#you know what ship made me open my eyes to that years ago?
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Okay, but pink does goes well with green!
#you know what ship made me open my eyes to that years ago?#tsuchako of course#okay but it was layla (aisha) and flora from winx club that made me adore the combo#layla especially made me like the color green a little more#so many shades of green goes well with shades of pink come on!#you ever see cherry blossom with like a spring or mint green#just kiya's thoughts
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Anger Management prompt where there is a car accident, except it's in space, between Team Phantom and The Outlaws.
(Lmaoooo this is so freaking funny bc my sister got into a car accident just a week ago. Sheâs fine tho, dw)
Part 2
âFuck you!â The teenager immediately screamed. âWhere the hell did you learn to drive?! Go back to school, fucking dumbass! You canât even drive, you piece of shââ
He was then pulled back by one of his friends, who grabbed him and dragged him back to their normal looking, definitely not broken spacecraft. A girl, dressed in a very distinctive style of goth, then made an awkward face, popped her gum, and said, âSorry about him. He has really bad road rage.â
Jasonâs eye twitched. âI can see that. So whatâre we going to do now? You crashed into our spacecraft!â
âWell, you donât have spaceship insurance, do you?â The girl drawled.
Jason was suddenly reminded of why he hated Tim Drake and Damian Wayne. They were goddamn insufferable, obnoxious, annoying, irresponsible teenagers.
Jason suddenly felt like he aged 20 years in an instant and wondered if this was what Dick felt like, being so old.
Roy patted him on the arm. âWant me to take care of this?â
Jason gestured for him to go ahead, already feeling a headache. Roy walked forward and smiled charmingly. âHey, kiddo! So, itâs not a big deal that we got bumped intoâ happens all the time! But we just want to know where your parents are! And why youâre out in space! And how weâre going to get back to earth, since our shipped is now wrecked. You know what earth is, right? Earth isââ
âWe know what earth is,â the same cursing teenager from earlier said with a snide tone, âWe live there too.â
Roy and Jason blinked.
Then Jason spat, âWell, that doesnât do us shit! We still have a wrecked spacecraft and weâre stuck here on this moon until you fix it! Donât think you can just fly away! Weâre stranded because of you brats!â
Kori then appeared out of the spacecraft and flew down to them all. The kids all immediately stopped, eyes wide in awe. She smiled and said, âHello, children! Is there anyway you can help us? You did wreck our spacecraft after all.â
Immediately, in the most respectful tone Jason had ever heard, the two-faced brat from earlier then said, âIâm so sorry, miss. We didnât think that anyone would be exploring this part of space out here, so we werenât looking! Weâre sorry. We donât have the tools to fix it either.â
Jasonâs entire face suddenly wanted to break out into the nastiest glare he could muster. So not only did this kid blatantly show favoritism to Kori (even if she was definitely super cool), he also couldnât help at all despite the fact that he completely stranded them in space after being careless with a spaceship?
Kori frowned and they all shared a look. Now what? Jason could feel the migraine get more annoying and he almost wanted to pull out his gun just to kill some kids and feel better about his shitty fucking day, when the other teen, who had pulled away the feral brat, spoke up and said, âWe can call Jazz!â
âOh yeah! Jazz! Quick, Sam, call her up!â
Roy narrowed his eyes. âWhoâs Jazz?â
âMy big sister,â the brat said, âSheâll fix this.â
Great. Another annoying person who would only make his headache worse and possibly piss him off even further. However, just as he finished thinking this and sharing another annoyed look with Roy, a green portal opened up and a goddess stepped down.
She was tall, with a curvaceous figure wrapped in black and blue robes, as well as a fluffy cape around her shoulders. Her hair fell down over her back, colored red like fire and sunsets and tiger lilies, and her face was that of a statue, carefully designed, crafted, and admired by all. She was so beautiful and picturesque that the air around her seemed to glow like a halo.
Just looking at her made Jasonâs sorrows disappear.
She blinked her fluttering eyelashes over her turquoise eyes and then asked, âWhat seems to be the problem?â
Her voice was so angelic that Jason didnât even feel his headache anymore.
âNothing now that youâre here,â Jason said dreamily.
âOh my god,â Roy said, hand over his mouth as he stared at Jason in shock. Even Kori looked shocked and amused.
The boy with black hair shared a disgusted look with his friends. âI thought that wouldâve been my line.â
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dpxdc#dcxdp#danny phantom x dc#dp x dc crossover#ask#jazz fenton#danny fenton#anon ask#tucker foley#sam manson#anger management ship#jason todd#jason x jazz#hardcover ship#ty for the ask <3#roy harper#koriand'r
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WHILE WINTER HOLDS ITS QUIET BREATH
a visit to childe's home
pairing: childe x gn!reader
themes/content: fluff. mentions of his family, violence, blood, he gets called his birth name, basically just a character study i guess. 18+ MDNI (wk: 3.4k)
a/n: nobody look at me
"Winter collapsed on us that year. It knelt, exhausted, and stayed." - Emily Fridlund, History of Wolves
Ajax smells different in Snezhnaya.
Coming from the shower on your sixth morning in his home, steam fading from his skin, it takes a moment for your mind to register that itâs him standing in the doorway, to connect the neurons and cells that know him, the ones that would recognize his curves and muscles draped in a burgundy towel. In Liyue, youâre used to the heavy scent of metal hanging on him, mingling with spices and clove, musk and sweat. Itâs still him, of course, but thereâs something else here, something closer to the earth that bore him.
He doesnât notice the way your thoughts stall, already rambling about what his mother is planning to cook for dinner, where Teucer wants to go in town today. His steps fall the same, though, as he moves through his childhood bedroom, the floorboards barely creaking under his familiar weight. This house seems to remember him, although itâs only ever known this version of him, the one who smells like pine and rosemary, who loves to ice fish and hike and laugh, the one whose shoulders rise easily, whose eyes crinkle and flutter when snowflakes land on them.
Truthfully, the thought of asking you to join him on his journey home made his stomach ache. When it finally came time to make the request, he had returned only a few hours ago from some far-off city youâd barely remembered the name of, one with too many vowels in it, you think, one that took him away from you for too long again, his freshest scars already beginning to heal.
âMy mother wants to meet you,â he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. âTonia, too.â
Your heart lurched in your chest, and you were just as glad his eyes had strayed from yours to hide the way warmth began creeping up your neck. âThey know about me?â
âOf course they do, sillyâ he pulled away, grinning. With a pinch of your cheek, he rubbed his nose against yours. âWho do you think I write all those letters to?â
When you didnât respond, he hid his face back in the den of your shoulder.
âWould you come with me when I go back to Snezhnaya? To meet them? Just for a week.â Tightly, he closed his eyes, afraid of what your eyebrows or the corners of your mouth might say, things he didnât want to hear. The journey is too long or Iâm needed at work or I donât love you, Ajax. But the words never came.
âOf course Iâll go,â you whispered instead, sweet like the honeyed wine you served with dinner. The waves crashed softly outside the open window, carried by the other sounds of the harbor, ones of labor and ships and travel.
In the haven of your skin, his lips curled into a smile.
The first day you arrived, his family greeted you behind the thick wooden door. Teucer lugged your bags upstairs, each thud as they collided with the old wood came with a giggle. His mother hugged you, and she smelled like cinnamon.
âIs that the only coat you brought?â she asked, rubbing the worn leather that draped your shoulders.
Before you could respond, she was already turning away, rummaging through the closet. Inside, you caught glimpses of old brooms and half-patched stockings before she thrusted a piece of cloth into your arms.
âHere! Itâs not perfect, and itâs certainly not new, but this should treat you much better.â
She smiled with her teeth, like the grin that slips from Ajax on nights when the two of you sat outside and counted the stars. Devoid of second meanings, of control or deceit.
Unfurling the item, warm wool rubbed against your fingertips in the shape of a soft grey outer-jacket. The buttons held on by single threads, and the pockets had holes, and you pulled it into your chest.
âThank you,â you said, and you hugged her.
Later that evening, his father showed you where they stored wood for the fire as Ajax swung a rusted axe, each crack echoing against the silent trees.
âIt gets cold here at night, so make yourselves comfortable,â was all he said before ducking back inside. You slept in Ajaxâs childhood bed under three layers of blankets, his limbs intertwined with your own.
On your second day in Snezhnaya, Tonia insisted on going into town.
âYouâll love it,â she promised, dragging Ajax by the wrist out the door. âYou have to see it.â
He huffed some retort, but his eyes glimmered when he looked to you, reflecting the sky that seemed almost too blue here, unsoiled by humidity and sweat.
The city itself was busy, or at least, busier than you expected for a place known for its unforgiving climate. The worn-down cobblestone lended itself to easy steps, the sound of chatter bouncing off the brick buildings. Everyone moved easily past one another, like salmon in the harbor, all traveling back to the depths of the sea.
Suddenly, Ajax turned to you. âI have to run some errands. Don't get into any trouble, you two,â he winked, glancing down at Tonia who only giggled in response.
âWe wonât!â she reassured; as he faded into the crowd, she looked up at you. âNow, I can show you the really cool stuff.â
With her hand clasped firmly in yours, she led you through narrow alleyways until you emerged under the bright, cold sun. Tall glass panels greeted you, lining the storefronts. Behind each one, layers of gold and jewels were carefully displayed, reflecting spots of light onto the marble like small fish eyes watching your every move.
âThat oneâs my favorite,â she stated, pointing through the window that fogged under her breath. An icy sapphire sat in the center of the arrangement, nestled into rich black velvet.
Just as you opened your mouth, a firm hand landed on your shoulder. âNow, donât tell me youâve taken a liking to these, or do you want me to go broke?â Ajax chuckled from behind you, his sudden presence making Tonia squeal in delight.
As the three of you made your way home, Tonia clinging onto his back and resting her head in the fluff around his coat, a light snow began falling, and without wind, it hung in the air. Ajax stuck out his tongue, pink and warm, to catch them; Tonia followed, opening her jaw as wide as a child could to capture the melting crystals.
That night, around the fire, Ajax quietly pulled something from his pocket: a small, black velvet pouch. Without a word, he handed it to Tonia. Her eyes widened, and with careful fingers, she pulled a bright blue gem from inside. She screamed and leapt towards him, rosy cheeks pushed high.
âNow, donât you go losing that, okay?â he said, pulling her into his chest.
âItâs perfect, itâs perfect, itâs perfect!â she exclaimed, encircling his neck in thin arms and knobby elbows.
In bed that night, wrapped in blankets, he held his hands to you. âClose your eyes,â he whispered. Gently, he placed something cool in your palm, metal. âAnd, open.â
A silver ring nestled itself into your skin, glowing under the flickering candlelight, a wire-wrapped opal held in the center that sparkled like the moon.
âItâs beautiful,â you finally got to say.
âIt reminded me of you.â Like the sun and the clouds and the stars and anything that shares the pleasure of orbiting you, he thought.
His lips are warm and soft when you kiss him, like melted snowflakes, and the ring fits perfectly around your finger.
His hair falls differently in Snezhnaya, too, you realize. It dries lighter after being dampened by wind-carried flurries, less heavy than the unfiltered city water of your home, where the shower always ran red as it circled the drain. Even the sea would leave its own mark when he swam in the harbor, salt and brine adding crisp edges.
But here, heâs all fluff, and you wonder if he ever feels like heâll get blown away with a strong enough gust. Maybe thatâs why his parents said he seemed too mature for his age - when his hair lets him stand two inches taller, itâs easy to say he must be older, larger, wiser.
By your second day, you noticed he never lets Teucer go into the woods alone, in spite of his little brotherâs incessant begging, in spite of how he stepped through the front door just moments ago and his fingertips ached from the walk back from town. He always redressed, pulling on his jacket and buckling his boots. He always put Teucerâs hat on for him, too.
On the third day, a blizzard tore through the woods and blinded everything in white. The children played upstairs with their father, and the wind howled through the window panes, a whistling and lonely sound. There was no sun, so instead, candles were lit in every corner, the warmth of the fireplace beckoning you to its hearth. Bottles of firewater made their way through you, poured with a heavy hand into ceramic cups, ones with paintings of trees and a childâs handprint.
âYou know, when Ajax was four, he tried to fight a bear,â his mother began from the silence.
Ajax, in turn, groaned, rolling onto his side and resting his head in your lap. âMama, not this story again.â
âHush, hush,â she giggled, taking another drink from her mug. âHe was out by the lake, and his father had gone back to the house with the fish. He heard something in the trees, and so he grabbed this tiny little fishing knife.â With her free hand, her fingers drew out a three-inch space in the air. âJust as his father returned, he saw his little boy facing the woods. âPapa, run!â he called. âThereâs a bear!â But what kind of father would he be to let his son face that danger alone? So, just as he began to run towards him, this-â she laughed, liquid nearly spilling from over the top lip of her cup, â-this teeny bunny hops into the clearing! The terrifying bear Ajax was ready to fight was just a little rabbit!â
Burying his face in his hands, Ajax once again groaned. âIt was scary for a kid!â
âI know, I know,â she hummed, wrinkled hands patting his shoulders. âAnd you were very brave for a kid, too.â
The fourth morning you awoke in Snezhnaya, the bed was cold. Your muscles shivered and you reached for him, but found only empty sheets and blankets bundled around your shoulders.
