearly trying to collect some thread of a thought before the damn breaks.

"I'm from the future."

"I should hope so." You hum. "Not that I would put it past him, but Rook would have some explaining to do if you weren't." He coughs and you smile.

"Well- you. You aren't intimidated by that at all? Rook I mean, not... me." He's much quieter than any child you'd expected Rook to ever contribute too, much more jumpy but that's not as disturbing as him calling his father by his first name.

"I've accepted what I feel for him for a while now." The window is much more appealing than your son's face but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "The idea of him reciprocating is- or well was given you're here, something I thought was never going to happen."

"But he writes you letters! I-" Oliver shouts before remembering said man is downstairs and undoubtedly listening for every breath he takes. "I used to read them." Now it is your turn to be embarrassed as you cough and think about the little box you have so carefully hidden upstairs. Not carefully enough it seems, but then again this isn't just your child.

"Well he didn't sign them. And besides..." It was perhaps a bit harsh to count against Rook's statement that he felt like he was fickle and his heart easily captured. No one had really wanted to propose to the ghost bride so it was natural of him to say something like that and it wasn't like he had known you particularly well back then either. He hadn't said he would never want to get married, just that it was too early to think about and if you were being practical that was the most reasonable position to take- "Look it doesn't really matter! What does is that you're here and not for fun right? And what's up with your brother? I clearly didn't raise you in barn so what gives with him?" It's obvious you're embarrassed and deflecting, but still it works as Yutu, or Oliver you now suppose, takes a deep breath and begins to tell you a story, the ending of which, in a way, you already know. ~~~~ Roland was ten when the changes started. Papa did not come home immediately when the night fell, which was not strange. He had been old enough not to worry. It was not strange for Papa to come home injured, it was not strange for there to be blood. But the blood had been dull that time, dull and Papa hadn't said much. He had held him though, hummed a song that felt like home. No matter where they had traveled he had never heard a song so wonderful, it had a name but Papa said it wouldn't help to find it. It was a yuusong, from "beyond the rift." Roland liked it a lot even if he could only remember a few strains of the words and understood none of their meaning

"Mon poussin, are you afraid of being alone?" It was a silly question of Papa to ask. "No matter where you go, your parent and I will always watch over you. So long as you live this world will be a beautiful place. I love you, so much more than my heart can give me words to describe." It was a scary thing to say. Such a silly and scary thing to ask and say that Papa forgot about it when he woke up the next morning, he would have forgotten about Roland too if he hadn't have yelled at him for it. Papa had said nothing at all that morning actually, not even a twitch of a smile or a laugh at his protest. Roland's mind must have painted over how there was no blood anymore, there was the ink- the blot he had been training so long to avoid instead. The Hunter had allowed him to follow and that allowed him to do all of the lying he might have needed to think things were fine to himself.

And on some level Roland knew that's what he had been doing all of this time but now that he was here, wherever here was, he was being forced to think about it.

"Are you hungry or somethin?" The racoon stares up at him, angry he thinks because its paws are on its hips. "Ya keep staring off into space and it's creepy!"

"Is it?" Roland tries to blink and the racoon jumps away from him so he moves closer so as not to miss anything it says.

"Y-yeah! It is! You're really creepy! And Rook's here so that's sayin something." The racoon mutters the last bit and Roland turns to look at Rook. He's too young, there are creases missing in his brow and a cruel bend to his gaze that isn't present when he looks at him. If anything Rook is looking at him in a way he thinks he should recognize, but doesn't remember the word for anymore.

"Are you hungry, Monsieur Poussin?" Rook smiles, the word that his mind supplies now is kind but it is still not the word he wants for the way Rook looks at him. Poussin... his focus breaks and Rook calls his name gently, fear is a word he remembers and holds onto. Most humans use that word when describing things so it grounds him somewhat.

"I guess." Turning down food is a bad idea even if the new sights and smells are almost too overwhelming to want to eat. When he looks back at Rook the fear has changed, he knows this look too but the humans he met never lived long enough to explain it to him. He thinks he still knows it though, but from where he doesn't want to remember. Not if there's actually going to be food. And thankfully Oliver comes down the stairs just in time to take the attention away from him.

"Roland?" He's still confused and Roland swallows the need to hug him, but he can't stop himself from shaking. "Where- how did you get here?"

"Where is here?" The strange person next to Oliver makes a noise like letting out a breath, and he thinks the racoon screams but he has never heard one do that before so he doesn't know. "Is this where you were? I've been looking for you, and for our parent too but if I've found you then they've got to be near." Roland hasn't thought about them much, dad always got so sad when he talked about them and after he stopped talking it was hard to get answers about anything. Talking about them always made him violent so he had tried his best not to do it. Oli sways a bit, almost like he's going to collapse again but the strange person moves to support him before Roland can.

"Thank you for doing that Roland, you sound like you've been a very good big brother." Something about their voice makes him want to cry, and he has to really work to remind himself that would be a waste of water when they smile at him. "But the answer to that is a bit complicated."

So. Roland. He has no real idea that the portal he went through was going to take him to the past, he just decided to race his "dad" for it and won. It's clear from talking to him that he's not the most educated or aware of things, he knows that he is "from" the Shaftlands, that he is a mage but he's not very practiced on how to use magic and says his dad "punishes" him when he tried to learn. He says he grew up traveling Twisted Wonderland looking for his parent and baby brother, but that his father was always present with him. He has memories of lots of places in Twisted Wonderland before the apocalypse began and while his descriptions are very child like, it gives Yutu some context for things he says will be useful in formulating a plan to stop the bad future.

In Roland's mind, Rook just got sick and became unable to talk after a while. It's clear he is aware on some level of what happened, he calls the phantom dad instead of papa, and while he plays off what were very clear attempts at murder as "games" the way he instinctively flinches at Rook's touch suggests his body knows even if his mind doesn't. His time following the phantom of his father around has clearly taken its toll on his body, his skin lacks the same level of pigmentation as his brother's, like someone has turned the saturation on his melanin up in a way that's clearly unnatural.

He's unused to actual food, he cries the first time you feed him even if it is just a cup noodle. Grim instantly forgives all of his weirdness when he agrees that canned tuna is the best thing he has ever tasted, he has a new favorite henchuman now (until he realizes this means he needs to share, then he demands Roland get a new favorite food). Rook insists on being the one to cook for him, he is genuinely terrified of the future that Roland and Oliver have described and he wants more than anything for his children to know he would never do anything like they experienced of his own free will. He is a hunter of love, not a practitioner of filicide.

There is of course, the small matter of how to explain all of this to Crowley, or if you even should given his suspicious absence in every story you just heard. Rook doesn't want either of his chicks out of sight, so he firmly rejects Yutu's suggestion to entrust Roland to his friends, something you second; you don't trust a bunch of random people with such a traumatized child, let alone one that's technically yours. Yutu suggests asking Idia for advice then, something you can't say you are surprised by given his glowing description of how the guy turns out in the future but still...

"So let me see if I understand this correctly." Idia has his head in his hands, not even bothering to use his tablet from just how done he is with this conversation, even though this marks his first participation in it. "Yutu is from the 'Bad Ending' timeline and he's come back here to make sure you get together with Rook."

"No!" You cough scream as Ortho dutifully pats you on your back in encouragement. "He's here because everyone overblots! Again! Except for you apparently. And Vil but that's only because of you?" He waves a single hand in the air.

"Yeah skill issue or whatevs- look." He finally looks up from his hands, if you didn't know any better you would say he's bored but it's clear from how he actually pauses and minimizes the game he was playing that's far from the case. "If Ortho didn't back up what you were saying about your hellspawn-" you take a deep breath and remind yourself said childrens' existence relies on this moron's help "then I wouldn't believe anything you just said, but it does kind of make sense."

"It does?" Idia pulls up some stills from what you assume are the school security systems of portals similar to what Rook described the one Roland appeared out of.

"The sentient blot phantoms isn't like anything S.T.Y.X. has recorded before, but if you assume monsters can experience evolution similar to how other species do it makes sense that it could happen. Especially if some sort of curse is involved, which it sounds like there has to be. Speaking of which, hellion 1." Idia doesn't bother to look at you so he misses the way your eye twitches.

"Roland?"

"Yeah. We're going to need to run some tests on him." Idia actually looks at you this time, which improves everything but your mood.

"Aren't you supposed to ask permission first?"

"If the world is going to end in roughly twenty years then no." Idia snorts. "I just don't want his parents showing up at S.T.Y.X. again demanding to see their favorite boy." "If his description of what his life was like is real, then he was raised by a phantom. If he's a mage, then it's miracle he hasn't overblotted and he's at real risk of hurting himself if he tries to learn to use magic at this point."

"Is there anyway you can do the tests here?" You don't like the thought of Roland hurting himself, but there have already been so many changes in his life in such a short period you are afraid one more might make him overblot anyway. "Or at least let Yutu go with him, he trusts him. I just- he's really skiddish."

"I can take some samples and send them for analysis, but if he's as fucked up as I think he is then he's going to need a detox that can't be done here." So Idia has the same set of thoughts that you do, that relaxes you somewhat even if you know very little is going to convince Rook to unwind.

"I can keep an eye on him." Ortho volunteers helpfully. "It would look weird if another student got added to Ramshackle out of nowhere, but transfers to Ignihyde aren't unheard of so we could have him stay with us!" Idia, surprisingly, doesn't shoot the idea down immediately, though he notices your confusion.

"What? Kid grew up in a blot infested forest, he'd probably be more at home here since it's so dark and gloomy. And besides he's going to need to learn how to use tech anyway if he wants to survive. Sides, it'll give us an excuse to keep him away from the other dorms."

You hate to say that Idia is right about anything, but he is about this. Roland really likes Ignihyde, tells you it doesn't smell as weird as Ramshackle (Rook has yet to introduce him to Pomefiore) and the Headmage accepts Idia's explanation of him being a S.T.Y.X. project ready for field testing easily enough. You suspect it might have something to do with him covering up all the overblots but wisely hold your tongue. He still comes to visit you and Yutu, but he's very slow to warm up to you. It's not that he doesn't love you, it's just that you were ripped away from him while he was still a baby so there's some trauma screaming at him that you don't really love him, otherwise you would have been there. The first time you really hug him, he breaks down ugly crying and holds on so tightly you swear he cracks some bones.

Roland is a mage, but his magic is weak from years of never practicing. He's very frustrated by this. Idia's surprised how willing he is to participate in the tests he wants to run on him, but not complaining. Roland tells him why quickly enough anyway, he's the oldest so he should be the one protecting his little brother and his parents but he can't if he's got something wrong with him. And just like that Idia regrets asking because he's feeling things like Rook Hunt's kid is being #relatable right now instead of a demon hellspwan from an overblotted future like he's supposed to be. Whatever he'll just take revenge by teaching him how to play video games. It'll be good enrichment for him probably, help him with that vocab.

And I mean it does. Roland certainly learns some new words. It's just that now you are having to explain to Vil that you are married to Rook in the future and yes, that child who talks like an mmo world chat is yours, you promise he's going to be better once the timeline gets fixed and you will have a chance to actually raise him. Vil is surprisingly supportive, both of Roland and Yutu. He already really liked Yutu, the magic of time travel must have made him remember how fond he was of the little sapling, and he is extremely proud to know he was in Pomefiore. Roland's life is a horror beyond his comprehension so he's determined to help teach him what it means to be human. Vil sees it as a test of his character development this far, sure he has an idea of what Roland should look like and how he should act, but what's the best way to introduce these things to him?

Epel is a huge help with Roland. He doesn't understand the gamer speak but he gets the rough and tumble phrases that come out when he's frustrated. He even surprises himself with how much he agrees with Vil on what Roland should do, and how his much of his advice is taken. It's such a beautiful sight Rook cries in pride every time he thinks about it. Roland wasn't super interested until Oliver told him about Vil being the reason he knew he had an older brother. He's still not 100% sold on what Vil tells him to do but if Epel reassures him and explains it then he'll do it.

The tests that Idia does prove that Roland isn't a danger to others, but he is very sick. Extended exposure to blot in its purest from has made him extremely sensitive to it, coming to this timeline has helped improve his chances somewhat but Idia doesn't think he would have lived more than two or three more years if he had stayed in the past. His magic is more or less killing him, so Ortho and Idia double down on teaching him how to use magical technologies. Idia makes sure to tell you and Rook this won't be a problem if you manage to create a good future, and that understanding this helps but still. Hearing your son only has a few years to live, and only if he stops actively using his magic hurts. No parent wants to hear that.

If Yutu has Rook's cunning and stealth, then Roland has his brutality and outgoing nature. He's very friendly, his only problem with speaking is that he lacks the vocabulary he needs to get his point across. Since he was raised by a phantom in the wilderness for a part of his life he has next to no problem hunting and killing., especially if it means he gets to keep his family. It's one of the things that allows him to connect with the real version of his father, Rook has a similar line of thinking, especially after hearing Roland's fate and the more he gets to spend time alone with you. He'd do anything to give his friends a happy future, but for you he would do anything. It's a disease, what is that poem you spoke to him about? Something about the poison from your lips being the deadliest of them all, he'll die if he has to live in a future without your kisses. It just will not happen, he won't let beauty leave this world forever.

