#will be sleeping soon just needed the world to know this
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
currently thinking ab loving on sevika she deserves the world :((( im tired and cold n i just wanna cuddle w her n have sleepy soft sex aughhh i need her so bad my wifeee
ROSE <33333 i love this i'm gonna combine it with this other ask i got because i want to pamper our wife
Hey Angel!!
Not sure if you've done this before, or are at all interested in this lol.
But I'm thinking butch or stud reader seeing how much sevika is overworking herself (possibly council member sevika?) but they dress up, get her flowers, make her dinner. Or it doesn't have to be anything fancy, maybe running her a bath and giving her a massage. Just sevika having someone to look after her, and however much she protests she's secretly loving it.
I love the idea of reader turning up at her door with a bunch of flowers, a bit nervous
Might be a bit weird lol, totally ignore this if ya want. Hope you had a wonderful new years and Christmas if you celebrate!!
-🌱
men and minors dni
your girlfriend's been busy lately. endlessly busy.
when you started dating sevika, she was an overworked, underpaid grunt for silco. now she's still overworked, though the pay is much better as the ambassador of fucking zaun.
where you used to catch sevika for a few hours at a time at the last drop between her important meetings, now, you're doing the same thing in the fucking council building in piltover. sevika's office is the size of your childhood home. both of you get headaches from the constant stream of sunlight leaking through the giant windows.
you're used to sevika's erratic, unpredictable schedule. but, you're both still adjusting to the bone deep tiredness and anxiety that come with her new responsibilities.
so when you get to her apartment for your weekly dinner date and she doesn't answer; you figure she's running late at work.
you use your spare key to let yourself in, slipping off your fancy dress shoes and finding a vase to display the flowers you brought her in.
you flit around her kitchen, collecting old coffee cups and cereal bowls and loading them in the dishwasher-- just trying to help her straighten up a bit. you know it gets away from her when works rough.
you lose yourself in your tidying, forgetting about your dinner reservations, mindlessly cleaning and fantasizing about your girl.
someday soon you won't have to come over to sevika's place to clean it for her, because you'll be living together. for the time being, sevika needs to live up in piltover as a requirement for her first year as ambassador, but you've been counting down the months until your co-habitation together. on sevika's rare free weekends you've even gone house shopping up on the promenade-- zaun's side of the river, but less of a trek up to the council.
a loud snore breaks you out of your haze, and you giggle as you tiptoe toward your girlfriend's bedroom.
and there she is: not at work but here, fast asleep on top of her covers, her fancy work clothes getting wrinkled as she curls in on her side.
poor thing. sevika doesn't nap willingly, and she clearly didn't mean to fall asleep before your date-- she's just exhausted. you pout a little, pushing her hair out of her face as she snores.
well, fuck it. if sevika needs to spend your date night sleeping, you're not gonna make her do it alone. you carefully pull off your suit jacket and slide out of your trousers, grabbing a throw blanket and being careful not to disturb her too much as you crawl into bed beside her. you over the pair of you up and drape an arm across sevika's waist, settling in for sleep.
two or three hours later, you're awaken to gentle kisses being pressed to your forehead. you're smiling before your eyes can fully open. "g'morning." you mumble. sevika chuckles.
"'s almost ten." she says. you shrug.
"good nap?" you ask. sevika pouts, and you reach up to scratch at her scalp.
"it was needed. 'm just sorry i slept through our date."
"don't worry about it, sevi-bear." you whisper. "we can order delivery pizza and watch a horror flick on the couch."
sevika hums happily, cuddling closer to you. "sounds amazing. just ten more minutes, 'kay?" she asks.
you laugh and shake your head. "no, baby, don't go back to sleep, y'know you won't wake up until morning if you do. and you need to eat something. i doubt you ate lunch..."
sevika pouts. "but 'm so tired." she whines.
you giggle and dart forward, nibbling at her earlobe. sevika gasps, her hands coming out to clutch your hips and drag you closer to her. "i know a fun way to wake you up." you tease. sevika giggles, intertwining her legs with yours to grind against your boxer-clad thigh. you chuckle, slipping your hands down to fondle her ass through her pants and ducking your lips down to suck on her neck.
"fuck." sevika sighs. "b-baby." she stutters. "kiss me." you groan at her request, pulling away from the hickey you were sucking in her neck to smash your lips against hers. sevika whimpers in your mouth, her arms pulling you so tight you struggle to breathe. eventually, she pulls away with a gasp. "y-you take such good care'a me." sevika whispers.
you groan and shove her onto her back, pawing at her pants to get them open. "it's my favorite thing to do in the whole world."
sevika growls and starts shoving at her waist band, desperate to get naked. you scramble between her legs, licking your lips at the promise of what's to come. (haha. cum.)
she's so warm, her body so cozy from the nap and cuddles, and when you finally get between her bare thighs you have to take a moment to breathe in the scent and sight of her. she smells like arousal and a days' worth of sweat and sleep and sevika. she looks fucking desperate. the dark curls of her cunt are soaked and clinging to her skin, and her clit's poking out sweetly, twitching and begging for attention.
"fuck, i could drown in you." you whisper.
sevika growls and makes your wish come true with a harsh tug to the back of your head.
you bury your face against her, letting her grind her clit against your nose while you lap up her leaking cunt, groaning at the taste of her. you reach up to claw at her hips, keeping her pinned to your face while you do your best to devour her.
sevika's shaky and sweet; still waking up, still too tired to care about how she sounds. and she sounds adorable-- soft little squeaks and surprised gasps escaping her, noises she'd usually bite her lip to muffle.
"y-you feel so good." sevika whines. you hum against her, closing your eyes for just a moment at the praise. sevika grunts. "no, no look at me-- fuck!" she whines when you open your eyes, blinking up at her while you shove a hand down your boxers to relieve the ache between your own thighs.
she's so perfect. she tastes like heaven, and she's desperately trying to keep her eyes open through her pleasure so she can keep looking at you.
"baby, fuck, i'm gonna cum." sevika groans. you nod against her, pulling away to gasp for air before diving back down, sucking her clit in your mouth. sevika squeals, and her thighs clamp around your head.
you cum at the feeling of her strong thighs squeezing your head. she cums at the broken, muffled moans you let out against her clit. when she finally lets you up for air, your face is soaking wet.
sevika bursts into laughter at the sight of you. "shit-- did i waterboard you?" she asks through giggles.
you giggle, wiping your face off on her shirt. "almost. i'm getting really good at holding my breath, though, thanks to you."
sevika pulls you on top of her, clinging to you as she cackles. "fantastic date night." she declares. you laugh.
"we haven't even gotten out of bed yet!"
"i'm just saying, we're off to a great start!"
"you go call for delivery, i'm gonna draw you a nice bath." you say, kissing her cheek as you get up. sevika groans and pouts.
"don't leave yet!"
"baby, if i stay any longer we'll both fall asleep." you point out.
she huffs then rolls her eyes. "fine. but will you at least get in the bath with me?" she asks. you grin.
"of course. who else is gonna give you a shoulder massage?"
taglist!
@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner
@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther
@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart
@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette
@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp
@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner
@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke
@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25
@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby
@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth
344 notes
·
View notes
Text
Still Life 1
Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader
Word Count: ~2.8k
Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...
Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism, adult themes, explicit language, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by me this time!
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
A/N: Well, this is for all of you who thought you'd seen the worst angst I could possibly do. Sorry for how much this one's gonna hurt!
Big thanks to @paperweight91 and @bigtreefest who both read so much of this and helped with structuring and world-building. And huge thanks to everyone who showed so much enthusiasm for this idea. I'm so excited to share this story with you!
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!
As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz
Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz
It took a moment for Curtis to pull himself out of sleep enough to realize the incessant noise was his phone vibrating loudly on his nightstand. It took another moment for him to pull himself together enough to answer it. “Hello?” he croaked.
“Morning, Curtis,” a harried voice came through from the other end. “This is Yona from the Omega Welfare Center. I'm so sorry to call so early, but we've had kind of a crazy night here and we're in need of several emergency placements.”
That had him waking up. “What happened?” he asked, seriously, sitting up in bed.
She sighed, all of her exhaustion coming through. “A traditionalist compound a couple hours away got raided by the feds and ATF. They prepared for some omegas, but… There were a lot more. Kids too. It’s been all hands on deck at all five omega centers in the state. We’re over capacity, so we’re just trying to place anyone we can immediately.”
“Shit,” Curtis mumbled to himself. Traditionalist communities popped up on the news every once in a while, populated mostly by alphas on a power trip. But this one sounded bigger than most. He looked at his clock. It was just past five. “I’ve got room for one,” he said. “And I can be there in an hour.”
“Thank you, Curtis. I’ll see you soon.”
Fifty-five minutes later, Curtis was checking in at the center, his second coffee clutched in one hand. He’d been volunteering there as a foster Alpha for about three years. Mostly short-term placements. His longest one was just over a month. He provided safe touch, grounding, and a sense of security to omegas who needed to get back on their feet. He’d help them through heats when necessary, never knotting them, but whatever else they might need. Often, it was just his scent. It made him feel good, to be able to help these omegas, offer a positive alpha experience to omegas who hadn’t had many.
He’d worked with a few different case workers during his time. Yona had been the main one for the past year. He’d never heard her sound like she had that morning.
Even just at the front desk, he could sense how much more chaotic it was here than usual. He could hear babies screaming beyond the office door, endless anxious chatter. The entire building reeked of omegas in distress. It made his nose itch and his skin crawl.
After a few minutes of waiting, Yona came and got him. “How bad is it?” he asked the omega as she hurriedly led him down the hall.
She showed him into a small meeting room as she answered, “Really, really bad. I’ve never seen anything like it. None of them are talking, but from what we can gather, most of them have spent their entire lives in the compound. No IDs, no papers. Figuring out who they are has been nearly impossible. And as terrible as it may have been, their whole world was ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours. No one feels like cooperating. We hope you might have better luck as an alpha.”
“You think they'll talk to me?”
She shakes her head. “Just the Omega we're placing with you. They've all been taught never to trust outsiders, but they've also been raised to see Alphas as the ultimate authority. So, it's worth a shot.”
He nodded, slowly. “What do you need?”
“Just basic identifying information for now. So we can see if she even exists in any sort of governmental system. Then we can go from there.”
“If you don’t have any information, what makes you think I’ll be a good fit for her?”
“Honestly,” Yona said, with a helpless shrug, “you only have room for one and she doesn’t have any pups. That’s it. Listen, I know this isn’t how we normally do things and I’m so sorry I’m just throwing you into it without any preparation, but we’re really desperate here. They’re all high needs, high risk. There’s no existing support network for them, and there are more of them than we have room for. So we called all of our most experienced, most dependable alphas first thing this morning so we can focus on the ones we have room to house here. I know it isn’t fair to you but–”
“Hey,” Curtis interrupted. “It’s ok, I understand. I’ll take care of her. I promise.”
“Thank you,” she breathed out, a small fraction of the tension she’d been holding bleeding out of her shoulders. “Ok, I’m gonna go bring her in.”
She slipped through the door and Curtis leaned against the table in the center of the room as he waited. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on putting together a to-do list. He had two sets of nesting supplies always ready, one with his scent and one without. In the next few days, he’d try to figure out if there was anything else this omega wanted for the nest. He’d gone grocery shopping the day before, so his pantry was stocked, but he’d see if there were any favorite comfort foods he could grab in his next shop. He needed to rearrange his work schedule, push back some deadlines so he’d have time to get the omega settled. He had no idea what they’d be bringing with them, so a shopping trip for toiletries and clothes would probably be necessary. Depending on the omega's state, maybe he'd be able to get the shopping done on the way back to his house. He glanced at the time on his phone. Shit. Depending on what was open.
At movement right outside the door, he stood at attention. Yona came back in with you right behind her. He took a good look at you. You wore a rumpled long-sleeved floral dress that went down to your ankles. It was faded like it’d been washed too many times. Your eyes were fixed on the tennis shoes you wore, which had probably been white at one point, but now were discolored and looked like they didn’t fit quite right.
There was a little hand-written number ten pinned to your dress. He wanted to raise a judgemental brow at Yona, but if none of you would say your names, he supposed Yona and her team had to come up with some way to keep track of you all.
He had to stifle a gasp when his eyes landed on your neck. There was a large bite scar over your mating gland. Unlike the neat and pretty, well-healed ones he was used to seeing, yours was deep and jagged, red and white, scar tissue bubbling up where your flesh had clearly been torn. This didn’t look like a mating bite. It was the sort of bite meant to inflict pain. What sort of alpha had you had??
Your eyes stayed on the floor, your expression blank but your scent said so much – panic, sadness, terror, relief all jumbled together. He wanted to reach out and touch you, his alpha instincts were going haywire, but he kept his hands to himself.
“This is Curtis,” Yona said to you. “He's the alpha who's going to look after you until we can get all this sorted.”
You didn’t react at all, just stood there, stiff as a board with your eyes on your shoes.
He stayed where he was, conscious of giving you space. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said, as gently as he could. Then, with a glance to Yona, “Can you tell me your name?”
Your face scrunched up and the fear in your scent spiked but you didn’t say anything. He sighed. Shit. He really didn’t want to have to use an alpha command with you right now. That could be disastrous for any dynamic he tried to build with you. But they needed this information. He really, really hoped you wouldn’t make him force you.
“Omega, what’s your name?” he asked as firmly as he could, hopefully without scaring you. “I need to know.”
You closed your eyes tightly and he thought he saw the smallest little head shake. There was another moment of silence and he looked at Yona nervously. But then, you said it. So quietly he almost didn’t catch it. But you said it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yona frantically scribbling it down, but his focus was completely on you.
He tried to keep his sigh of relief to himself. “That was so good. Thank you. You’re doing so well,” he said, keeping the praise soft, hoping you could scent how pleased he was with you. “When were you born?”
You gave up your birthday a little more easily, but you left off the year.
“That’s great. Thank you. Do you know how old you are?” he asked, maintaining his gentle tone, knowing it was possible that you didn’t.
For whatever reason, it was that that finally got a reaction out of you. You looked up at him, so he could finally see your eyes, and snarled, “I’m not stupid!”
There was a beat when no one did anything. Curtis and Yona just stared at you in shock. The snarl was frozen on your face until it suddenly disappeared and your eyes got wide. Before he was able to process any of what was happening, you’d dropped down onto your knees. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Alpha, I’m sorry.” You just keep repeating that in a constant stream, your head tucked to your chest.
Repeatedly mixed into that jumble was a number. It took Curtis a few moments to realize it was your age. You were answering his question. He quietly repeated it to Yona, then dropped down to his knees as well so he could be closer to your level. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. You aren’t stupid. I can already tell how smart you are. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He wanted to reach out and touch you, wrap you in his arms, even, comfort you however he could. But he was too afraid that that’d make you panic even more. That was a boundary he couldn’t cross. Not yet. He stayed down there, whispering reassurances to you for as long as it took for you to stop apologizing, and a few extra minutes for your breathing to calm down. Once you seemed like you were back in the present moment, he moved to a crouch. “Think you can stand up for me, honey?”
You nodded, but you were back to keeping your eyes downcast. “Yes, Alpha.”
He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to call him ‘Alpha,’ that ‘Curtis’ was just fine. But that could wait until you were a little more comfortable. Once he had you home, maybe. He could already tell that picking his battles was going to be important.
“Thank you,” he said as he stood up to his full height, and you did as well. “You answered my questions so well. You gave me exactly what I needed.” He looked to Yona to see if there was anything else.
“Do you have any questions for me or Curtis?” she asked you.
You shook your head, emphatically, hunching your shoulders. The room filled with the scent of fear again.
“Okay… that’s fine,” Yona said, and he could tell how much she hated this. “Well,” she turned to Curtis, “I’ll go get the paperwork and then you two can get home. I’ll be right back,” she said to you, then left the room.
This was happening too fast. In normal circumstances, you would have already been at the center for a few weeks, at least, with access to mental health professionals, life skill classes, and support groups. He’d be the last step before going back to the real world. You’d be ready to spend time with an alpha. Ready to work through processing positive physical attachments. Ready to learn how to share space with someone who wasn’t a threat to you. You’d be ready to slowly take steps into the world, with him there to support you.
You had backed yourself into the corner now. He could see the way every single muscle in your body was trying not to cower. You weren’t ready. You were nowhere near ready. But with all the resources for at-risk omegas pushed to their limit by this raid, what would happen to you if he didn’t take you? As insufficient as it might be, his help could be all you’d be able to get. This wasn’t how it should be, but he’d do everything he could for you.