The stairs still creaked under your weight, not yet used to the way your feet landed on them, stepping on tired and aching bones. In the kitchen, his mother greeted you with a soft, âGood morning.â
Without another word, a warm mug was placed before you, its steam rising into the wooden rafters.
âI hope it wasnât too cold in that old room last night,â she began - words seemed to flow easily from her, some motherly instinct to comfort, to keep out the silence. âYesterday was one of the chillier days weâve had. Iâm glad you two didnât have to go anywhere.â She sipped from her own cup - tea, you presume from the bergamot hanging in the air. âHave you been sleeping well? I can bring up some more quilts if you need.â
You took a drink, letting the liquid scald your tongue, and stifled a wince (the burn isnât too bad after this long in the snow, you suppose). âYes, weâre sleeping very well, thank you.â Your fingers tapped on the wooden countertop. âHave you seen Ajax?â
âOh, yes! I think heâs out by the lake.â
Grateful, you hummed into your hands, letting them be warmed through the ceramic.
âMay I ask you something?â she suddenly spoke. It was so unplanned, no hint of the trickery or underhandedness you were accustomed to - when someone in Liyue asks a question of this sort, one must think on it, must contemplate their intentions and how to use it against them - you couldnât help but nod. She blurted, âDoes Ajax seem happy?â
Her gaze fell to the table, tracing its familiar knots and veins. âItâs justâŚâ her thumbs twirled around the handle, nails clinking, âyou see him more than me. I mean, at this point, you certainly know him better than me.â
The only thing you could think to do was reach your hand to hers. It was warmer than your own, more wrinkled and crooked, a tree with a life well-lived. âI do. I do think heâs happy.â
That morning, you buttoned your coat yourself, careful not to rip the remaining buttons from their threads. It was a slow task, one that required more precision than you were used to, but it got done all the same.
The walk itself was pleasant, the wind having settled and only dusting the occasional batch of flurries from the trees that danced under the morning sun like birds. You wondered if there were many nests here, if the fledglings could survive these winters. Beneath your boots the fresh snow shifted, and at the edge of the whitened path, a small flock of red flowers poked through the frost.
The lake was still beneath the ice. Ajax sat with his back towards the trail, but didnât flinch as you approached. He didnât speak, either.
Instead, he let you sit beside him on the old tree stump, his fingers clutching the fishing rod as its invisible string delved into the icy abyss below.
âHave you caught anything?â you asked.
âNot yet.â He didnât look at you, he didnât move a centimeter, not even to breathe. âYou know, after so long doing this, youâd think Iâd be better at it by now.â
âIs fishing something you can really get better at?â
His lips parted in a grin. âI suppose not. Itâs mostly waiting.â
âAre you good at that?â
âNo,â he laughed.
âDo you like it?â You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your hair spill over the fur of his coat. It used to smell of salt - now, it was all smoke and wool.
âYou arenât wearing a hat,â he observed.
âI must have forgotten.â
He nodded, a leather-clad hand reaching up to cover your ears. In the wind, the branches shook, and his lure left the waterâs surface as smooth as glass.
âDo you think my family is alright?â he finally asked, to no one in particular - perhaps the trees would have answered if they could. But in their stead, youâd have to do.
In the distance, a bird called out its tune, a lilting whistle, and the snow danced in time. âI think they are.â
Beneath your weight, his shoulders relaxed.
âYour mother loves you,â you continued. âTonia and Teucer, too. They all do.â
Silently, he reeled in the line before placing the rod upright in the snow. When he looked to you, he was smiling. âLetâs go back home.â
The longer you stay, the softer his skin seems to get, in spite of the way the frigid air digs cracks into your own. With each move of your wrist a new crevice makes its way to the surface, rubbed raw and dry. And yet, his fingers still trail lightly over them, soft lips ghosting over bloodied ravines.
âThe cold never really bothered me,â he told you years ago, and you thought it strange, but hereâs proof: warm, smooth hands, unfrozen. Each joint moves freely, each blood vessel pumps easily, as though they were made for this. He fidgets less here - maybe he always ran hot in Liyue. The heat makes people jumpy, you know.
Yesterday, on your fifth day in Snezhnaya, the snow crunched below your feet as he led you through the woods. You had asked to see the trails that led around the house, and although silently, he nonetheless helped button the grey coat his mother loaned you, tugging a hat over your ears.
He spoke too much while you walked, the sounds bouncing off the frail and peeling bark. âAnd there are animals out here, if you know where to look,â he rambled. âRabbits, and bears, you know, and deer, too. You can trace them by their footprints, and itâll lead you to their dens. Sometimes you have to seek them out, but itâs easy once you know what to look for.â His eyes closed, and you realized his boots left no indentations in the hardening snow. âSome people think the animals are dangerous, but they wonât hurt you, not while you have me here.â
Off in the distance, a branch cracked. Ajax flinched.
Wide eyes scanned the horizon, frenzied. A gloved hand reached for yours, and he pulled you behind him.
The air in his lungs burned cold, and he held it there for three seconds.
âOh, must just be an old tree,â he laughed, and he took a few steps to hide the way it shook in the wind. âThe snow is heavy, especially this time of year. It gets wet and icy, like a hard shell. Sometimes the older trees canât take it anymore, and they fall.â
You hummed, the breath in front of your lips foggy. The walk continued, and he spoke and spoke and spoke, and the trees listened. You tried to listen half as attentively.
The questions began to stick in the back of your throat, ones you wanted to spit out, ones that tasted thick and bitter and burned your esophagus, ones about the abyss: if it was dark, if the moon shone down there, if he could see the stars or feel the snow. If he remembers where he fell, where the earth opened beneath him and swallowed him whole. If heâd been back there (he hadnât), if heâs still afraid (heâd tell you heâs not).
He knew the woods well, even though he was only a child in them.
When you returned home, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled as you unbuttoned the coat bunched up around your neck. In the kitchen, meats and vegetables stewed over the stove, their scents drifting as his mother stirred with her wooden spoon. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending sparks into the air. His shoulders relaxed, and he hung his own scarf next to yours. It was harder to pick out his freckles through wind-reddened skin, but theyâre always there, of course: you know where to look.
You wondered if this is how he carried himself, how he felt, how he smelled, when he was young. If the fourteen-year-old boy who went into the woods was chased because the wolves could smell the smoke and spices and fear lingering on him.
He sounds different here, too.
Youâve rarely heard him speak his native tongue: âItâs a rough language,â he always said; and yet, each consonant that falls from his lips is soft like wool; âYou wouldnât even understand anything I say,â and yet, when he turns to his mother and says âŃпаŃийО,â as she hands him his morning tea, the love it carries is enough.
She always smiles and pulls him into a hug, and he always laughs, bright like the crackling flames in the fireplace. She never calls him Tartaglia or Childe; here, heâs always âAjaxâ or âmy sonâ or âmy precious boyâ (he says he hates that one, but he lets her preen his hair, and fidget with his coat, and tell him he looks too serious for his age, too angry).
Here, he has no titles, no violence or conflict or nobility to stare over his shoulder. Here, heâs not a Harbinger, heâs not a killer, heâs just Ajax: a kind boy who wears knit scarves and catches snowflakes and likes to ice fish.
Today, on your sixth day, the mattress shifts under his weight, and his warmth spreads across the bedding as he blankets you, still damp and smelling like the earth, like the trees and the herbs and his childhood. Fresh from the shower, one where the water ran clear instead of red, where there were no crimes or sin to wash away. Droplets land on your cheeks and he giggles as you try to shoo him away with a gentle shove to his shoulders; he lets you push him back onto the quilt his mother made for his tenth birthday, one with images of heroes and swords and the sun. Thereâs snow falling outside the frosted window and landing heavy on the trees, the ones that donât mind holding it. Soft hands cradle your skin, and he whispers âI love you,â and his breath is warm, and he smells like pine and rosemary.
#q writes#oneshot#childe tartaglia ajax#ajax#ajax x reader#tartaglia#tartaglia x reader#childe#childe x reader#genshin#genshin x reader#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#ajax genshin impact#tartaglia genshin impact#childe genshin impact#genshin fluff#childe fluff#tartaglia fluff
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can you do a story about how chris and the reader meet at taraâs party but before that, reader accidentally revealed that she found chris cute and the she went viral for it (idk if that makes sense)
SOCIAL MEDIA FRENZY - c. sturniolo
2 days ago..
âchat are we enjoying this haul? donât flame my style in the comment section.â you warned to your viewers on instagram live before grabbing the next package of clothes off the floor, ready to show your 14k viewers the next batch of items. ânext youtube video when?â you read off from a comment.
âthis was going to be a youtube haul, but i got lazy so..new video this week!â
your rise as an influencer had to be studied. from a random youtube vlog that you made out of the want to romanticize your life a bit and a rant on tiktok people found funny that gained 2.5 million likes caused you to not only receive near to 3 million subscribers on youtube but almost 1.9 million on tiktok.
this was only in the span of 2 years. growing and working to not only please your new fans but to also have fun for yourself as you still decided to go to college for that degree.
social media was just a hobby for you like a lot of people say. but you truly couldnât expect the new wave of attention you would revolve for a simple comment you made.
the next item of your haul was a fitted cap that you saw at a pop up shop in your city. you recognized it from somewhere else and decided to buy it since it was also cute.
âguys this cap i actually bought because this youtuber, chris sturniolo also wears it in his videos.â at the mention of the social media star your comments flooded. âguys calm down, im not crazy, heâs just cute okay?â you laughed before setting the cap down then moving to the next piece of clothing.
soon enough you ended the live and went on with your day as normal. filming a bit of your vlog for your new video, answering emails from brands, doing some household chores and of course, settling down in your bed with some snacks for your nightly tiktok scrolling.
as soon as you opened the app you got bombarded with a screen recording of your live with the bit where you said chris was cute. it was all over. even on twitter you began trending for the potential new relationship between you and the social media star.
all you could do is read the comments, some encouraging and some hateful, watch edits of you two being shipped, and quickly text your manager profusely apologizing for the mess you just made.
you groaned while rolling around in your bed. sometimes you just forgot you were too well known to be spewing whatever nonsense came to mind.
which brings us here.
at taras party.
since she was inviting influential people, and her friends, you were a definite invite on her list. and you knew either all of one of the triplets would be there too.
you were nervous to bump into chris. would he even speak to you? and if he did would he be uncomfortable or understanding? well you were about to find out in a moment since he was walking in your general direction.
you mustered up all the courage you could and began to walk towards him. feeling the need to apologize to him since the situation was your fault and it must be annoying for him as well.
you came to a stop as he turned his body to fully face you. your breath hitched for moment taking his appearance all in. his black hoodie and black baggie jeans with his messy hair was a lot to take in in person.
either way you were gonna say what you needed to say. âhey, my names y/n. you might know me. or not thats fine too!â you stumble across your words for a minute before taking a deep breath. you could feel his eyes on you but you remembered hes just a person too.
âyou may have seen the plenty of edits and a lot of my supporters in your comment sections or dms, and i just wanted to say im sorry since its been going for three days now and you must be annoyed.â you said it all in one breath and finally met the boys eyes. instead of confusion you were met with a look of amusement.
âoh youâre completely fine. honestly i felt bad for you since you were getting a lot of hate for a simple comment.â chris shrugged while giving you his signature smile. you smiled as well glad that he seemed fine with the recent uproar.
âive heard worse.â chris said while grimacing at the thought which caused you to laugh nodding in agreement. the night went on with you and chris sticking together for the majority of the party. introducing one another to friends, chris introducing you to nick (your new best friend) and overall having a great time. before you left chris made sure to get your number and texted you to make sure you arrived home safely.
you couldnt help the smile that was spreading on your face as you recall the events of the night. maybe making that comment wasnt so bad after all.
walking towards your room of your apartment, you plopped down onto your bed and decided to make a quick instagram post for the night.
and guess who liked the post?
a/n: i hope yall enjoy this cus i sure did (i was so close to making this into a smut đ)
#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo x reader#matt x reader#chris sturniolo headcanon#chris sturniolo x black reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fluff#tara yummy#matt sturniolo fanfic
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you broke me first (one-shot)
summary: logan comes running to you after yet another disappointment with jean, but he's hurt you for the last time and you can't do this dance with him any longer. pairing: xmen series!logan x fem!reader content warnings: angst, unspoken feelings (logan has his reasons), logan pining for jean, broken friendship, no use of y/n. word count: 1.2k a/n: ok, so forgive me in advanced lol, this is my first time writing xmen series!logan (and idk if i'm the only one, but i do not like the jean x logan ship - i didn't feel any chemistry between them in the movies). anyway, enjoy this! this song came to mind and immediately i thought of this version of logan and it seemed fitting. song: you broke me first by tate mcrae
âShe doesnât love you, Logan,â you tell him once again after he comes straight to your room after Jean had told him that she would never leave Scott for him. You could never understand the feelings he had for Jean, his relationship with her purely physical.
And each time he tried to convince Jean that being with him would make her happier than she was with Scott, he was always left disappointed.
And each time, he always came running to you. The one person who had always been there for him since he had come to the mansion all those years ago.
âYou donât know that,â Logan says, brows furrowed and his usual scowl written on his features.