Rook hates knowing you had to raise a child alone, he hates thinking that Oliver thought even for a second he abandons you. He hates knowing Roland thought you abandoned him and stole his brother, that he watched him die and refused to believe it. He hates seeing Roland run away from Trey holding onto his jaw, he loves all of Yutu's friends dearly and can't wait to meet their parents in the future. He loves sitting with you and hearing all of the thoughts you were too shy to tell him when you doubted his sincerity. He loves seeing Roland's efforts to adapt to his disability, he hates the fact his son is sick in the first place. He loves watching Yutu chase Azul around and he loves how Ace and Deuce fight about who would be the better Uncle even though it's clear Grim has already won the fight.

The future is always worth fighting for, and you will always be worth crying over. Has he mentioned he loves you yet today? Even when the day is won and the memories begin to fade, the compulsion to tell you remains. Rook knows you have no magic to speak of, but there is something about you when you hold him close that makes him think that can't be true, not really.

"Why Trickster?" Vil doesn't question his choice of nicknames ever, but now is as good a time as any Rook supposes. "I would have thought you would jump to something more romantic now that they've... accepted your invitation?"

"Non non beautiful Vil." Rook carefully sets aside his beaker, making sure that his project is in a place that he can pause before elaborating. "You do not understand, trickster is the most perfect description of my true love." Vil has a look that he makes sometimes that would make lesser men cease, a certain purse to the lips and blank look to the eyes that Rook never fails to ignore. "My true love is plain to the untrained eye, in our world power is thought to be strictly magical in nature but that isn't true. Just as the Fairest Queen was known for her unrelenting effort in the face of adversity so too does Yuu face down any and all that stands before them. Their determination is breathtaking, a magic all its own."

"You do seem quite powerless before it." Vil says dryly, but his smile betrays his true thoughts. Rook is eccentric, someone others only tolerate and, if Vil is as honest as he prides himself on being, the same could probably be said of you, the magicless prefect of a magic school. Of course Rook would love you, it gives him a few ideas for a movie, assuming he manages to hold onto them once time has been set right again.

But Vil will keep that to himself, it will make a lovely wedding gift for his dear hunter. He'll make sure to get you something much more practical.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #rook hunt x reader #rook hunt x yuu #future kid au

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ladymoody · 5 months ago

Note

Hi could you right a story with cook from skins? i barely see fanficts about him. thank you if you do it 🙏🏻

SUGAR

james cook x fem!reader

︎warnings: nsfw +18, drugs, alcohol, mention of death, irresponsible driving, explicit language, fingering, squirt.

word count: 1,4k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist ; playlist ; characters list ; my website

"so… she's with freddie now?" I asked. cook and effy had recently broken up and he couldn't stop thinking about her. once, when he came over to sleep at my place, I even found him crying in the bathroom and it was a sorrowful sight. he told me how well effy had treated him, and how later she switched to a heartless behavior. he had tried to replace her many times with some flings but he told me it didn't feel the same because he deeply knew effy, meanwhile, he didn't even remember the names of the girls he fucked for fun.

"yeah. I saw them making out on the bus too the other day."

"oh cook..." I shifted a bit more on the couch, snuggling up to him to comfort him.

"it's okay, y/n." he moved his hand in the air as if he meant to diminish the importance of the matter. "I'm over it."

"I don't think so, cookie."

"don't call me that, you know I don't like it." he chuckled. "I'll call you sugar if you don't stop."

cook used to call me sugar when we met. he said the fragrance I used was so sweet that it reminded him of a sugary drink.

"you know it makes nostalgic."

"I'm well aware of that." he grinned, tickling my side slightly.

"what if we hang out like we used to?" I said.

"what do you mean? you mean getting drunk and high?"

"maybe. late night car drive without a destination?"

he lifted his eyebrows and hesitated. "what if we crash? getting drunk and driving doesn't sound so smart, ya know?" he brushed a strand of my hair off my face.

"cook, do you actually care? just take the highway, everything will be fine." I smirked, looking at him in the eyes.

both of us didn't really care about dying. death wasn't such a big deal after all, especially for two teenagers like us who had lost everything — cook's parents were divorced and both very absent. the only relative he still had was his little brother who lived with his mother so he rarely saw him. just like cook, I didn't have a father as he had moved out when I was very little and my mother passed away a couple of years before due to overdose. I currently lived with my aunt, who used to drink a lot of alcohol as well and didn't care about me.

“you’re right. fuck it.” he smirked and left a quick kiss on my neck before getting up from the couch and grabbing his jacket from the hanger.

I smiled at him and followed him into the hall, picking up my leather jacket as well.

(skip time)

we had settled in his car — our jackets were thrown in the backseats, cook’s shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top and my window rolled down to make the wind blow my hair. we were heading to the highway.

“I love the night.” I affirmed after taking a sip of the bottle of vodka in my hand.

“me too. it’s so calm and quiet… it makes you want to screw the silence up with some good sex and loud parties.” he took a puff from his spliff. I laughed.

“jeez, cook… you really are bold, ain’t you?” I ruffled his short hair for as much as I could. “I’m glad you’re thinking about something different other than effy.”

cook’s expression changed into something darker and more serious. I had touched a soft spot.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought this topic back.”

“it’s okay, y/n. you didn’t do it on purpose. then effy can go fuck herself. I’m tired of being her little puppy she uses every time she wants some good sex because mr mclair is a bloody inexperienced incompetent.”

“you’re right. fuck her.”

“fuck her.” he repeated more to himself. there was silence for a couple of minutes, just the sound of the wheels on the road and the other cars passing by. I felt the awkward moment building between us two, so I glanced at cook and leaned in to kiss his cheek quickly, then I set my vodka bottle down.

cook smiled at the gesture and turned his head to give me an affectionate look. "I should be sad more often if it means getting you to show me affection."

I chuckled and nudged his arm, "shut up". the silence fell again.

there was a bit of tension between us too, as if we wanted to say so many things but couldn't. "I was thinking..." he began.

"how many years have we known each other for?" he continued.

"I don't know... 4... 5?"

he didn't answer me as he kept staring at the road in front of him, and I was growing suspicious, but not so later a little idea popped up in my mind.

"you'd like my help, cook?" I asked. my voice was lower than before and I leaned in as I caressed his cheek.

cook smirked. I understood what he meant and he understood I understood what he meant.

“let’s try, come here…” he muttered as he pulled my thighs towards him. I got the hint and climbed over him, sitting on his lap and resting my legs on his. he wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me in place and left the other one on the steering wheel.

I leaned in and grabbed his face with my hand, squeezing his cheeks slightly to pull him to me and kiss him. he happily kissed me back, now moving the hand from my waist to the back of my neck, and deepened the kiss, tapping his tongue on my bottom lip, which I merrily allowed and let him in.

I moved to straddle him, grinding back and forth slightly as we made out. the road didn’t have any turns and he just had to drive ahead, so the chances of getting into a car accident were very low.

I started feeling his cock pressing against me, shamelessly begging cook to free it. “you’ll make us crash, sugar.” he pulled away enough to speak — our lips still very close.

“just keep driving. everything’s gonna be alright.”

cook was beyond an expert in kissing — I knew effy had been lucky to have him and now it was just her loss. to be honest, I had never thought of cook in this way, only in a friendly way, but there was something that screamed “attractive�� every time he talked to me about his flings and how good he made those girls feel. a small part of me wished to be taken by him and be one of his whores, and somehow I had managed to do it right now. maybe I wasn’t a whore, but we were definitely on the edge of having sex.

cook slipped his hand inside my panties as our lips moved together, and thrusted two of his fingers between my folds. I gripped him instantly, making a low moan as I felt them pump inside of me. he soon added another finger, and then another one.

oh god.

I was almost stretched to my limits as I rode his hand, completely in a heaven of ecstasy. cook kissed and sucked on my neck as he moved his fingers, leaving me a few marks but slightly visible. I knew I was very close to my release.

“cook… I…” I whined.

“I know, sugar. cum on my fingers, will ya?” he muttered against my ear. and that was quite what made me let go fully and give myself to him. I threw my head back, lifting slightly from his lap as he didn’t slow his pace down a bit — then I cried out and squirted on his shirt.

“oh my god!” I got down from the high. I was a panting mess, my back now pressing against the steering wheel which honked as soon as I leaned back.

cook took his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, licking and sucking. “taste like sugar.”

I tiredly chuckle, my eyes still struggling to stay open completely.

“I’ve always known you were this good…” I confessed.

“we should do it again sometime, mh? it helps me a lot.” he faked a pouty tone, using the effy matter as an excuse to take me again.

“naughty boy.” I leaned in and pecked his lips.

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throneofsapphics · 1 year ago

Text

old faces, part five

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: you and Rowan meet again, and deal with the fall-out of your secret

Warnings: drinking, mentions of death, incest jokes

Word Count: ~5.8k

A/N: all of your support with this little series means the world to me and is incredibly motivating! thank you so much. if anyone wants to be tagged in the next part, please let me know!

series masterlist

“Only princesses live in castles all the time.”

Rowan leaned against the wall, right next to the door, admittedly eavesdropping on your conversation. He’d intended to come talk to you, to see Ceri before bed, but now his heart is sinking. You’d only had this conversation with them yesterday, and insisted you speak to her first. Better sooner rather than later, he supposed. More time to figure out a plan.

“Some of the guards live here as well,” you countered, “and healers.”

A small pause. Then a sniffle. Gods, was she crying?

“Do we have to?”

Rustling and movement. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

“So I don’t have to study maths anymore?”

A huff of a laugh, and then a giggle from Ceri. “Maths are important.”

“You hate them.” He pressed his lips together to muffle his own laugh. Footsteps, and the door swung open.

You looked exasperated, at him, but he knew you’d already scented him - Rowan wasn’t doing anything to hide his scent.

“They’re still important,” you stepped aside to let him in, sending a pointed glance his way, “right?”

His mouth tilted up at one side, “right.”

A groan came from Ceri, then she was flying across the room, he braced himself as she flew into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. Absent-mindedly, he ran his hand over her back.

“A story?” She tilted her head up at him, eyes pleading. Rowan nodded, and let her lead the way back to her room. They’d offered several other rooms, but Ceri always insisted on staying in the same one. At least it was semi-close to theirs.

“What kind of story do you want?” He asked, leaving the door slightly ajar. He already dreaded the day she’d stop asking for them.

“Wyverns,” Rowan blinked. Usually it was Dragons, and he’d tell her about a sea dragon. Lysandra was thrilled the first time she heard about it. “The ones the witches ride,” she added, as if exasperated he didn’t know. That’s what they had in history books now, or taught in lessons. He shouldn’t be as surprised as he is.

Rowan threw together a story, from what he could remember, of Abraxos and Manon, carefully avoiding

what happened to the rest of her coven.

As he reached the end, he was grateful her eyes started to droop, he was struggling to throw things together.

“I want to ride a Wyvern. I want to be a witch.”

Rowan was less grateful, his heart caught in his throat. She fell asleep before he could explain someone was born a witch, or that there’s no way in hell she’ll be getting within a hundred feet of a Wyvern. Most of them were not like Abraxos.

The door clicked shut gently behind him, and he found you, book propped up in one hand, cup of tea in the other. He settled in the armchair across from you, closing his eyes and kicking his legs out in front of him.

A wyvern. He needs to be more careful about the stories he tells.

Peeking his eyes open, he saw you close the book, gently tossing it to the side. No bookmark, he winced.

“Do you remember the page?”

“It wasn’t that interesting,” you muttered, hissing as you took a sip of your tea. Too hot. He didn’t think before he cooled the drink, just enough to be drinkable. Your eyes shot up in surprise, glancing between it and him. “Thank you,” you sounded a bit confused, but kept drinking the tea anyway. Confused he’d done something like that? He used to, all the time. Maybe you didn’t expect those sorts of things from him anymore, but he could easily change that.

“Our daughter wants to ride a Wyvern,” not mentioning the part about wanting to be a witch as well.

Jolting, the tea sloshed over the sides of your mug, landing on your pants, but you didn’t look away from him as the cup clanked on the side table.

“Wyverns?” you choked.

“She asked for a story,” he defended himself.

A laugh, an honest and deep laugh left your chest, “If she manages to bond with one of them, she would’ve earned the right.”

“You’re supposed to say it’s a bad idea,” he tried to scowl, but your laughter was infectious, and his mouth curved at the corners.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Exactly. Silence is agreement”

“Depends on the situation,” biting the inside of your cheek, you curled your legs up under you, snatching your mug again, wiping the small droplets of liquid off with the inside of your sleeve, expression straightening back out. He missed the smile.

“I’m assuming you heard our conversation.”