Yona came back in and he watched her take you in, sighing at your state. He knew she was thinking the same things he was. “Ok,” she said, handing him the packet of forms to sign. “No changes since last time. You know the drill.”
He nodded as he grabbed them and sat down at the table, getting to work signing where he was supposed to. As he did, he felt your eyes on him as the scent of your apprehension filled the room.
Yona called your name. “Let’s go outside for a minute while Curtis finishes up.”
You both left quietly. This, too, was part of normal procedure. She was asking if you were sure you were comfortable leaving with him, telling you you had the option to say no, getting your verbal and written consent, and giving you cards with all the emergency numbers on them. He was afraid this situation might stretch the legal definition of informed consent. Based on everything he’d seen so far, he couldn’t picture a scenario where you’d say no.
Nothing about this felt good, but everyone’s hands were tied. And he knew that he’d do everything he could to keep you as safe as possible.
A few minutes after he’d finished signing the last page, you and Yona came back in. A worn knapsack hung from your fingers. It was small, confirming Curtis’s suspicions that you didn’t have much in the way of clothes. Alright, that was priority number one.
Yona had a thin folder in her hand that she immediately passed to Curtis. “The regular information, along with her schedule of appointments for the next few weeks, both doctor and therapist. And the card for the agent in charge of the investigation into the compound, in case anything pertinent comes up.” Then she turned to you with a small box. “I’ve got a couple packets of suppressants for you. Do you want them or do you want Curtis to keep track of them for you?”
Your eyes cut to him suspiciously then flitted back to the floor. “Alpha,” you muttered.
“Okay,” Yona said, handing the box to Curtis as well. Then she clapped her hands together, her face set in grim determination. “I won’t keep you any longer then. I’ll see you both next week.”
On the way out of the center, Curtis was all too aware of the way you walked exactly three steps behind him, one step to the left. That wasn’t just old-fashioned, it was archaic. He’d never seen an omega do it in real life.
At his truck, you looked at the truckbed in a way that made him worried you might try to ride back there, so he opened the passenger door for you and waited for you to get in. He resisted the part of his alpha instincts that wanted to buckle you in. And after a gentle request, you did it yourself.
As the two of you hit the road, he reached over to turn the radio on. He tried to move slowly, but you still flinched. “Want some music?” he asked quietly.
You didn’t respond, so he found an oldies station and left the volume low. His plan for the day had shifted a bit. You definitely weren’t ready to go shopping. That was fine. There was nothing that couldn’t be delivered.
About five minutes into the drive, the strong scent of your tears filled the cab. He looked over at you. You were huddled against the door, as far away from him as you could get. Your face was pressed against the window, so all he could see was the back of your head. But he could hear your sniffles and he could smell your distress.
It took everything in him to not pull over right now and reach over to comfort you. Pull you into his arms. Rub soothing circles on your back. But he knew that would do more harm than good. His touch wouldn’t be welcome. Yet. You weren’t ready.
And god, he wasn’t either. He wasn’t ready for any of this. But damn it, he was going to try.
Tag List is open!
@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23 @thiquefunlover63 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stellar-solar-flare @crazyunsexycool @littlelearningbrat
#still life#curtis everett x reader#curtis everett x you#curtis everett fanfiction#curtis everett x female reader#alpha curtis everett#alpha!curtis everett#omegaverse#omega reader#reader insert#snowpiercer#chris evans fanfiction#curtis everett angst#kris wrote something
113 notes
·
View notes
Text
On heartbreak, homunculi, and the small yet very awkward matter of shooting one's girlfriend in the neck over your ex
OR: How The Doomed Scientist has been coping in the aftermath of his ambition (Badly. The answer is very very badly indeed.)
OR: A loosely abridged summary of an RP between myself and @superoffbatter, posted on Tumblr for OC lore purposes.
OR: Major spoilers for the entirety of the Nemesis ambition, as well as minor spoilers for Bag a Legend and a brief spot of blog-typical spoilers for a certain "powerful" ending of Heart's Desire.
OR: What The Plutonian Shadow's deal actually is.
So.
In order to explain this long and complicated tale, we're going to need to set a good bit of groundwork first. For some, this will effectively be a recap. For others, it will be important new lore that will harm us later.
Let's dive right in, shall we?
The Doomed Scientist- also known by his real name, Caeru- has a long and storied history of obsessing over serving others. He's always had this concept in his head that he needs to help, he needs to give himself up for the good of everyone around him, and if he's not doing that then he barely deserves to live at all.
This is the mindset that drove his quest to kill Mr Cups. He wasn't doing it for himself. He was doing it for everyone Cups has hurt, everyone Cups has murdered, every other victim that died so it could fulfill its need for stories of vengeance and misery. During his ambition, he very much saw himself as nothing more than a tool and a weapon to be pointed and used as the dead saw fit.
His own emotions didn't matter. His own grief, all-consuming as it was, didn't matter. Cups needed to die.
Cups- Cups needed to-
Oh, fuck.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't take it. He had an obligation towards those that died, towards his lover, towards everyone who ever wanted the beast dead. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't.
No matter how much he desperately, desperately wanted to.
For the first few weeks after his ambition concluded, Caeru was inconsolable. He was wracked with guilt over ""failing"" to save his former paramour, even more than he was already- for god's sake, the man could've been revived! He could've lived again! He deserved to live again!
And Caeru failed him. He failed to serve him. To be useful. To be good. To be worthy of living.
He... lost it, just a little bit. He became obsessed with fixing this perceived flaw in himself. This perceived flaw in everything. He couldn't sleep yet, he couldn't die yet, not when his love deserved to live.
Deserved to come back.
And. I mean. Well.
How hard could it be, really?
Cups was a Master, yes, and the Masters are lying conniving tyrants- but this was a promise it staked its life upon. A promise it gave on its deathbed. It clearly knew that Caeru could kill it, will kill it, and thus it had no reason to lie-
Cups could have brought his lover back. The Scientist knew that, intimately.
What he didn't know was how. But... well, that's alright, isn't it? He's created life before.
Lenses are arranged, corpses are arranged in a circle, their skin parted carefully with a knife. When the lenses are aligned correctly, the flesh will coalesce into the correct shape.
There are some venge-rats that dedicate themselves to a vengeance so thoroughly that there is nothing left of them but this one desire. When they die, their corpses are saturated with this emotion- but nothing else. When the Academic's machinery leaps to life (more slowly then the one at Station VIII, of course) it drains this, and leaves only withered shells in its wake. Perfect vessels.
Soon, the Knot of Tails reappears in the mirror. In its little coils of many paws, shimmering lights rest- memories. Reflections of rays of light long forgotten by the waking world.
And the false-Noman twists.
It turns.
Second by second, it looks more and more like a person.
When it looks up and smiles a shaky smile, its face is human- and two delicate flowers adorn its hair. The snow lacing its body curls like silk, the nails on its hands delicate and precise and perfect
It doesn't move, for a second. Two. Three.
And then the Rosette Yearner opens her eyes.
All he has to do is perfect the process.
The Yearner reaches a trembling hand up to her head, pursuing her lips in thoughtful silence. She blinks, slowly- once, twice. The silence is finally broken when she speaks, a trembling lilt, her words falling like petals from their stem.
"I'm alive.”
It's cold, unfeeling, distant. Like she's only talking about the weather.
Caeru's first attempt at artificial life, The False Yearner- she who would later be dubbed The Vake Yearner- is a complicated figure. Born out of an insanely long RP exchange with @superoffbatter, she is a ghost in all but name. A failed attempt to replicate a certain Scoundrel's past self, all while her makers were unaware that her and the Scoundrel were one in the same.
Except while the Scoundrel pursued ambitions of power, glory, and transformation, the Yearner ultimately took a different path. A darker path.
The Yearner stumbles over the mirror as they both exit through the window of the Royal Bethlehem. She sighs. "Where to go, now?" she whispers. "I can't stay here. I don't want to stay like this. I want to... do something."
The Silverer shrugs. "It's up to you. I suppose you could hunt the Vake if all else fails?" It's an offhandedly thrown joke, but the Yearner stops moving.
She considers it in her head. She takes a deep breath.
The Vake, huh. The Vake.
She became an avid hunter of the Neath's most infamous monster.
Her relationship with her creator is strained at best. For the most part, they've refused to acknowledge each other- they've hardly even spoken since the incident of her creation, save for a brief yet notable encounter at the Captivating Princess' last masquerade ball.
Someone steps closer to the Scientist, staring him in the eyes. The atmosphere grows colder.
It's a woman in a large fur-trimmed overcoat, with thick gloves and a staggeringly realistically furred marsh-wolf mask. The cosmogone shade of her eyes reveals her identity- the False Yearner- or, as some have taken to call her, the Vake-Yearner. The mask, now that the Scientist gives it a better look, is very obviously made from a real marsh-wolf, but the expert skill behind it... it's Snuffer-made.
The Yearner got a Snuffer to pull off a wolf's face for her. How curious.
"My other self's fiancé." she says, in a monotone. "And their pet Drownie. How curious. How droll."
The Scientist's face may be hidden behind a mask, but nothing could ever hope to conceal his alarmed blanch, the widening of his eyes, the shift of his stance- distinctly defensive, like a prey animal ready to flee at any moment.
"Yearner." his tone is one of forced detachment. "I never took you as someone who'd.. enjoy this sort of thing."
A glance to the side, where violant eyes (albeit from a distance) still gleam amidst the other invitees. Their mask is smiling, even if their lips are pulled into a wickedly fanged frown.
His mask tips downward. He doesn't retract this statement.
It ended... well. Shall we say. Poorly.
He is allowed in the scene- and witnesses the frozen corpses.
Dead, for sure, though how permanent it will be is yet to be tested. A thin layer of frost clings to their skin, and the scene is obviously filled with signs of struggle. Eight bodies, all trying to leave the room as they were cut down- all trying to escape.
Signs of a blunt instrument. Some of them were smashed against the walls, against the ground- one had both arms torn off. Frozen splatters of blood cover the walls.
The Yearner is nowhere to be seen.
The Yearner, after all, is what can best be described as an immortal and unmelting Noman, sustaining herself off of nothing but sorrow and human hearts. Her very existence is built upon blood and misery. She thrives off it. Needs it to survive, to live, to flourish.
Nobody deserves that kind of existence. Not even the Scoundrel's very own doppelganger.
But she's alive. And she did come back from some sort of death, hellish and ironic and false as it may be. It can be done.
The Scientist has done it before.
He can do it again.
He will do it again.
And so Caeru works. And works. And works.
To serve. To fix. To help. Finally, he's going to rectify his mistake, going to make everything better, going to give his lover the life he knows they deserve. This is a noble service. A noble obligation. The last attempt may have failed, but this- this cannot fail- he will not let himself fail, not again, not ever.
And nothing can stand in his way. Nothing except-
"Caeru?" a voice can be heard, knocking on the door to the Scientist's laboratory. "Are you there?"
Were one to look through the one-way glass window, they would see the Silverer, looking worried. "Where were you?" she says. "I haven't seen you all week. What has got you locked in there?" she taps again, more hurried-
-His current paramour, The Snowswept Silverer.
A loud crash echoes at the Silverer's sixth knock. Someone curses. The door slams open harsh enough to send her flinching back, the Scientist standing in the doorway with a look of pure vitriol- then, far slower than his typical reaction speed, his fury ebbs.
"Louise." his voice is gratingly hoarse, his hair tied in a half-hazard bun via a thoroughly exhausted ribbon struggling to keep the strands together (it would be a cute look, if not for the blue hue in his cheeks and the blood and dirt caking his arms). His laboratory is- cold. Blisteringly cold. He's barely even shivering, but- surely it can't be healthy, staying in there for so long-?
"I'm... working." he stresses the word as though it's an obvious and irrefutable explanation. "Can we talk in-" he looks back, "A month?" he has the audacity to pause thoughtfully. "Two?"
And thus the preamble concludes, and the pieces and players of our play all finally fall into place.
"...Caeru, I’m not stupid." Louise replies, giving him a throughly unimpressed look. "Is this yet another Yearner situation?"
The accompanying dumbfounded expression that her paramour produces would cause her some amount of delight, were this any other situation. As it is, she is simply more worried- and a fair bit annoyed, as well. "Yes, I know you were involved with her creation, somehow. You and the Academic were rather obvious about it. Whatever you've been doing inside this laboratory, Caeru, it's not nearly as discreet as you think it is. You have a budget, and whenever you ask for it to be extended or spend carelessly on a new batch of supplies, people see it happen-”
Her paramour squirms uncomfortably. She continues her rant unabated.
“-The GHR is in fact a major supplier of experimental materials for the University. As long as it's an import from the Hinterlands, I know what comes in here and what comes out. And I know for sure a certain Yearner has also been looking around your laboratory. I would have left you to your devices, but this will lead to a disaster if I don't interfere."
Her hand- which he notices is clawed- is putting quite a lot of pressure on his shoulder. "Tell me, Caeru. What have you been doing?"
He gulps. The look in her eyes is... serpentine in its wrath, even. Like a Knot who's just caught a scout from the Court of Cats intruding into its home. It's a look that demands an account.
His expression twists- regret, guilt, frustration, desperation. "Louise," he says softly, "Please, just- just give me more time. A week or two more, and- and this will all be done and over with. You'll never have to hear about it again. Please."
He tries to shy away from her hand and take a step back- it's not exactly successful, given his strength relative to hers. His hands tremble. His arms are slick and ruby red- weeping scars, never bandaged-
"I don't want to fight you." a rustle, as one hand drifts down to his pocket, so quiet as to be barely noticeable. "Please." he begs again. "Please don't make me fight you. It's not like the Yearner, it's- it's important, I can't just- please don't make me. Please."
Needless to say, things quickly go from bad to worse.
"Go ahead. Fight her." another voice, intensely recognizable, echoes through the corridor. The Scoundrel's voice- but colder. Less shrill. Less amused. "She won't leave you alone, and neither will I."
The Yearner stands there. Her feathery black dress is covered in blood- fresh. Going by the faint gurgling sounds, someone tried to block her way- and she reacted as she often does.
"I could feel something happening down here. I didn't know what it was, but it felt... important. Thank you for the confirmation that it was very important indeed." she steps forward. In her hand is a large spike of ice, the size of a sword. "Will you let me see it, Caeru? Or shall I tell your husband of what you’ve done? Of how I came to be? I still have that to hold over you, at least. I wonder if they would like to know what happened to that cufflink." the word is hissed, and she smiles in delight at the way he flinches.
(It's... so recognizable, Caeru realizes, and yet so twisted. They sound completely identical. If one were to ignore the face made of ice, they would even be able to identify the similarities- and the sharp differences. It's a little bit disquieting, to see her face. The Scoundrel does... does not make this kind of expression, even at their worst. The only kind of person who does is a certain Mr Veils. It's the sort of look only someone who delights in misery shows.)
He has no other options. No other way out.
He will not fail again. He will never let himself fail again.
A thousand possibilities run through his mind, all at once, before he can even so much as blink. The window- no. The door- terrifyingly fragile. The mirrors- if they weren't already swarming with serpents, he'd be shocked. No solution comes without violence, without- he can't lose again, he can't leave again, he-
The Scientist draws fast as a lightning bolt and shoots his paramour square in the chest, flipping the pistol and shooting a second time for good measure. The desperate scream of his apology can barely be heard over the slam of the door, the clicking of several dozen locks, the mad dash to retrieve something before what little safety he has inevitably gives way.
His prize is bundled in rags, apocyan soaking through the white cloth, pieces of shattered diamond and wood clippings scattered half-hazardly all over the floor-
Run. Run.
Thus the infamous girlfriend shooting incident. Don't worry, she gets better. For the most part.
Everyone else, well... they get substantially worse.
The Scientist acts on instinct, cradling his experiment against his chest. Not again. Never again. He turns when the door inevitably gives way and fires again, futile as it may be.
The bullet does not do much- not when the door is promptly kicked off its hinges, the locks snapping and shattering as the sheer force of the Yearner's kick propels it forward. In that moment, Caeru realizes that while the door was very secure, the frame is nothing but a few planks of wood. It wouldn't hold.
On the floor, bleeding profusely through the wound in her neck (though the ambery growths around it show it will be closing soon, whether it wants to or not), is the Silverer- who stares at the Yearner in horror. "This was not our deal." she hisses.
The Yearner shrugs. "I don't care."
And then she lunges for her prize like a woman possessed. Her eyes gleam, staring fixedly at the bundle in the Scientist's arms. "Either you tell me what that bundle is and why I feel so intensely that I need to see it, or I'll make you tell me." she purrs. "Make the choice, my dear creator.”
He desperately curls around the bundle, hugging it close enough for it to nearly bend under his grip- nearly. Whatever it is, it's sturdier than it looks.