âWhy do you keep going back to her?â you ask quietly, looking down at your hands. âShe hurts you every time, Logan.â
âShe just doesnât know what she wants.â
âLogan,â you sigh. âWe both know thatâs not true.â
âIf she knew what she wanted, why do we keep sleeping with each other, then? Hm?â
You feel your heart break at his words. The more time you spent with Logan, the more you realized just how deeply you felt for him. He had become your best friend, and had made you feel welcome in a house full of mutants. Charles had hired you as a teacher despite not having any powers and while you loved your job, you always felt like you didnât belong and you yearned to be one of them, to be part of a group like this. You couldnât even be angry though, this was how every mutant had felt in this world. An outsider.
But Logan⌠Logan had always made you feel like you belonged. He would talk to you about his problems and you would talk to him about yours. Heâd be there to hold you whenever you had a bad day, to brush your hair away from your face when you were on the brink of tears. Heâd always come to you whenever he couldnât sleep, when his nightmares would take hold of him because he had admitted one night that you make him feel safe, calm, peaceful.
And heâd always come to you whenever Jean didnât want him anymore.
And youâd always be there to welcome him with open arms.
âI donât know, Logan,â you finally answer. âShe wonât ever leave Scott⌠You and I both know this.â
âShe just needs to realizeââ
âStop,â you interrupt him. âPlease, Logan.â
Logan looks down at you. âWhat?â
âIâve always been right here,â you say quietly, teary eyes staring up at him.
âI know,â he sighs. âAnd Iâm luckyââ
âWe both know thatâs not what I mean,â you interrupt. âYou canât be that dense, Logan.â
He tightens his jaw and you look down at his hands to see them curled into fists. All it takes is one clench and his claws would come out. âWe canât. That canât ever happen between us.â
âWhy?â you ask. âWhatâs so wrong with me that you canât see that I would choose you?â
âNothingâs wrong with you,â he sighs. âWe justââ Logan shakes his head. âNo, bub.â
âWhatâs so special about Jean, hm?â you ask, voice raising as tears now slowly trickle down your cheeks. âWhat does she have that I donât? Is it her powers? Is it because sheâs a mutant?â
âNo,â he shakes his head. âI donât care if youâre not a mutant.â
âThen what?!â Your lower lip quivers and you take a step back when you yell at him. You can feel your entire body shaking, emotions and feelings that you had kept bottled in now coming to the surface. âThen what, Logan?â you repeat.
âI canât love you.â
âYou canât, or you donât?â
âBub,â Logan sighs, hand slowly reaching out for you but you shake your head and step away from him.
âWhenever you needed someone, I have always been there. When you needed to leave for whatever reason, I was always here waiting for you to come back. Itâs always been me, Logan. Me.â
âI knowâŚâ Loganâs eyes soften at the sight of you and he wants so badly to just pull you into his arms. He would never admit to you the feelings he has for you, would never tell you how much he wishes that things were different. Part of him thinks he loves Jean, knows that she can handle her own if anything were to happen, but you⌠If you were to ever be in danger because of him, he would never forgive himself. So, he keeps you at a friendly distance, never displaying to the rest of the team just how much you mean to him.
âI canât do this anymore,â you whisper, voice shaky. âI canât be the person you keep coming to whenever Jean doesnât want anything to do with you. You deserve someone whoâs going to choose you, Logan,â you stare up at him, eyes glistening with tears. âYou deserve someone whoâs not going to hurt you.â
Loganâs jaw tightens. âWhat do you mean you canât do this anymore?â
âI fucking love you, Logan!â you bite your lower lip, your own hands clenching into fists in hopes that the action would ground you, would alleviate some of the frustration that youâre feeling. âI fucking love you and I can no longer just sit around and act like I donât.â
âSweetheart,â his voice cracks and suddenly, he realizes that losing you hurts far more than the disappointment he continues to feel with Jean. âDonâtââ
âYou break my heart every fucking time you come to me about Jean,â you admit. âAnd I canât do it anymore. I canât do this anymore,â you repeat.
âBaby,â Logan whispers.
âIâm going to tell Charles that Iâve got a family emergency and that I will need to leave immediately,â you tell Logan, moving around him to gather your duffle bag and setting it on your bed. âIâm sure heâll know the real reason why Iâm leaving, butââ
Logan reaches out for you, his hand a gentle touch against your wrist. âStop, pleaseâŚâ
You pull your hand away from his grasp and look up at him, âBe honest with me and tell me that you donât see anything here⌠That you donât feel something for me.â
Logan stares into your eyes and he tightens his jaw, hand reaching up to gently brush a tear away from your cheek. âI canât,â he whispers. âI need you to understand that I canât, baby.â
You nod and step away from him. âI wonât ever be enough, will I?â
âThatâs not trueââ
âJust get out, Logan. Please.â
âI donât want to lose you. I canât lose you. Youâre breaking meââ
âYou broke me first, Logan,â you interject and turn back around to toss your clothes carelessly into your bag, tears strolling down your cheeks. You can still feel Loganâs presence, can hear him huffing lowly under his breath.
When your clothes are in your bag, you toss it over your shoulder and turn around to see him standing near your door. You walk over to him and reach for the door handle, gripping it tightly as you look up at him once more. For one last time.
âDonât go, please,â he whispers.
âI wish you nothing but the best, Logan,â you reply. âAnd I hope one day you realize that you deserve so much more than what Jean is giving you. You deserve to be happy, to be loved, to be chosen.â
âBabyââ
Slowly, you turn the handle and open the door, tearing your gaze away from him. âGoodbye, Logan.â
#hugh jackman#hugh jackman character#logan howlett#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett fanfic#logan howlett angst#xmen#xmen fanfiction#xmen fanfic#wolverine#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine fanfic#xmen series!logan#story: you broke me first
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Imagine telling Luffy about why you donât like ShanksâŚ
âWhy are you always so upset with Shanks?â Luffy wondered.
You brushed the young boys damp curls and twirled a finger around each strand to define the shape.
âHe and I used to travel the seas, you know? We fought sea beasts and all kinds of pirates together.â
Luffy leaned forward. âReally? Was it cool?â
âVery cool and dangerous.â You reminded him with a small hair ruffle to set him back on the chair properly. âWe were caught in an ambush and I was injured. Shanks brought me home, promising that weâd set off again after I was healed.â
Luffy grew excited. Maybe if Shanks came for you, he could also be taken along for the journey.
âAre you healed? Do you know when heâll take you?â He asked.
You frowned and replied rather bitterly. âI was healed up over four years ago.â
Shanks had the audacity to pay a visit these last few months and spend time with Luffy while pretending like nothing had happened. It infuriated you and Luffy clearly caught wind of it.
There was a knock at the door. Your eyes darted up to see Makino standing there with a smile for Luffy.
âThe ship has made port.â She told the boy.
Luffy jumped off the seat and ran for the exit. âSorry Y/n, I have to go!â
You sighed at his speed hoping that heâd be careful on his way to the docks.
Makino looked at you while you put the chair away. âAre you coming as well?â She asked and when you didnât reply she continued. âHeâs been asking for you.â
You glanced over your shoulder. âTell him I-â
âIâm not telling him you drowned again. Youâll have to face him one way or another.â Makino said and then left to resume her duties at the bar.
Honestly, youâd rather not seek out the pirate who abandoned you. Let him have his fun. Yes, you couldnât avoid him forever but you could reduce the hours in his presence.
And so thatâs what you set out to do, you walked wherever the straw hat wasnât. If he was at Partyâs Bar, you were at home. If he was at the docks, you were by the furthest windmill.
You last saw the red-haired pirate downing a bottle of booze at the bar with his little curly haired shadow on the chair beside him. While they were busy, you decided to rearrange the furniture in your home finally able to tend to things that had been long neglected thanks to Luffy always running in and out of trouble.
Fixated on stacking books by the corner of the front room, you missed the soft padding of footsteps coming to a halt by the open door.
âI heard you âdrownedâ.â A voice said, sending chills down your spine. âImagine my surprise when Luffy told me that you did his hair this morning.â
Shanks mused at you as he stood by the threshold of your door.
Damn, when did he leave the bar? You rolled your eyes and then turned around to place a blanket into a wooden drawer near to where he stood.
âOdd.â You hummed. âI thought you would have welcomed a lie? Arenât you filled with them or is that only when theyâre directed at me?â
Shanks stepped into the room and took your hand to stop you from walking to the next task. He knew exactly what you were referring to. For months you both had avoided the topic by the way you dodged him but this was finally the opening he needed to clear the air.
âI never lied. I fully intended to come back here in three months. But each danger I faced, every terror that sailed into our path and all I could see was the risk of losing you.â
You scoffed at him. Captain Shanks of the Red-haired Pirates was scared? You were surprised his nose hadnât grown.
Not wanting to talk further, you attempted to leave the house entirely when the man who stole your heart caught you once more.
âHey,â Shanks took the reins and guided you to the wall, gently bracing you against it. He was tired of the anger of the anger in your eyes, only wanting you to see him like you once did. His hands settled in their rightful place on your waist.
âThere are very few things that I am afraid of - but from that list, the fear of losing you is at the very top.â
As you stared in his warm eyes, you were reminded of a saying he often said aboard calmer seas and private moments.
Shanks gazed back at your face, the one he was deprived of seeing each day. He brought one hand to rest against your chest and raised your own to sit above his own. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours in a delicate kiss before pulling away gently.
âIâm not a selfish man by nature.â He whispered. âBut for your life and your love, I can be.â
~ More imagines here ~
#theladyofmanyfandoms#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction#gif is not mine#shanks opla imagine#shanks x you#shanks imagine#shanks x reader#opla!shanks x reader#opla!shanks imagine#opla imagine#opla x reader#one piece live action imagine#one piece imagine#one piece x reader#akagami no shanks imagine
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The straw hat crew with reader who likes to give them compliments, but hates it when the crew gives reader compliments?
compliments - with the straw hat crew
a/n: ahhh thank you for the request!! it's been a long time since i've written a fic like this, so hopefully i can do it some justice!! đ (i like skimmed proof-read this so forgive me if there is some grammatical and spelling errors đđ)
a/n: (also sorry, the sanji girlie in me is always going to bring it back to sanji, so yeah... there's some sanji x reader in here too đđđ)
a/n: ((sorry idk how to tag this guys đđđđđđ))
word count: fuck idk man, its kinda long though (hehehe that's what she said)
nothing but fluff heređ
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it has only been two weeks since you first joined the straw hat pirates, and it was definitely a huge change of pace from your life before them. the crew, as eccentric, spontaneous, and bold, as they are were also some of the kindest people you had ever met. you couldn't help but be in total awe of them. i mean- how could you not? the amount of countries they've helped, people freed from oppression, friends they have defended and supported even when the whole world was against them...
it was hard not to feel insignificant, through no fault of theirs, it was just a lot to live up to.... and it was hard to feel enough at times.
⢠⥠â˘
while your time being apart of the crew is nothing to write home about, hardly even considering yourself a true member yet, you still couldn't help but be utterly amazed with the people around you, and you just couldn't help yourself but to let them know.
mornings on the sunny were truly a special time. the mouth watering smells leaking out from under the kitchen door, as well as the sounds of a soft melody from brooke's violin fill the ship.
"good morning brooke! what song are you playing? it sounds wonderful!" you ask as you made you way to the kitchen, too eager to see what wonders awaited for breakfast
"yohoho!! just a ballad i've been composing!" he replied, sharing a smile with you before you turn and open the kitchen door.
"it smells delicious sanji!! seriously, im salivating out there! when's breakfast going to be ready?"
a faint blush appeared on his cheeks, but after a quick drag from his cigarette he quickly regains his composure "you're actually right on time! i just finished up!!"
⢠⥠â˘
after breakfast, you weren't surprised to find zoro working out, as he had told you "any second not training, drinking, or sleeping, is a waste" one of your first nights on the ship. you watched in awe as he carried an inhuman amount of weight with ease, not even breaking a sweat.
feeling your stare, his eyes wander to meet yours, "need something?"
"oh! um.. no sorry!! i just can't believe you can lift that so easily!! you're not even sweating!"
"well yeah, this is just my warm up" he replied, a small smirk appearing from the corner of his lips as you wandered away
⢠⥠â˘
in the girl's shared bedroom, you found nami hunched over her desk, carefully and slowly drawings lines for yet another one of her maps. it had been a few days since you had seen this particular map, so you quietly peered over her shoulder to see her progress
"nami, this is incredible!! i could've sworn two days ago there was only a vague outline on this page!! look at that detail!!"
she turned around, beaming at you "thanks!! after years of practice i could draw a map this simple with my eyes closed!"
⢠⥠â˘
the sounds of sawing and nails being pounded into wood grew too loud for you to ignore, so you finally decided to leave the girls room to see what the commotion was all about.
in the three seconds it took you to get to the door, the sounds had ceased. curiosity overtaking you, you couldn't help but step out and see what had caused it all.
the first think that caught your eye was a small greenhouse the seemingly appeared out of thin air, since it definitely wasn't here earlier, and usopp and franky opening up some colas nearby
chopper ran up to you, giddy with excitement "do you want to see the new greenhouse usopp and franky made? its perfect for all my medicinal herbs! now i can grow them here on the sunny!!"
taking the small deers hoof into your hand, you followed him down the stairs to the greenhouse. "wow!!! you guys just built this?"