“I did,” a cautious answer, waiting to see if you’d snip at him for eavesdropping.

“If I didn’t want you to hear, I would’ve stopped speaking,” you read through his lack of words.

“I still want both of you to move in here,” he didn’t know what else to say, but made sure a small shield of wind would hide this conversation from small ears.

“I’m not the one you need to convince,” hands clenched around the mug as you took another sip, tongue darting out to catch the drop gathering on your lip. He swallowed, for a reason he should not be. Not that Aelin hadn’t shown … Rowan shoved that thought deep, deep down. Not the time. Would it ever be a good time? “I’m not sure what else I can tell her,” you continued, thankfully ignorant to his inner thoughts.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” he forced the words out. Your hand covered a yawn, giving him a good reason to excuse himself, making it down the hall before he braced a hand against the stone, letting the rough material center him.

It had been somewhat of a disaster, Rowan bringing up Ceri and you moving to the castle. She’d outright refused at first, and still refused by the end of the conversation, but a little less vehemently. Not enough to bring her hope, but she knew Rowan was still thinking through ideas. Sure enough, Ceri had quickly changed the subject, and Aelin found herself on the receiving end of one of her difficult questions.

“Why do they call you Gods-Killer?” Ceri asked casually, and Fenrys choked.

“Because I killed some of the gods,” Aelin answered. It wasn’t the whole story, but that’s all she needed to know for now. If Ceri asked some day, when she was much older, maybe she’d tell her more. But a ten year old doesn’t need to know that.

“Why?”

“They killed someone I cared about very much,” Elena was already dead - but Deanna had taken away her chance of an afterlife, “and broke promises.”

“Good,” Gods, she really is so much like her father. And maybe more like her mother than either of them know. “So,” Ceri sat down her fork, and Aelin already didn’t like where this was going, “if someone breaks a promise, I can kill them.”

“No,” you said quickly, eyes wide, “those were very different circumstances.”

“Fenrys said we could have dessert first.”

“I did not,” the male immediately countered.

“You did,” Ceri shot back.

“I said the day you can beat me, we’ll have dessert for breakfast.”

“You didn’t say what I had to beat you in.”

A groan from the male. “In. A. Fight,” he clarified, avoiding yours and Rowan’s gaze.

Aelin watched as you leaned back, head tilted up towards the ceiling. Maybe praying for mercy, maybe cursing Fenrys - especially as a challenge gleamed in Ceri’s eyes.

“There are laws against murder,” Rowan steered the conversation back.

“When is murder allowed?”

Aelin remembered there were few laws against murder with the Fae, but - laws applied equally in Terrasen, regardless of whether someone was Fae, human, or Witch. Rowan, bless him, carefully and thoroughly explained the laws.

“Murder,” you murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, “I don’t know if he’s realized he’s telling her when she can kill.”

Aelin looked at Rowan, recognized the look in his eyes, “he knows.”

You turned your head, still resting on the back of the chair, to face her. A long-suffering look on your face. “She takes after her father.”

“And her mother,” Aelin added without putting much thought into it. You didn’t look convinced, so she kept speaking. “People … are drawn to her, the same way they do you.”

That’s the best way she could describe it, and a faint blush rose on your cheeks as you murmured a thanks.

“It's too big.”

“You’ve been coming here for months,” you’re not sure why you bothered to point it out, especially when she gave a contemplative pause.

“But you don’t like it here.”

Too perceptive, she was too damned perceptive. “The castle is fine,” you forced the words, ignoring the conflicted emotions swirling in your chest. It’s not that you didn’t like it, just that you'd prefer to live somewhere else.

“Fine doesn’t mean good.”

“Then we go looking for houses,” you ran one hand over her hair. “Don’t forget you can change your mind.”

Ceri nodded, “I know.”

“Would you like me to tell your father?”

A scowl. “I’m old enough to do that myself.”

Thank the gods, you really didn’t want to tell him. “I know,” you repeated her earlier words, hiding your relief.

“I’m going to wait,”

“It’s your decision,” you murmured, running your hand over her hair again, and she grinned up at you before darting off.

“What’s the verdict?” Fenrys approached a minute later.

“Can you keep a secret?”

He gave you a look that said; blood sworn, like you were an idiot for forgetting that.

An over-dramatic roll of your eyes. “She hasn’t completely made her decision, but she thinks the castle is too big.”

“She’s been staying here for over a year.”

“That’s what I said.”

“What do you want?” He asked instead. For some reason, that surprised you, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, even though the heavy coat kept away any chill.

“Whatever she wants.”

He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms this time. “What if it was your decision?”

“It’s not,” you said, with a bit more bite than you meant, and shot an apologetic glance at him. He didn’t seem phased.

“But if it was?”

You fixed your eyes on the cobblestone directly ahead of you. This was a dangerous question, a topic you’d avoided thinking of or ruminating on.

“I was never born to live in a castle.” And that’s all you would say on that. Fenrys seemed to sense it, to sense the wall going up.

“They mean well, but you know Rowan can be a bit stubborn about getting what he wants. So can Aelin.”

He didn’t fight for you, the nasty voice said. I never wanted him to, you countered. It was a relief he hadn’t.

“I’m not the one they need to convince,” you watched her climb up one of the trees, trying to get one of her friends to do the same. Another thing you’d noticed about your daughter while staying here, the amount of friends she has. Of course, she has plenty in Caraverre, but other children flock towards her. It’s always been that way.

“I’m taking you on a night out.” Talk about a subject change. “You look like you need one.”

“I’m vaguely insulted.”

“No monarchs invited,” he added. The storm had abated, the ‘monarchs’ in question insisted you stay an extra three days, just in case, and you were due to leave in two. The bitter part of you said it was only so they’d have more time to convince your daughter to stay in the castle, but realistically they did have a point, even if that was an underlying intention. Not everything has to be nefarious, you reminded yourself. Sometimes people do things out of genuine care. There’s not always a greater agenda, but in this case … you got the inclination there may be one, but you couldn’t figure out what, and that was going to drive you to the brink of insanity.

“Tonight,” he added, drawing you from your thoughts. Tonight, meaning in just a few hours. You scowled at him, he’d left you little to no time to find an excuse to get out of it.

“People go out in this weather?” The bright sun wasn’t enough to melt the snow banks gathered against the walls.

“They serve alcohol for a reason.”

He has a good point… and it would be nice to have a night out, a time you could pretend it didn’t feel like your entire world was bending and folding back over again.

Aelin wasn’t jealous, she had no reason to be. Maybe a bit offended that Fenrys had immediately declared ‘no monarchs allowed,’ for your night out. Just the two of you. Rowan didn’t look entirely happy about it either. But, she supposed he was your closest friend in Terrasen. Fenrys liked to boast about it, ever since he learned it pricked at her husband's temper.

When it came to pissing off Rowan, she was only second to him. Fenrys made it an art form. Still, as she watched you walk out arm in arm with him, she couldn’t help thinking he’d done it to piss off her as well.

“A night out will be good for her,” Rowan said.

“And if she decides to spend the night with someone?” She asked, a test.

Rowan’s face tightened, “then that’s her decision.”

Aelin frowned, he didn’t pass.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had this much fun, or when you’d drank this much. Before you became a mother, that’s for certain. Still, you weren’t quite sloppy drunk, but a good bit past tipsy.

“Your tolerance is shit,” Fenrys commented.

Poking him in the shoulder, “you’re just as bad.”

He shrugged, but grinned. At least you were equally as drunk. But, you were a bit peeved. One male had eyed you appreciatively, and even if you wouldn’t do anything about it - the attention was nice. Fenrys glowered at him, and he paled and turned away.

“Why did you do that?” you huffed under your breath,

“Do what?” He asked, voice honeyed with false innocence. He yelped as you dug your elbow into his ribs.

“At least my tolerance hasn’t changed.”

“I haven’t changed,” it was an obvious lie, and you both knew it. You’d realized a few seconds too late he wasn’t talking about you as a person, just your limits with alcohol - but you’d already opened the floodgates. “Maybe a bit,” you amended. “We both have.”

He hummed his agreement, “you don’t seem quite as … happy,” he hesitated on the word.

“I am happy,” there wasn’t a reason to be sad.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant you’re not as carefree.”

“Child,” you pointed out.

“More than that,” he ran a hand over his hair, perhaps a bit too drunk to put his words together.

The bartender shouted last call, her voice carrying over the crowd, and saving Fenrys from trying to explain himself.

“Another would be a bad idea,” you murmured, but Fenrys was already moving, getting ahead of the crowd, and missing your comment. You followed him, a bit unsteady on your feet. By the time you caught up, he’d already put in the order. For something, but you didn’t particularly care what - as long as it was strong enough to make you forget the last five minutes.

Fumbling with your pocket, you tried to slide a coin on the corner, but his hand stopped you.

“Put any coin on that bar and i’ll shove it-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you cut him off, but slid your hand back.

“We’ll finish the conversation when we’re sober.”

“We will not.” Fenrys already had that look in his eyes, the one that told you the conversation absolutely would happen. More time for you to prepare, then. “If we remember,” you added.

“I’ll write myself a note.”

“Your handwriting is barely legible on a good day.”

The drinks came by, saving Fenrys again, this time from trying to come up with a witty remark.

Despite the rather … thought provoking statement he’d made, it didn’t put a damper or shadow over the rest of the night. You took full advantage of the remaining hour, finishing your drink, laughing, singing along to some kind of bawdy song you only knew half of the words too, and all too soon you were saying goodbye to at least seven new friends you made. Could they be considered friends if you’d already forgotten their names? Well, hopefully there would be some friendly faces once you moved here.

If a night out in Orynth was this much fun, living here couldn’t be that bad.

It’s possible a white-tailed hawk soared above the city around the time the taverns closed, and may have shot back to the castle once he spotted two familiar drunk and laughing Fae stumbling back through the streets.

Rowan flew through the window, finding Aelin standing, arms crossed over her chest.

“Really?” She tried to sound disappointed, but looked more amused than anything.

A flash of white light, and he shifted back. “I needed to check.”

Aelin raised a brow, “you didn’t need to, they’re both adults.”

“I wanted to,” he corrected. “Is that a problem?”

Aelin’s brows lowered, studying him for a few moments, but he held firm. “If I could have, I probably would do the same thing,” her shoulders rolled back, “shall we greet them?”

“I want to see just how drunk they are,” her eyes said. He held out his arm in answer.

“Mother and father are here,” Fenrys announced as you entered the wing where your rooms were, just down the hall and around the corner from the Royal suite. Meaning, you usually had to pass by there in order to get to your room.

“He’s the father of my child,” you frowned. “That’s weird. Incest is weird.”

Each word began to slur into the other, and you heard a choking noise - but you were focused on Fenrys’s reply. “I suppose we aren’t in Adarlan,” you found some satisfaction that his words were slurred as well.

“Oh gods,” that was Aelin.

“Adarlanians,” you sounded out each syllable, “marry their relatives?”

Fenrys shrugged, like it was a rumor he could neither confirm nor deny. Aelin groaned, and started ushering the two of you back towards your rooms.

“My rooms are so far,” Fenrys whined - honest to gods whined, but his rooms were all the way down the hall, and around a few corners. For a drunk person, it might as well have been a mile.

“Crash in mine,” you offered, “there’s a spare room, and a perfectly good couch.”

“Thank you,” he went to link his arm through yours again, but Aelin beat him to it, turning over your shoulder, you caught Rowan glowering at Fenrys. Why would he glower? It’s not like you were sharing a bed. Why would it matter if you were? There’s nothing between the two of you, besides friendship. Friends shared beds all of the time.

“I’m a great cuddler,” you said, just to see if they would react.

“You kick,” Rowan countered.

“I do not,” you insisted.

“How would you know?” Aelin decided to cut in, “you’re sleeping.”

“I’ll find out tonight,” Fenrys added cheerily.

You could’ve sworn you heard a low growl or two, but you’d already reached the door, fumbling with the handle. You’d put too much of your weight on the door, because as soon as it opened - you went careening towards the floor. Fenrys tried to catch you, only to fall as well, alcohol throwing off his center of balance.

At least the carpet was soft, you rolled over onto your back, running your hands over it. It was comfortable.

“I might sleep here,” you sighed, eyes half lidded. Rowan and Aelin stood in the doorway, amused at the two of you, and you shot a bright grin their way.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.” Rowan, the bastard, needs to stop trying to give you orders.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you muttered, turning over on your side and tucking one arm beneath your head. Fenrys mirrored your movements, the two of you facing each other.

A long suffering sigh, from Rowan you thought, and gentle hands were pulling you up to your feet. You swayed back and forth, Aelin holding you steady with a faint smile on her face.

From the corner of your eye, Rowan was tugging Fenrys up, not quite as gently.

“Be nice to my friend,” you slurred. Aelin was biting her lip to hold back a laugh, and she was grateful Ceri decided to have a sleepover in another wing of the castle. Otherwise, she’d be wide awake right now and witnessing this mess.