"You can't take him." he gasps without thinking. "You can't- you can't take him, you can't hurt him, you can't-" he backs up against the wall and trembles. The weight makes him stagger with every step. When the Yearner approaches, he flinches. "You can't hurt him."
A delirious sob. The room is freezing. His skin is tinted such a vibrant shade of blue. It's a miracle he isn't already dead from hypothermia. Slowly, carefully, still keeping his gun aimed at the Yearner, his other hand pulls back part of the cloth- and the hand that dangles free is clawed and formed almost entirely from lacre.
Just like her.
"He's mine." Caeru whispers, pressing his head to the apocyan stains with equal parts guilt and adoration. "He's mine. And nobody will ever take him again."
The Silverer stumbles into the room, a gun in hand. The Yearner waves dismissively- and fractal spikes of ice erupt from the ground to block her advance. From the mirrors in the room, Fingerkings hiss and spit in fury- the Yearner should probably stay away from Parabola for a few weeks. She turns to look at the Scientist in disdain.
"Bringing back the dead." she spits. "Once again. You should know it gets you nowhere. Look at what you did before. You tried to return me to the world, when I wasn't ever real at all!" she yells. "An illusion. A dream! Delusions of high society and bohemian dreams of a waif that was never anything but a facade!" she roars, coming closer. "Who was it this time?! Tell me! Who was-”
She pauses, before smiling. It is not a nice smile. "Your lover, wasn't it? The seventh victim. Did you realize that killing Mr Cups would never return what you lost!?"
The words sting. They sting, because she doesn't know, how could she know. Her eyes are wild and mad. "Drop it. Let it go. You don't deserve to have them back.”
The Scientist chokes on a sob. He doesn't deny a word. His knees buckle- he slides down to the floor, holding the bundle like a lifeline and a precious piece of treasure, all rolled into one. "I know." his voice is calm, even with the tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't deserve him."
He's- the Silverer recognizes the look in his eyes. He's never been more confident about anything else in the world.
"I'm not doing this for myself," the words ring slightly hollow when he's clinging to his creation on the floor, "I'm doing it for him. When Cups died, it-" his tone wavers. Caeru swallows. The despair and guilt in his voice is intoxicating, especially to a Noman standing so very close indeed.
"It begged for its life. It gave me an offer. It could bring him back, if I spared it." he looks beyond the Yearner- staring intently at a shadow on the wall, as though somehow it could stare back. "I couldn't- I couldn't, for everyone else it murdered, I couldn't-" he chokes. "I failed him. I failed him. He deserved to live, he deserved to come back- and I failed, and-"
He kicks at a spare diamond on the floor, watching it twist and freeze into place within moments of making contact with the Yearner. "I'm fixing it. I'm fixing him."
A kiss to his prize. To his magnum opus. His eyes stay fixed on it- nothing matters so long as it is in his arms. "I'm serving him. I'm fixing him."
🐈💙🐺
"No." the Yearner snarls. "No, you're not fixing him. I'll be the one doing that. Give him to me!"
She moves before he can say a word. Only a Licenciate's instincts save his head from being separated from its shoulders by a sharpened spike of ice. He dives out of the way of a furious flurry of stabs, and stumbles to keep hold of his prize- only to see the Yearner tear off her dress in front of him.
He blinks in disbelief before seeing it- connected to her body are numerous pulsating hearts. The blood vessels tear holes in the thin shirt she wore underneath, and wet the fabric in frozen blood. Nourishing her as they draw ever closer to death. How many people have been killed- perhaps permanently- to sustain her existence?
She grins wickedly, cosmogone eyes shining with Parabolan light. "You won't bring him back. Cups wouldn't have done it either, I'm sure. The Masters have experience with bringing the dead back- done it five times now. But it never works, not really, does it?" she spits out the words. "You don't know what it's like. To live knowing you are a failure. A failed attempt to bring someone ELSE back!? Do you want him to live like this, you bastard?! Give him to me. I'll give him life- his own life! He doesn't deserve to be the monument to your vanity!”
🐈💙🐺 🔫⛄
“You barely know how-" the Scientist curses and ducks around another flurry, flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his 'lover' close. He ducks and weaves around the room with expert precision- but his movements are more than slightly hindered by the weight of a corpse larger than he is tall. That... no, that can't be right-
"He won't be a failure." Caeru spits back, pressed against the spikes still binding the Silverer- can't she hear, some part of his mind wonders? What does she think of him? Of what he's done?
He gasps for air that comes stiff and frozen solid. His pistol is long-since discarded- useless, now, but he can't help looking at it and swallowing down his guilt. All the more reason to throw himself down the nearest well, really. At least it's worth it. At least he's worth it. At least it'll all be over soon.
"He's not finished, he's not fixed yet-" he dives away from yet another attempt to spear him in the head. "Do you really think I'd attempt the same experiment twice without learning from my mistakes?! He'll be better. He'll be- he'll be different. He'll be everything." he sounds utterly delirious. "He'll be everything you were meant to be."
The Yearner hisses- and her blade moves for the Scientist's neck with unbelievable speed. There will be no dodging this one. Encumbered as he is, he has to drop the bundle if he wants to dodge- and that he will never do. He closes his eyes-
And only opens them a second later, after the sound of flesh being cleaved resounds. He is- he is not on the slow boat. He sees the Silverer before him, blocking the Yearner's blade with her own arm. A steady trickle of blood is falling from the grievous-looking wound- the cut was such that it exposed the bone.
"Oh, hello. Does it hurt?" the Yearner remarks.
"Not... at all." the Silverer scoffs.
"What if I do this?"
The Noman wriggles her arm and the blade twitches on the spot it's stuck on. The Silverer yelps and wrenches herself free, before falling. There are holes torn all over her legs- even the Shapeling Arts couldn't hold back the blood loss indefinitely. She collapses, overwhelmed by pain. The sound that emerges from the Scientist's throat is one of near-inhuman agony.
For no reason in particular: Did you know Caeru's biggest fear is watching his loved ones die in front of him (especially while he's unable to save them?)
The Yearner laughs. "Guess it's just the two of us again. Now, hand it over. Or I'll tear your arms off.”
Caeru drops the bundle without thinking, kneeling over the Silverer and cradling her in his arms, barely acknowledging the Yearner's presence. Louise's name is all but chanted under his breath- he struggles to breathe. Blood soaks through his coat. Her head is held close against his heart. His hands scramble to stop the bleeding, to fix her, to save her, to- to-
His head darts up as the Yearner takes a step towards the bundle. His eyes are wide. An utterly distraught sob. He doesn't stop her. He only turns back to his (still living) paramour and desperately tries to keep her that way.
"Idiot." he mumbles into the Silverer's hair, still on the verge of delirium. "You didn't need to- you didn't-"
And thus, the Yearner wins this round. But the story isn't over quite yet.
He looks back just long enough to glare up at the Yearner. He spits. "I should've fed you to the Knot of Tails when I had the chance."
"You should have." the Yearner nods. "I agree on that, now."
She kicks the Scientist square in the jaw. Her delicate shoe goes flying off into the distance, and she leaps for the bundle. Before the Scientist can recover from his daze, she rips the cloth around it, and then her arm moves for one of the hearts in her chest- tearing it off in one clean motion. Blood- deathly cold- sprays everywhere. She shoves the heart into the chest of the Scientist's project, and it- horror of horrors- twitches. It opens its eyes, and gasps- before once again falling into utter silence.
"It worked." she grins. "That's what it needs, right? Life. You've been working with mountain-sherds, trying to breathe life into it- but you don't know anything. You don't know what you are doing, you've been getting nowhere. Your love needs life to come back. Life has to come from somewhere."
The many hearts on her body twitch and wriggle as she turns to leave, the body still in her hands, bathing her in apocyan light. "Don't worry. I have a lot of life to give."
She runs off, and Caeru can see-
The body is half-lacre, half-skeletal, and all mannequin. A horror of sable wood casings enveloping the lacre beneath like a shield, virtually impossible to separate without ripping it all apart. His chest is exposed just enough to betray the underlying array of cracked ribs, and inside lays a diamond shining brilliant apocyan. The light floods his body and leaks freely out of an exposed, half-finished eyesocket.
He's sturdier than the Yearner, clearly. Built to last. Built to survive. Not an accident, like she was, but something else entirely. He shudders, white hair flowing in waves down to her feet- his hands dig into her shoulders on instinct.
He meets Caeru’s eyes. He doesn't say a word.
Caeru watches them go, and tries not to scream. He fails spectacularly.
He stumbles to his feet, still cradling his paramour- he takes one step after them, then sobs. The Silverer twitches in his arms. His mind races.
If he leaves her, if he fails again, if he-
He turns tail and shoves coils of hissing Fingerkings aside, ducking into Parabola as the Yearner escapes. He'll regroup, he swears, he'll come back, he'll fix this, he'll fix everything, he'll-
He sets his paramour down and frantically sets about bandaging her wounds. The past can wait. He only has one Louise.
"I love you." he whispers uselessly. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry-"
The Scientist's involvement in this tale ends here- left with many regrets, many things to answer for, and many wounds to try and heal.
Some, he succeeds at. Others, he does not.
But this was never about him in particular.
Far away is the Yearner, retreating to a lair in the swamps. A knock on the door, two knocks- and the Scarred Naturalist looks at her in disbelief. "What on earth is that?"
She enters, and places the body on the dining table without a word, knocking wooden plates and silverware (a strange contrast, indeed) aside. The body twitches, the sole heart connected to its chest pulsating madly as it slowly but surely withers into nothing. Her hand hovers over a cracked rib.
"We'll have to find replacements." she whispers.
The Naturalist shrugs. He doesn't know what this is all about, but he supports her interests, as always. He finds the Yearner is a surprisingly good influence on his master. Why, the master of silks has been startingly cheery since they've started their rivalry. "The swamp will provide," he notes. "Plenty of bodies around.
The Yearner nods. "Tell Veils I'm calling in that favour, too. It can provide far better materials than that fool of a scientist could. Ask it for wood- sturdy. Elder Continent- something that soaks in the light of the Mountain." she pauses. "Keep him safe. The box of hearts is under my bed- feed one to him every hour. I'll be leaving. I believe Fires had a shipment of apocyan lanterns sent over to Varchas? Surely nobody will notice if I take one..”
She takes a heavy coat, and steps out of the shack. She has a mission.
-
The body does not move for... quite some time. It merely stares up at the ceiling in idle bafflement, digging its claws into the table. It opens its mouth. All that emerges is a sickening click-
He closes his mouth. The heart shudders, and he goes with it. He rolls to his left and spends minutes on end staring at his hands in open fascination- another click.
He twists the joints on his fingers. He lifts his head, and while he may not have proper eyes- the empty stare of his eyesocket and the sickening glow of the apocyan leaking from his face is nothing short of disturbing.
He watches at the Naturalist for a long moment. Another click, as he opens his mouth, and then closes it. A claw unwisely pokes around the heart on his chest, another hand gesturing vaguely to the house around it. Finally, it manages to croak in a low rumble, like an oncoming storm- "Where?"
The Naturalist raises an eyebrow. "Bugsby's Marshes." at the confused look he gets back, he raises it further. "Watchmaker's Hill?" a pause. "The Fifth City, Fallen London? The Neath?" he chuckles. "My my. You're quite uninformed. I suppose it's just fair..."
He walks over to a cabinet, and takes out- is that skin? Human skin. A face. "You've just been born, haven't you?" He offers the face. It's fair-skinned and pudgy. He grins devilishly. "Perhaps a trip to the city would alert your senses."
(The Yearner didn't say he had to stay in the cabin. Just that he had to be kept safe- and that he needed the hearts.)
The Naturalist looks at the homunculus in front of him expectantly, and smiles again. It's not a nice smile.
The body's own face is carved from wood, and thus, cannot blanch- but its face certainly does scrunch up in noticeable revulsion. "No thank you." he says quickly, practically shoving it away. "I'm," he pauses, "Not, hungry?"
He reaches up- the heart beats faster. His finger dips into his eye. He could swallow, if he knew how. He sits up and stares down at his own body in obvious bafflement.
London. He's in London. In... what was it? Bugsby's Hill? This must be a dream.
He slides off the table, trips over his own hair, and falls facefirst onto the ground with a loud thud. A very strange dream indeed.
"...a trip would be appreciated, thank you..." oddly polite, for a newborn homunculus. If a bit laughable.
"My, you're clearly not fine." the Naturalist says. "And you can't go out like this, either way. I'll find you a suit. I have... one." the fact it belonged to someone the Yearner had hunted and killed probably doesn't matter. "Hm. But it's not your size. Maybe..."
He leaves the room to fetch something while the homunculus twitches on the ground. The body practically claws his way up to the wall as he tries once more to get his footing. 'Practically', of course, meaning 'leaves stark grooves in the wallpaper as though he was a particularly rambunctious kitten'.
Finally, the Naturalist returns with a cloak- torn in several places and repaired with careful carelessness. A trophy of war, a legendarily expensive article of clothing torn from the body of a Master and carefully, extensively defaced. Reworked and remade. He offers it.
"Thank you." a stiff sigh as he wraps the cloak around himself, tugging the hood over his head without a second thought. The illusion of anonymity is only slightly marred by the apocyan glow and uncomfortable resemblance to a Master of the Bazaar.
One hesitant step, then another. One more, for good measure. The homunculus looms above the Naturalist, voice rattling like gravel. "Who did you say you were..?" he looks at the door. "You and that- ah. Ice...? Ice. Woman. With the. Eyes." his tone reeks of disbelief.
"Quite tall..." the Scarred Naturalist mutters. "Ah, well. I am a Scarred Naturalist, just a humble scholar living here after my... let us call it an involuntary exile from academia. Unfortunately, prejudice tends to get in the way of scientific advancement... no matter." he coughs. "My associate is the Yearner, a hunter living on the marshes in search of a particularly elusive beast. She brought you here. Given by your state you must have been in quite a situation! Do you remember anything in particular? Have you an address to return to, perhaps?"
The body tilts his head roughly 45 degrees and ponders for a moment. "I run an inn," he looks up, vain as it may be, "Quite far from here. My, ahem, business partner- last I recall, I was bidding him farewell for the morning..."
He trails off and stares into space, not lost in any specific memory, but simply caught in a wave of utter bafflement at the holes in his own mind. "Next I remember, I was carried here by the Yearner. And now I look like-"
He stops, and raises a hand once again. The lacre coats his palms- fresh, vulnerable spots where his mannequin-like casing has not yet been applied. The apocyan dims. "-Like, this." he stands in silence for a long minute. His gaze, though unreadable, is inevitably drawn back to the face- the. Face.
He takes a step back. "Well! Now that I think about it! I really must be going!" he spins on his feet and twists the doorknob with forced cheer, barely able to keep the tremors out of his voice. "It was lovely meeting you, I'm quite grateful for your assistance, tell your associate she's a delight, but if you can just direct me to the nearest path back upwards-?"
He smiles. His mouth is full of uneven, half-formed teeth. "I'd hate to take up too much of your time. I'm sure you're busy doing... busy marsh things."
"Upwards...?" the Naturalist mutters. There's a grudge here. "Never been upwards." he says, too low for the homunculus to hear at all. "Not like they'd take us. The sun hates us more then Stone does. No, no path upwards for me…”
He composes himself, and gives his conversation partner an amused look. "I am loath to inform you, but there is no path upwards. Have you seen yourself, young man? The sun would scour you utterly. To ashes. It does not take kindly to Neathy things- and perhaps you should take a look at yourself? Thoroughly Neathy, that body of yours."
He reveals a mirror, and on it, the cloaked shadow can finally see his face. He tugs down his hood and stares. He's quiet for a time. A trembling hand caresses his cheek (hollow and wooden and false), then scratches at his beard (snow-white and soft as silk), then traces along his scars (carved deliberately and carefully into his face, as though replicating something that was already there).
The Naturalist continues, regardless of his guest's confusion. He sounds quite amused by the whole affair. "Do not worry. I am sure my roommate could not let you go without a shelter for the night- and when you wake up, Penstock's Land Agency will be ready and waiting. We could find you a home here- and perhaps arrange for mail to the Cumaean Canal? I'm sure that ‘business partner’ of yours might have explanations for what happened- and for these apparent gaps in your memory."
A soft sound escapes the body's mouth, indecipherable. He brings a hand up to the apocyan-lit hole in his left eye- and flinches on instinct when his claws dip into it with ease. "Thoroughly..."
There's awe, yes. Horror, most certainly. A hint of amazement. Most of all, complete and utter bafflement.