"franky drew up the plans after breakfast and did the labor, and i added a special watering system!" usopp chimes in, ready to boast about their design, and for good reason
"consider me impressed!!! i may even dare to say that it's SUPER!" you proclaim, earning giggles from all three of the boys
⢠⥠â˘
the following morning you woke up with a purpose. stars still in the sky from how early it was, you tiptoed out of the shared bedroom and to the kitchen. trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting anyone to hear you, you turned on the lights and gathered the ingredients to make some lemon bars, as a thank you for the crew, they did save your life after all.
as you baked, occasionally glancing out the kitchen window every once in a while you slowly saw the stars leave the sky, the moon disappear, and the sun slowly beginning to rise. its just about dawn now and your lemon bars had finally finished chilling, ready to be cut and served.
sanji, a typical early riser since he has to prep and cook breakfast, opened the kitchen door shocked to see the lights already on and you inside. "oh! mellorine!! i didn't expect to see your beautiful face this early! to what do i owe this pleasure?" he asks.
"sanji.. i'm not- um.... i just made some lemon bars... as a thank you for the crew.. maybe we could eat them with breakfast if thats okay..."
"of course we can!!! im sure i can whip up some stuff that would compliment them perfectly! get some rest! it's still super early, i'll call when breakfast is ready!"
⢠⥠â˘
"breakfast!!!" sanji's voice rings throughout the sunny, and slowly but surely everyone made their way to the kitchen, you being the last to arrive. once you had been seated, you noticed sanji walking his way over to the table, with your tray of lemon bars in hand as he announces "this morning we also have a very special dish prepared by our newest member!"
luffy's eyes widen as he looks over at you and practically shouts in excitement "wow!! i didn't know you could cook! what did you make? im sure its amazing!!! i want some!!"
with all eyes on you, you couldn't help but feel a bit shy, the confidence and determination you had this morning suddenly dissipated "just some lemon bars... its really nothing special... i just wanted to thank you guys.. for everything.. it's just you're all so amazing, you guys are crazy talented and strong and so kind and thoughtful... its really nothing special... i'm sure they don't even hold a candle to the elaborate desserts sanji makes every night..." you mumble, cheeks burning red with embarrassment.
"i'm sure they're delicious! definitely better than anything our captain could ever make" nami says with a sly smile. "all this talk about food is making me even more hungry!! let's finally eat guys!" luffy shouts, grabbing for the closest plate of food to him, too impatient to wait any longer.
⢠⥠â˘
one chaotic, fast and messy breakfast later, and all the plates on the table were practically licked clean.
"thank you for breakfast sanji, you outdid yourself as always! those omelets and the potatoes, freshly squeezed orange juice, delicious as always!" you said absolutely glowing, sanji's breakfasts truly were the best, you wonder how you ever lived a life without them before.
"thank you mellorine!! but those lemon bars! they were divine!! who taught you how to bake?" he asks.
before you can get a reply in, the entire crew bursts into an uproar of compliments.
"yeah!!! i never knew you could make stuff like that!! i might have you replace sanji!!!" luffy exclaims
"i totally would've thought sanji made them if you hadn't said anything!" nami says, usopp nodding along and adding "yeah!! i was totally worried they would be bad at first because you seemed so nervous, but i can't believe sanji didn't make them!"
a soft spoken "absolutely delicious" coming from robin
zoro, lifting his head up and meeting you eyes, decided to chime in on the topic "i guess they were good." but after an intense glare from sanji then mumbles "...really good" his cheeks flushing ever so slightly.
"they were SUPER!!!!" franky shouts, causing luffy, chopper, and usopp to giggle.
and by this point, the compliments became a bit overwhelming. you didn't feel confident enough to accept them, but didn't want to be rude and ignore them either. your silence was definitely noticed by the crew who began to quiet down a bit as your face grew hotter and hotter, blush way too visible to hide behind your hair, you looked down and muttered as quietly as possible "they're really nothing special... im glad you guys liked them though..." and rushed out of the kitchen as fast as you possibly could.
⢠⥠â˘
you retreated to the crow's nest to collect yourself. it was truly the perfect spot on the sunny to get some alone time. out of sight from everyone, but still in a spot where you can enjoy the warm sun, the ocean breeze, and the sound of the waves crashing as you sail the sea.
thankfully, you managed to leave a book up here the previous day, so once you caught your breath and the blush cleared from your face, you read. just to take your mind off of the interaction with the crew.
⢠⥠â˘
you weren't sure how much time had passed, as you had gotten unexpectedly absorbed in the story of your book, but it wasn't until you heard the sound of a lighter.
you look up to meet the sky-blue eyes of sanji, he takes a drag of his cigarette before taking a seat on the floor next to you. the two of you sat together for moment of silence, minus the sound of the waves beneath you both. a quiet sigh leaves his mouth, before he breaks the silence "i just wanted to apologize. i didn't mean to put you on the spot in there. we didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"no you don't owe me an apology! really! it's fine!! i know you guys were just trying to be nice and compliment me but.... i don't know... " you paused to collect your thoughts for a second. trying to word how you felt. sanji waiting patiently, taking a couple drags before you finally found the words to continue talking.
"it's just hard sometimes.. to feel like i'm good enough... especially around you guys, i mean the countless people and countries you guys have saved, your strength, your kindness... sometimes, i guess i just feel like a fraud being in the same crew..."
sanji took a moment to consider your words and feelings, and with a quiet sigh said "yeah.. i get it. it's funny because i actually feel the same way sometimes... but you know, luffy chose you to be here for a reason, and even if you don't see that, he does. we all do. we all serve a purpose on the crew, one thats invaluable to our captain, and he has no doubts about what that is."
finally turning to meet those sky-blue eyes, you looked at sanji with a small smile. "thanks, that really means a lot.."
he returned your smile with a bigger one and replied "of course!! i mean.... come on, those were some damn good lemon bars and i think luffy would kill me if you never made them again."
you shoved his shoulder, and in between laughs, you look over and sanji and reply "whatever!!"
and it was at this moment, for the very first time under the warm summer sun and ocean breeze blowing through your hair and the faint smell of sanji's cigarette smoke, that you began to felt a little more sure of your place in the straw hat pirates...
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a/n: i totally didn't expect to make this as long as i did so thanks for sticking around if you made it this far!!! i love and appreciate you!! have a great day/afternoon/evening/night!!! đđđ
a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!
#one piece#one piece fic#one piece x reader#black leg sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji x reader#sanji x reader#one piece sanji#black leg sanji#one piece fluff#sanji fluff#op fluff#fluff fic#via's fics#one piece fanfic#op fanfic
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wi papa look a thing there for me. awa.
prefacing this with a PSA that i'm going to try and keep short but basically regardless of anything i say here let me make it known that i do believe he should apologize. whether or not he's still actively saying that word in 2024 it is something he's used in the past even if he isn't performing said play anymore/saying things like that so flippantly. granted if he does apologize there's always going to be a section of fandom that's like 'he only apologized bc he got caught' yes?????????? that's what always happens????????? lbr you're not going to get on IG and announce you killed your ex two decades ago and you'll be turning yourself in when there's an entire true crime community in the depths of the internet who will dig up the cold case + the suspiciously convenient alibi anyway without you lifting a finger. politicians who get called out for blackface in college do not go around telling people they did blackface in college. celebrities who were homophobic on this hellsite in high school back in the early 10s before they realized they were gay are not going to let you know what their handle was. this is how the world works.
that being said i must confess i caught wind of the stirrings of this a bit early bc during the clusterfuck that was the Jam vs Zamasian RPF poll (i did not go in the notes. rancid ass shit) someone had taken a screenshot of a reblog made as a 'gotcha' to Zamasian voters by implying that they were anti-Black for voting for a ship featuring an actor that said the n-word in a play he hasn't performed for several decades since, with a short taped example that the general public was not going to know how to find unless they were on a mission. i poked around, saw a couple hints here and there that implied that the clip actually existed, marked that down for future ref and went about my business. disappointing? sure. run of the mill especially among people his age in the industry from that time period who are perceived to benefit from white privilege? absolutely. the former bird identified app dragging all of this back into the light (including the interview with Chris Rock. which i have not seen though there's no way it was within the last few years for AMC to still hire Eric if they had seen it. correct me if i'm wrong pls) is unexpected but tracks for the fandom on there.
generally i don't believe in cancelling someone for things they said or did more than ten years ago if they are no longer the same person they were back then. i don't believe Jacob or Assad or any one of the staff of color who may have been working behind the scenes would have agreed to continue interacting with Eric if he had the same attitude as he did when he first wrote and performed the play. i don't believe his Black comedian niece would continue to talk about him and share photos with him if he was calling her or the Black side of her family the n-word. i am willing to give the 'Eric Bogosian n-word' reply tweet he reportedly made before deleting it shortly after the brief benefit of the doubt bc it was 1. supposedly under someone else's tweet talking about the play incident and 2. i cannot count how many times i have accidently commented/almost posted something on here or YouTube or Reddit or ao3 bc i was on mobile and once the keyboard's open the app/browser flips the fuck out and puts the search bar and the comment box too close together. now if his ass shows up and shows out and stands ten toes down while he's currently on time-out or doesn't address any of this we're dealing with a different story. if more examples of him acting like this come out i'll drop him faster than you can call the election it will be that serious.
anyway for now i'm choosing to keep an eye on this while acknowledging that us Black folks do have the right to be upset and pissed as fuck. we deal with enough racism/microaggressions in fandom spaces as it is we definitely don't need new ones, and we don't need them from the past career choice of the main cast of a show a lot of us enjoy. amen
#tv: interview with the vampire#interview with the vampire#iwtv#eric bogosian#what a lovely start to the 5th already (derogatory)#i've said what i needed to say. i'm leaving reblogs on for now but if people start clowning in my notes it's going off i ain't here#for any of that shit. bitch if this was another cast member we were talking about i'd say the same thing don't get it twisted#if i even smell one of you about to be like 'i always knewâ' 'i never liked himâ' 'DM fansâ' it's an instant fucking block. shut up.#you're not helping thank you#edit: typo located in the second to last paragraph that i just fixed..................... this is what happens when you type out what#you thought out in the shower i'm cryingggggggggggg
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In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 7: Sapphire] [Series Finale]
Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you canât seem to get away fromâŚ
Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you donât like Titanic you wonât like this fic!!! đ
Word count: 5.2k
đ All my writing can be found HERE! đ
Tagging: @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus @chattylurker, more in comments đĽ°
đ Thank you for reading (and tolerating all my nautical puns)! đ
How can love be a curse? How can it be something to fear, to condemn, to break?
She has dreamed of him all her life. First he was a protector, almost fatherlike, and then a remote, bewitching phantom as she crept into adolescence, and then when Harwin Strong died Daemon sailed over Saint Georgeâs Channel to offer her solace in England, and at last the fantasies she never would have confessed to anyone were fulfilled, two marriages and four children later. Rhaenyra remembers what he told her in the mist-draped lakeside cottage where they met in secret, crossing paths like an asteroid striking a planet: My wife means nothing to me. Sheâs not like us. She is young, and weak, and afraid, and I could never respect that kind of person. Her father owns the last Connemara marble quarry in the world, and I needed a son. But the only woman I want is you.
Aegon fires the pistol as he chases her through the corridors of A-Deck, and when she shrieks nobody hears, or if they do they donât appear to rescue her; the ship is full of people screaming, sobbing, clawing for their lives against wet walls and locked doors. He shoots and misses again. Thereâs something wrong with his hands. He keeps fumbling with the gun and almost dropping it, hissing in pain as he squeezes the trigger, and thereâs blood staining his fingers.
Good, Rhaenyra thinks. Iâm glad heâs hurt. I hope heâs dying.
She sees an open room and ducks inside, slamming the door behind her and barring it with the weight of her body as Aegon rams it with his shoulder. Rhaenyra is surrounded by the trappings of another family who purchased first-class tickets: chairs with velvet upholstery, a faux fireplace, paintings by Rousseau and Boccioni and Homer. The lights flicker and the steel beams of Titanic groan, low and disastrous. There isnât much time left.
âDaemon!â she yells as loudly as she can. If he hears her, heâll come running. I have to get to a lifeboat. I have to live for my father, for Jace and Luke and Joffrey, for the children I will one day give Daemon.
Rhaenyra struggles with the lock as Aegon batters the door and it quakes on its hinges. Just as she latches it, he fires the pistol through the door. Wood cracks and splinters; a bullet pierces Rhaenyraâs ribcage like a blade. There is unbearable pressure, and then a sharpness, a pain she believes she cannot stand until it keeps getting bigger, deeper, ripping her open and filling her with dark wet weight like the ocean surging into Titanic. She crumples to the floor. When she coughs, blood spurts out onto her lips. Rhaenyra wipes it away and then stares at the red on her palm.
I canât die now. My life just became what it was supposed to be.
Aegon punches a hole through the mangled door large enough for him to reach in and unlock it. Then he stands in the threshold looking down at her, his hands shaking but his eyes hard, fierce, unflinching. Rhaenyra has never seen him like this before. She didnât know he could be good at anything.