“Hear that Rowan, the lady says be nice to me.”

Rowan released Fenrys, and the male stumbled back a few steps. She kept her grip on you as you tried to lunge for him. The last thing they need is to drag both of you off the floor again. Without realizing, her arms had wrapped around your shoulders, holding you back in place. When Fenrys caught himself, one hand on the arm of the couch, you sighed in relief, and melted back into her.

“Time for bed,” Aelin shifted so her arm wrapped around your shoulders instead, leading you off towards the room. Grabbing some night clothes, she offered them to you, trying to shuffle you off towards the bathroom.

“I think I’ll sleep naked,” you announced.

“As much as I’d enjoy the view, it’s still a bit cold out,” you wouldn’t remember this in the morning, but she’d remember how your cheeks flushed.

Rowan and Aelin left, only as you fell asleep, alone in your bed - Fenrys already snoring on the couch.

The end of the visit came all too quickly, and for the first time you found yourself looking forward to your return to Orynth. Looking forward to searching for a house on the outskirts of the city. Yes, you didn’t particularly look forward to staying in the castle in the meantime, but you couldn’t deny the city had it’s charm. Rowan and Aelin’s reassurances unlocked something in you. Not a desire to step into the public eye, but to stop avoiding it. If anything happened, you weren’t alone this time. Accepting help wasn’t a weakness.

Ceri waved as you set off, just around sunrise. In around two or so weeks, you’d be heading back to Orynth.

Your daughter, however, was currently pouting because you couldn’t ride horseback in this weather, and she didn’t like the carriages. She was mollified by the few books Aelin let her borrow from the Library of Orynth. You had a feeling she just hadn’t informed the librarians they’d be leaving the city.

Tilting your head, you caught part of the title; dragons. “What are you reading?”

Thankfully, she didn’t look annoyed at your question. Instead, her eyes lit up as she lifted her head. “About last dragons, besides Wyverns,” she flipped the book around to point at a page. A sketch of mountains, you squint your eyes, made of glass with a few dragons circling overhead, one breathing fire into them. You looked further at the book, it was old, by the color of the pages, but well preserved. Maybe with magic. Was this one of the few books that survived the initial siege of Orynth?

“They lived in the Kyzultum Desert. But they were all killed in a war eight centuries ago.” Kyzultum, a desert on the southern continent, far south from Antica. You’d never visited, but always wanted to, to see the glass mountains. “They made mountains out of glass. The book says it’s just speculation, but soldiers from Doranelle hunted the dragons to extinction.”

A small pain in your heart, for creatures hunted just for their power or because someone viewed them as a threat. Soldiers from Doranelle. You would bet gold marks on who exactly sent that order.

“Why did they kill them? The book doesn’t say.”

“Probably from fear.”

She hummed. “Do you think dragon eggs could survive this long?”

“I don’t know,” but Gods, if Ceri set her mind to it - she’d find out. And if they could … you started thinking of ways to discourage your daughter from hunting for Dragons. Maybe you’d have to lean on her father for that one. “Giving up on Wyverns already?”

She scowled at you, drawing a small laugh before she returned to her book.

Rowan was in a pissy mood, and Aelin knew exactly why. Ceri waited until the last night to announce her ‘decision,’ leaving all of them on edge. Then said she wanted to live on the outskirts of Orynth, with a small cottage, a garden, chickens, and a wyvern. Considering how you scowled at Rowan, she knew who you blamed for that idea. Still, they weren’t quite out of time. The two of you would return in around a month, permitting you could sell your house in that amount of time, and still stay in the castle while looking for another home.

“Y/n didn’t try to sway her decision,” she commented - although Rowan already knew that. You’d decided to stay perfectly neutral. It’s smart, not wanting to get into an argument like that. After all, she’d chosen the same path. “Besides, Ceri might change her mind later.”

“Right,” he cleared his throat.

“So,” Aelin leaned back in her chair, “Wyverns?”

“She asked for a story about them,” he groused.

“What did you tell her?”

“What I know of Abraxos.” As far as Wyvern’s go, Manon’s mount is the exception, and Rowan might’ve given the wrong impression when it comes to the beasts.

Aelin laughed, “I can’t wait to tell Manon. Already a bedtime story.” She didn’t know if the Witch Queen would be offended or amused. Ceri hadn’t met any of their friends from other Kingdoms, not yet. It would come one day, especially with the move. Would you want to meet them as well? SHe hoped so.

The little hellion’s presence made Aelin realize she wasn’t quite ready to have more children around. It would come one day, but faced with immortality there was plenty of time. Besides, maybe it was a bit selfish or strange, but she wanted to spend time with Ceri as she grew up, and wanted Rowan to as well. He’d missed out on seven years.

Aelin always knew he’d be a good father, but seeing it with her own eyes only cemented that. Plus, the rest of the court and castle got to witness a softer side of him.

“Had y/n already settled when you met her?”

“No.”

Gods, going through all of that with a small child. She had hers a few years ago, and it … sucked to say the least. The only plus being some of her magic returned, not quite to what it was before, but still much more significant.

Rowan had turned back to his book. Another question had lingered in the back of her mind, “What is her magic?” He marked his page, setting it to the side.

“She has an affinity for raw materials, imbuing them with magic. As far as I know, it’s unique to her bloodline.”

“What else could it do? Besides what she sells.” Protective wards, enchantments, all impressive.

“I never asked.” The dagger. Enchanted to leave a mark. Fenrys said she’d paled when she saw it. If it’s unique to her bloodline … maybe the attack wasn’t only meant for Ceri. “What are you thinking?” Rowan interrupted her train of thought.

“You said it’s unique to her bloodline,” Rowan nodded. “The dagger,” he stiffened but she kept going, “she recognized exactly what it was. Why use a dagger specifically meant to leave a mark? Why make a dagger like that?”

“It’s possible her ancestors made it,” he started, “daggers and knives like that could be intended for different rituals. Using it could’ve been ignorance - or a coincidence.”

Aelin’s mouth tightened. That was a bit too strange to believe. “You know that’s bullshit.”

“Sartaq hasn’t sent word of anything, there’s not much we can do from over here.” But, Rowan did look unsettled.

“Could anyone else have made it?”

“She’s better suited to answer that question.” A month from now. Aelin wasn’t particularly patient on a good day, but she’d remember this. “Don’t be surprised if she wants to leave it in the past.”

“What happened to her parents?”

Rowan didn’t look like he wanted to answer, but she felt like she needed to know. Like it was relevant. He told her the entire story, not sparing any of the more gruesome details. She read the words in his eyes; I didn’t tell you. If you ever decided to tell her, she’d act surprised. A stone settled in her stomach. You hadn’t just been hiding from Maeve.

“Then Lorcan hunted the rest of them down.”

“Who was it, the ones who attacked them?”

“The last armies of a Kingdom who particularly hated Fae, destroyed on Maeve’s orders.” And her father participated, that much she could put together. “It’s in the past, Aelin,” there was a hint of warning in his tone. To drop it.

She nodded absentmindedly. If she could find a way to be subtle about it, she’d keep looking into it.

“Leaving already?” One of your neighbors questioned, after you finished showing the house to a young couple - the woman currently at least a few months pregnant, and glowing. You nodded, watching them disappear. “Where to?”

“To Orynth,” you turned to look at her. A friendly older woman, living a few doors down, who’d greeted you the day after you moved in with a basket of cookies. This neighbor happened to be the mother of the son, currently linking arms with his wife, trudging through the snow. It was a given you’d sell the house to them, if they ended up wanting it.

“We’ll miss you here, and your little one.”

“We’ll miss you too,” you murmured, rubbing your arms to stave off the chill. “Want to come in?” It felt right to offer.

“I’d love to,” her face lit up. Ceri was due back from school in a few hours, and now big enough to walk on her own, although always with a group of other kids. It was a close little community, on the outskirts of the city, and you really did like it here even if it was a bit … boring. Maybe that’s part of the reason Ceri wanted to move to Orynth.

The two of you settled in front of the fire, hands warmed by mugs of tea, and you listened to her talk. Her husband - killed by Adarlanian soldiers, her three children - who went to fight in General Ashryver’s legion, the bane, only two returning at the end of the war.

“Something happier now,” she waved her hand. “What about your family?”

“It’s just me and Ceri now,” you forced a smile. She gave you a sympathetic look, and although you knew she meant no harm - you wanted to wipe it right off her face.

“Her father?” There’s the catch. She knew damn well who her father is, the entire town does, and you shot her a look to tell her that. She had the grace to look a bit sheepish, giving a small shrug of her shoulders. “Can’t help the curiosity,”

‘Yes you can,’ you wanted to say, but reminded yourself she’d been nothing but kind - and still is, but probably wanted to get in all of the questions she’d been dying to ask before you left. You were aware anything you said now would make its way through everyone else living here.

“We’re on good terms,” you said firmly.

“How did you meet?”

“We knew a few of the same people.” Actually, you’d met at a bar - but she had no business knowing that. An ache started to form between your brows. A few hours passed, conversation thankfully diverting from Ceri’s heritage and into more neutral topics. You found yourself enjoying the company.

“It takes a strong woman - or female, to raise a child on her own,” a brief haunted look passed through her eyes, and you offered her a tight smile. Her situation had been different, Terrasen being under occupation by Adarlan and all. She blinked a few times, letting out a long breath. “I’m making some meat pies this afternoon, I’ll bring one by.”

“Thank you,” she stood, and you led the way out the door, walking her down towards her gate.

Ceri was currently coming down the street, accompanied by a few friends, holding … something in her arms, bundled tightly. When she saw you, she sped up her pace, now almost-running down the street.

“Look, look,” she said, shifting her arms just enough for you to see what she was holding. A little head peaked up, yellow eyes, then a meow. “She was all alone, I couldn’t find her mother,” Ceri looked up at you with pleading eyes. You ran a gloved hand over the kitten’s back, getting a small purr in reply. Orange. It was rare to find an orange female cat.

“Let’s get her out of the cold,” a squeal of excitement, and she raced off towards the door.

The two of you bathed her in warm water, and the weird little thing liked it.

“Are you sure you want to keep her?” You asked, but even if she said no you’d probably insist. One hour, and you were already in love. Sure enough, you were hissed at. Twice.

“You can be friends with her,” Ceri said, sitting as close to the fire as she could get, the kitten wrapped up in a towel, sound asleep. She was talking about your animal form. A Baast Cat, not a housecat.

“I’m sure we’ll get along,” you smiled, taking up a seat next to her. That little head poked up again, meowing, before crawling out of the towel. Ceri let her go, choosing to take her mug of hot chocolate from you instead. Carefully, the kitten crawled over onto your lap, small claws digging in. “What should we name her?”

“Wyvern.” A hiss. Not Wyvern, apparently. Ceri rolled her eyes. She tried out a few different names, but none of them were approved. You’d already noted she was very intelligent, even for a cat, and looked up at you like you were supposed to know the answer.

“Halle?” you offered, as a half-assed guess. Surprisingly, a small purr came from her, and you ran your fingers through her fluffy fur, watching as she promptly fell back asleep. Like she was waiting for the conversation to be over.

“Halle’s coming to Orynth with us.”

“Of course.” You couldn’t leave the newest member of your family behind.

taglist: @fussel9913 @moonlightttfae

#throne of glass fic #rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n #throne of glass x reader

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room13 · 2 years ago

Text

Celebration

Tangerine x F!Reader

Warnings: +18 smut, dirty talk, fluff

Tangerine came back home from a job the previous night, and the minute he and Lemon got off the airport and into his brother’s car the only place Tan could ever think of going to was your flat, and so he did. Lemon left him at your building’s front door and at that moment Tangerine felt like he could finally breathe again. The first thing he did once he entered your flat in the early hours of the morning was to go straight to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Even though in his tired state he could simply just lie in bed and call it a night, he knew how much you hated when people laid in bed with street clothes or unshowered, so without thinking twice he entered your bathroom and took the warmest shower his body could handle. The last thing he remembered before sleep took over him was going to your bed - in all of his naked glory - and cuddling you tightly in his arms.

After a stressful 12-hour shift at work, the only thing you wanted the most was to get home and sleep. Fuck your 4th anniversary, fuck celebrations, and fuck everybody! Your new boss was a complete asshole and was getting incredibly difficult to find the motivation to get up every morning and face a job that used to be your biggest dream - which undoubtedly now was nothing but a nightmare.

“Fucking asshole! Can’t tell the difference between a needle and a toothpick, and now he wants to tell me how I’m supposed to do my job? Yeah, right. When you’re able to do your fucking job properly then you come talk to me, you little fucker” You murmured to yourself as you turned around to lock the front door.

The sweet scent of the roses was still absent to you as well as the imposing figure of the British man who now stood behind your frame with a dishcloth tossed over his shoulder.