"But- I have people to get back to, I can't just-" he blinks. "Mail... that. Would be appreciated, yes. Thank you kindly." he looks back at the door. Without speaking, he steps outside- and stops, staring up at the false stars in open awe.
One tentative step, then another. He marvels at the world like a newborn babe.
"What is this?" he doesn't particularly expect an answer. "What... am I?"
The city is alive. Even at this hour, Watchmaker's Hill bustles with activity.
The Starved Embassy's ambered glow and the visitors from the Roof who walk the streets, the Clay Men who pass in stoic silence- the hawkers, the conmen offering rostygold for whoever beats them at arm-wrestling (hiding brass tacks between their fingers as they brag about their prowess), the marksmanship competitions for prizes of jade! The scholars debating the nature of the stars, taking blind steps towards the observatories. The criers announce Feducci's fighting rings, the chittering of surprisingly articulate insects and the growling of the marsh-beasts.
Fallen London stands before the Shadow in all its glory, this strange and wild city of a thousand stories. It gazes at him with mirth.
The Shadow gazes back.
He tugs up his hood and strolls along in absolute wonder- his hand dwarfs a wrestler's own as he pins their arm with ease, barely noticing tacks against wooden 'skin'. His voice is eager and enthralled as astronomers entertain each and every one of his questions about the 'stars' in the 'sky'. A sorrow spider creeps up his elbow- he plucks it by the leg and dangles it in front of his eyes. A half-hearted smile. It disappears into his cloak, and does not return.
Everyone gives him a wide berth, but if this bothers him, he doesn't voice it. This must be a dream- it is a dream, surely, but even so, there's no harm in enjoying it while it lasts.
He'll wake up eventually. He'll see his partner eventually.
Anxiety dies as he stops on the edge of a hill and gazes up at the firmament. London's invitation is easy to accept- after all, in a city of a thousand stories, surely an explanation lies within one.
Barely glancing at the Naturalist behind him, he wanders off into London's heart. Lacre trails in his wake.
It's a beautiful day to be alive.
#FINALLY. THE BACKSTORY POST. FINALLY REALIZED!#aka a caeru callout post with extra steps. everyone who's ever said he's more normal than the scoundrel: you owe me money#yin-thoughts#fallen london#fallen london spoilers#nemesis spoilers#yes this is all one elaborate backdrop to explain the existence of my bag a legend character. ur all welcome#you have no idea how many posts ive been sitting on just bc this information wasnt public yet#i was gonna write a proper fic about it but the writing Could Not Get Into Gear so this outcome happened instead. im fine with it tbh#the shadow being the yearner's new weird fucked up bestie is the funniest outcome ever#i might still finish and post that extended fic someday. it'll just be retroactive lore lmao#also for those new here: the small + indented text format is how i differentiate quoted rp stuff from normal typing#everything in that format is quoted from Insane OC Roleplay Lore. ur all welcome#scoundrel rp shenanigans#........now not featuring the scoundrel even remotely. she doesn't even go here. it's kinda funny ngl#this whole thing is happening and meanwhile he's Literally Just Chillin#scoundrelventures
43 notes
·
View notes
Note
Okay so I was thinking about canon Clegan where they’ve been sleeping together in secret for most of the time they’ve known each other and a lot of the other guys have probably caught on or at the very least suspect it but none of them say anything or even bring it up, probably not even to one another as to not disrespect their majors, who they all adore and admire and think the world of and have the highest upmost respect for. And the Buckies are always just so happy together and their happiness as a two-some does wonders boosting overall morale.
But then they get to the stalag and it becomes clear early on to everyone that something happened between the two since arriving there besides just the frustration of being stuck in the stalag. Something is wrong with their friendship or relationship or whatever they have going between them. From what they can decipher between the two of them who won’t tell them anything when asked or will just say there’s nothing wrong/everything’s fine or to stay out of it, they can tell that both of them seem to be pushing the other away. It seems like Gale is walking on eggshells around Bucky (they all are these days but for Gale of all people to do so as well is absurd), and like he almost seems guilty of something. Bucky seems to be acting like he’s been wronged in some way and his behavior is in retaliation of some sort, and also a desperate cry for attention from Gale. So they come to the conclusion that Gale broke off whatever was going on between them when they arrived at the stalag and Bucky is hurt and losing his mind over it. It’s clear his needs are not being met like they were pre-Stalag. Even if they aren’t correct on who broke it off or who is in the wrong, they know that it’s Gale who has to be the one to fix it and it NEEDS to be fixed SOON. They need their Buckies to be back to normal again. And so they designate one of them (idk who would be best), to go and talk to Gale in private to ask him to please fix whatever is going on between him and Bucky. And in the lamest terms possible they basically ask him to please fuck Bucky again so that they can all stop tiptoeing around him without getting their head snapped off. Basically “For the morale and overall wellness of the group we are please asking you to fuck Bucky again. Please. Do it for the war cause. It would be greatly appreciated🙏 We will even cover for you and keep everyone out of the bunks for an hour each day for you to take care of his needs. Please.”
This isn’t canon?! 😱🤣 Pre-coffee thoughts so bear with me as always lol
(CW: some SI mention but it’s canon, bit of choking)
The Buckies were like the heart of the 100th so whatever they do in their free time to be who they are? No one’s going to interrupt that, especially because the Buckies give them hope too. Hope that everything is going to be okay, hope that they’re gonna get home to their sweethearts and families, hope that love like that really does exist.
Cut to the stalag and we still have that emotional, love sick reunion, but afterwards they get into the nastiest of arguments. Brady and Crank told Gale about John’s erratic and callous behavior/talk before the mission and Gale confronts him.
Gale tears into him (because he’s scared) about how John can’t just off himself if Gale dies. That they both have too much to live for outside of each other even if they are the love of each other’s lives. He wants John to want to live for him to not want to die for him. What the hell was he thinking?
John hears that he’s not good enough.
He thought they were each other’s everything. What does Gale mean he wouldn’t die for John? That he would be okay if John died? He just doesn’t get it because he hasn’t had to sit and stay and twiddle his thumbs while John went and tried to burn himself in.
Gale hears that he’s not good enough.
They’re both completely missing the other’s point because they’re tired, hungry, scared, understimulated, in pain, you name it, but their message is the same. They love each other and they can’t bear the thought of the other dying.
On and on the argument goes in exhausting and unproductive circles until Gale shuts down and John’s just like, “guess that’s it.” They are now just Gale and John. No more of the Buckies.
It’s toxic and uncomfortable and everyone is basically ill with the bad vibes Gale and John are pumping out.
I think they would draw sticks or something to see who has to bring it up and Crank unfortunately draws the short stick. They know better than to approach John right now who seems one breath away from snapping at all times and so he dutifully trudges over to Gale in the library and gives his speech about “please fuck it out of him.”
Gale is trying so hard to keep his cool as Crank is talking about Gale’s sex life to his own face. But the fact that the men have spoken up means Gale is failing as a leader and so he stiffly approaches John in the barracks, with no intention to actually fuck him but to try and at least smooth things over.
Except the tension has been building for months at that point and the discussion turns into arguing turns into yelling and then it gets physical. No actual intent to hurt (think scissor sister stalag scene) they’re still stupidly in love, but they are knocking shit over, breaking stuff, and throwing out insults that they know will cut deep.
Somehow, maybe Gale trips over a knocked over stool, John gets the upper hand. He’s got Gale pinned to a wall, face against the splintering wood, hand around his throat, and pressed up against his back, and when he squeezes his hand around Gale’s throat in warning to just stand down, Gale moans.
It’s on from there.
John’s got a hand down Gale’s pants, he’s rutting against Gale’s ass and they’re kissing so sloppily spit is smearing down their chins and across their cheeks but they don’t care. They’re being so loud but it doesn’t matter because they feel like they don’t come they might actually die.
Gale keeps trying to goad John into fucking him but they have nothing to ease the way so he just keeps grinding against Gale until he’s just so fucking close and he finally agrees to just the tip. John presses the wet head of his cock into Gale and Gale is basically clawing up the wall because it’s not enough but he gets a hand around himself and he can hear John working himself and he tries to rock himself back on John’s cock but John’s got a firm grip on his hip and won’t let him.
Gale’s groaning about how it’s not enough and John’s nearly blind with pleasure fighting every instinct to not just sink into Gale dry. They start confessing all kinds of stuff. How much they’ve missed each other, how they didn’t mean any of the terrible shit they said, how they love each other, how scared they are…
It’s too much and John accidentally shoots off inside of Gale and it startles them both so much that he does actually slip halfway inside of Gale and Gale comes all over the wall. They collapse on the floor in a pile of limbs and when they catch their breath, Gale pulls John into his arms and they just lay there and bask in the afterglow.
It’s not perfect after that because they’re still POW’s. But they’re not infecting everyone with their angry broken hearts anymore so occassionally the men will orchestrate silly elaborate ways to give the Buckies alone time in the barracks.
So fun to wake up to ❤️
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Fair Contest (Ch. 2)
Summary-
A golden apple was tossed into a gathering of gods. Upon it, the inscription read:
To the most amorous king.
And two hands reached for it at once.
Unless the world was to be torn asunder by the warring sky and sea, Zeus and Poseidon would have to settle their dispute by having a mortal choose who was, beyond any doubt, the superior lover.
And they set their eyes upon Odysseus of Ithaca.
+++
A few notes: this is a continuation of chapter 1 of my AU (which you can read here)
Also, this isn't the complete second chapter, just a taste of what's to come. That being said, this is a rough draft so anything could be subject to change.
Word Count: approx. 3k
As a final note, if you really like this fic, let me know! The support I got for Part 1 was great and really encouraging :)
+++
Since Odysseus was the most eager of anyone to see the palace complete, he was also one of the hardest workers. He rose at dawn and refused to rest even as the sun set on most days, using torches and lamps to give him light as he carved out furniture or laid out the stone tiles. He wanted as much of his new house to be built by his own hand as possible, to show Penelope just how much he adored her.
Sadly, this meant he was sometimes met with resistance from those closest to him.
“No, no,” Eurylochus said, blocking the entrance to the soon-to-be kitchens with his large frame, a smile on his face, “You’re not going anywhere near the construction today!”
Odysseus scoffed at his old friend, “Oh, is that so? And who are you to defy me?”
He tried to squeeze past, only to be met by Polites with his hands covered in the dust that came off the marble tiles.
“We’ll see to it that everything stays on schedule!” Polites said. He was no match for Odysseus, but together, his two closest friends kept him from laying the stonework himself.
“You need your rest.” Polites said, “You’d let any other man take a break, why not yourself?”
“Because I’m the king!”
Eurylochus’ strong arms wrapped around his waist and physically turned Odysseus around.
“Let go of me!” Odysseus said, feigning outrage even as he could feel Eurylochus laughing at him.
“Go, my king. Take a walk, go back to sleep. Do whatever you want. But you’re not coming back to work until you’ve had a well-earned rest!”
To think, the king of Ithaca was usurped by his closest friends!
Of course, they wouldn’t let him slink off to some other part of the palace to assist with the construction. While Eurylochus assumedly instructed the men, Polites was on Odysseus’ heels like a dog, poking and prodding at him every time he stopped to consider picking up a hammer or bucket.
“Alright!” Odysseus said at last, no longer even attempting to appear irritated. He threw his hands into the air in defeat. “It’s a nice day out, I think I’ll go for a swim.”
“Excellent choice!” Poltes said, a warm smile upon his face as if he didn’t just spend the last ten minutes physically harassing his dearest friend and king. Odysseus shot him a knowing look before heading off.
Ithaca was far from the largest island in the sea, or the most illustrious, and most of its shores consisted of rocky ground unsuitable for leisure. But he did know of a few beaches sporting white sand. There was even a little strip of soft sand not far from the palace. Odysseus intended for a stone pathway to be laid down, but he had no difficulty picking his way through the tall grass from the palace’s resting place to the sea below it.
He expected to see a few others enjoying the early summer weather, perhaps some children playing in the surf, but found no one else. It was honestly a relief as Odysseus left his sandals behind and savored the way the warm sand felt under his feet. On the way down, he had half a mind to wait a little while before sneaking back into the palace, but it was so lovely out that Odysseus was tempted to really take a break.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and yet the sun wasn’t unbearably hot. The sand under his feet didn’t burn and the waves weren’t the usual rough, tempestuous kind that battered Ithaca’s shores. These lapped softly at the shore, almost in tune with the songbirds as Odysseus decided to go for a stroll. The sea was truly splendid today, glittering as if it were made of sapphires and capped with silver foam.
Odysseus followed the beach, a little puzzled as a steep hill rose to his left, creating a bend in the path. He didn’t remember the beach here being curved, he thought it went on in a straight line. Nevertheless, it had been a while since his last visit the previous year. He was searching for the perfect location for his new palace before the construction began and thought a tidy strip of beach would be a nice addition to the grounds.
He followed the beach, stunned to come around the bend and find a beautiful cove on the other side. High cliffs concealed it from the rest of the island, with moss and draping ivy growing out of the stone. The cliffs formed a semi-circle and the sand followed suit, creating a crescent that the water fed into. A few rocky outcroppings formed miniature islands out in the water, which glimmered like turquoise in the sunlight.
How could he have missed this?
He was certain he walked the length of the beach and never once found anything as remarkable as this. The cove wasn’t very large, certainly no more than a few hundred feet wide, but its size added to its charm. It felt so serene here, so private. Odysseus could easily imagine guiding Penelope here for a picnic in the summer. He even went as far as imagining a few little ones jumping into the water.
Smiling to himself, Odysseus shed his clothes and dipped his feet into the water before wading farther out. Soon, he was swimming in the bright, cool waters of the little cove, ducking his head beneath the surf to avoid the incoming waves.
Once he was past the flurry of white-tipped waves that fell upon the shore, he could see one of the little islands directly in front of him. Odysseus wondered if he could make it there in just one breath, so he sucked in as much air as possible before diving once more.
Most people, especially those from the mainland, didn’t know how to swim. They thought, should someone fall into the ocean, that it was better to drown swiftly than to prolong the process by trying to stay afloat. Odysseus knew better. His father taught him to swim and Odysseus had been knocked off more than one boat over the course of his life. Mostly they were all accidents incurred while sailing between the stone pillars around Ithaca’s coast as a test of courage.
When he surfaced again, he could touch the wet stone. Odysseus even would’ve climbed on top just for the pleasure of jumping into the crystalline waters.
But he could only gawk with a sharp, painful sense of dread at the man seated upon the stone. A man that Odysseus feared was no mortal at all.
The stranger’s dense mane of pure white hair flowed lightly in the breeze, though his was not the face of an old man. No, whoever this was, he was beautiful beyond words. He wore no clothing whatsoever, proud to reveal his vast expanse of tan skin that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Much like his hair, his beard was full and well-kept despite its shocking lack of color.
His broad chest, twice as wide as Odysseus’ own, spoke of his strength, as did his equally impressive arms and thighs. Though interestingly enough, while he had a warrior’s build, he bore not even a single scar. And he did not sit facing Odysseus, but rather with his body at an angle that made the curve of his chest and biceps all the more enticing.
But his eyes. They sparkled like the purest of gold and put the stars to shame with their brilliance.
The man with all his entrancing features smiled at Odysseus as he held out a hand.
“Why, isn’t it a lovely day? Come, little king. Sit with me and enjoy the splendid sight of such a flawless sky.”
Odysseus pulled away from the man, wading in the water with half a mind to swim as hard as he could for land.
“Who…” he began, fighting to calm his nerves, “Who might you be, if I may ask?”
Odysseus already had his suspicions. Their fulsome, wavy tresses, broad shoulders, and the square cut of their jaws were the exact same.
Athena’s father continued to smile upon him, chuckling softly.
“How could I possibly introduce myself like this? Come, and partake in some company.”
Odysseus suddenly found it very hard to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure if it was his growing unease or something else, but he feared the water might pull him under at any moment.
As he bobbed in the surf, Odysseus startled at the sensation of something solid forming under his feet. He looked down, but could see no sand bar or stone beneath him, just the ocean.
“Why leave the water so soon?” a new voice asked. Odysseus stiffed and suppressed his instinct to lash out as an arm wrapped itself around his chest. The voice spoke into his ear, “The ocean is perfect today, isn’t it?”
The arm coaxed him closer until his back was flush against a warm chest. While Zeus’ voice was deep with the rolling resonance that came with thunder, this new voice was a little rougher and reminded Odysseus of the high tide crashing upon a rocky shore.
Odysseus risked a glance at the newcomer, any potential words to save himself dying in his throat.
Never in his life had he ever seen eyes so deeply, beautifully blue before. The azure gaze leveled upon him couldn’t have been compared to sapphires, lapis, or turquoise. And these eyes, too, seemed to glow. Only the most splendid ocean waters, sun-warmed and shallow and dancing between shades of blue and green, could possibly compare.