âHow the fuck did you get on the ship?â Rhaenyra snarls as she scrambles away, hacking up more blood. The black opal ring Daemon gave her gleams like onyx or obsidian, something born of heat and earth and insurmountable, ancient gravity.
Daemon and I were made for each other. The same blood, the same bones, the same will to carve treasures from the bleakest places.
Aegon follows her across the floor, slow stalking steps. He doesnât answer; instead, he shakes his right hand a few timesâsteadying himself, casting out tremors like demonsâand then grips the pistol with it. He raises the gun, the barrel aimed at Rhaenyraâs face.
âDaemon?!â she screams, but he isnât here. Then she asks, sudden desperate confusion, her blue eyes wide: âWhy are you doing this?â
Aegonâs voice is calm. âBecause she canât be free unless you and Daemon are gone.â
That girl? Daemonâs sad, stupid wife? Iâm dying because of HER?
âFather never loved you,â Rhaenyra seethes, red on her teeth, blooddrops spilling from her lips like rubies. Her eyes are cold, glinting sapphires, pools of freezing water that only needs minutes to stop the heart. âJust like Daemon never loved her.â
âI know. And I used to care. It almost killed me, it almost ate me alive. But now Iâm better. And I finally know exactly who Iâm supposed to be.â
Aegon pulls the trigger.
~~~~~~~~~~
As Daemon descends the Grand Staircase, you crawl down towards the next landing, your head spinning, your hands empty, writhing on your belly like a snake.
The dagger???
But you canât find it, and you donât have time to stop and search. Daemon is only a few steps behind you. When your palms hit B-Deck, you try to drag yourself upright, grappling for the banister; but before you can get your feet under you, Daemon kicks you and sends you hurtling down the next flight of stairs. You tumble towards C-Deck, clawing in vain for something to break your fall. Your head strikes the English oak wood and you hear your fatherâs bewildered voice as he sat at the dining room table in Lough Cutra Castle: Where are you going? When will you be back?
Never, never, never; and now from somewhere below you recognize the roar of rushing water.
âYou were going to kill me?!â Daemon taunts as he bears down on you like a storm. Blood soaks his throat and the white shirt beneath his black suit jacket. His eyes are bright, feral, monstrous. âAfter all those times I spared you when I could have drowned you in a river or a hot bath or the sea? Youâre so fucking useless. You really canât do anything right. All you had to do was shut up and endure, and you could have lived to be an old, old woman with all the comforts my empire afforded you. Now, my dear, you will never see another sunrise. And when Titanic sinks, youâll be buried with her.â
Down, down, always down towards the ocean floor, you crawl faster away from him as his footsteps grow louder.
âHelp,â you moan weakly. Aegon? Anyone? But the only reply is the echoing of your own voice and the sounds of the dying ship: breaking metal, distant screams, gushing torrents of seawater.
You crash into C-Deck and again try to stagger to your feet, but Daemon is here, shoving you as if from a cliffside or off a balcony. And as you plummet down the Grand Staircase towards D-Deckâwhere the First-Class Dining Saloon is, where Thomas Andrews once assured you that Titanic was unsinkableâit is not hard wooden steps you collide with but swirling ice-cold seawater. You plunge beneath the currents and then come sputtering up to the surface, your white wool coat drenched and threatening to pull you below again like an anchor. You struggle to shed it with arms that are rapidly going numb.
Iâm so cold, Iâm so cold, if I donât get out of the water Iâll be dead in minutesâ
Daemonâs fingers close around your throat and he forces you under the waist-deep water. You thrash and try to push him away, to pry him off of you, but your muscles seem to have disappeared, they have been scraped off your bones and now you can only wait to die, your breathless lungs burning as your body freezes. You have a sudden vision of Daemon in his firelit study at Lough Cutra Castle, marveling at a shard of Larimar dredged up from the Caribbean Sea and quoting the first known treatise on gemstones, written by Theophrastus in the time of Alexander the Great: Of things formed in the earth, some have their origin from water.
âNo!â you scream through the depths, bubbles rising up to air you cannot taste. You claw at Daemonâs hands, but you cannot wound him, cannot get a grip on him, and hasnât that been true since you married him five years ago?
The dark, freezing water makes you want to give up. It makes death feel easy, painless, inevitable. You imagine faces youâll never see again: Draco, Aegon, your parents, Fern. You hope Carpathia will be here soon to rescue the survivors. You wonder what will happen to Aegonâs paintings.
Through the water come the muffled booms of explosions, four of them, surely something catastrophic, the ship splitting in half or a distress flare misfired or boilers bursting and shearing through whatâs left of the hull. Then Daemonâs hands vanish from your throat and someone is hauling you up out of the icy currents, they are freeing you, they are disinterring you from an oceanic grave.
âIâm here!â Aegon is shouting as you burst into open air, gasping and flailing. He drags you towards the Grand Staircase where you can climb out of the flood, but youâre looking for Daemon. He is a few yards away and floating face-up, one hand clasping his chest and a gurgling sound leaking from his throat. The water around him is turning red. Heâs fading, but heâs not dead yet.
âAegon, heâs stillââ
âI know. Iâll take care of him once youâre out of the water. I donât have any more bullets left.â
âI want to do it.â
âWe need to get you dry and warmed upââ
âI want to do it,â you say again, and Aegon lets you go.
You twist off your black opal engagement ring and throw it into the water beside Daemon. Then you place both of you hands on his chest and push him beneath the surface, Aegon standing just behind you with the barrel of the pistol in his grasp in case he has to use it as a club. The glacial seawater froths and whirls as it rises over Daemonâs hemorrhaging chest. He startlesâa death rattle, a late riteâand resists feebly, gazing up at you with glassy, disbelieving eyes. They ask: How did this happen? I was supposed to kill you, remember? I own you. I own jewels trapped in subterranean darkness all over the world, and you are the very least of them.
âDraco isnât yours,â you tell Daemon as you force him under. âRhaenyra isnât yours. And Iâm not yours either. Now sink and die and make me free.â
He twitches, he bares his crimson teeth at you, but after all this time finally Daemon is the weak one. The rising water flushes maroon around him, his skin goes a frail and translucent bluish-white, his heart is drained until the chambers are cold and grey and empty. You hold him beneath the water until the bubbles roiling up from his nose and mouth disappear. He will never touch you again, he will never hurt anyone, he will never bruise or break or ensnare or captivate. And who will inherit his mines scattered across the planet?
Draco. His only son. And my family and I will act as trustees until heâs eighteen.
âWe have to go,â Aegon is saying. He must have taken off his coat before he went into the water after you. He stands shivering in only his white shirt and green corduroy pants, the ocean now lapping at his chest.
âRhaenyra?â you ask.
âSheâs gone. Iâm sure.â
âItâs over,â you say softly, feeling weight like stones roll off of you, feeling warmth like sunlight on your face.
As if in reply, the listing ship groans and the lights flicker again. âNot yet,â Aegon says, grabbing your hand. âLetâs hope thereâs a lifeboat left.â
You wade to the steps and climb out of the water. Aegon helps you wring out your soaked hair and the skirt of your gown, then snatches his black wool coat off the steps where he left it and puts it on you. You race up the Grand Staircase to C-Deck, and then B-Deck, and then the A-Deck landing where you find your green handbag with Aegonâs tiny aluminum lighter still inside.
âI think you dropped this,â Aegon says when he spots the dagger on a nearby step, still covered with Daemonâs blood. He wipes it clean on his corduroy pants and then passes it to you. When you hesitate to take it, he grins. âWho knows. You might need to stab someone else tonight.â
âI never want to draw blood again.â But you accept the dagger and place it in your handbag, the captive gemstones glimmering there: amethyst, tigerâs eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire like the North Atlantic Ocean that is swallowing Titanic down into her cold, crushing belly. Then you ascend one last flight of steps to the Boat Deck, passing the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock, stealing a glimpse up at the dome of glass and wrought iron that will soon shatter when the sea punctures through it like a bullet or a blade.
Outside the night air is so frigid that ice crystals begin forming in your hair, and the hem of your blue gown begins to stiffen as it freezes. You are barefoot, you only now realize, and if splinters from the pine planks of the deck needle their way into your flesh you wonât be able to feel them. There are only two lifeboats left on this side of the ship, one of which is already being lowered down to the sea. Officers are still directing women and children into the other. Benjamin Guggenheim and his companions are very drunk, clumsily herding frantic first-class passengers towards the boats. The string quartet is now playing The Merry Widow by Franz LehĂĄr.
âCome, come quickly, Lady Targaryen!â the officers shout when they see you, knowing by your gown that you belong here, perhaps recognizing you from strolls on the Promenade Deck or when you and Daemon boarded Titanic in Cork with much fanfare. Aegon helps you into the lifeboat, his wounded hands cradling yours. Another distress flare is shot into the sky, metallic rain, doomsday portents.
Weâre going to be alright, you think. Weâre going to survive this.
âDarling, youâre sopping wet!â one of the women in the lifeboat exclaims, and they all begin to fret over you. There are dogs here, a Pomeranian in one lap, a Yorkshire terrier in another.
âGet her under a blanket,â Aegon is saying. âKeep her warm or sheâll get pneumonia. Give her a lifebelt.â
âWe will, we will,â another lady shimmering in jewelsâa mother of two boys in heavy coats and blue-striped pajamasâpromises him. âWeâll take good care of her.â
You turn back to Aegon. âWhat?â
He tells you, his voice quiet: âPetra, theyâre not going to let me in.â
âNo, no, you canât stay hereââ
âWomen and children only!â an officer booms, then begins waving several shrieking maids towards the vessel, just moments from launching.
âAegon,â you say, horrified. Heâll die if he stays. Heâll drown or heâll freeze and heâll be entombed at the bottom of the Atlantic. âNo.â
âIâll be okay.â
âNo you wonât,â you sob, then look desperately at the officers. How can I change their minds? âHeâs a Targaryen, heâs a first-class passenger, he must be allowed aboard!â
âA Targaryen?!â one of the officers says distractedly as he battles with the rigging. âI know all the Targaryens on Titanic, and heâs not one of them!â
âJust look at him,â the other officer mutters, meaning: He isnât dressed like someone with castles or mansions or titles or mines. He canât be someone who matters.
âHe is,â you plead, tears stinging on your cheeks as they freeze. âHeâs Aegon, heâs a Targaryen, please, he canât be left behindââ
âWomen and children only!â the first officer barks at you as the other pushes away a group of panicked young men in black suits trying to bribe their way into the vessel. âAnd if you want to stay here with him, thatâs your business, but get to it so the rest of us can try to make it off this ship alive!â
âThereâs more than enough room for him, for Christâs sake, there are dogs in here!â
âThere will be other lifeboats, love,â one of the women tells you as she drapes a scratchy wool blanket across your shoulders, but you donât believe thatâs true. The maids are climbing into the lifeboat; the officers are beginning to lower it with sharp lurches that make the occupants gasp.
You reach for Aegon, your hands catching on his drenched shirt, the thin layer of ice cracking beneath your fingers. âNo, no, Aegon, I canât go like this.â
âYou have to,â he says calmly, and he holds you face still and touches his lips to your forehead, a kiss goodbye, gentle and lingering.
âNoââ
âYou have a kid. You have to go. Draco will be looking for you on Carpathia.â
âYou deserve to be free too.â
âIâll stay out of the water for as long as I can,â Aegon says like a vow. âIâll try to find something to float on. And once Titanic goes downâŚmaybe the lifeboats will come back to pick up any survivors.â
The water is too cold. Iâve felt it, Iâve been paralyzed by it, once you go under you only have minutes. âYou canâtâŚyou wonâtâŚâ
âPetra,â Aegon says, and his eyes turn desperate. He knows itâs his only chance. âMake them come back for me.â
âI will,â you swear to him.
And he pries your fingers off his shirt and rips away from you before your resolve can weaken. High above and through tears that blur your vision, constellations of stars gleam like diamonds.
~~~~~~~~~~
He runs to the other side of the Boat Deck, searching for lifeboats that havenât launched yet. He canât find any. There are swarms of passengers weeping, shouting, jostling, and officers trying to restore order. Pistols and flares are fired, chairs are tossed overboard for passengers to cling to as they float. But Aegon knows that wonât be enough; if they stay submerged, they will die.
I need something bigger. I need something I can lie on. A door or a dresser orâŚ
He shoves through the crowd to get to the shipâs railing. Below, the ocean has gotten so much closer. He sees a lifeboat bobbing in the waves, just far enough away that someone brave enough to leap could not get to it. Inside, along with perhaps twenty first-class women and maids, Aegon recognizes Laenor Velaryon and his ever-present Parisian friends. They are puffing on cigars and toasting glasses of brandy, celebrating their good fortune. They must have successfully bribed their way aboard.
âFuck,â Aegon sighs, his breath fog in the frigid air.
How am I going to stay out of the water long enough to survive until Iâm rescued?
Then he replays the evening in his mindâhis first night with Petra, perhaps his last night on earth, red silk and candles and oil paint and the warmth of her beneath his handsâand Aegon gets an idea. He sprints back to the Grand Staircase and soars down to B-Deck, seawater ankle-deep on the floor. He splashes through the corridors to the staterooms once occupied by Daemon Targaryenâs wife and child, now rid of him, now waiting for what will come next. Aegon hurries through the sitting room, passing the taxidermied tiger head above the fireplace and the large, heavy chest where Daemon made Petra lock up the art she bought in Paris.