“I can take care of him for you, poppet. It would only take me a bullet”

The thick accent made you jump in fright, and with your hand pressed against your chest, you slowly turned around to face your handsome boyfriend “Jesus Christ, Tan. Don’t sneak up on me like that! You almost gave me a heart attack”

“I’m sorry, love” He chuckled and pulled you in for a tight hug. Tangerine’s lips engulfed yours in a deep, loving kiss and soon enough you giggled at the feeling of his mustache tickling your upper lip.

“Do you want me to shoot him in the parking lot?” Tan asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Oh my god, no” You laughed before swatting his chest playfully when he asked “A beat down then? I can send him to the ICU so you can go there and turn off the machines” He smiled wickedly when your eyes widened in shock.

“Tan!” You reprimanded as he shrugged “What? It’s a good option!”

“Okay, that’s enough” You held back a faint chuckle as you pecked his lips “I appreciate the thought, even though it’s wicked and murderous. You k-“ You stopped mid-sentence once you caught a glimpse of the scenario behind your boyfriend.

The candlelit room and dozens of roses spread throughout the entire house was not something you’ve ever thought Tangerine would do. He doesn’t consider himself a ‘romantic man’ and made that very clear from the beginning of your relationship, but every time that man did something for you, you never failed to be amazed by how much of a hopeless romantic he is.

“Oh baby, this is beautiful! You did all of this for me? Tan, you’re so sweet” You caressed his cheek and laid a soft kiss on his exposed chest.

“Well, ya know, I was waiting for you to come home then I got a bit bored and did this” He waved his hands around the perfectly decorated living room “It’s nothing, really” Tangerine shrugged “It’s not a celebration or anything like that”

“So you’re telling me you didn’t do this because it’s our anniversary?” You squint your eyes playfully before pulling him closer to you by the waistband of his gray joggers.

“Is that today? Oh, who would’ve thought? I guess it’s just a mad coincidence, innit?” Tangerine shrugged again as his fingers began to massage the sore muscles of your neck.

“So you just bought dozens of roses for no reason?” You moaned softly at the perfect pressure he was applying to your tensed muscles.

“They were on sale” Tan teased with a playful smirk “I love when you moan for me” His growl was low and possessive against your lips and his hands instantly left your neck to take two handfuls of your ass.

“Yeah? Like this?” You moaned again, while Tan’s teeth tugged on your plumped bottom lip. His hands began to roam through your body, taking handfuls of your curves and exploring the body he has missed so much the last couple of weeks “Exactly like that, poppet. Fuck, you make me so hard for you”.

Your hands wandered down Tangerine’s body, feeling his chiseled torso beneath your fingertips. His hands traveled up your sides until they stopped at the back of your head, gripping two handfuls of hair, tugging at the scalp, and making you moan against his full lips.

“Fuck me, Tan. Make me your obedient little whore” Your whisper came out soft and sweet, lowly professing your lust as if it was a dark secret.

Tangerine’s growl earned a small giggle from you, that was easily replaced with a surprised gasp once your back hit the concrete wall behind you.

“Oh poppet, poppet” He tsked his tongue in disapproval “That naughty mouth of yours is going to put you in big trouble, little girl” Tangerine’s hand began to roam through your curves, pushing your uniform pants down your thighs and tapping your leg for you to kick the fabric away from your feet.

Your lips innocently smiled at him but your eyes held that teasing gleam that made Tangerine’s cock stir in his pants. “I was only asking for something simple” You begin, thumbs hooking on the waistband of your black cotton panties and dragging them down your thighs.

“And what are you asking for, love?” Tangerine smirked, eager to hear the dirty words spilling out of your mouth.

The pads of your middle and ring finger settled on your clit, drawing lazy circles on the bundle of nerves. Your free hand pulled Tangerine towards you until he was close enough for you to palm his hard cock through the sweatpants.

“I want this inside me, fucking me hard and deep enough for me to feel you here” You quickly touched your lower belly before closing your fist around Tangerine’s erection through the fabric, the firm pressure of your grip making him groan loudly “Fuck, poppet. That fucking mouth”

“Just think about it, Tan” You teased with a grin, “Think of how good your cock is going to feel slipping into something tight and warm”

Tangerine growls, quickly pushing his sweats down his muscular thighs and gripping his uncut length to rub it against your wet folds.

“I don’t want to think about it, love. I want to feel it” Tangerine pushed you up against the wall, firmly holding you against the concrete and tapping your thighs for you to lock them around his waist. He aimed his tip against your entrance, slowly teasing until he thrust into you with one swift motion.

“Oh fuck, yes. Jesus, you’re so fucking wet” Tangerine grunted against your lips, already settling a long and deep rhythm to his rapid thrusts. He made sure to let you feel his every inch coming in and out of you.

“Such a tight cunt, poppet” He nibbled on your bottom lip, “I love fucking you”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yes! I’m fucking addicted to it” Tangerine’s thumb began to circle your clit, instantly making you melt against the wall.

“Look how good that cunt takes me. Takes the whole fucking thing. So warm, wet, and tight for me” He grunted, momentarily speeding the rhythm of his thrusts.

“I have a surprise for you” You giggled before moaning “Put your hand further back” You instructed and so Tangerine did.

His hand left your bundle of nerves to travel back towards your ass. Tangerine’s fingers slipped inside your spread ass cheeks and he growled upon feeling the tangerine shaped cool metal.

“Oh poppet, I’m gonna fucking ruin you tonight”

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine fluff #tangerine imagine #tangerine smut #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x y/n #tangerine fic #tangerine x plus size reader #tangerine blurb #tangerine fanfiction #bullet train x reader #bullet train x you #bullet train fanfic #bullet train imagine #bullet train tangerine

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traintrainingmontage · 1 month ago

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From One to Another One

It's still 1/1 here, so I'm coming at you live with a Skarloey and Thomas fic! This one is based off of The Adventure Begins and the CGI series rather than the RWS, so I hope that you all enjoy. :) (I'm always a little nervous about writing Thomas himself, given how iconic he is, so I hope that I did him justice here!)

Summary: Thomas has just received his branch line, and he's on top of the world! No longer just another engine for the LBSC, he's the NWR's No. 1 engine, with a branch line to boot. But with great honor comes great responsibility, and when a mishap threatens to topple Thomas from his position, it's the advice of another No. 1 that helps get him back on track.

Characters: Skarloey, Thomas, Sir Topham Hatt

Rating: T

Word Count: ~4,200 words

(This is also on Ao3~!)

“Alright, Thomas. You’re all done.”

The tank engine’s eyes fluttered open gently, blinking into wakefulness as he took in the now-familiar sight of the Steamworks. Normally, Thomas felt apprehensive about coming here, but this time, there were no misgivings to be had. Sir Topham had decided that he ought to have a new coat of paint to celebrate receiving his branch line, and once again, the Northwestern Railway’s cerulean blue livery and red detailing, immaculate and unscratched, gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, with the proud no. 1 emblazoned on his side. Oh, how Thomas loved the feeling of being freshly painted! There was just something about that immaculate flawlessness that promised the end of the old and the start of the new, both of which Thomas was more than ready for.

As he absently followed the directions of the workers as they moved him to a siding, Thomas’s mind felt like it was rushing ahead at a kilometer a minute, unable to settle down. The tank engine still couldn’t quite believe it. He, of all engines, was being put in charge of a branch line! Not James, but him, Thomas! How exciting! How thrilling! How—

Peep peep peep! The sound of a whistle jerked Thomas from his thoughts, almost causing him to pitch forward were it not for his brake being secured. The whistle hadn’t sounded familiar, but that didn’t mean much considering how many engines he still had yet to meet here on Sodor. The blue tank engine quickly looked around to see just who was trying to get his attention, when finally a quiet yet firm “Ahem!” drew his eye down toward a small red engine sitting at about half his height, who had just pulled up to another siding right in front of him.

Thomas had never seen such an engine; even though this was clearly a tank engine, their tracks were far smaller and thinner than he was used to. A small part of Thomas suddenly felt rather gratified at the fact that he was not, in fact, the smallest engine on Sodor.

The silence must have stretched on a little too long, however, because the engine before him, whose expression had been one of anticipation, slowly began to look concerned instead. “Oh! Sorry,” Thomas exclaimed, his face stretching into an embarrassed grimace. “I, erm, didn’t… uh… You know, I don’t think we’ve met! I’m Thomas.”

“...Right,” the smaller engine huffed with a sigh, before his lips quirked up into a smile. “Well, it’s good to meet you, Thomas. I’m Skarloey, of the Skarloey Railway.”

“The Skarloey Railway?” Thomas questioned. “As in, the little railway that runs out of Crovan’s Gate?”

“The very same!” Skarloey huffed a laugh, his smile stretching even wider. A gentle breeze blew in, causing the thin line of smoke escaping his funnel to languidly float away as if heading back home toward his line. “Our railway serves the Blue Mountain Quarry, as well as the Skarloey Valley. We’ve got the loveliest sights on the island, and the quarry is always busy. Our passengers are such lovely people, too.” Pride seeped from every word, and the joy on Skarloey’s face was quite familiar to Thomas, seeing as it mirrored his own feelings about the Ffarquhar branch.

“That’s quite nice!” Thomas replied, giving Skarloey an answering grin. “I’ve just been given a new branch line, and it’s also quite beautiful. You should see—”

“Wait, wait. I’m sorry, Thomas, but did you say… that you’ve been given a branch line?”

“Yes, that is what I said,” Thomas replied snappishly, eyebrows furrowing. Irritation coursed through him at the rude interruption, but the displeasure quickly gave way to concerned confusion at the somber, pensive expression of the engine before him.

Skarloey’s grin had fallen away into something far more serious, and after a moment’s hesitation, the red tank engine began to speak once more. “You say that you’ve received a new branch line, and I see that you’ve got the number one on your side. Please, tell me. Did you… inherit those from Glynn?”

“Oh, my number? Um, yes! I saw him a few days ago, and he told me to wear it with pride.”

“And… how is he?”

“Um, well… he’s on a siding on the branch line.”

At this, Skarloey’s frames seemed to sag, as if in relief. The smile returned to his face, although this one was smaller, yet somehow a little more genuine than before. “Ah, thank goodness! I was worried that he’d been—well, never mind. Thank you, Thomas. That is a load off my mind.”

“Um… of course!” Thomas smiled, but both his words and tone were tinged with uncertainty. “Do you… know Glynn well?”

“Oh yes,” the other engine chuckled. “He and I are old friends. We’re both the original no. 1 engines of our railways, so we would often have a good laugh about various adventures we’d had whenever we had the chance to see each other. It’s just been so long that I… well, I was worried.”

“Oh. Ok, that makes sense,” Thomas smiled. “Still, you don’t have to worry. He’s alright, and I’m running his branch line now! Sir Topham recognized my bravery, and I’m going to be the best there is! I’ll be the best No. 1 on the Northwestern; you’ll see!”

“I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully. But please, be careful, Thomas,” Skarloey cautioned, a note of worry in his voice. “Bearing the mantle of the No. 1 engine isn’t just for show. It’s a heavy responsibility, and—”

“It’s an honor, is what it is!” It was Thomas’s turn to interrupt, the indignation from earlier rising back up and mixing with a resigned annoyance brought on by too many well-meaning people telling him things he was quite sure he already knew. “Look, I’ve earned this! I’ve made mistakes, but now, I can show everyone just how useful I really am! I know I’m not Glynn, but I’m not some new build either! I’ll do my number proud! Just… trust me!”

A long, emotion-leaden silence stretched between the two. Thomas panted lightly; despite not being in steam, he’d gotten so worked up that he’d almost felt his fire flicker. Skarloey stared at Thomas with wide eyes, emotions roiling in his boiler. Next to them, on the horizon, the sun was quietly starting to set, casting its long rays upon both of the engines and bathing them in shining gold.

“...Alright,” Skarloey finally murmured, his voice ashen and empty. “I apologize, Thomas. I’ve said too much. I’m sure that you will make Glynn and the rest of your railway proud.”

“...Thank you, Skarloey,” Thomas managed, not quite able to bring himself to say any more.