Unlike Zeus, this stranger bore a slightly fairer complexion and black hair that shined like obsidian. His hair didn’t billow the way Zeus’ did; rather, it flowed through the air as if it weighed nothing, shifting from black to a cerulean blue at the ends so gradually that it was impossible to say where the color even began to change.
He was as handsome as Zeus, though different. His frame was thinner; still very much an athlete’s build, but more akin to an agile swimmer than the sheer bulk that Zeus possessed.
“Brother,” Zeus said, his voice losing that welcoming tone to become colder, harder.
Odysseus swallowed, his throat going dry as he realized he was being cradled like a lover by the god of the seas.
Poseidon shot Zeus an unimpressed look. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”
Thunder clapped across the skies despite the distinct lack of clouds. Odysseus shivered, his father having drilled it into his head as a child that he should never try to swim during a thunderstorm.
Zeus sneered, seeming to drop all pretenses as he rose to his feet. Odysseus couldn’t help the way his eyes traced the thick line of pure white hair that decorated the god’s abdomen, trailing down to…
Odysseus forced himself to shut his eyes, making every effort to avoid any feeling even remotely like lust.
He wondered to himself, Why? Why me?
What could he have possibly done to deserve a fate like this? To perish before he could even be wed?
What would Penelope think of him?
An impossibly large hand caressed his cheek. Odysseus’ eyes flew open.
The King of the Gods laid upon a bed of wispy clouds in front of him, seeming to float on a bed of fog on the water’s surface. He propped himself on his other elbow, showing off the curve and vast expanse of his chest. Zeus was so large that even flat on his stomach, he had to look down to meet Odysseus’ eye.
“So, little king, if you had to pick between the sea and sky, which would you say could more easily capture your admiration?”
“Oh, please!” Poseidon said, his own pretenses dropped as irritation colored his voice, “What could your sky do that’s more splendid than this?”
Something rose from the water right next to him, glowing like the eyes of a god, some tendril with the deep blue shade of the open ocean. It was a cold and stark contrast to the shallows they were in. Odysseus couldn’t understand what it was until it took shape, forming a hand terminating in clawed digits.
Poseidon’s other arm, he thought. It was made of the very water that composed his domain.
Poseidon flicked his wrist and a massive wave swelled, threatening to crash right into them. Odysseus felt his body tense, taking a deep breath on instinct.
Before his very eyes, Poseidon willed the wave to flow over their heads and encase them in a bubble of air. Odysseus gasped.
Right over his head, close enough to touch, the dome of water doused him in blue light. The closest thing Odysseus had ever seen to something so lovely was the warm, dappled sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. The way the water pulsed and rippled, he thought he could have easily spent all day just watching it flow.
Zeus muttered something softly. Before Odysseus could wonder if it was meant to be a remark addressed to him, a dark shape appeared over their bubble. At first, Odysseus thought it was a large seabird.
A circle opened up in the dome and a face appeared, youthful and hale, wearing a winged helm.
“My, my! I don’t know if anyone’s ever beaten me to my destination before.”
“I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Zeus said, sitting up.
Odysseus heard a grumbling sound come from Poseidon as the dome collapsed into seafoam and was carried away on the wind. Without it, he got a better look at the newcomer.
He wore a short chiton embroidered with green and gold and carried a satchel at his side, resembling a young man Odysseus’ age or even younger. It would’ve been entirely possible to mistake him for human, seeing as he wasn’t reaching the towering size of his father or uncle, but his winged sandals warned of a far greater power hidden behind his mischievous smile.
Odysseus wished he could sink into the water. He wished he never left his palace.
Hermes turned his sparkling gaze upon him and knelt right on the surface of the water to tap Odysseus’ nose with his finger. He asked, “Forgive me! You are Odysseus of Ithaca, yes?”
Hearing his name sent a small jolt down his spine. Odysseus cleared his throat, “I am. But-”
He wanted to know what was going on, why three Olympians were suddenly assailing him, even posing as if to seduce him.
“Perfect!” Hermes said, “I have a delivery for you. A gift, of sorts.”
He rummaged through his satchel while Zeus crossed his arms in an impatient gesture. He glanced at Poseidon, still behind Odysseus, and pointed his finger. Almost faster than Odysseus’ eyes could see, a bolt of white lightning as thin as a thread raced through the air.
He felt no pain himself, but heard Poseidon hiss softly as he pulled his arm away, freeing Odysseus from his hold.
“Ah!” Hermes said, either oblivious to the palpable tension in the air or just uncaring, “Here we are. And what an honor, to be the messenger to bestow a gold apple upon the king of Ithaca!”
Pardon me? Odysseus wanted to ask.
But Hermes produced what was unmistakably an apple from his bag. It must’ve been made from melted gold and polished by divine hands, for it was so perfectly shaped with no blemish from the smelting process in sight. It even came with a golden stem and a delicate golden leaf still attached. It shined so brightly in the light, Odysseus could even see his reflection in the curved surface.
There was also a short ribbon tied to the stem. Hermes offered it in both hands, smiling without a care as he waited for Odysseus to take it.
“A golden apple?” Odysseus asked, thinking fast, “Why, I couldn’t possibly accept a gift like this! Especially after having done no feat worthy of so much… attention.”
He looked away, doing his best to appear as bashful as possible. Whatever the gods were trying to do, whatever game they were playing, he wanted no part in it. He hoped his show of humility would hearten the gods and gain their favor, allowing him to escape the two deities that were well known for their appetites.
A hand grabbed his face. Hermes continued to smile like an old friend as he forced Odysseus to make eye contact. Against his will, Odysseus’ hands lifted to accept the apple, which felt warm in his hands.
“Not to worry, dear child,” Hermes said, “The apple isn’t quite for you, exactly. Instead, you’ll be its keeper for the time being.”
Hermes winked as his wings fluttered. He added, “Read the inscription. And, of course, good luck!”
And then he was off, flying on the winds so quickly that he was beyond the horizon in seconds.
Odysseus had the fleeting thought that Hermes was either so busy that he could not linger, or that he didn’t want to linger.
#epic the musical#epic odysseus#odysseus#odysseus x poseidon#odysseus x zeus#epic hermes#epic polites#epic eurylochus#For the Fairest AU#thank you neal illustrator for the character designs
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sandor Clegane~ The Bitch and The Hound pt. 14
You were grateful to have been on watch duty that night, as you probably wouldn’t have caught a wink of sleep regardless. At least this way, you felt useful. Too many thoughts about the future clouded your mind, and blended with feelings from the past. At the first rays of sunlight, you rose and began gathering the ingredients for a sweet porridge you were familiar with. As you mixed and measured, you considered the simple joys of preparing food that you’d actually missed since leaving home. The meals Anna brought you were always delicious and filling, but it left you with a feeling of emptiness; all your days felt like waiting around for your next meal or waiting around for Sandor.
Your father would remind you frequently that when you were a true lady, you’d never have to cook again, never have to clean again— you’d have proper servants for that. And you’d smile and nod, knowing that was all he needed, but the idea of that life sounded utterly dull. Prettying yourself, filling yourself up with food, your husband coming to you whenever he was drunk and hard to produce another heir, excelling at needlepoint, and if you were feeling particularly crazy, perhaps one day you’d have an affair with a dim-witted servant. That was the life you were promised, the life you’d tried so hard to dream of.
You had been close to it, once, with Sandor Clegane. And you were happy, weren’t you? Or did nostalgia simply paint pretty colors over unsavory memories? No. I was happy. I was in love. Now it’s ended and I can move on, I can dream whatever dream I like. I don’t have to be anyone’s wife to matter anymore.
Then why did my heart leap when he called me wife? Or mother? Why do I, for the first time ever, fantasize about raising children. If it was duty before, can it ever truly be a choice?
As you stirred the breakfast together in the as pot, your other hand rubbed your flat stomach with longing. That would have been a big baby, you hummed a laugh when you reflected on just how big The Hound was. That would have been a lovely baby…
“Morning.” Sandor surprised you, and you quickly slid your hand to your hip.
“Good morning, Sandor.” You smiled at him. “Would you like some? I imagine the others will be up soon.”
And just like that little Robert stirred and dropped the rolling pin at last. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Sandor handed you two bowls and waited beside you.
“Something smells good..” Robert said, still barely awake to the world. You handed Sandor the bowls once they were filled and he walked one over to Rob, who snarked, “Even over your stench.”
Sandor simply put one of his large hands on top of the boy’s head and shoved so that his hair fell down to his eyes. “Stop your whinging or I’ll give you something to cry about.” And he walked over to the table and sat. You smirked at the interaction, and Rob stuck his finger in the porridge to taste it. His eyes grew wide and darted to you.
“Do you not like it?” You worried. “No, I… It’s good.” He admit. “It’s very good.” He mumbled, dragging his chair over to the dining table to sit across from Sandor. He grabbed a spoon and dug in so quickly it even shocked the big man. “Alright, slow down, boy. Y’act like you’re the one starving.” He mocked, taking a spoon for himself and delving in. You raised a hopeful brow, expecting compliments. Instead, only arguing ensued.
“Stop telling me what to do, you’re not my father.”
“Aye, and thank the Gods for that. If I was, you’d be slapped silly for the way you’ve been giving me that stink eye.” “What the fuck is that?” Your jaw dropped a little upon hearing the boy cuss. “Ooh, big man knows a swear. That! That’s the stink eye.” He pointed right at the boys face, who you could only assume was in a heated glare with him. “If you keep making faces at people, you’re gonna end up stuck like that. Then you’ll be as ugly as me.” “That’s not real. I’ll never be like you.”
“Keep up that face and you will..” They both took a break from their bantering to continue eating. “Do you know other dirty words, or just fuck?” He said casually, mouth full of porridge. “Bet I know just as much as you.” “Oh I doubt it, you little prick.”
“Sandor!” You tried to interject.
“Asshole!” Robert dared, setting his spoon down.
“Cunt.” Sandor retorted.
“Bitch!”
“Whore!”
“Shit!”
“Dickhead!” Sandor smiled at the challenge but by the time you had walked over to the table to stop them, you noticed Rob mirroring the same cocky smile. “Bollocks!” Rob banged his fists on the table proudly and rose from his seat. Just then, his mother came around the corner and your face went beet red.
“Rob!” She scolded, and Rob’s eyes went as wide as you’d ever seen a persons. You pursed your lips together to withhold your laughter. “You’re alright, little man.” Sandor chuckled and scraped the rest of the food in the bowl into his mouth. Rob hung his head and crossed the room to his mother, who didn’t hesitate to grab him by the ear and pull him back into her room.
“That was very bad of you.” You chided, collecting the bowls. “The kid already knew them!” He said lightheartedly. “His father must’ve sworn like a sailor.” You felt a pang of sadness at the knowledge that Robert’s father would never return to him.
“I didn’t know you could cook.” He leaned back in the chair. “If I didn’t learn, I would have starved.” You said simply. “I quite like cooking.. And baking on holidays. We never had too much but what you just had there was a staple in my home. It’s a comfort.” “Did you need comforting?..” He asked, looking you up and down slowly. You furrowed your brows at the question, and shook your head.
“Morning, (Y/n)!” Beth cheered and skipped over. You crouched down and she jumped into your arms. You couldn’t help the laughter she brought you and you swung her around a bit. “Good morning, darling. Are you hungry?” ~
As the morning continued on, Sandor admired the way the children opened up to you, and the way you busied yourself around the house. In the afternoon, you sat down with Anna outside and taught her to trace the alphabet, and she began to familiarize herself with the sounds. He saw how patient you were, how nurturing, how kind, how beautiful. He lingered around the horses to watch you play hide and seek with the children, and felt heat rise to his face when you rounded the corner of the house quickly, crouching down right beside him once to hide. You smiled up at him and held a finger to your lips. He thought a while about keeping your secret, but as the kids started badgering Anna to show them where you were, he whistled a note to alert them. He coughed twice and looked right at you and then at the children, and you gasped and threw a rock at him.
“You bastard!” You heard the children racing over to you, giggling all the way, and tried to run, but Sandor’s huge arms enclosed around your waist and picked you up. “Here, she’s here! Get her!” He laughed spinning you around as you struggled. “No, I’m your friend!” You squealed as the children closed in on you. “Get him!” And when they came, their weak punches rained down on the poor giant. He cried out as if what they were doing had any effect on him, “Traitors!” He yelled over their shouting, and crumpled to the ground with you still in his arms.
Anna fell down laughing and the kids landed a few more blows before running off, chanting things like, “It’s your turn!” “You’re it, (Y/n)!” “You have to find us!”
When Sandor let you go, you slid off him and the two of you laid side by side on the grass, breathless. You laughed up at the clouds before turning to see his smiling face. So handsome.
“How could you?!” You poked his side and he caught your finger in his hand. For a moment, when he looked at you, you felt the same euphoria you remembered the first morning you spent together. That’s the look he gave me, you hoped. His brown eyes looked warmer in the sunlight, and his mouth held a tired but cheeky smile. You melted against your better judgement, and relaxed your head on his chest for a moment, reveling in the joy of this moment. All we’re missing is a tree.
“What are you doing?” He said softly, and you closed your eyes and focused your ears. “Listening to your heartbeat…” He released your finger slowly and you flattened your hand against his other pec. The rhythm of his heart was fast, excited, but it soothed you to no end.
“(Y/n)! You have to find usss!” Whined Beth from some unseen location.
You smiled and exhaled a laugh through your nose. When you brought your head up to look at him, he was already watching you; his eyes longing for your touch to linger just a bit more.
“Sorry..” you smiled awkwardly. “I just had a dream about that once…” you tried to justify before standing up and brushing yourself off. You extended a hand to him, but he was already up on his own. “No more ratting me out unless you’re going to play with us.” You scolded.
You walked away from him without another word until you came upon Anna, sitting on a chair on the porch. “Are you not playing anymore, Anna?” She smiled, shook her head and waved you off. Off you went to seek the little brats. When you were far away enough, Anna rose up from her chair and moseyed over to Sandor, who was stood frozen in place. She looked him over until he made eye contact, at which he already looked bothered. She smirked and traced a heart with her foot in the grass, looking up at him with raised brows, sure he saw it. “Yeah yeah.” He rolled his eyes and started off toward the house again, ignoring her snicker. She saw it now clearer than ever before, and she was impressed that you were letting down your walls with the same man who made you set them up. He still loved you, and you still loved him, but her smile slipped when she finally considered where that left her. Still, she covered her concern with a casual smile and entered the home to help with supper.
~
The food went down easily and you gave thanks to the family for letting you stay another day. Your being there no longer felt hostile or unwelcome, and you wondered how Sandor would feel about sticking around a little longer, because the idea was growing on you.
The sun was still up over the hills, and Beth once again asked her mother if you could all go for a swim. Her mother, Amanda, considered for a moment before daring to say, “As long as you take him with you. He’s stinking up our house.” She smiled hopefully at The Hound and he glared at her before softening. He knew it was true. He reeked of week old sweat and blood and guts. “I made fresh soap not long ago, you’re welcome to some.” Amanda offered. “I can wash your clothes with well water while you’re gone.”
“We’d love that.” You spoke for everyone while Anna nodded eagerly. Sandor cleaned his teeth with his tongue before nodding shortly. The whole family arrived at the pool and the children and Anna stripped to their small clothes and entered the water, hardly waiting 10 seconds before trying to start up a game. Amanda collected their clothes and waited for the rest. Sandor stripped off his shirt easily and tossed it to her. Seeing him bare chested again sent a flush of heat to your cheeks and you averted your eyes to the grass. He removed his shoes and socks and traded those for the soap the mother offered.
“(Y/n)?” Amanda called gently.
Suddenly you felt very insecure. Your skin was pallid, your feet filthy and blistered, and from your week of starvation, you could see and feel the bones around your hips and ribs more than ever before. The loose mother’s dress offered comfort and concealment and you weren’t ready to part with it yet, especially in front of the man causing such a carnal reaction in you.
“I’m alright today, I’m just going to sit out…”
Without argument, she walked back home with a baby on one hip and a basket of clothes on the other. While the other three played on the far end of the pool, Sandor kneeled next to you at the water’s edge. He plunged his hands into the water and splashed it up over his face and head. All the while, you secretly admired his large hands, his muscular biceps, and the thick swirls of hair covering his torso. You pictured reaching out and feeling him once more. Suddenly he turned to look at you and you felt a lump form in your throat.
“Why don’t you get in?” Sandor asked lowly.
“I went yesterday.. I just don’t feel up to it I suppose.”