She didnât remember to put the real Picassoâs paintings in a lifeboat, but she saved mine, Aegon thinks. If I make it out of this alive somehow, Iâm marrying her the second we dock in New York.
He goes to the bedroom, finds what he needs, carries it with him as he returns to the maze of hallways. Now the icy water is nipping at his knees.
~~~~~~~~~~
The ocean is calm, the lifeboat rocking placidly on inky surf. The women comfort their children and their dogs. You take Aegonâs aluminum lighter out of your handbag and light yourself a cigarette, then pass it around so the other passengers can thaw their lungs with hot plumes of nicotine, here in the early hours of the morning when it feels like youâll never be warm again. The officer who took command of the vesselâthe same one who shouted at you and refused to admit Aegonâis rowing vigorously as you and several other women help him, staring horror-struck at Titanic as she goes down by the bow.
âWe have to get away from the ship,â the officer keeps saying, and he sounds genuinely petrified. A woman in a glittering gold gown steers with the tiller. âOr sheâll suck us into the water with her.â
There are shadows of other lifeboats nearby, also fleeing from the condemned Titanic, that miraculously colossal and opulent triumph that everyone had told you was unsinkable. You wonder which one Draco and Fern are in, undoubtedly cold and frightened but safe.
Aegon deserves to live too. I have to find him, I have to save him.
Now there is seawater flooding over Titanicâs deck at the bow, where you and Aegon saw third-class passengersânow dead, or very soon to beâkicking around pieces of the iceberg that they didnât know had doomed them. The ocean surges higher, covering B-Deck, and A-Deck, and finally the Boat Deck, where the towering funnels collapse and you can hear shrieks and guns firing. You know you wonât be able to see Aegon from hereâyou wonât be able to tell if he made it into a lifeboat somehow, or if he is one of the figures that falls from a lethal height into the waves, or if he is crushed or shot or trapped below deck and drownedâbut still, you cannot stop looking for him, peering through the night to where Titanic glows in her spotlight of white-gold electric luminescence.
As the bow sinks, the stern begins to rise, higher and higher until the tension cracks the ship in two, and the passengers you share the lifeboat with wail and sob as the shipâs lights blink out for the last time and the gravesite goes dark. Women call out the names of their husbands, fathers, brothers, adult sons, knowing they must be dying. You can only watch with tears streaming down your face, thinking: How could he survive that? How could I have left him?
The stern bobs for a while in the nightscape sea, a shade, a phantom, and then it plunges into the ocean. The waterâindifferent, dispassionate, not a mortal but a titan, here long before humans and destined to outlast them, not unlike the treasures of the earthâgulps down metal beams and pine planks and split bones and shredded flesh. There are screams, so many, so pitiful, so loud they fill the sky, and the howling women in the lifeboat cover their ears and those of their children so they will not have to try to exorcise the sound from their memories later.
As soon as the stern has been consumed by the depths, you say to the officer: âWe have to go back to look for survivors.â
âAre you mad, Lady Targaryen?â he snaps at you; but there are tears in his bloodshot eyes. âWeâll be mobbed if we sail into that. Theyâll pour into the boat until we go under too. Do you want to freeze to death with them?â
âPeople will die quickly. They are dying already, the water is cold enough to kill in minutes. If we start rowing towards them now, most of the passengers will be dead by the time we get there. And then we can rescue anyone whoâs left.â Please still be alive, Aegon.
âNot a chance in hell,â the officer says.
You turn to the other women. They blink back at you in dazed, timid terror. âItâs murder to leave your men behind,â you implore, you beg them to agree. âHelp me row to them.â
But the women only weep softly to themselves and look to the officer to tell them what to do. He smirks at you victoriously, an expression of no humor but rather grim, fearful misery that could drive someone insane. In the lap of one woman, the Pomeranian whimpers.
I canât leave Aegon, you think. I canât, I canât, I canât.
You open your green handbag and pull out the dagger, the blade pointed at the officer. He shouts and bolts away from you, incredulous, furious.
âYouâre threatening to kill me?!â
You shake your head. âIâm offering you a gift.â You turn the dagger around so the officer can grasp the handle. His gaze catches, transfixed and wondrous, on the gemstone spheres like perfectly aligned planets. âThis dagger is worth more than you would make in a decade of work. Go back for survivors, and itâs yours. Refuse, and when we are rescued and my son inherits my husbandâs fortune, I will make it my lifeâs work to destroy you. I will follow you anywhere on earth. I will ruin you. So take the dagger as payment and break my curse, and let us save the people who are left.â
The lifeboat sways in the small, serene waves, and the stars revolve high above in a moonless sky, and you and the other women wait for the officer to reply. After a minute or moreâwe have to go back now, right now, we donât have much timeâhe finally lifts the dagger from your open palm and tucks it into his belt.
âFine,â he says, picking up his oar again. âLetâs go. I cannot abide your damnation. Iâll be haunted by enough ghosts already.â
He and several of the other women row into the throng while you find the flashlights stored in the bottom of the lifeboat, then perch at the bow searching for Aegon. Instead you see hundreds of bluish corpses floating in their lifebelts, dead men and women and children, some of them first-class or crewmembers of the ship but most of them third-class passengers: Italian, Polish, Greek, Syrian, Russian, Chinese, Irish, discarded people, good for dying in the operations of mines or factories or railroads and little else.
âAegon!â you shout over the water, but he does not answer. There is only the mist of your own words and the sound of cold currents rippling as the lifeboat cuts through them.
Your group saves two people from the sea, both nearly frozen to death and unable to speak: one man floating on a table washed out of a dining room, one little girl clutching her dead mother. Then a long time passes with no living souls to salvage.
âHave we done enough now, Lady Targaryen?â the officer asks you gravely. âHave you seen a sufficient number of the dead to assuage your wrath?â
âNot yet,â you say, steely, your eyes fixed on the water as the flashlight illuminates lifeless faces, scraps of wreckage, nothing, nothing, nothing. And then the light settles on him.
When the stern of Titanic went under, so did Aegon: there are ice crystals in his hair, and his clothes are freezing to his skin, and his lips are blue, and heâs shivering violently. But unlike over 1,000 other passengers, he didnât stay in the depths long enough to perish as the cold stopped their hearts and lungs. He had something with him, a life raft, a second chance, a treasure mined not from some far-flung crevice of the earth but from the bedroom where he uncovered you, where you found each other and never wanted to go back to the way life felt before.
Aegon is sprawled across the oval-shaped mirror that once stood beside your bed, the fractured glass reflecting the stars that glimmer in the night sky. His ravaged hands cling to the wooden frame. And when the beam of the flashlight skates across his face like moonshine, Aegon knows youâve come back for him, and he reaches for you until your hands link with his and help pull him aboard.
~~~~~~~~~~
Carpathia arrives an hour later, just before four in the morning on April 15th, and as the sun rises over the North Atlantic Ocean you and Aegon find Draco and Fern on the bow deck, where stewards are distributing blankets and tea to the survivors. Women wander the ship pleading for help finding their lost loved ones, weeping endlessly for their brothers, their fathers, their husbands. Your tears have stopped entirely.
Carpathiaâs passengers are generous. They offer in charity their food, their clothing, even their rooms. Children share their books and toys with Draco. Fern teaches him how to play marbles; you read him The Story of Saint Patrick. A doctor onboard disinfects and bandages Aegonâs hands, and assures him that he will be able to play viola again, not now, perhaps not even soon, but one day.
That first afternoon, as you and Aegon are taking a stroll on the Boat Deck, you spot a man painting a scene of the sunset: gold, tigerâs eye, ruby, red beryl. Aegon shows him some of the portraits from his scuffed leather portfolioâŚthough, of course, one in particular is not suitable for mixed company. The man is so impressed that he insists Aegon must not be deprived of the ability to create such beauty for lack of supplies, and gifts him an easel and some paper, brushes, and oil paints.
Itâs difficult with his sore, bandaged hands, but Aegon still wants to try, and when his brush begins to shake he asks you to help him. Aegon explains things to you as you steady his hands: chiaroscuro, scumbling, alla prima, glazing, impasto, a foreign language that will soon become familiar. Already, you are learning. And as Carpathia sails into New York Harbor on the evening of April 18th, Aegon takes a paintbrush and draws a circle around your ring finger in vivid, sapphire blue, a worthless gift of no gleaming gems or metal, a vow that means everything.
Itâs been years, but Aegon remembers the way to his motherâs house. He leads you, Draco, and Fern to the doorstep of the Hightower mansion on Fifth Avenue. He knocks and a butler answers, a middle-aged man who gapes at Aegon in shellshocked disbelief.
âOneâŚone moment, sir, if youâd be so kind toâŚtoâŚto just wait here, please,â the butler stammers, then disappears inside. A few minutes later, a different man appears in the threshold. He must be Aemond, tall and white-blonde and precise in every movement, his left eye concealed by a black leather eyepatch. His remaining eye, a clear alert blue, darts to where Fern is holding Draco on her hip and then to you and Aegon, his bandaged hands resting so lightly on you they could never leave a mark.
Then Aemondâs face softens, and there is a kind sort of relief that seeps in, and you imagine your parents will look the same way when you return to Lough Cutra Castle. âYouâre home,â he says quietly.
And Aegon smiles and replies: âWe all are.â
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii#aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen ii#aegon x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii x you#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader
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â canât help fallinâ in love, coriolanus snow
pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader
warnings: slight tbosas spoilers, mentions of trauma, depression, standard ballad of songbirds and snakes warnings.
authors note: another one!! i am a goddamn writing machine these days lmao. i wanted to write something lovey dovey about my boy, i think i may have gone a lil overboard but this app is seriously lacking coryo fluff fics. i hope you enjoy soft coryo as much as i do! <3
masterlist
Coriolanus sat with an emotionless look on his face as he sat on the rocky train that was taking him to his worst nightmare. He was being shipped off to District 12 for cheating to help you win the games. He didnât regret that, he never would.
But this was not the ideal outcome heâd imagined.
At least he wouldnât be completely aloneâ after all, he was going to your district. He just wished it was under different circumstances.
âYou know, I thought I might find you here,â Sejanusâ words caused him to turn around immediately, breaking him from his thoughts. âSitting all by yourself.â He teased, walking into the train cart Coriolanus was currently in.
âSejanus, whatâre you doingââ He stood up, his eyebrows knitted together in concern and annoyance.
âWhat do you think?â He cut him off with a scoff. âAfter what I did in the arena? My father had to buy me the Academy a brand new gym just so I could get my diploma.â He put his bag down. âHe begged me to stay, but once I found out where they were sending you, I couldnât get out fast enough.â He admitted with a sigh, moving to sit down. âBarely made the train âcause of this stupid knee, but itâs okay, they gave me some morphling for the pain.â
Coriolanus looked at him with judgment. âYou volunteered for this?â
âI figured if I get through basic and then maybe Iâd become a medic.â He beamed. âMaybe make a real difference out here⌠just like you said.â Sejanusâ gaze turned downward. âThey never told us what you did,â
âI cheated.â He answered, shamelessly. âTo save Y/N from the snakes.â Sejanusâ nodded slowly, understanding where his friend was coming from. After a beat of silence, Coriolanusâ tearful eyes met his. âDo you think they killed her?â
âWhy would they risk it?â Sejanus questioned with furrowed brows. âShe was a big hit, if there is a games next year, theyâre probably gonna invite her to sing at the opening ceremony.â He joked with a smile.
Coriolanus didnât laugh. âYou know, when you came in, I was weighing the merits of suicide.â He half-joked, his smile not meeting his eyes.
âWhen weâre about to be free?â Sejanus shot back. âWhen the girl you risked everything for might be waiting for you at the end of this track?â At his words, Coriolanusâ throat ran dry, the tears returning to his eyes. The possibility that you might be waiting not even crossing his mind. Sejanus looked at him with a knowing glint in his eye. âMy friend, donât give them the satisfaction. Your life has just begun. Youâre gonna do greatâ Weâre both gonna do great.â
Sejanusâ words still rung in his ears, even if they were spoken all those months ago.
Even now, when you were delicately tucked under his arm, your head buried in his neck as you slept soundly. That conversation seemed to take home in his mind, never leaving.
You were, in-fact, waiting for him, and the moment you saw him you ran into his arms, and he cherished you every day from that moment. The pair of you spent as much time together as you could, and you loved every second of it. As did he.
You were like a star of brightness in his darknessâ lighting up places he didnât even know existed and granting them with your warmth. And now that you werenât fighting for your life, he got to learn so much about you.
He learned about your quirks, your personality, your smile, all of it. You learned the same about him.
But nights like these where he couldnât find sleep and was left up alone, the silence and ringing of the bugs outside consumed him, the man getting caught up in the ropes that was his thoughts.
He often didnât believe he deserved you, that you were too pure for him. You were gifted to him by mistake, but he was too selfish to let you go.
And, God, you never wanted him too.