Without another word, the older engine gave a quiet peep peep! and pulled away from the siding, leaving Thomas to his lonesome, and for once, the young tank engine was glad for the silence.

~~~~~~~

The next day, Thomas was recalled from the Steamworks and given his next job, which was to be the official start of his passenger service for the Ffarquhar branch line. In all the excitement, his encounter with Skarloey was quickly forgotten as Annie and Clarabel were hooked up behind him and he was sent along on his route. The small engine almost felt like singing with glee; he’d taken a few days to bring goods down the line and familiarize himself with it, but now, he’d been given the responsibility that many engines cherished most: passenger traffic.

“How exciting!” Thomas laughed, joy bubbling up from the depths of his boiler as the wind caught his words and relayed them back to Annie and Clarabel. “Come along! We must be off!”

“We’re coming along! We’re coming along!” the coaches chorused, equally pleased to be running along behind their new engine.

Soon enough, they reached the first station, causing the assembled passengers to gasp in awe. While many of them had caught glimpses of Thomas already as he familiarized himself with the line, a good number of passengers weren’t aware that they were to receive a new local engine. “Oh my!” one lady gasped. “So this is the new engine! How smart he looks!”

“I must say!” called a rather dapper-looking gentleman. “He’s much spiffier than the old coffeepot who used to come ‘round. Most excellent.”

“I hope he’s an easier rider than that James,” fretted an older woman with large glasses. “Always going so fast!”

“Hehehe!” Thomas chuckled to himself as the passengers filed onto Annie and Clarabel, their awestruck murmurs music to his ego. Once the Guard blew his whistle, the tank engine took off, heading up the line.

The ride was calm and easy. Sunlight streamed down in golden waves, and the clouds, languid and lethargic, allowed the wind to drag them where it wished. There couldn’t have been a more picture perfect day, the rails were nice and dry, and as far as Thomas was concerned, this was but a harbinger of the many good things to come. After all, he had learned! He had proven himself! He was the Northwestern Railway’s number one engine, not just another faceless worker on the LBSC. He would run the entire Ffarquhar branch line, no longer a station pilot forced to shunt all day, unappreciated and forgotten. Everything was looking up!

The happy compliments from the passengers as they arrived only bolstered his good cheer, with several stopping to tell him what a good job he’d done and congratulating his driver and fireman on a job well done. One comment in particular, however, stood out to him the most.

“Daddy!” shrieked one little girl, her smile as bright as her homemade yellow cardigan. “That’s Thomas! He’s the number one engine!”

“That’s right, Samantha,” her father laughed, a middle-aged man with a bellow that could rival Gordon. “He’s going to pull our train from now on.”

“Since he’s number one, does that mean he’s the best?”

There was a long pause, the father’s eyes sliding between a terribly eager-looking Thomas and a seven-year-old sporting a rather similar expression. “Well, uh, I certainly think that he could be!”

“Yaaaay!” Samantha cheered, doing a little dance that involved a tremendous number of hops. “We’re riding with the BEST!”

As her father gently led her away, the little girl waving all the while, Thomas couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. “The best! Yes! That’s me!”

“Well, we’d best remain careful,” Annie retorted, her gentle nagging already a familiar sound in Thomas’s smokebox. “Follow the rules, do what’s best for the passengers, listen to the driver, and—”

“Be a credit to the railway,” Thomas finished, a slight sigh entering his voice as he echoed the repetitive mantra. “Yes, yes, I know! I just need to keep doing what I’ve been doing, and then…”

Thomas’s mind was filled with visions of brilliance, of endless days of praise and cheers from his passengers, of thanks from Sir Topham and smiles from the other engines. If every day went as well as this one, then…

“...I really will be the best.”

~~~~~~~

The race against Bertie had been exhilarating. Thomas could think of no other word for it. Even the coaches had been invested, both Annie and Clarabel cheering him on, and both his and Bertie’s drivers had worked so hard.

However, his great success hadn’t stopped the passengers from making a great big fuss. Many of them called Thomas names, saying that he was an unsafe engine. Several children were crying by the time the race was over, and a few had even gotten motion sick. An old lady with huge glasses kept screaming that he was no better than James. A little girl in a yellow cardigan had looked at him with massive, sorrowful eyes before burying her head into her father’s shoulder. Sir Topham Hatt had to sort through the many, many complaints, as well as settle things with Bertie’s company. Thus, all further trains for the day were cancelled, and Thomas was sent back to his shed in Ffarquhar in disgrace.

Annie and Clarabel were silent, although their shame was palpable; they were meant to be the voices of reason, and had failed quite miserably in that respect. The two were shunted onto a siding, and said no more for the rest of the day. Thomas’s driver and fireman had also been told, rather unkindly, that they were not to be seen again for the rest of the day, and that as soon as Thomas had been returned to his shed and cleaned, they were to head for home on unpaid leave. From the sound of it, the stationmaster had earned the same punishment. Without his coaches or his crew, Thomas was left to sit and stew in silence, his wheels aching as a deep sense of guilt settled in between the tiny flaws and gaps in his frames, squeezing into those hair-thin vulnerabilities that not even the greatest designer could hope to avoid. He hadn’t meant to put the passengers in danger! It had just been one race! He just… he wanted…

What did he want?

He’d already gotten everything he’d wanted. He’d been allowed to leave the station, no longer forced to shunt coaches, and run a branch line—be responsible for his own branch line—instead. And now, it was quite possible that he’d ruined everything.

Sir Topham Hatt came to visit him that night. “Well, Thomas,” the Controller began, “I hope you’re quite pleased with yourself!” His lips were turned down into a fierce scowl, and his glare was enough to make Thomas shiver. Even though he was so much smaller than Thomas was, the sheer strength of his presence made the tank engine cower.

“I… no, Sir! I’m—I’m sorry, Sir!”

“‘Sorry’ isn’t enough this time, Thomas!” the Controller yelled, the exhaustion, anger, worry, and disappointment of the day’s events all quite evident in the weariness hiding in the creases of his eyes and the timbre of his voice. “Our passengers have lodged a number of complaints, many of which I have had to manage personally! What were you thinking?!”

“I…Bertie said that he was there to help me, Sir. A-and I said that I didn’t need it, because I could go faster than him, Sir! And th-then, he challenged me to a race, Sir! So—”

“So you fell for his taunt, and that’s how this all started,” Sir Topham sighed. In a quieter tone, but one no less angry, the Controller continued. “I’m quite disappointed in you, Thomas. I expected more from you, and that’s why I gave you the number one, as well as this branch line. But now, I’m not sure that you’re ready for the responsibility.”

Thomas’s eyes went wide, and he tried to say something, anything, in response, but Sir Topham held up a hand, a wordless command for quiet.

“Trains that go too fast usually end up in some kind of incident, whether it’s a crash, a collision, or even coming off the rails. Incidents can hurt, Thomas. They can lead to an engine needing a great many repairs or even being scrapped entirely. Humans can be badly injured in incidents, and may even need to be taken to the hospital. We’re very lucky that no one was hurt this time, but some of the passengers are calling for you to be replaced.”

“Replaced! Oh, Sir, please—”

“I haven’t decided yet, Thomas, but I am forced to seriously consider it. You’re not the LBSC’s no. 70 anymore, nor are you a guest of the railway. You now wear the Northwestern Railway’s number one. That number is both a blessing and a burden; people look at you and see the face of this railway. Just as my coffeepots once represented the Northwestern, the responsibility now lies on you to make a positive impression. I figured that you would be a good fit for such a role, as you are a hard worker and a joyful spirit, but I cannot allow passengers to think that my railway is unsafe.”

“I… I’m so sorry, Sir. I won’t do it again, ever.”

In lieu of an answer, or even reassurance, Sir Topham Hatt simply sighed. “Right. I’m sending you to the Steamworks tomorrow; your wheels are worn out, and at the very least, those need to be replaced. I will consider what to do with you afterwards. Good night.”

There was a finality in his voice that told Thomas not to press the matter further. Instead of all of the fears and nerves threatening to burst forth, with great effort, the little blue tank engine managed only a quiet “Good night, Sir.”