“So you’re just going to stand there and watch me?” His tone was playful, but it did little to quell your embarrassment at being caught.
You rolled your eyes quickly, mumbling “Just get in”, and walked over to sit by Anna and the children. Sandor eventually fully submerged in the water, scrubbing himself well with the soap in the corner, and you tried hard not to notice. You let your tired feet float in the pool, and smiled any time a playful splash would hit you. When you were all spent and the orange hue in the sky began to dull to purple, you called the children out and you all started on your way back home. Robert had grabbed a branch taller than him off a nearby tree and as he walked, he swung it around and plunged it into random spots of air.
“Are you supposed to be a knight?” Sandor asked, watching the boy from behind.
Robert turned to him and stuck out the pretend sword, and said with the deepest voice he could muster, “Better than a knight! I’m a soldier!” He swung the stick around again, giggling at the end. You saw Sandor’s smile light up his entire face and your heart practically sang. “I could teach you… This one here wants to learn too, maybe I could teach the pair of ya. You’re about evenly matched.” He smirked at you, teasing, and you scrunched up your nose in response. Still, a smile broke through at the premise of learning to use a weapon— even if it was only a stick for now. “Tomorrow then.” He decided.
Anna noticed your slight limp, and how you struggled to keep up with the children now, and she took your arm in hers to help you along. You had been very rough on your feet today. The last time you wore shoes was your last morning in the castle, which felt like a lifetime ago. Running around all day on wood, dirt, stone, and grass had torn your feet up more than ever before, but you weren’t about to complain. Truthfully, you couldn’t remember a better day. Growing up, you’d been sidelined by your father from any games like the ones you’d played today. You’d watch your sister and the other neighborhood children play without a care in the world, and your father would assure you that you were more special than they were, and that all the care you took would pay off some day soon. Today, you felt childlike when playing with Beth and Robert, and you felt womanly urges when you were close to Sandor Clegane. The contrast confused you greatly.
He glanced back at you once, but didn’t linger. Everyone’s clothes had been hung up to dry, and before he could enter the home, Amanda handed him a large pair of pants. “My husband’s. Might be a tad small, but it’s better than wet.”
He nodded and left for the privy to change. “Are you feeling alright, (Y/n)?” Amanda asked, noticing the small wince in your face. You nodded and thanked her for her concern. “Let’s get these kids to bed.”
“Ah, mom!” “We’re not tired!”
“Yeah we want to stay up with you!”
Amanda rolled her eyes and sighed heavily at her children. “Not another word, put on your nightgowns and lie down.” The children began to whine and stomp and suddenly the baby joined their crying. You saw Amanda’s eyes flare with a temper. “Now you’ve done it.” “I can try to help..” you offered.
She surprised you by handing off her youngest. Your heart pounded with anxiety as she quickly instructed you on how to hold it. You’d never held a real baby before, and this one was already displeased. “Get to the room, march!” She directed her children, who scampered out of sight. “Okay.. Okay.. Hey, it’s alright, little one.” You were trying to soothe yourself as much as the baby. “Don’t cry…” you bounced him gently in your arms and started humming a nameless tune. Maybe this is too much for me.
“Hey! Here we are, you want to look at the fire? Yeah?” You prayed you were doing the right thing as you crossed to the fire and sat down on your knees. “Wow..” you whispered to the baby, both your faces turned to watch the flames. “It’s so pretty, isn’t it…” you spoke softly and the baby’s cries began to quiet and slow. Your hand relaxed against his soft skin, and the slowing of his breathing began to calm you as well. The bouncing turned to soft rocking, and your whole body moved with the baby as you hummed. It’s not too much.
“I will take good care of you, I will take good care of you.. Everything you feel is good, if you would only let you..” you sang quietly and baby Rob turned his head to watch the fire illuminate your face. “So stay with me, hold my hand..” your finger brushed against his nose and he smiled at you. “There’s no need to be brave…”
“I’ve heard that song before…” Sandor spoke from the doorway, leaning on the frame.
“You can’t have heard it. I made it up.” He nodded, walking over to pull out another half-full bottle of alcohol. “I’ve heard it.” You scoffed a little and narrowed your eyes at him. Slowly you stood with the baby still focused on your face. “The only way you’d have heard it is if you were listening out my window when I was a girl, which would make you some sort of pervert,” you began, crossing to him, eyes on the baby.
“Or when you sang it in the kennels..” he cut you off, drawing your eyes to him. He was shirtless still, his pants tighter than usual, and his eyes were heavy and dark. “Which would make me pathetic..” he finished. “I wanted to be close to you, but couldn’t free you. That lad, Charlie, he was braver than I…”
You shook your head, continuing up to him. “But you did free me… I’ve forgiven you, Sandor, truly… You need only forgive yourself now.”
Just then Amanda creeped around the corner. “Sorry, love. I can take him again.”
Your eyes lingered on Sandor’s, and then drifted down to the baby between you. Before you knew it, the child’s mother was beside you, reaching out for her son. You quickly made the hand off and watched her disappear into the room she shared with the children. You cleared your throat and wiped your hands on the soft fabric of your dress, trying not to mourn the loss, and took a few steps away from Sandor.
“Do you need me to keep watch again?”
He took another swig and set the bottle on the table. “No, you go on and rest. I’ll take tonight, and Anna can do the next.”
“Right..” you nodded, glad that you would be staying at least another night longer. The glow of the fire cast shadows around his muscles, making him appear even larger. You couldn’t stop the words before they escaped, though you wished you had as soon as they hit your ear. “Did you miss me?”
Your eyes shut tightly in embarrassment and your hands began to perspire. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t know why I said that—“ You cut yourself off with a deep inhale and opened your eyes, only to see him stalking toward you. “S-Sandor?”
“Yes.” The simple word echoed in your head. Every step he made toward you, your body naturally took one back until you were pressing yourself against a wall. He did not cease his approach, and your chest heaved with excitement. “I missed you.”
He brought one hand up and it ghosted over your face, like it couldn’t decide where to land. In the moment, you wanted so desperately for him to touch you; anywhere, everywhere. You leaned your face gently against his palm and he stroked your cheek a couple times with his thumb. His hand slid down the curve of your jaw and held your chin, gently tilting your head up. Kiss me, kiss me. You begged wordlessly. Sandor leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, and you scrunched it up softly in confusion when he pulled away. “Get to bed, princess.”
And just like that, he parted from you, turning away and reclaiming his bottle. You exited the main room slowly, almost daring him to change his mind, but as soon as he was out of your sight you wanted to hit yourself. You groaned quietly and pulled your own hair as a punishment. What the hell is wrong with you?! A little chest hair and we want to abandon the vows meant to protect us?? No. You cannot touch a man again, you will not. It would destroy you.
After you were done giving yourself an internal lashing, you flopped down on a mattress and sighed. Anna snored softly and you rolled your eyes and covered your head with a pillow. You were tired, of course, yet sleep eluded you. When you closed your eyes, you heard him, saw him, felt him, tasted him. Fuck. You squeezed your thighs tightly together to relieve some of the pressure building in your nether. Your nipples hardened with the memory of his hand down there, his mouth on your breast. You let out a frustrated whimper and slammed your head back against the pillow.
You stole a shameful glance at Anna; her back was to you and her breathing continued in a smooth audible rhythm. You slipped your hand beneath the blanket and trailed your fingers up your thigh, goosebumps raising in reaction to your cold hand. Finally your hand reached your chest and you lingered on your breast. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of your own heartbeat. You had never done anything with anyone other than Sandor; not even yourself. But the desire grew ever stronger and there seemed no end in sight. You sucked on your bottom lip and tried to control your breathing as you remembered all the ways his hands had touched you before.
~ “I missed you.” You imagined his voice in your ear and squeezed a breast in one hand, scratched and locked your hand around your throat with your other. With your eyes shut, you could watch him hover over you, hair dripping water that cooled your fiery skin. The roughness of his palms scraped perfectly across your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, and then finally he touched where you needed him most.
Your mouth opened uncontrollably, and your fingers swirled rough circles around your flower. “Good girl.” He spoke, before bringing his mouth down on you.
You tried and you tried— the fantasy was there, but you did not have the skills or the understanding of your body that Sandor seemed to have. You paused, considering the risk you were about to take. You’d had trauma, you’d had infection, would you permit even yourself to enter?
Slowly, nervously, your fingers sank lower between your folds and circled your entrance. Closing your eyes again tightly, you brought Sandor back above you. You took the plunge when he did, and held your breath in anticipation— as if you would implode. You were tight, as Sandor had once described, and you felt intrigued that there seemed to be a whole other world within you. The soreness was bearable, but when you remembered the sheer size of your husband, you grew nervous. In and out, in and out, it still did not offer the euphoria you’d shared on those nights with Sandor Clegane. Perhaps I really am broken.
Just before you were about to remove your fingers for good, feeling utterly disappointed, you curled them up. Oh. You continued on that track, pumping and curling over and over again until you felt the need to cover your mouth. At last, a fraction of the pleasure he brought you. You flipped over and imagined Sandor beneath you, grinding down on your own hand. You couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped, until all your actions had to freeze when Anna’s snoring stopped. Silence. Deafening silence.
You flipped back around, your back to her, and the blanket over your head for good measure. Each second felt excruciating and your eyes brimmed with hot tears of shame. After one long minute, her snoring continued on as if there had been no interruption.
You sighed and buried your face in your pillow, relieved at not being caught, but if possible, even more sexually frustrated than you were to begin with. It’s going to be a long night. You pictured him in bed beside you, eyes a mirror to your own longing. Am I destined to want you forever?
#sandor clegane#rory mccann#game of thrones#game of thrones fanfiction#the hound smut#the hound x reader#sandor clegane smut#sandor clegane x reader#the bitch and the hound#sandor clegane fanfic#the hound fanfic
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fighting the Truth
Chris Sturniolo x enemy!reader
Summary: Chris and Y/N have fought for years, but after another heated argument, their feelings change, leading to unexpected love and a complicated new beginning.
Words: 4.7k
Warnings: fighting, cursing, drinking, making out, let me know if I missed something
Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.
You’d known the Sturniolo triplets quite literally since the day you were born. Your moms had met in the hospital, sharing the same room as they brought you and the boys into the world. From that moment on, your lives had been intertwined, your families becoming an unshakable unit.
Growing up, you, Matt, and Nick were inseparable. As soon as you could walk, you were a team: climbing trees, building pillow forts, and getting into all kinds of trouble together. But with Chris, it was different. It had always been different.
Your first argument with him happened when you were barely old enough to form complete sentences. He’d stolen the red crayon from your hand mid-drawing, insisting that he “needed it more,” and from then on, it was like a switch had flipped. If there was something to fight over, you and Chris would find it. Toys, art supplies, video games—nothing was off-limits.
As you grew older, the arguments evolved. What started as petty squabbles turned into full-blown shouting matches. Snarky remarks became cutting insults, and any room you two occupied was guaranteed to become a battleground. Now, at 21, it felt like the fighting had reached a breaking point.
You hated it.
You hated the way Chris could get under your skin with just one look. You hated how you couldn’t stop yourself from snapping back at him, no matter how hard you tried. Most of all, you hated how your constant arguing was starting to strain your friendship with Matt and Nick. The thought of losing them because of your inability to get along with their brother kept you up at night.
You wouldn’t dare tell anyone, but the stress of it all had you crying yourself to sleep more nights than not.
And now, here you were, sitting in an airport at 5 a.m., dreading the hours-long flight to Boston for your dad’s birthday grill party. It was supposed to be a happy occasion—a family celebration. Instead, you were bracing yourself for yetanother long weekend of biting your tongue and avoiding unnecessary fights.
The airport was unusually quiet for 5 a.m., the soft hum of vending machines and the occasional overhead announcement the only sounds breaking the stillness. You sat cross-legged in an uncomfortable plastic chair, scrolling through your phone while Matt and Nick argued over snacks a few seats down. Chris was leaning against a column, staring blankly out the window at the planes on the tarmac.
It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, but you chalked it up to the early hour. No one was particularly chipper at this time of day.
“Okay, so… do I go with the peanut butter crackers or the pretzels?” Nick turned to you, holding up both options. “Help me out here.”
You barely looked up. “The pretzels. Peanut butter crackers are just sad at 5 a.m.”
“Thank you!” Nick grinned, shoving the crackers into Matt’s hand. “You’re officially outvoted, Matt.”
Matt rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smirking. “You’re both tasteless. Peanut butter crackers are elite.”
“Elite in what, choking hazards?” you shot back, earning a laugh from Nick and a mock offended gasp from Matt.
Chris hadn’t said a word, which felt… odd. Normally, he’d have jumped in with some snarky comment by now, and the two of you would be trading barbs before the conversation even had a chance to breathe. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but his expression was unreadable, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Alright, we’re boarding in twenty minutes,” Matt announced, checking his watch. “Everyone got everything? Chargers? Neck pillows? Emotional stability?”
“I left that at home,” you said dryly, tucking your phone into your bag.
“Shocker,” Chris muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
There he was.
You shot him a glare, but before you could respond, Nick clapped his hands together. “Okay, truce! No fighting until we land in Boston. That’s the rule.”
“Since when?” you and Chris said in unison, both turning to Nick with identical looks of disbelief.
“Since now,” Nick said firmly. “Matt, back me up here.”
Matt shrugged. “I mean, it’d be nice if we could make it through one trip without you two trying to kill each other.”
“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, glaring at Chris. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping the peace.”
“Same,” Chris said, matching your tone.
The four of you made your way to the gate as the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. Chris ended up directly behind you in line, and you could feel his presence like an itch you couldn’t scratch.
When you finally found your row on the plane, you froze.
“No. No, no, no,” Chris groaned, stopping just behind you.
“What?” you asked, turning to face him.
“My seat.” He pointed to the one beside yours, his face twisted in a mix of disbelief and frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What’s the problem?” Matt asked from across the aisle, already settling into his seat.
Chris gestured dramatically between you and himself. “I’m stuck next to her for a six-hour flight. Six. Hours.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” you snapped, shoving your bag into the overhead compartment. “Sit down and stop complaining. It’s not like either of us has a choice.”
Chris muttered something under his breath but slid into the seat next to you, his movements stiff and exaggerated as if to emphasize just how put out he was.
Nick leaned over from his seat behind you, grinning. “You two gonna hold hands and sing kumbaya now, or should we prep for turbulence in more ways than one?”
“Shut up, Nick,” you and Chris said at the same time, glaring at him.
“See? You’re already bonding,” Nick said with a laugh, retreating back into his seat.
You sighed heavily, pulling out your AirPods Max and slipping them over your ears. Maybe, just maybe, you could get through this flight without losing your mind.
The flight was tense but manageable. A few arguments broke out between you and Chris, mostly about trivial things like him invading your space or you hogging the armrest.
“Can you stop elbowing me every two seconds?” you hissed, shooting him an annoyed look as he shifted in his seat.
“Maybe if you didn’t claim the entire armrest like it’s your personal property,” Chris shot back.
“It’s called sharing, ever heard of it?”
“Not with you.”
“Children,” Matt interrupted from across the aisle, leaning over. “The flight is almost over. Can we not do this right now?”
You both huffed but fell silent, turning your attention elsewhere.
When the plane finally landed, you exhaled in relief. The four of you grabbed your bags, picked up the rental car, and began the drive to your childhood homes. The plan was to stop at your house first since the party had already begun, and the Sturniolo parents were eager to see you.
In the car, the mood was mostly light. Matt and Nick were recounting funny stories from past flights, trying to keep the energy up. But you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. The constant fighting with Chris was wearing you down more than you wanted to admit. You leaned your head against the window, your eyes unfocused as the scenery blurred past.
Nick, ever perceptive, noticed your quietness and nudged you gently. “Hey, you good? What’s up?”
You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. The lump in your throat was already forming.
Unfortunately, Chris caught the interaction. “What now? Lost your voice?” he quipped, his tone laced with irritation.
That was the breaking point.
“Chris, just shut the fuck up once in your life. Please.” Your voice cracked as frustration bubbled over, and the car fell silent.
Matt cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay, so… uh, let’s put on some music, yeah?” He fiddled with the radio, trying to diffuse the tension.
You stayed silent for the rest of the drive, staring out the window as tears pricked your eyes.
When you arrived at your parents’ house, the party was already in full swing. The smell of grilled food filled the air, and the sound of laughter drifted from the backyard. You plastered on a smile as you greeted your parents, giving your dad a quick hug and wishing him a happy birthday. But the tightness in your chest hadn’t gone away, and the moment you were inside, you excused yourself to the bathroom.