Coriolanus had a bad habit of not speaking his mind, and bottling his emotions until they bubbled over, everything coming out in one out burst of rage and sadness. You didnât blame him, you never did. Instead, you picked him up from the floor and held him until he calmed down.
He had never experienced the type of love you gave him, and it scared the shit out of him. He didnât know how to return it, he wasnât good with kind of stuff. You taught him things everyday, though.
You snuggled deeper into his neck, his uneven breathing causing you, a light sleeper, to wake up. Or, according to your theories, you were so interlinked with Coryo that you could sense when he was overthinking.
You left a small patch of kisses on his throat, cracking your sleepy eyes open to confirm your suspicionsâ the boy was staring off into space, not a drop of sleep in his eyes.
âCoryo,â You whispered, leaning up to kiss his jaw softly. He turned at your acts, his eyes meeting yours as his previous frown was replaced with that lovey smile you adored. âCanât sleep?â
He shook his head, temporarily pushing you off of him in order for him to turn on his side to properly look at you. Once he got situated, he pulled you back into his chest, a giggle leaving your lips.
Your fingers came up to knead through his messy platinum locks. âWhatâs on your mind, baby?â
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. âNothing.. itâs just, sometimes I think you may be too good for me.â He admitted slowly.
Your eyebrows shot up. âCoryo, if anything, youâre too good for me. Remember, honey, Iâm âDistrict Trashâ.â You laughed, repeating the words Lucky Flickermen had said about you before wrapping your arms around his neck and leaving kisses all over his face. âYou must be a fool if you canât see how in love I am with you. You are more than good to me, I couldnât imagine my life with anyone else.â You promised, continuing to leave kisses on your loverâs smiling face with every word you spoke.
His arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you closer to him. âI love you,â He whispered in your ear, beginning to leave his own kisses on your neck and jaw.
Butterflies creeped up your spine at his confession, a love-sick smile tugging on your lips as you leaned up to really kiss him.
His hands came up to cup your face as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, the kiss only being further fueled with your burning passion for each other. Your hands slipped back into his locks for purchase as the kiss grew more needy. You let out a whimper against his mouth when he began to kiss you harder, angling your body back to deepen it further.
He smirked against your lips at your noises, before pulling back for air. His thumb swiped back and forth across your cheekbone as you both stared at each other, love strong in the both of your eyes.
âI love you, Coryo.â You whispered back, before taking your spot back in his arms. âGet some sleep, my love.â You left another kiss on his throat, the boy hugging you somehow closer, leaving a kiss on your forehead.
âThank you,â He softly spoke, leaning up to blow out the candle you had lit earlier.
âAlways,â
#coryo snow#coriolanus my bae#coriolanus snow x reader#tbosas#coryo x reader#coryolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow fluff#coriolanus x you#corio snow#coriolanus snow#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#coriolanus fanfiction
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@irondork tags on the first post made me go heheh out loud so heres part two of the reverse odyssey au
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1/2/3/4
They set out in the morning.
Laertes and Anticles have taken over the throne until they return with the lost king, tears in their eyes as they wave the ship off, the smallest and sleekest one, fitted with twice the sails. Penelope and Telemachus keep their eyes on Ithaca until the last moment, her nails digging into his shoulder as they stand at the bow, and then she sighs and turns them to the captain's cabin with determination.
They turn into the open ocean with nothing but hope, all thirty five men that could fit in the boat rowing unrelentingly. She remembers some of them from the march out. They had left years ago as farmers and theives, come back as weatherbeaten soldiers, loyal and hardworking.
And guilty. Grieving, even, that their king gave up his life for them, thirty-five of them with either no one to go home to, or over-dedicated to the king, or filled with some odd sense of machismo, Cmietine had said, the night before they left.
Penelope knew better. They loved her husband, these men, to the bone, as had all the others who had begged and pleaded to be chosen to come. She knew better than anyone what it was like, after all, to have Odysseus look at you with his Athena-gifted eyes, to have him pull you in with a warm around your shoulders and a rakish grin as he flattered and joked and laughed. Knew better than anyone what it felt like to be caught in his wit and loyalty, to have his love and knew that helplessly, you could not help but love him in return. And for him to have fought by their side for ten years, brought almost every man home alive?
She knew the men loved Odysseus.
And she would use that well.
"Full speed ahead!" She shouts, trying to remember the confidence of her husband's orders, and keeps her eyes on the birds.
The first year, they sail until they run out of food, all the way back to Troy and then around, with one man in each direction awake at all times to search for even a glimpse of their wayward king. Penelope demands stories while they sail, of every scrap of her Odysseus from their eyes, encouraging them with what she can, making plans and strategies with Polites and Eurylochus and everyone else for when they find him.
They treat her with respect, to her surprise, never favouring another's order over hers or hesitantly explaining the reasons why they couldn't instead of dismissing her outright, that she wryly thinks must be at least partly borne of fear.
"I mean no offense, my lady," one of them says one day, rowing hard as he talks, after she says this. "But he really never shut up about you, ever. He once spent an entire evening after battle yelling at us how you would have done better."
She laughs at the thought, cheeks hot, even as the other sailors yell about disrespect and conduct before the queen and throw various things at the young man's yelping face.
Telemachus grows well on the ship. He finds it as easy to adapt as both his parents, and is beloved by the sailors as their own as he learns to handle ropes and oars and sails.
He does not understand the curse, does not understand why the adults around him weep so much, only knows that his father now swims in the waters and needs to be brought home.
Perhaps that is why he is the one to glimpse the scales in the water on the day they run out of food, despite Penelope's strictest rationing, when they all gather on the deck to hang their heads before one last speech, as the order is finally given to turn the ship back around home.
"Hello!" He shouts, waving wildly. "I'm Telemachus! Your son!"
His father blinks at him with five eyes- greyer than his, but still grey like his own- then smiles widely, waving back.
Telemachus hears gasps and cries and his mother's shout, but doesn't really wanna turn- he's finally seeing his father! After so long! Which means they can finally go home!
Penelope nearly trips them both overboard with how hard she rushes into him, one hand to her mouth as she sees Odysseus at last, at last. He looks gaunt, tail no longer silver but bright with dappled orange and red and yellow, dark brown like his hair, and they watch his expression wobble and tears leak onto his wet face as all thirty five of them clamber to the side of the ship, trembling with emotion as they shout greetings at him.
"Odysseus!" Penelope screams, laughing with joy as she gathers her chlamys up and steps onto the edge of the ship, ignoring the panicked rush of men trying to grab at her and the begging for Telemachus to stop trying to follow her bad examples. "Come here, you great idiot- where have you been?"
He swims closer almost hesitantly, diving under a wave and then reappearing next to the boat. He looks- shy, of all things, something like raw fear crossing his face as he flicks his tail and comes closer, even as the men run to get the nets, the ropes, the tub. Penelope laughs and reaches over the bow of the ship to strain downwards, arm outstretched to her husband, tears streaming down her face as he catches the next wave enough to meet the tips of her fingers.
And then Eurylochus next to her bellows, "NO!"
They all nearly jump out of their skin, and Penelope turns to look at her brother-in-law running across the deck to where one sailor is undoing the rope wound around a dirty rucksack, bag falling from his hand in shock.
Odysseus' fingers barely touch her own as the wave passes by, and then the winds of Aeolus still trapped in the bag burst out in a furious maelstrom, carrying their ship away in one direction, pushing the ocean waters in a forceful blow in the opposite, leaving Penelope screaming her husband's name in desperation as they're pulled apart once more.
Odysseus' answering scream of horror carries on the wind back to them, and then nothing at all.
#odyssey#odysseus#penelope#odypen#reverse odyssey au#eurylochus#polites#yall didnt think this was over did u :)#tried to put in as much of canon as i could. hence the shy lmao#telemachus#the whole kingdom of Ithaca versus the fucking sea
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could you write something about stan being claustrophobic? i saw a couple works on that and wanted to see your take on it and/or regressed stan ver
Iâm sorry if this wasnât quite what you were thinking of! I donât really have personal experience with claustrophobia, so this was a bit hard for me to write. This also started out as some head canons and turned into a Drabble? I donât feel exactly proud of this work, but I know this was asked a while ago and Iâve been pondering it for days. You know what? Donât even read this Iâm sorry. Again, Iâm always open for constructive criticisms and helpful advice on my writing!
-For Stan, rather Lee, thereâs a big difference between the nice and comfy small spaces and the chest hurting and scary tight spaces
-Being wrapped up in his blanket? He loves it. When heâs feeling sick, or anxious, or overwhelmed, or really any negative emotion, he loves to be smushed underneath his weighted blanket, he loves feeling the pressure surrounding him, calming his mind and body. When Leeâs feeling extra bad, Ford will lay on top of the weighted blanket on him, giving him both that extra pressure he needs and the comforting presence of his brother surrounding him, chasing all the bad and icky feelings away
-But those tight spaces? Those all encompassing spaces with no windows? The dark cramped places? He canât do those. It reminds Lee too much of thoseâŚdarker times that Lee doesnât want to think of thank you very much
-Being on the ship was an adjustment for him at first. After 30 years of having his open and bright spaces in the Shack and in Gravity Falls, the small boat and smaller rooms gave him the tight feelings in his chest that he hates having. Luckily, Ford made sure that every single room has a window and a door, a link to the outside for him to look at, to know that heâs not stuck
-If Lee finds himself stuck in one of those spaces, like if the door to his toy closet accidentally closes on him while heâs in there, he panics. He cannot think. He cannot move. He cannot do anything. He starts banging on the door, yelling for his Sixer, heâs sobbing, and he cannot breathe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ford opens the door as soon as he hears the banging, catching Lee in his arms as he collapses, hardly able to breathe through his panting. It becomes obvious to Ford very quickly that having Lee match his breathing wasnât happening, not here on the floor at least, so Ford picks him up (he will worry about his back and knees later) and hauls him to their room.
Thankfully, Leeâs weighted blanket was left out on the foot of the bed, so he grabs the blanket as he sets Lee down, swiftly pulling it over him, careful to leave his head exposed so he can see the light spilling out from the windows. He lays down on Lee, rubbing his hand against Leeâs chest and breathing deliberately. He sees Poindexter shoved halfway under a pillow and pulls him out, stuffing the stuffed animal underneath the blanket, next to Leeâs face, hoping the familiar toy will help calm him down
It takes some minutes and a lot of head stroking before Ford can feel his brothers breathing start to calm. He sees his eyes regain some clarity, still in his smaller headspace, but not as panicked and scared. He feels his own heart rate slow down; Leeâs attacks always makes him very anxious as well.
When Leeâs awareness comes back to him, he finds himself in bed, comfortably crushed underneath his blankie and his Sixer, Poindexterâs face nuzzled into the side of his own. His body feels heavy, but he manages to look over at his brother, rubbing his head against Fords, humming softly. He usually finds it hard to speak when feeling small, but now he canât speak at all. But he knows Sixer wouldnât be mad that he canât speak, words arenât always needed with them. He feels his brother wrap an arm over him and relaxes into the extra pressure. His Sixer always knows how to make him feel okay again.
Ford reaches over to the night stand with his free arm and grabs the half full sippy cup from last night. Lee needs water, day old will do, and he doesnât want to try to lift Lee right now for a cup, knowing how heavy he can be after an attack. Plus his brother looks so soft and comfortable, heâd hate disturbing him. He brings the sippy cup to Leeâs mouth, watching him drink so he doesnât accidentally choke on water.
Lee drinks the water greedily, his throat was dry and hurting. It wasnât a lot of water, but he didnât mind, feeling tooâŚhe didnât know how he was feeling beyond âblahâ. He wasnât sleepy, but he didnât want to get up. Heâs fine right here, with Poindexter and Sixer and the light from his window. His bedroom isnât dark and small and scary, and plus he has his brother here. Lee knows Ford will protect him from anything scary. Even his own thoughts. He snuggles deeper into the bed and Ford, sighing softly as he feels the tightness still in his has calmed down, his mind getting fuzzier, but in a nice way, as he just breathes in and out. In. And out.
#gravity falls#gravity falls agere#age regression#stanley pines#stanford pines#sfw agere#fandom agere#gravity falls headcanons#gravity falls stanley#gravity falls stanford#sea grunks#stan pines headcanons#ford pines headcanons#stan o war#sfw agere head canons#agere drabble#agere headcanons#fandom age regression#fandom headcanons#gravity falls age regression#gravity falls stan pines#gravity falls ford pines#sfw littlespace#age regression headcanons#stan twins
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1- lukas matsson x reader
word count â 6600
warning: smut and mid writing
____
âKen- you know this isnât my scene.â Your voice goes quiet, simply just peering at your brother, anxious for his reaction.
Heâs been a bit of a pain in the ass lately, the whole family was a pain in your ass lately, but perhaps it was always this way. The Roy family created chaos and unnecessary drama, that was a given. It was something you tried to detach yourself from; the business, the craze, the constant chatterâ it all drained you. From the moment you were born, it was as if your family was screaming from all sides whether it be Roman and Shiv fighting over shit all, or your dad blowing up in your faces.
You always knew that you didnât fit into the puzzle. You were born a little bit too late, grew up with faint glances of your older siblings, and dismissed like the baby you were. Maybe that was the reason you never considered joining Waystar, or perhaps why a place was never offered.