It was only long after Sir Topham left that he managed to fall into a fitful sleep.

~~~~~~~

Once again, Thomas found himself on a Steamworks siding, fitted with new wheels and tires. He did feel much better physically, but that was the extent of it; he was sure that his expression betrayed just how nervous and helpless he felt. To make matters worse, it was a spectacularly gorgeous day out, with bright sun, a nice breeze, and not a cloud in the sky, the kind of day that would be perfect for running joyously up and down his branch line. Heh, his branch line. If it would still even be his.

The thought was enough to cause tears to start welling up in his eyes, rivulets running down his cheeks as his thoughts started to spiral. Would he be forced to go back to shunting? Would he lose his number? He’d let everyone down—Sir Topham, the passengers, Glynn… what kind of No. 1 was he?

Peep peep peep! Thomas was jolted from his thoughts as another engine slowly pulled up alongside him. As he looked over to see who it was, he was almost unsurprised to find that it was Skarloey. “Hello, Thomas,” the older engine began hesitantly. “...How are you?”

“Just great,” Thomas bit back, well aware that he was being rude but not in the mood for decorum right now. “I made a huge mistake, and now I might lose my number and my branch line. I challenged Bertie to a race, and it was great fun, but all the passengers got mad at me, and Sir Topham was mad at me, and just… argh!”

If he’d been in steam, Thomas would have let out a large weesh in frustration. As it was, he could only yell about it, screaming up toward an uncaring sky as the tears continued to fall.

Beside him, Skarloey was quiet, so Thomas continued. “He said that trains who go too fast end up in incidents, and incidents are bad for both passengers and engines. I know that! Everyone knows that! But there wasn’t an incident, and they want to replace me just because I…”

There was a beat of silence before Thomas groaned, frustration evident on his face. “I guess it doesn’t matter. You and all the others were right; I couldn’t handle it. Just say it and get it over with.”

Skarloey let out a quiet sigh, staring out at the track, away from Thomas. “Everyone makes mistakes, Thomas. I made many of them myself when I was a younger engine. But one of the most important things I’ve learned is that most people don’t care if you make mistakes. What they care about is what you’ve learned from it.”

“I have learned!” Thomas shouted, startling a bird from its perch on a nearby tree. “I did! I’ll never race again! Racing can cause incidents, and incidents cause injuries, and that’s bad!”

“Yes, you’re right,” Skarloey murmured gently. “You’re sorry for racing, because you know that racing itself can lead to injury. But Thomas, have you ever thought about how easy it is for humans to be injured?”

At this, the blue tank engine furrowed his brow, and gave a quiet sniff. “Wha—what do you mean?”

“Humans aren’t like us,” the older engine explained, his calm cadence being surprisingly comforting the longer Thomas listened. “They’re very fragile. We can be rebuilt, and carry on even when we feel ill. Many humans can’t do that; if their injuries are bad enough, they may need to stay in the hospital—that’s their version of the Steamworks—for weeks, or even months, if it’s very bad.”

“Oh,” Thomas gasped, eyes going wide. “That’s terrible!”

Skarloey’s voice was somber. “It is. That’s why it’s very important that we give our passengers a safe trip. It’s not just incidents that lead to people getting hurt; they can even feel ill if we go too fast. Passengers must always come first.”

“I see.” Thomas’s gaze fell to the buffers before him, self-pity finally giving way to realization. “That’s why Sir Topham Hatt was so angry. It’s not just about the race; just because there wasn’t an incident doesn’t mean the passengers had a nice time. Some of them probably felt ill, and that’s why they wanted me to be replaced.” With a final sniff, the tears dried up, and Thomas blinked them away. “I really haven’t been a good engine. The race was fun, but it made the passengers upset and ill, and I really mustn’t go too fast in the future either, or else they might be upset again.”

“Exactly,” Skarloey agreed, lips curling up into a small, approving smile. “Well done, Thomas. That’s some very good self-reflection.”

“Self-reflection?” Thomas queried. “What’s that?”

The red engine blinked a moment, then gave a thoughtful little hum, trying to puzzle out how to explain the concept. “It’s when you think deeply about why you did something or feel the way you feel. At first, you felt upset because Sir Topham and the passengers were angry at you. But after some self-reflection, you can now see why they were angry, and what you should do better.”

“Oh!” Thomas exclaimed in surprise. “I didn’t know there were words for that!”

“Yes indeed,” Skarloey chuckled. “And self reflection becomes extra important because you’re the number one of your railway.”

Thomas took a moment to consider this, rolling the idea around in his smokebox. “That makes sense. Sir Topham said that people look at me and see the face of the railway, but I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Now, I guess it means that because people think of the railway and think of me, I have to be extra careful to do a good job. It’s nice to be noticed, but it’s also a big responsibility.”

“There you are, Thomas,” Skarloey beamed. “I think that if you tell all of that to Sir Topham, you can show him that you’re still worthy of your branch line.”

As if the heavens themselves were listening, a piercing honk honk! interrupted the two engines as a car pulled up on the road alongside the Steamworks, and Sir Topham stepped out. Even though the sun was still bright and the day still warm, a chill shook its way through Thomas’s body, snaking past his rivets and frames and down into his firebox. “Ah, Skarloey! Always good to see you!” Sir Topham greeted, and the smaller engine grinned in response.

“You as well, Sir!”

It was then that the Controller’s eyes turned to Thomas, his expression stern. “Now then, Thomas. Regarding what we spoke about yesterday…”

“Oh, please, Sir!” Thomas blurted out, panic causing him to push forward despite how rude he knew he was being. “Please don’t take my branch line away! I’ve done some self… self retention, and I know what I’ve done wrong. But more than that, I know why it’s wrong.”

“Oh?” Sir Topham replied, curiosity smoothing out the tension. “I believe that you mean ‘self reflection,’ Thomas. But I should like to hear what you’ve learned.”

“Yes, sir!” his engine started. “People are fragile, and they don’t like being bumped around or taken too fast because it makes them ill! Just because there wasn’t an incident doesn’t mean that they had a good ride, and it’s my job to always give the passengers a nice, safe trip. Plus, since I’m the face of the railway, I have to work extra hard at giving the passengers a nice ride because I don’t want them to think of me and think the whole railway is bad!”

The words all spilled forth in a rush, Thomas trying his hardest to get his meaning across before the Controller could possibly go back to being angry. Once he’d finished, however, there was a long, tense silence, before Sir Topham’s face finally broke into a wide, happy smile. “Well! It seems that you’ve thought quite hard about this, Thomas. Good lad. If you’ve really learned to reflect on yourself and you know why what you did was wrong, then I shall let you keep your number and branch line. I expect great things from you, as my number one engine.”

“Oh, yes Sir! Thank you, Sir!” Thomas exclaimed in relief, all breathless joy and wide-eyed delight, before looking down at the engine beside him. “And thank you, Skarloey, for helping me understand things. I don’t think I would have learned self reflection without you!”

The old engine laughed, his mirth causing even his frames to shake. “I’m glad that I could help, Thomas. From one No. 1 to another, I wish you all the best.”

“Ah, so he received a little help, did he?” Sir Topham smiled. “You truly are a credit to your railway, Skarloey. Thank you.”

The Skarloey Railway’s No. 1 engine grinned with pride, his smile as bright and warm as the sun above. “My pleasure, Sir. It’s truly been an honor.”

#ttte #te writes trains #ttte fanfic #ttte thomas #ttte skarloey #ttte sir topham hatt

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that--unusual-person · 2 months ago

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Hiiiii!!😊��😁

I was wondering if you take requests! If you do then could I request the pillarmen with a chubby reader please😆😆. However, if you don't take requests I am sooo sorry for disturbing you🥲🥲🥲😔😔😔.

man, been a while since i wrote about them

had to backtrack what i know about them before writing lol

JJBA: Pillarmen x Chubby Reader

KARS

• He would treat you with the respect and kindness you deserve to the fullest. From keeping you safe and well protected, to making sure you are taking good care of your well being.

• Watches you like a hawk. Even if you are spending the night out or at work, he is nearby and ready to be at your side when something arises. After all, he would much rather spend his time with something/someone he adores if he has the time to spare.

• If the other Pillar Men are around, he would depart from them momentarily to visit you when the sun is fully down. Checking in, making sure you made it to your destination safely no matter how far you go, or if you are in need of an escort.

• This man makes you feel safe in a world that is out to get you.

• He would wait patiently in your home, taking the small time to perfect everything inside, preparing for your return. He says he does it out of the sake for it being his living space as well, but really just wants to be a housewife; all for you.

• He would even prepare a small snack or drink with a note written in cursive you can hardly understand for when you return and he is absent. Writing that there is a bath prepared and the bed fresh with covers for when you have time to rest.

• And when he returns and see’s you in bed, soft against the plush of the pillow and cushion. He joins you, quietly moving under the covers with you to hold your soft body to his. Though he keeps to himself a number of times, his actions speak volumes. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close as he presses a kiss to your forehead, rehearsing praises for you in his mind for the future as you rest peacefully against him.

• Some nights where you and Kars have time to spend for the night, you and he would take small walks or run some errands. He is glued to your side, claiming to act as a protective pillar against any assailants in the night. While part of that is true, he secretly wants to be as close to you as possible, wanting any chance to embrace your plush form against his. You can tell because he always fails to hide the blush creeping up on his pale cheeks, fingers interlocking with ours as his thumb brushes over your soft knuckles.

ESIDISI

• He would absolutely adore to see you in different styles of clothing that wrap your figure perfectly. Having been used to seeing the same figure for years, from sacrifices to, well, food; you were a sight for sore eyes. Be it in baggy clothing or cloth that hugs your frame, he soaks it all in and would reminisce the memory of the outfit you wore weeks ago just to ask if you could wear it again with a loving grin on his face.

• The moment he set eyes on your bare figure, even if you try to cover up out of embarrassment, he could help the steam from rolling off his body as his blood begins to boil from how enraptured he had become at just the sight of you.

• His comments on your chubby body never cease to make you fluster. From how delicious you looked in today's outfit, to commenting on how he wishes to remove them to explore your body once more.

• And if you let him, he will make sure you are safe doing so. Esidisi, having a great amount of self control, is aware of how emotionally sensitive the concept of the body is, so he will take great care of his words and actions if something goes too far or if you wish to allow him to see you vulnerable.

• Will comfort you like the worlds most precious glass. A figure molded from warm blood and flesh into a being of wonders and delights. He can’t help if his body temperature heats up a little too much when he thinks about you. Your curves and round figure make him grin with pride and adoration knowing you’re his.

• But if you are self conscious about yourself, from your rolls to stretch marks or whatever else ails you, he will shut them down with his words and his touches. Whispering words like honey into you, embracing you to his warm body, tracing your scars with his fingers as he lovingly presses kisses to whatever he can reach. If you try to doubt his words, he will silence you with a kiss, or hold you close to his chest muffling your words.

• He will most certainly not allow anyone, not even you, talk poorly about who he loves most.

WAMUU

• Being the warrior he is, it comes with a sense of an unyielding urge to protect and serve. For you, he will do anything to safeguard you from the harsh and cruel world around you.

• To him, you are more than what anyone has ever said in the past. He would recite poetry from his ancient years just to prove a point and treat you like a maiden blessed with the visage of desires he can’t help but crave.

• Never had he met someone of your mind and body, to hold and to open a new point of view to him. Anytime you two are in an embrace, he thanks you for your existence, and for allowing him the pleasure of being within your proximity.

• Wamuu would carry you places. You may say no, but he insists. Anything to have you in his arms and to serve you generously. He would have a proud smile every time you hide your face in a blush as he carries you, alone or in public. As a show of how capable he is to serve you, and so you may hear the heavy thrum of his heart as it swells with pride and amour for you.

• His hands would feel cold against your warm body, softly gliding over your curves, relishing you with closed eyes so that your figure will be burned into his memory to remember you even when you two are apart.

• When you two go out, he would love to lock arms with you or hold your hand. Silently surveying anyone who dares to look at you funny or mutter one small comment on your appearance; he will be on them before you can even react.

SANTANA

• From being encased in stone to feeling no touch like yours, is absolutely foreign to him.

• He’s familiar with pressing into animal flesh and humans for feeding, and other methods of manipulating their bodies. But to gently brush his fingertips over your soft body and lightly press with a serenity he’s never known makes him wonder.

• His hands roam, eyeing you expectantly to make sure you approve of his continued touches and is careful not to cause you discomfort. Starting from your fingers to your arms, to your shoulders, and neck.

• You may not see it, but he would secretly love the softness of your face. How your round cheeks mold wonderfully into his rough palms, like warm water after hours in the cold. After this, expect him to hold your face more often, brush a knuckle from your cheekbone to your chin when he passes or departs, or lightly pinch/smoosh them just to smile at your reaction.

• Much like a cat, he will sometimes get lost in his habit of observation and proceed to softly make biscuits on your soft tummy.

• Santana would silently wait for you to sit sometimes just so he can walk up to you, or lay down next to you, to rest his head on your plush lap. And if he wanted to cuddle/nap on your lap, he would patiently wait to ask you to let him. He allows you to pet his head and horns as he practically purrs into you.

• If there is a spot he realizes makes you uncomfortable or self conscious, he will gently remove himself and place his forehead onto yours in a silence apology. Though he communicates in blunt and short sentences, he would reassure you of the beauty he see’s on your flesh. Practically worshiping you like God till you stop him.

#jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #battle tendency #pillar men #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #unusual_fics

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cosmicbolognesa · 19 days ago

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Fanfic! Dae-Ho x y/n pt 2/? (English & Spanish version) ''Bet on us'' / ''Apuesta por nosotros''

Fanfic! Dae-Ho x y/n 2/? Part 1: https://acortar.link/sV8saL

ENGLISH VERSION;

|| Things to consider when reading this fanfic: 🠊 You are taking the place of Young-mi, player 095. You’re not replacing her; she simply doesn’t exist, and you have her player number. 🠊 I try to keep the pronouns neutral so you can read comfortably regardless of your gender identity. 🠊 This is completely out of canon, and the characters do not belong to me as they are from the Netflix series "Squid Game."

🠊 Dae-Ho and you have been dating for almost a year. After moving in together, your financial situation has gone through a lot, and both of you have reached a breaking point. Overwhelmed by debt, each of you decides—separately—to join the games offered by a certain man in a suit and carrying a briefcase… without telling the other. Unfortunately, you reunite after the first game. ||

As you moved through the large room, you noticed in the distance how your partner seemed to be trying to approach a small group, much like other players apparently led by player 001, seeking advice. For your part, you didn’t feel ready to approach anyone yet. You looked around, weighing the odds and the faces of the people: dejected, hostile, absent...