Locking the door behind you, you let the tears fall freely. The combination of exhaustion, frustration, and Chris’s constant jabs was too much to handle. You slid down to the floor, your knees pulled to your chest as you tried to muffle your sobs.
A soft knock at the door startled you. “It’s me, Y/N,” Nick’s voice came through, calm and gentle. “Let me in, please. I know something’s bothering you.”
You hesitated for a moment before sighing deeply and unlocking the door.
Nick opened it slowly, his face falling when he saw you curled up on the floor, tears streaming down your face. “Oh, dear, what’s wrong?” He crouched down and pulled you into a tight hug.
The dam broke.
“I don’t know why Chris hates me so fucking much,” you cried, your voice shaking. “I can’t do this fighting anymore, Nick. I’m so scared I’m going to lose you and Matt, too, if this shit keeps up.”
Nick pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Y/N, listen to me. You’re not going to lose us, okay? Matt and I—we’re not going anywhere. And as for Chris…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I know he can be a pain in the ass, but he doesn’t hate you. He really doesn’t.”
“Sure feels like it,” you muttered, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater.
Nick gave you a small smile. “You and Chris have been at each other’s throats since we were kids. But there’s more to it than just hating each other. I think you know that, too.”
You shook your head, not wanting to unpack whatever Nick was implying. “I just want it to stop, Nick. I can’t keep doing this.”
“I know.” He pulled you into another hug. “We’ll figure it out, okay? But for now, let’s get you cleaned up and back outside. Your parents missed you, and I’m pretty sure Matt’s already raided the dessert table.”
You let out a weak laugh. “Okay.”
Nick helped you to your feet and handed you a tissue from the counter. “Freshen up, and I’ll meet you out there.”
Once you’d composed yourself, you headed back to the backyard with Nick by your side. The party was in full swing, with neighbors and family chatting around the grill and kids running through the garden.
Chris’s eyes landed on you almost immediately. He noticed your red-rimmed eyes, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, and the faint tension in your shoulders. For a brief moment, his expression softened, but he didn’t say anything.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze. You had a few glasses of wine to calm your nerves, letting the alcohol take the edge off your emotions. Meanwhile, the triplets stuck to White Claws, Nick and Matt laughing as they attempted to shotgun them.
Chris, however, seemed quieter than usual, his gaze flickering to you now and then as if trying to figure out what was really going on.
The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a golden glow across the backyard. You were sprawled out on a deck chair, sipping your who-knows-how-many-th glass of wine. The sunset was stunning, painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple, but your focus was starting to blur from the alcohol coursing through your system.
Grill parties like this always had a way of loosening you up, and tonight was no different. The mix of family, nostalgia, and endless wine was a comforting escape from the tension that seemed to follow you and Chris wherever you went.
Nearby, Nick and Matt were sitting at the outdoor table with your parents, sharing stories and laughing loudly. Their contagious giggles drifted through the warm evening air, adding to the lighthearted atmosphere. Chris was off to the side, perched on the armrest of a chair with a half-empty White Claw in hand. He wasn’t completely sober anymore, either; you could tell by the slight sway in his movements and the lazy smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face.
Despite the cheerful scene, everyone had noticed you weren’t quite yourself tonight. Your usual energy was dulled, your laughter softer, and your smiles fleeting. But no one pushed you to explain—they seemed to sense that tonight wasn’t the time.
You tipped back the last sip of your wine, the familiar warmth spreading through your chest. Deciding you needed a refill, you swung your legs off the deck chair and tried to stand. Big mistake.
The world tilted beneath you, and before you could steady yourself, you stumbled forward and fell unceremoniously onto the grass.
A burst of laughter erupted from you as you lay there, and it only grew louder when Chris, of all people, joined in.
“Did you see that?” you managed to wheeze between giggles, pointing at absolutely nothing. “Hahaha, I just—” You dissolved into another fit of laughter.
Chris was laughing, too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “Yeah, you fell over like a wet bag,” he slurred, his words a little too drawn out.
Nick and Matt exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly bracing for the inevitable argument that usually followed any interaction between you and Chris. But to their surprise—and relief—it didn’t happen.
Instead, you laughed even harder, clutching your stomach. “A wet bag! That’s so—hahaha—accurate!”
Chris chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. “Glad my pain is your entertainment.”
Your mom, who had been watching from the table, raised an eyebrow. “Sweetie, are you okay?” she called, her voice tinged with amusement.
“Mom!” you yelled back, still giggling uncontrollably. “Where’s the wine?”
“In the kitchen, honey, but don’t you think you’ve had enough?” she asked, her concern evident.
You waved her off, stumbling to your feet. “Nah, I want one more, then I’m heading to bed!” You walked over to her, planting a kiss on her cheek before making your way toward the house.
As you crossed the threshold into the kitchen, you tripped over the door’s metal threshold but managed to catch yourself at the last second. “Whoops!” you giggled to yourself, continuing your unsteady journey to the counter where the wine bottles were neatly lined up.
Back outside, Nick frowned as he watched you disappear into the house. “I’m gonna go check on her,” he said, starting to rise from his seat.
Chris stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. “No, let me.”
Nick and Matt both turned to him with raised eyebrows, their expressions a mix of confusion and suspicion.
“You?” Nick asked, his tone dripping with doubt.
“Yes, me.” Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s already pissed at me. If you go in there and she thinks you’re babysitting her, she’ll probably be even more upset.”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but if you hurt her or upset her even more, I will literally break your face, Christopher.”
“Nicolas!” MaryLou’s voice cut through the tension, scandalized by her son’s words.
“What, Mom?” Nick said defensively, gesturing toward Chris. “They’ve been fighting for twenty years. Twenty. I’m not about to let him go in there and make things worse.”
“Oh, dear god,” your mom muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Same,” MaryLou agreed, shaking her head as if exhausted by the ongoing saga between you and Chris.
Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t respond to Nick’s threat. Instead, he set his White Claw down on the table and stood, his movements unsteady as he made his way toward the house.
You made your way to the counter where the wine bottles stood neatly arranged. Deciding to skip the usual half-glass rule, you poured your glass completely full, concentrating hard to avoid spilling. The red liquid swirled dangerously close to the rim as you steadied the bottle and placed it back on the counter.
“Perfect,” you muttered, lifting the glass to your lips for a sip. You barely had time to savor it when a voice startled you from behind.
“Hey, can we talk?” Chris’s voice broke the silence.
You jumped, spilling half the glass of wine down the front of your white top. The cold liquid seeped into the fabric, staining it a deep red as it clung to your skin.
“Are you fucking serious right now, Chris?” you snapped, your tone sharp and filled with frustration.
Chris held his hands up in surrender, his expression genuine. “Oh shit, I didn’t mean to scare you! Please don’t be mad. That wasn’t my intention.”
You groaned, setting the now-wine-slick glass on the counter before tugging your shirt over your head. “Why are you even here?” you demanded, moving to the sink to run the stained shirt under water.
Standing there in just your bra and skirt, you didn’t think twice about it. The Sturniolos had seen you in bikinis countless times over the years. This wasn’t any different, right? But Chris, on the other hand, suddenly looked... different. His eyes widened slightly before darting to the side, as if trying to respect your space.
“Uh, I—uh—wanted to talk?” he stammered, clearly nervous now.
“About what?” you asked, your words slurring slightly from the wine, but your tone carried the same sharp edge as before.
Chris shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please just talk to me normally? This is serious.”
You turned to face him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Seriously?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Chris, I’ve been trying to have a normal conversation with you for the last ten years, but you always find some way to insult me or start a fight. Every. Single. Time.”
Your voice rose with each word as you grew angrier, slapping the damp shirt onto the counter. Chris opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.
“I am so done with this shit,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly as the frustration bubbled over. “I don’t even know what your problem is with me, but I’m sick of it. I don’t want to lose Nick and Matt because you decided, for whatever reason, that you can’t stand me.”
Chris flinched at your words, his jaw tightening, but he stayed quiet.
“Grow a pair of balls and grow up already,” you snapped, your voice shaking now from a mix of anger and suppressed emotions. “I am done here.”
Your last words echoed in the kitchen, hanging heavy in the tense silence that followed. Your outburst was loud enough that you were certain everyone outside had heard it. Even the faint sound of Nick’s laughter had gone quiet.
Chris’s face was unreadable as he took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Fucking shut the fuck up already,” he muttered under his breath.
Before you could even process his words, Chris leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips crashed against yours in a deep, heated kiss, silencing any retort you might have had.
You pulled back almost instantly, your wide eyes meeting Chris’s. “What the fuck are you doing, Chris?”
Chris’s chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, his gaze intense and unwavering. “The one thing I’ve been too scared to do—and too scared to admit—for the last couple of years.”
Before you could even formulate a response, Chris leaned in again, his lips capturing yours with renewed urgency. This time, you didn’t pull away. You kissed him back, your anger and confusion melting into the background as the warmth of the moment overtook you.
The sound of laughter drifted in from outside, faint through the kitchen walls. It grounded you for a second, reminding you that your family and friends were just outside. But you shoved the thought aside, too lost in the way Chris’s hands held your face like you were something fragile and precious.
Your tongues clashed in a heated rhythm, each of you unwilling to back down, a continuation of your endless battles—but this time, it was something else entirely. Chris’s hand slid down to yours, his fingers intertwining with yours firmly as he stepped back.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice low and breathless.
You didn’t even question it. Nodding slightly, you let him lead you upstairs to your old bedroom. Chris pushed the door open with his free hand before pulling you inside and shutting it behind you.
The second the door clicked shut, Chris was on you again, his hands on your waist as he backed you against the wall. The cool surface of the wall sent a shiver down your spine, but it was nothing compared to the fire in Chris’s kiss.
It felt like hours had passed as you made out, the intensity of it all-consuming you both.
As his fingers brushed the edge of your bra, Chris broke the kiss, his lips hovering inches from yours. His voice was unsteady when he spoke, his breath mingling with yours.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Chris asked, his tone laced with frustration and longing.
You blinked up at him, your thoughts still hazy from the kiss. “I don’t—Chris, what are we even doing? This doesn’t make sense—”
“Doesn’t make sense?” Chris interrupted, his forehead resting against yours. “The only thing that hasn’t made sense is me pretending like I don’t want you. I’ve spent years acting like an idiot, fighting with you just to get your attention. And yeah, I was scared—scared you’d never feel the same.”
Your heart skipped a beat as you processed his words. “So all this time... you’ve been picking fights with me because you—because you liked me?”
“Liked you?” Chris laughed softly, the sound almost self-deprecating. “No, Y/N. I didn’t just like you. I’ve been in love with you for years. I just didn’t know how to handle it.”
You stared at him, speechless, your mind racing to catch up with what he’d just admitted.
“Say something,” Chris murmured, his vulnerability showing through the cracks in his voice.
“I—” Your voice faltered as you searched for the right words. “I don’t know what to say, Chris. I never thought—I mean, I just assumed you hated me.”
Chris’s lips curled into a small, almost sad smile. “Hate you? God, no. I hated that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I hated that every time you smiled or laughed, it made me want you even more.”
Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as the weight of his confession settled over you. “Chris, I—”
Whatever you were about to say was interrupted by the sound of the door flying open.
You and Chris jumped apart like teenagers caught by a parent, both of you turning to see Matt and Nick standing in the doorway, their eyes wide with shock.
“Okay,” Matt said slowly, breaking the silence. “I did not see that one coming.”
Nick, however, didn’t look as surprised. He crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “I did,” he admitted.
“What?” Chris asked, his cheeks flushing.
Nick shrugged. “I mean, after twenty years of you two bickering like an old married couple, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t kill each other after that shouting match in the kitchen.”
“Wait, what are you two doing up here, anyway?” you asked, your voice still slightly slurred from the wine.
Nick raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Damn, girl, are you still drunk?”
“Yeah, I’m still drunk,” you admitted, your tone sharp but flustered. “Now answer my question, please.”
Nick leaned casually against the doorframe, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. “Matt and I want to play Mario Kartdownstairs in the living room. Your old Wii is still hooked up,” he explained, his tone light and teasing.
You blinked, your brain struggling to process his words through the haze of wine and adrenaline. “The Wii? That thing still works?”
“Apparently,” Matt chimed in, stepping into view. “We were going through some of the old stuff in the cabinets, and Nick found it. Figured it’d be fun to see if we’ve still got it.”
Nick’s grin widened. “I’m gonna crush all of you, just saying.”
You rolled your eyes, still pressed against the wall as you tried to gather yourself. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Give us five minutes—I need a shirt.” Your voice came out flustered and a little slurred, the weight of the situation catching up to you.
“Good idea,” Nick said with a chuckle, his gaze bouncing between you and Chris. “Wouldn’t want to scare anyone with all that... passion you’ve got going on here.”
Your face burned, and you were about to snap back when Matt clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright, let’s give them a minute. But don’t take too long, or we’re starting without you.”
The two of them turned and disappeared back down the hall, their footsteps fading as they headed toward the stairs.
The moment they were out of earshot, you let out a long breath, your back sliding against the wall until you were sitting on the floor. “Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.
Chris crouched down in front of you, his expression soft but uncertain. “Hey,” he said quietly, reaching out to touch your arm. “Are you okay?”
You peeked at him through your fingers, your emotions a jumble of embarrassment, frustration, and something else you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know, Chris,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “This is just... a lot.”
Chris nodded, sitting back on his heels. “Yeah. It is. But... I meant everything I said earlier. I know I was an ass—hell, I’ve been an ass for years—but I wasn’t lying about how I feel.”
You dropped your hands, looking up at him with tired eyes. “And you think this”—you gestured between the two of you—“is going to magically fix everything? Chris, we’ve been at each other’s throats since we were kids. I don’t even know how to wrap my head around this.”
“I don’t either,” Chris admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “But I know I want to try. I don’t want to keep fighting with you, Y/N. I’m tired of pretending I don’t care when I do.”
His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Finally, you sighed, shaking your head. “Chris... I don’t know.”
Chris reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’ll take ‘I don’t know’ over ‘I hate you’ any day,” he said with a small, hopeful smile.
You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and a little shaky. “Okay,” you said finally. “Let’s just... see where this goes. No promises.”
Chris nodded, his smile growing. “Fair enough.”
Standing up, he extended a hand to help you to your feet. You hesitated, then took it, letting him pull you up. “Now, let’s get you a shirt before Matt and Nick start a full-blown tournament without us.”
You snorted. “Fine. But I’m still drunk, so if I lose, I’m blaming the wine.”
Chris smirked. “Deal.”
Together, the two of you rummaged through your old dresser until you found a shirt. Pulling it on quickly, you tried to ignore the way Chris’s eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long.
“Ready?” he asked, his tone casual but his expression warm.
“Yeah,” you said, brushing past him and heading toward the door. “Let’s go show those idiots who’s boss.”
As you both made your way downstairs, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. Things weren’t perfect, but for the first time in years, it felt like you and Chris were on the same page.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Taglist: @courta13 @sophand4n4
#fanfiction#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo#chris x y/n#chris x you#chris x reader#the sturniolo triplets#enemiestolovershoe#enemies to lovers#enemies to friends to lovers#support new writer#new writers on tumblr#new writer boost#enemies to friends trope#fic recommendation#fic rec
26 notes
·
View notes
Note
So glad to see you posting again! I missed this blog <3 Could I request Gaku, Ryuuunosuke, Yamato, and possibly the Izumi brothers (separately) reacting to their S/O knocking on their doorstep in tears late at night, possibly having run away from or been kicked out by abusive parents with nothing but the clothes on their back and having nowhere else to go (no phone, keys, no cash or cards, just their clothes and their tears). S/O knows the risk of causing a scandal, but they literally had nowhere else to go. It's cool if the rest of the group (TRIGGER or I7) are in there, considering dorm-living. Sorry if this is kinda dark, drawing from personal experiences for this one (a dear friend let me crash at their place, so I'm fine) ^^;
Gaku, Ryuuunosuke, Yamato, Iori and Mitsuki reacting to their S/O being kicked out and living with them
a/n : Anon im so sorry! ;; i hope this makes your day a little easier
.::.
Gaku Yaotome
Gaku just wants you to stop crying. Its tearing him apart inside. The more he dries your face off, the more new tears come to replace the ones he just tended to.
His heart clenched, feelling like it was on fire. There was nothing he wanted more in this moment than to yell at your parents, tell them theyre wrong about you and everything else. Maybe even while you watch, just for you to get a chance to see how much he's on your side.
But, that would only make things worse, and thats not what you need. Right now, anyway.
His touch always lingered on you in some sort of way ever since you came in. On your back, neatly tucking a strand of hair on your head, half-hugs when he really desired to hold you completely and shield you from the world.
Gaku sort of...forgets to ask for permission before letting you stay over. You were in a rough place, so he couldn't just send you back into the cold.
He'd argue until his voice gave out if there were any protests about you staying with them though. Which there weren't, as Ryuu was fairly welcoming and while it was a surprise to Tenn, didn't mind after hearing out the predicament you were currently in.
Scandal is the last thing on his mind, he feels that as long as he's disguised, its fine if you two start going home together, but he'll be sure to be careful
Ryuunosuke Tsunashi
At first it was a pleasant surprise to see your face, thinking that this was a short notice visit, which he wouldn't have minded. But that quickly fades after his golden eyes get a glimpse of your tear stained face.
For a moment he's unsure what to think, even considering the possibility that he's the one that did this to you. But those worries were dashed and soon replaced with another, as soon as you opened your dry lips and began to recount to him what just transpired at your parents' house.
Once you're inside, he pulls you into a tight hug. One that'd probably hurt if you weren't so focused on how terrible you felt inside rather than your body.
While he wants you and your family to reconcile, tonight surely wasn't the time for it, you'd just have to stay at his place for now. It wasn't a bother, you're sad after all, he's actually glad he's here to help take some of the weight off.
His hands were always touching you in some way, holding your hand, rubbing your shoulders, or resting on your sides. Ryuu wanted so desperately to take the pain away.
Technically it was his house and he gets to say who can and can't stay there, but, he still feels the need to fill the rest of TRIGGER in on what's going on and that you could really use some positivity and support at the moment.
He also doesn't want you sleeping on the couch, even if it wasn't uncomfortable, it didn't feel right to make you do that after your night had already been so horrid, so you'll be sleeping with him from now on.
Yamato Nikaido
As he guided you into the dorm, Yamato drapes one of his jackets around your shoulders, inviting you to put it on. There isn't much he can say other than reassuring you that you have been wronged, now that your parents have made up their mind that they weren't letting you back (and he doubts they liked him more than you) but makes sure that you know you're welcome in the dorm whenever.
Despite that, he is pretty adamant on you getting your stuff back at the very least, and that he'll go with you to have his support.
While he can't exactly promise he knows where to go from there, he'll let you sleep in his room until you get things figured out
He might even finally get a bed to accommodate you.
Yamato is surprisingly helpful at getting you to calm down, keeping a cool head and gentle tone while he wipes your tears with a tissue.
"hey, Musashi is glad to have you here at least." He tries to lighten the atmosphere with a bit of humor.
Just for a moment, he'll leave you alone to explain to the other idols why you're here and that you probably aren't leaving soon.
Once he's back, he offers to help take your mind off of things with a movie and some snacks, since worrying right now wasn't going to do much of anything but make you more stressed.
Yamato is actually happy you came to him about this, that you decided to depend on him for comfort and somewhere to stay, even if it is a bit cramped for lack of a better term.
Unfortunately, he only has one chair in his room, so the best you can do is either find a way to cuddle up on the chair..or he's sleeping on the floor or couch in the living room. Not wanting to leave you alone for the night, he might just have to suffer on the floor with a blanket this time, but if its for your comfort, its not too much to sacrifice.
Iori Izumi
after predictably asking 'what happened', Iori gives a look of surprise and concern you don't see often from him, followed by quickly pulling you inside the dorm faster than you could process.
If/Once he's there at the dorm, the first person Iori tells about this is Mitsuki, seeking his guidance in a way for this situation. The dorm is plenty full already, and there's no rooms left, but he can't let you sleep outside or at some hotel since you have no money
Iori feels a little helpless for once, brainstorming of ways to take hold of the situation and fix this as soon as possible, almost to the point where he forgets you need to be comforted at the moment.
He forces himself to relax for your sake, but you can tell in his body posture how much its getting to him that this terrible situation came upon you. You, who's never done anything wrong in his eyes.
With reassurances that you'll get through this no matter what it takes, he goes to prepare a drink and meal for you, with his brother's help.
Iori will bring you anything you want, even if you don't ask, and from here on out will start texting you almost constantly when he's at lunch or on break at work to check on how you're doing. There's been a list started in his room on the steps the both of you are going to take to get through this and into a better situation.
His bed isnt that big, but its enough to get comfortable with. Pale cheeks had frequently started to turn a rosy hue when you cuddle up to him whether out of affection or to simply not fall off the bed.
Mitsuki Izumi
Mitsuki has to control his temper after hearing whats been done to you. He's ready to give those parents of yours an earful, but thats going to have to wait; you always are the first priority.
He hugs you in silence for a while, standing a little away from the door after he's let you in. Neither of you know how long the hug lasted, it could've been anywhere from 30 seconds to 7 minutes. But he stood there for as long as you needed.
Once you're sitting, he wipes your face with a handkerchief and asks if this is a permanent change and what all that you have with you at the moment. A displeased expression marrs his features one you say you came all this way with practically nothing, just that you didn't want to go back.
Thoughts flood his mind, not entirely of panic, but more along the line of what could your parents be thinking, kicking you out like this? As sweet as you are, he knows it couldn't have been your fault. And even if you did do something, it wouldn't have warranted something this drastic.
After a quick but gentle kiss to your forehead, he brings back blankets and gets to work on a meal or leftovers to offer you so you can start feeling at least a little better. It isn't much, but he wants to do whatever he can for his beloved.
Mitsuki's never dealt with something like bad or unfair parents before, so he can't even imagine your pain. But he promised you a long time ago that the two of you would stay by each other's side no matter what troubles or insecurities befall you, and he intends on keeping it.
Luckily since he's not that big, the bed sharing is pretty comfortable, and cuddling with Mitsuki for warmth, whether on the couch or bed is something you never minded before. His touches and presence made things more bearable.
#idolish7 x reader#idolish7#ainana#idolish seven#idolish7 headcanons#i7#yaotome gaku x reader#yaotome gaku#tsunashi ryunosuke x reader#tsunashi ryunosuke#izumi iori#izumi iori x reader#izumi mitsuki#izumi mitsuki x reader#nikaido yamato#nikaido yamato x reader
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
zara wasn’t the type to feel this kind of connection with just anyone. Sure, she was bold, straightforward, and confident—anyone who had crossed paths with her in the hallways or talked to her knew that. But grayson? He was different. She couldn’t quite pin down if it was his age or just who he was, but she loved teasing him and watching him get all nervous about her words. It was cute, if she was honest, and it made her want to push the boundaries even more. "you can always forget about that control," she teased with a smirk. "at least for now. during finals week, though? sorry, gutierrez, but i’ll need to focus on passing my classes." her playful tone didn’t match the fire in her gaze, which practically dared him to lose his cool. still, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to keep her hands to herself either. that tension between them? it was addicting. "oh, i know," she said with a smug grin. "it’s my superpower. but you don’t have to behave—why would you?" she chuckled softly, leaning closer, loving how the air between them practically crackled. moving in together had her more excited than she could put into words, though she didn’t want to come across as too head-over-heels. "as long as it’s just socks and not some other girl’s underwear, i think i’ll survive," she teased, raising a brow to emphasize her point. "besides, i was thinking about sleeping with you—no need for separate covers." her smile turned sly as she added, "though, full disclosure, i’m totally the type to steal them. i usually sleep in a big shirt and underwear." her wink made it clear she wasn’t kidding, and she knew exactly what kind of picture she was painting. when his hands found her waist, her breath hitched for just a second. he had a way of breaking through her composed exterior without even trying. "all at once?" she echoed, her voice soft but teasing as her gaze flickered down to his lips. "nah, maybe just this one." she started leaning in, feeling the world narrow down to just them—when her phone blared to life. "fuck me," she groaned, reluctantly pulling back and hopping off his desk to grab her phone. "my mom," she explained quickly before answering. "hey, mom?" her voice shifted into something softer, though the hint of annoyance lingered. "yeah, i’m at the library. i got distracted, but i’ll be home soon." her eyes met grayson’s, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "a friend’s driving me... yeah, love you too. go bug your son instead, okay? sure, bye." hanging up, she turned back to him with a playful glint in her eyes. "you’re driving me, right?" she asked, already knowing the answer. sure, she had lied to her mom, but she wasn’t about to let this moment with grayson end just yet.
Grayson couldn't help but smile at the way Zara leaned against his desk like it was something that was hers , the way her eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity. The energy between them had shifted, and he could feel the tension in the air thickening with every word she said. She had this way of teasing him that made his heart race, even though he was trying to keep his cool. The truth was, being this close to her made it nearly impossible to keep his hands to himself, but he was doing his best to maintain control. "Well, you know," he started, voice low, "I'll try my best, but I can't promise anything." He couldn't stop his grin from widening as he met her sly gaze, the teasing edge in her tone making his heart skip a beat. "You really know how to make it hard for a guy to behave." When she raised her eyebrows at him, the playful glint in her eyes made it clear she was enjoying every second of this just as much as he was. Grayson found himself drawn to her, and it wasn't just her beauty. It was everything about her—the way she lit up a room and made him feel something. As she teased him about the odd socks, he couldn’t help but chuckle. "Yeah, well, you can blame my laundry habits for that," he said, a little sheepish, but his eyes never left hers. He stepped closer, feeling the magnetic pull between them growing stronger. The way she looked at him made his pulse quicken, and when she leaned in just a little closer, he could hardly breathe. Her words about routine settled in his mind, but then the teasing shifted, and he couldn't help but laugh at the mischievous glint in her eyes. He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his voice. "I don't know... are you already planning on stealing all my covers?" When she asked if he was already in love with her, the question hit him harder than he expected. His heart beat a little faster, and for a split second, he wondered if she could see right through him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it—about how much he cared for her, how everything felt so natural when she was around. With a soft chuckle, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice quieter now, full of honesty. His hands pressed to the girl's waist. "Wouldn't you like to know? I can't spill all my secrets out all at once, can I?"
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yuna ima suki ni naru cover.....
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
yasammy sketch!! my favourite dino lesbians
#jwct spoilers#i guess#jwct#jwcc#jurassic world chaos theory#jurassic world camp cretaceous#yasammy#yasmina fadoula#yaz fadoula#sammy gutierrez#sleeping at last#they need some well earned rest#i wanted this to be more developed and all but got kinda bored#so im just posting this sketchy version#bless#maybe ill post more of them soon#who knows
131 notes
·
View notes
Text
A few of you who were here on tungles abut 6 years ago might remember this Solavellan project I made. For numerous reasons (not least of all legalese ones because I used a copyrighted language in the lyrics), I couldn't and didn't formally release it.
Despite the uphill battle I faced during the creation process, I believed in the underlying idea and had always planned on remaking it into something but didn't know what. A few months ago, I finally just went with my gut and tried a full piano solo. It quickly expanded from the original and got a LOT more feral, but that still suits it.
#firjii's music#piano solo#dragon age fan music#solavellan#i'll tag people tomorrow in a reblog or whatever but for now just want to share it with the world before I forget lmao#also yes i know i need to stop posting stuff at 9pm bc at this point at night the americas are busy and the europeans are sleeping#(yes i'm still anti-spotify but you get the idea - if you see me post a link to big green it means it's also elsewhere or will be soon)
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
Digitalised + coloured + redesigned version of my Suiren and Vaatu sketch from two days ago, as promised!!
Coming up with Suiren’s design was a very long process of trying and failing because after you’ve drawn 9+ different versions of one character, the creativity starts to run a little dry, but I’m actually really proud of this one, she looks absolutely adorable <3
(Also yeah I did mostly just scribble Vaatu’s pattern because who has the energy to draw the all out accurately. Not me, that’s who, I’m chronically tired. People who draw him on the regular have my utmost respect. He’s still a funky little guy though :D)
Bonus, Raava incessantly screaming inside Suiren (and being completely ignored because Suiren is tired of her) while all this is happening:
#and yeah I did say I’d do a fuckass background but all my energy went to figuring out Suiren’s design#plus I suck at backgrounds so.. woe. LoK screenshot be upon ye#my art#artists on tumblr#the legend of korra#avatar suiren au#original character#sotrl suiren#vaatu#I don’t really know what to say in these tags lmao#usually I reach the tag limit really really easily but between my previous post and answering that ask I’ve ran out of things to say#someone please indulge me in this au I have Way Too Many Thoughts about it#hmm…#you know. I think people often make different avatar aus because they dislike Korra or think she’s a bad avatar#I don’t. I love Korra. I would kill and die for her#(says the red lotus stan. yes I’m well aware. no need to call me out)#and I think she’s a good avatar who was dealt a shitty hand both in universe and by the show’s production team#I’m making this au BECAUSE I love Korra. if Suiren is the avatar Korra gets to be a normal SWT girl#she’ll get to grow up with her parents. not isolated and degraded all the time for not being perfect. maybe she’d have a sibling or two#and Suiren gets spared her sotrl trauma too. win win for everyone!!#(I return Suiren gets the weight of the world on her shoulders lmao. but it’s fine. 1. she isn’t alone in it. she has her family#2. three quarters of the LoK threats are basically automatically eliminated for her. the RL are her parents. she fuses with Vaatu#and all she has to do to defeat Kuvira is to take her dress off 😁 /hj. basically. she’ll be okay. better than in sotrl at least)#also look. I love Suiren. she’s my dear child who’s been with me since I was 12. of course I wanna make her the main character in everything#and dark avatar Korra AUs have been done countless times before me. Kat’s doing one right now!! I just wanna do something that’s my own#and also I wanna focus less on pain and trauma for once and more on the sheer hilarity of the shenanigans that will occur post-fusion#cause this isn’t Adumbration where Korra lets Raava go and fuses with Vaatu instead. here Suiren’s got both of them at the same time#and they have 10000 years’ worth of grievances to air out. it’s like living with your divorced parents#trust me I would know. except mine aren’t divorced. they’re Worse and everyone wishes they’d just separate#anyway. that aside. Suiren’s not getting any sleep any time soon while those two duke it out
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
.
#i realy want to finish this chapter already so i have SOMETHING to send my supervisor but i also know that i should at least take a nap#but also. i know myself and i know it won't be just a nap bc as soon as i get myself under that blanket i'm gone#and i'm not even sleepy i just know that my brain needs a rest bc words are not wording how they should#my sleep schedule is going to be SO fucked by this omg#academic writing will suck the life out of you leave your brain dry and damaged and literally for what. FOR WHAT. a stupid degree.#okay maybe i am sleepy just a little#istg if i didn't have to go to work yesterday and end up having a killer migraine i'd already be writing the next chapter ;-;#but nooooo#also i'm the world's shittest friend but that;s a conversation for another time#feel like shit want to sleep want some fucking peace and quiet#agnes talking
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tower of Dawn
Chapter 1
… This is peaceful after EoS, I missed Chaol, I also enjoyed liked the little bonus lead in via EoS… but also it’s killing me not knowing if any of my bb’s r ok (every Aelin mention cannot be handled UGH SARAH YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE STABBING MY SOUL), alas I shall enjoy every page! So, I FINALLY started it (ugh… life does not leave enough reading time😭 and binge reads for cliffhangers)
… per usual watch for spoilers per chapter… & here we are…
#Tower of Dawn#ToD#Throne of Glass#Throne of Glass series#TOG series#TOG#fangirl problems#I love these books too much#Maasverse#first read#currently reading#no spoilers please#probably chapter spoilers#read with me#here we go again#at this point I can’t tell if I’m crying from sublimating all my emotions into fictional characters lack of sleep or over everything lol#I just can’t be on this many cliffhangers in a month or I’m going to fail every thing from learning to working to being a human lol#Chaol Westfall#former Captain of the Guard#now kinda Adarlans most wanted?#loving Nesryn perspectives#hating Chaol’s father#intrigued by the green marble again#I’ve read acotar that palace could be literally moving#chaol bud being lord of liars kinda fits your besties so it’s fine#where did Dorian get that uniform#so he doesn’t know the news yet?#how is this a magic realm with the most inaccessible not wheelchair user fictional world come on adarlan step up#yes chaol you don’t have to be fixed you are not broken fitz voice your just different now and there’s nothing wrong with that#I need the map esp as I keep thinking antica is ant artica plus once again need pronunciation guide oh and ps too soon for white shirts SJM
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
.
#my mum is coming up this friday and i have NO idea how im going to afford to feed us both#like.#i cant wait to see her#things with my dad have been especially shit lately#and its my birthday soon#so its nice its also just ginna be fucking expensive as shit in a way i dont usually have to budget for#given food prices lately#i want to sleep and i want a break and i want a weeks worth of shopping for two people#one with disabilities that needs to be managed with food#wasnt going to cost me over £100#thats before we even do anything y'know?#and i know theres bigger problems in the world#but its a pretty big one in my world
3 notes
·
View notes