You sighed, your fingers gripping the edge of your food can. That’s when, before heading toward the purple-haired boy who seemed to be oddly enjoying himself, you heard Dae-Ho call out to you enthusiastically from afar.

“Come here, come!” he said, not far from the small group around player 456. He gestured for you to join him, his energy unmistakable. You decided to go, and as soon as you arrived, he introduced you excitedly to a slightly older man, perhaps the age of your father or an uncle, with a kind demeanor and a faintly amused expression at Dae-Ho’s overflowing enthusiasm. Apparently, the excitement grew when he mentioned having been in the navy too. The stranger greeted you and nodded toward the “leader” of the apparent gang. This leader barely acknowledged you with a curt nod. There were no further introductions or names exchanged. A third person waved at you, and that’s when everyone turned at the sound behind them: the purple-haired young man and a long-haired guy were taking turns kicking someone on the floor.

You heard Dae-Ho comment on the vigor of youth, and you suppressed a smile since you weren’t much older than those two. The situation seemed serious, though everyone limited themselves to just watching, not interfering.

You were about to whisper to Dae-Ho that he shouldn’t get involved either when player 001 got up and descended the few steps toward the trio. Everything happened quickly, and in a matter of seconds, he had subdued them and restored what little order remained. The way he took control of the situation was, at the very least, admirable, and you joined in the applause that followed.

When he returned to your group, the conversation resumed. “Once again, we appreciate you letting us join your team,” you said later. “I’m sure we’ll make it out alive if we follow your instructions,” you added, looking at 456. “We’ll give it our all.” The other ex-marine chuckled and gave Dae-Ho a pat on the arm. “I see you share the same spirit!” he said, nodding at you.

Dae-Ho nodded energetically. “Of course we do! Not for nothing we…” But before he could finish, you stood up and interrupted.

“I think we should get ready to rest… and be prepared for tomorrow.”

The others seemed to agree and headed to their bunks. As for you, you walked a few beds away, Dae-Ho pulling your wrist as you went.

“Hey, wait…” he began, letting go of you in a quiet corner. “What was that? Can’t I say who we are?” he asked. His tone wasn’t harsh, but you could sense a hint of hurt in his words.

“Dae-Ho, don’t tell me you’re fully trusting them… We can’t share our personal lives with people whose names we don’t even know,” you replied, shrugging. “We’re in a competition. It’d be better not to trust anyone completely, don’t you think?”

“Look, I know we’re not on vacation here,” he said, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. “But we can’t be entirely defensive either. I think we have a better chance of survival with a good team, and that man has played before…”

“Yes, and he himself said everyone ended up dead. How are we supposed to trust someone who willingly got himself back in here?” You softly pushed his hands off your shoulders. “I only care about you and keeping us alive. For now, let’s just try to rest.”

You were heading toward one of the empty beds when he stopped you by tugging on the sleeve of your sweater as you passed.

“Okay, fine. We’ll do it your way, but don’t forget… I love you,” he murmured before retreating to an empty spot.

Maybe you were too harsh on him, but this wasn’t a place where you could let your guard down. Finally, you chose a bed near his, and as you settled into the thin sheets, you whispered, “I love you too,” before exhaustion took over.

You slept without truly resting, waking to a light touch on your shoulder and the loud sound of classical music. Groaning, you rolled over and pulled the pillow over your head.

“Turn it off, Dae-Ho. It’s early. Let me sleep a little longer,” you muttered.

Though you couldn’t see him from your position, he gave you a sad smile. “I wish I could… Come on, you need to get up. Today we’ll leave this place, and soon, you’ll be able to sleep as much as you want,” he said softly.

The weight of his words and the grim reality of where you were hit you hard. With a sigh, you climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom to splash water on your face. Afterward, you rejoined the small group, who were now discussing strategy. They agreed that if everything went well, they should choose the triangle for the next game.

All the players were led up the brightly colored pink, yellow, and blue stairs, with guards watching every corner. Dae-Ho walked behind you, whispering words of encouragement—perhaps meant for you, for himself, or both.

When you reached the next game’s setting, it looked like a giant kindergarten playground, with two large rainbow-colored circles painted on the ground.

“This game will be played in teams. You have ten minutes to form your groups. Each team must have five players,” the speakers announced.

A wave of dread washed over you. This wasn’t the game that man had mentioned. Doubt filled your mind, just as it did for others, evident in their questioning glances.

“I thought you said you’ve been here before!” shouted player 100, confronting 456. “You said you knew the next game, but you lied!”

Despite having a thousand questions and fears of your own, the older man’s anger annoyed you. Fortunately, player 001 silenced him effortlessly, and the group refocused on the task at hand.

“Well… there are five of us. Let’s stick together,” suggested the ex-marine.

“Yes, please. I’ll risk my life if I must,” Dae-Ho quickly added, earning a pat on the back as the man nodded.

Before they could delve into speculating about what type of game awaited, a frail-looking young woman approached, asking if their group had room for one more.

“Sorry, we’re full and…” began Jung-bae, but the woman interrupted, desperation tinting her voice.

“Please, I can’t find a team, and I’m pregnant. I’m begging you,” she pleaded, placing a hand on her stomach. You noticed she wasn’t lying.

Words spilled from your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“You can take my place.”

Four pairs of eyes stared at you in disbelief, while one looked at you with gratitude.

“What are you…?” Dae-Ho began, moving closer to you. You quickly pushed him aside, speaking in hushed tones. “We’ll have a better chance if we split up. Trust me, okay?”

Not giving him a chance to respond, you turned back to the group. “Take her in. I’ll find another team. Don’t worry about me,” you assured them before running off.

Two minutes remained to find a group.

Your heart raced as you moved through the crowd of players, scanning for anyone missing members. You spotted a tall woman with short hair wearing number 120 on her sweatshirt.

“Hey, excuse me, do you need another teammate?” you asked, your voice tinged with urgency.

Relief washed over her face, and she nodded. “Yes, of course… Let’s find more people,” she replied gently, though desperation lingered in her tone.

Eventually, you managed to recruit an older woman and her son. With less than a minute remaining, a bold-looking woman with heavily lined eyes and colorful bracelets approached. She eyed your group up and down disdainfully.

“You idiots! Making me wait like this… You should’ve invited me earlier! I ought to stab you…”

You already disliked her, but with time running out, she became your group’s fifth member.

A loud beep signaled the end of the timer. Guards began organizing the teams, seating them in neat rows. The game was announced as a “five-legged race,” featuring five mini-games. You recognized them from your childhood, as likely did your teammates.

Once seated, you stole a glance at Dae-Ho, sitting rows away. His eyes were locked on you. You tried to nod, mouthing, “We’ll be fine,” though you weren’t entirely convinced yourself.

SPANISH VERSION;

|| Cosas a tener en cuenta al leer este fanfic: 🠊 Estás tomando el lugar de Young-mi, la jugadora 095. No la reemplazas, simplemente ella no existe, y tú tienes su número de jugador 🠊 Intento mantener los pronombres neutros, para que puedas leer cómodamente sin importar tu identidad de género. 🠊 Es totalmente outcannon y los personajes NO me pertenecen, ya que son del mundo de la serie de Netflix ''Squid game''

🠊Dae-Ho y tu llevan casi un año saliendo como pareja; a raíz de haberse mudado juntos, su situación económica ha pasado por mucho, y ambos llegaron a un punto crítico. Con tantas deudas, cada uno decide, por separado, entrar a los juegos que cierto hombre de traje y portafolio les invita…sin decírselo mutuamente. Lamentablemente, ambos se reencuentran después del primer juego. ||

Mientras te movías por la enorme habitación, pudiste observar a la distancia cómo tu pareja parecía intentar acercarse al pequeño grupo, de la misma forma que otros jugadores, al parecer liderados por el número 001, en busca de consejos. Por tu parte, no pareces animarte a acercarte a nadie, no aún. Miras a tu alrededor, sopesando las probabilidades y los rostros de la gente; desconsolados, hostiles, ausentes…

Suspiras, y tus dedos aprietan ligeramente tu lata de comida. Es entonces cuando, antes de acercarte al chico de cabello morado que parece incluso disfrutar el estar ahí, escuchas a Dae-Ho llamarte a lo lejos, con entusiasmo.

—¡Ven aquí, ven! — dice, no muy lejos del pequeño grupo del jugador 456. Te hace algunas señas, aparentemente animado. Tú decides ir y, ni bien has llegado, te presenta con emoción a un hombre levemente mayor, quizá de la edad de tu padre o un tío, pero con aspecto amable y levemente divertido ante el derrame de energía que Dae-Ho parece tener. Al parecer, la emoción crece al señalar que ha estado también en la marina. El desconocido te saluda y señala al ''líder'' de la aparente pandilla. Este no parece reaccionar, más allá de asentir secamente con la cabeza. No hay presentaciones más allá, ni nombres. La tercera persona te saluda moviendo la mano, y es entonces cuando todos se giran ante el sonido a sus espaldas; el joven de cabello púrpura y el tipo de cabello largo están golpeando a otro, turnándose para patearlo en el suelo. Escuchas a tu pareja hablar sobre la energía juvenil, y reprimes una sonrisa porque ustedes mismos no son mucho mayores que ese par. La situación parece seria, aunque todos se limitan a ver, sin interferir.

Tú estás a punto de susurrar a Dae-Ho que él tampoco se acerque, cuando el jugador 001 ya se ha levantado y baja los pocos escalones, en dirección a aquellos tres. Todo sucede muy rápido y, en cuestión de segundos, ya los ha dejado en el piso y ha restaurado el poco orden que había. La manera en que ha tomado el control de todo es, como menos, admirable, y te unes a los aplausos que le brindan. Cuando regresa con ustedes, la conversación se reanuda. —Nuevamente, les agradezco por dejarnos estar en su equipo— repites más tarde — seguro podremos salir de aquí con vida, si seguimos sus instrucciones— añades, mirando a 456. —Nos esforzaremos en todo— el otro ex marino se permite reí un poco, y le palmea un brazo a Dae-Ho — ¡Veo que comparten el espíritu! — dice, señalándote con la cabeza. El asiente enérgicamente. —¡Claro que sí! No por nada nosotros…— pero antes de que Dae-Ho continúe, te pones de pie e interrumpes —Creo que deberíamos prepararnos para descansar…y estar listos para mañana—. Los demás parecen estar de acuerdo y se dirigen a sus camas. Por tu parte, vas unas pocas literas más allá, Dae-Ho tirando de tu muñeca mientras caminan. —Eh, oye…— comienza, cuando te suelta por fin en una parte a solas — ¿qué ha sido eso? ¿Es que no puedo decir lo que somos? — pregunta. Aunque está un poco contrariado, percibes cierto dolor en sus palabras.

—Dae-Ho, no me digas que estás confiando totalmente en ellos…no podemos estar contando nuestra vida, ni siquiera sabemos sus nombres— repones, encogiéndote de hombros— no podemos contar cosas personales. Además, recuerda que estamos compitiendo, sería mejor no confiar totalmente en los demás ¿no crees? —.

—Escucha, sé que no estamos aquí de vacaciones ni de paseo — responde él, colocando ambas manos sobre tus hombros, siempre con suavidad— pero no podemos estar a la defensiva tampoco. Creo que podemos tener más probabilidades de salir con vida si tenemos un buen equipo, y ese hombre ya ha jugado antes…—.

—Sí, y él mismo ha dicho que todos acabaron muertos. ¿Cómo vamos a creer todo lo que dice, si él mismo volvió a meterse aquí por gusto? — niegas suavemente, apartándote de su toque— Sólo me importas tú, y mantenernos vivos…por ahora, intentemos descansar— estás por regresar a una de las camas vacías, cuando él te detiene, sujetándote por la manga de tu sudadera al pasar.

—Oye, está bien. Lo haremos a tu manera, pero no olvides que te quiero— murmura, antes de volver y ocupar uno de los sitios libres.

Quizá has sido muy severo con él, pero tampoco es que puedas relajarte en un sitio como ese. Al final, eliges una cama junto a la de él y, mientras te acomodas entre las sábanas, lo miras y susurras — yo también te quiero— antes de permitir que el cansancio te invada.

Duermes sin descansar realmente, pero te despierta un suave toque en el hombro, y escuchas música clásica a un volumen fuerte. Te estiras y ruedas, cubriéndote la cabeza con la almohada. —Apaga eso, Dae-Ho. Es temprano, déjame dormir otro poco— gruñes. Desde aquella posición no puedes verlo, pero el más alto te dedica una sonrisa triste, antes de responder. — Ojalá pudiera hacerlo…vamos, tienes que levantarte. Hoy nos iremos de aquí y pronto vas a poder dormir todo lo que quieras— responde. Es entonces cuando el peso de sus palabras y la realidad de dónde te encuentras te golpean. Suspiras y, una vez fuera de la cama, te diriges al baño para mojarte el rostro e intentar despabilarte. Al regresar, te reúnes con el pequeño grupo y vuelven a acordar que, si todo sale bien, necesitan elegir la figura del triángulo para el siguiente juego.

Todos los jugadores se encaminan a través de aquellas escaleras de colores rosa, amarillo y azul, con guardias vigilando en cada rincón. Dae-Ho camina detrás de ti, susurrando cada poco palabras de ánimo que no sabes si son para ti o para sí mismo. Tal vez para ambos. Cuando llegan al campo de juego, se encuentran con lo que parece un patio del jardín de infantes, con dos enromes círculos de arcoíris pintados en el suelo.

''Este juego será en equipos; tienen diez minutos para juntarse. Deben ser cinco personas por equipo'' dicen los altavoces. El estómago te duele; ese no es el juego que aquel hombre dijo, y te giras hacia él con duda en los ojos, al igual que otras personas. Las instrucciones se repiten y el tiempo comienza a correr.

—¡Dijiste que ya habías venido! — grita el hombre con el número 100, encarando al 456 —¡Dijiste que sabías qué juego sigue, y nos mentiste! —. Pese a que tienes mil preguntas y miedo, la voz y el derecho de aquel viejo hombre te irritan. Afortunadamente, 001 lo hace callar fácilmente, y vuelven a concentrarse en qué hacer.

—Bueno…somos cinco personas. Hagamos equipo entonces— dice el ex marino. —Sí, por favor. Arriesgaré mi vida si es necesario— dice Dae-Ho enseguida, y el otro le palmea mientras asiente. Sin embargo, antes de comenzar a discutir sobre qué clase de juego puede aguardarles, una joven de aspecto frágil se acerca a ustedes, preguntando si están completos o puede unirse. No la culpas, ya que estás un poco separado de ellos, mirando a tu alrededor. —Ah, lo siento, ya estamos completos y…— empieza Jung-bae. Pero la joven interrumpe, ahora con un tinte de desesperación en sus palabras— por favor, no encuentro equipo, y estoy embarazada. Se los suplico— ella se toca el vientre, y puedes ver que es cierto. Tu boca se abre y las palabras brotan antes de darte cuenta.

—Puedes tomar mi lugar— cuatro pares de ojos te miran con incredulidad, y uno más con agradecimiento. —¿Qué estás…?— empieza Dae-Ho, acercándose a ti. Tú lo empujas apresuradamente a un lado, para hablarle con rapidez —Tendremos más probabilidades de ganar si nos dividimos, confía en lo que hago ¿está bien?— no lo dejas responder y vuelves a dirigirte a los otros —Pueden acogerla, buscaré otro equipo, por favor no se preocupen— y echas a correr. Te quedan dos minutos para encontrar equipo.

Tu corazón late con rapidez mientras te mueves entre los demás jugadores, buscando a quien le falten miembros. A lo lejos ves a una mujer alta, de cabello corto. Lleva el número 120 en la sudadera. Te acercas a ella, esperando que puedas integrarte. —Oye, disculpa ¿te gustaría formar equipo? — le preguntas. Como respuesta, ella parece aliviada y asiente. —Por supuesto…— su tono es gentil, aunque también parece tan desesperada como tú. —Ven, busquemos a más personas—.

Al final, consiguen a aquella mujer mayor y a su hijo. Les queda menos de un minuto, y es cuando una mujer de ojos delineados y pulseras de colores se acerca a ustedes. Los mira de arriba hacia abajo, con suficiencia. —Idiotas insolentes, estúpidos a los que les gusta hacerme esperar ¡debieron invitarme a su equipo desde antes! Debería acuchillarlos…—.

Ella ya te desagrada lo suficiente con semejante presentación, pero no hay más tiempo, así que es la quinta en unirse a ustedes. Escuchan un pitido del reloj, y los guardias comienzan a ordenar los equipos para que se sienten en el suelo, en filas ordenadas; van a jugar a una carrera de ''cinco piernas'', superando cinco minijuegos. Los conoces, llegaste a jugarlos en tu infancia, probablemente igual que tus compañeros. Un par de veces miras a Dae-Ho, filas lejos de ti, su mirada puesta en ti. Intentas asentirle un par de veces, tratando de articular las palabras ''estaremos bien'', aunque no lo crees del todo.

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