Your dad was your dad, perpetually disappointed in you â while at the same time maintaining that you were his favourite. You all knew it was Shiv, but the very fact he insisted that it was you made you villain number one to your siblings.
So there you were, their little sister who was a fucking writer, twiddling with your ungroomed thumbs, waiting for your family to forget who you were. That being said, it was a surprise when you opened your email to find a very flashy invite to Kendallâs 40th. You didnât think that your brother would want what he perceived as his Debbie Downer boring little sister at his grandiose douche fest.
âCome the fuck on, itâs my party, Bambi, cheer up, enjoy yourself for once,â Kendall says. âCome on, Iâll take you somewhere special.â As heâs about to leave, you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.
âWait, Ken. I have a gift for you.â You hand him an envelope, âI didnât want it getting lost in the mix.â
Kendall stops with his buzzing, which is probably coke-induced and takes the envelope from your hands. âThanks.â
âYouâre welcome,â you sigh as you watch your brother tuck the envelope into his coat.
He quickly puts a hand on your shoulder before he starts to navigate you around, waving and fistbumping his friends walking by. As quickly as you had gained Kendallâs attention, it faded away from you, as he yelled over at his assistant who seemed new, but you werenât around enough to know. âYo! Comfrey, ship up my little sis to the treehouse.â
His assistant â Comfrey, who you knew had definitely been speed walking away from her boss before he hollered out at her â whipped her head towards the both of you. You were the odd couple, Kendallâs glazed over eyes and dopey smile mixed with your grimacing under his touch. âComing!â
Kendall gives you a pat on the headâ a move he often did in childhood, his eyes dead as always as he gives you a good-enough smirk, âYou should avoid the other sibs, theyâre strictly business right now â serious work only.â
You smile at his unconscious insinuation. You weren't a serious person to them. You werenât anything you guessed, âHave fun, okay Ken? And try not to be a complete dick tonight,â you ask before Comfrey pulls me away and Kendall saunters off.
You watch your brother from the corner of your eyes, and quickly try to keep up with the bouncing ponytail of his young assistant. The hollowness in your chest that used to exist â that there would be ten years ago â had disappeared now, you were completely okay with the empty promises and empty phrases.
Itâs what you grew up on. Raised in the top two floors of the highest buildings in New York, the Scottish highlands with your fatherâs forgotten castles, or in sprawling ranches in the middle of nowhere for tax purposes. At least that was the childhood you had with the Logan Roy experience.
After Uncle Ewanâs wife passed away, when you went to her funeral with your whole family, Dad decided that heâd leave his youngest with his brother to build your character. Your siblings were already almost in college and you were, well, the youngest and still complaining about multiplication and school field trips. So, from then on, you distanced yourself. Not entirely by your own volition, but every decision after was. And you prayed that every decision following would be as well.
As you try to keep pace with the taller woman, âSo Comfrey, howâd you become Kendallâs assistant?â
The woman turns around for a second to get a glance at the youngest Roy, she presses her lips together before curtly responding, âIâm his PR rep.â
All you do is hum in understanding, she was a PR rep that was running around like a low-level worker bee trying to satiate her older brother. It was like all people in their lives.
You pass by the flashing lights, tall glass windows, and strange art installations, not so much admiring them, more like begging to just dissolve into the floor. To melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz would be your opus, your ooey-gooey pile of person simply having a hard time leaching onto the rich person floors.
When you spot the all-too-familiar treehouse you wince. It seemed that Kendallâs childhood trauma manifested in an exuberant part of his fortieth birthday party. âThis is Kendallâs little sister, sheâs cool.â Comfrey motions the guards behind her, as you stand awkwardly â it looked like they needed visible confirmation you were you? It took them a second for their heads to look at your orientation.
While they make way for you, opening up the roped fence, you thank Comfrey, then watch her scatter away, and hurry away probably to clean up Kendallâs inevitable fuck-ups.
She was nice enough, you guessed; could be worse.
You wandered through the treehouse with no purpose, staring at the tree trunk columns that looked borderline tacky and its leaf-casted shadows on the walls. You werenât alone in the room, no there was a boatload of Kendallâs rager hedge fund friends, or celebrities whose faces you remember enough to dart away from â but still, you were alone. You felt eyes on you, people knew that you were a Roy, but eyes donât give you company.
The space was large enough to walk around for a few minutes, but eventually, you assumed you just looked out-of-place. Pacing around like a failed dracula, circling his already knowing victims. So you resigned yourself to a couch near a wall, praying that nobody approaches you. At least you wouldnât be sneak-attacked from the back. That was your worst fucking nightmare â a hand on your back and a networking LinkedIn smiley techie.
Leaning into the couchâs thin leather you try to get comfortable. The lights were bright enough you hoped, to not âruin the vibeâ with your phoneâs obnoxiously bright screen. Staring at your home screen, you forget any work that you had to do â literally nothing of importance that would make you look like you were doing something. Yes, you were writing a screenplay right now, which would be a good thing to work on if you could concentrate in the noisy fucking room. So you just went on Candy Crush, your finger languidly swiping your high school iPhone wanting to shoot yourself.
You spent an adequate amount of time doing that, getting cozy enough to tuck your feet under your body and let your hair out from the bun it was in. It felt okay, you still wanted to go home, but you were waiting until at least ten percent of the crowd was gone so Kendall wouldnât get prissy.
But you couldnât keep the peace, of course, you couldnât. Because there Kendall comes into the room, not looking for you, but for a man sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the party.
âThere he is!â You internally shrink, like a deflated balloon as your brother approaches. You hide like you were habitually doing as a child, trying to dart off from where you were oh-so comfortable. You hear Kendall saying some other bullshit which you tune out in your panic, but as youâre set to leave he calls out your name.
âBambs!â He turns to the man next to him, âThis is my sisterâ she isnât a vulture like the other ones, don't worry about that.â He looks back at you, then at the man again, âSheâll take care of you, they avoid her like a fucking plague.â
âReally nice, Ken,â you say, walking towards them reluctantly, resigning to sit next to the blonde man. He was tired-looking with hardly-noticeable but still visible rings underneath his eyes, a small smirk of interest on his face as he doesnât shuffle to give you space, instead moving closer to you.
Kendall leaves, for a reason you are unsure of. You try to stare in his retreating direction as you feel the strangerâs hot eyes on you. You couldnât read this guy, he seemed like a regular dude at first glance and to your relief he didnât seem crazed in the eyes or serial-rapey.
âYouâre the youngest one, arenât you? The recluse?â he asks, his accent isnât American, it was something Nordic â you hadnât met many of them in your life.
You turn towards him, to be polite of course, although your body tries to twist awkwardly, making sure he isnât too close, âGood use of deduction.â Heâs attractive, vaguely familiar like everyone in the room, obviously important to your brother, but you still have no fucking clue who he is. âAnd youâre? One of my brotherâs friends?â
He smirks, laying back on a column behind him, âYeah, weâre best buddies, like peas and a pod.â
âNo name?â He laughs, like he was in disbelief that you didnât know who he was, âI like this, Iâll be your mystery man, hmm?â He leans further towards you, raising his eyebrows â the lack of space making your face hot.
You try to escape any feelings of chagrin, crossing your legs, and staring into his eyes which felt like it was more of his soul. Who was this fucking dude? âA mystery man in my childhood treehouse, youâre sounding like a pedophile to meâŚâ
He nods as though he agrees, laughing, âYou have a history in this, I assume, with your family.â Oh yes, Uncle Mo. âWhat do you do? The tabloids say⌠writer?â
A part of you feels insecure in your lack of knowledge about him. He knows your occupation, your name, and would probably be able to trace your life back to childhood through the internet, while you sat here like prey for his predator. All in his casual clothing and wolfish smile.
âYes, some screenwriting, some things more authorial, enough to get by.â
It seemed like the idea of âgetting byâ was amusing to him as he smiled when you said that. Almost as if he was in disbelief that a Roy would ever need to make enough to get by. Maybe he was older money, maybe he grew up in a big castle like you, a prince or something⌠your mother had always had people like that over when you were young. It was funny, the old aristocrats with their wine and screaming kids. No he wasnât old money... his whole being read new. New money. New power.
âYou dress like you write childrenâs books, like a sexy-librarian-kindergarten teacher â itâs hot, if I dare-say,â he says. You can feel him looking her up and down and she doesnât know if you hate it or like it. You may be leaning to the latter with how lonely youâd been feeling for so long.
You almost roll your eyes, although your face heats up. How long has it been since someone somewhat complimented you? Sure they called your writing good, praised you in those magazinesâ no journals they called them, but nobody ever looked at you. Even if it was a half-insult.
You did dress conservatively, at least to control the narrative of yourself. Stemming mostly from when the paps took pictures up your skirt as a teenager. They werenât even decent enough to wait until you were eighteen, the moment the vultures saw that you wore a short-enough skirt they chased you around trying to get a glimpse of the most elusive Roy sibling; the paps were constantly chasing a story, and for the duration of your childhood you were the most interesting part of the billion-piece puzzle belonging to the Roy family.
Without any response, he moves even closer, if thatâs humanly possible â your arms pressing up against each other. He was warm, warmer than the stuffy room around the two of you, âTrying to insinuate something, mystery man?â
âJa, maybe I am,â he says, before leaning close to your face. âLetâs go somewhere more private.â He offers you a hand to get up, which your body wills you to take, but your brain knows logically any man your brother wants to woo is a douche, yet youâd always think with your feelings. He pulls you through the treehouse, walking into more of a secluded room.
You feel people watching you, more than before, more than they would the youngest Roy, but his hand feels so warm in yours, and he was even more attractive standing up. Taller than your smaller stature â you were the shortest of your siblings along with the youngest, the baby. It felt nice walking next to him, it felt safe. But still, it felt almost dangerous.
You breathe out a thank god as the two of you get off of the wooden bench and your butt touches a soft surface again. Itâs more secluded than your spot before but like every corner of the party, there were still people around you.
âNot a fan of crowds?â he asks, getting comfortable on the couch and leaning back as you feel his hand rise slowly on your thigh. Like heâs apprehensively confident.
âIs anyone really?â you ask him, he nods slowly, his eyes asking me to go on, âI donât know why Iâm here, maybe just feeling shitty about my family situation, you know? I don't spend much time with them⌠ever.â You eye the man as he intensely looks back at you â eyefucking you believe itâs called. Oh and his eyes are blue, youâd never noticed that before â remarkably theyâre not empty, the soul was still there, at least right now. You have to admit that heâs hot, in this light even more so. His features affirm my suspicions of where heâs fromâ and as you stare at him even longer you can't quite remember when youâd ever seen a hotter man. âDo you still have no name?â
He grins, looking away, âYouâll know soon enough, wonât you? This is fun for now.â
âThe only name I know you by is pedophile, and I donât think you want people overhearing. Seems like we have eavesdroppers,â you glance over at the small groups of people around you. You assume that theyâre small investors, that they probably know Kendall and whatever business he has with the mystery man.
âYouâre right, my facial expressions plus my conversation are very relevant to the stock market and usually equals tanking.â
âYou talking to me will probably tank it, whatever stock youâre talking aboutââ you stop yourself from continuing, would Dad be mad that you were talking to him? âYouâre not part of Kendallâs crusade, right? Like my father wonât try and assassinate me for speaking to you?â
Itâs almost like he enjoys that notion as he laughs to himself, âDonât worry about Kendall, your dad hiring a guy maybe, but right now Iâm to be courted.â He gestures with his hands â which to you are strangely very animated, âYou care about what your dad says, do you?â
You respond nonchalantly, though your hands squirm and you look to the ground, âItâs a constant fuck him, and at the same time I love you, Daddy, I guess. He was shit, is shit, but sometimes heâs not too bad.â
âYou call him daddy?â
For the second time today, you feel yourself crawl into your skin, âOh yeah, when weâre in bed together definitely.â
Mystery man almost giggles at your comment, and thereâs something affable about that. He was constantly switching from this serious man to a very unserious one. There was some strange part of this that you liked, you liked the attention the way that he looked at you, the bubble he created around the two of you, the way his hand was increasingly inching.
You think back to the way this night started. You were quite desperate to leave, a bit dampened by the way Kendall accepted your gift, and guilty that you weren't at home taking care of your cat and working. Then you were delivered by this tall Viking man and you were uncomfortably comfortable with the way he made you feel.
âI kind of want to get drunk.â
âI have no qualms with that,â he responds, a grin on his face as you both get up and inch towards the bar, his hand slipping onto your back easily.
The time at the bar was spent in easy conversation, you stand against the wall, with him looming in front of you as you drink together. Him a beer and you a drink with a name youâre unsure of â hating yourself for so much enjoying the tang of the liquified poison.
âWhy arenât you part of your familyâs business?â
The way he looks at you⌠you feel like thereâs genuine interest, you look into his eyes and thereâs a gleam that scares me. Was he playing with you? Was this a play for your family? You still have no clue who this man is. You let him get too close to yourself, hand on your waist â eyes on yours, too close for a stranger. But you just want to be happy, to feel like you exist again. Not a fly on the wall, the main course.
âYou know,â you shrug your shoulders, taking another sip as he just looks at you with a weird facial thing that you donât quite understand. Like heâs teasing you, but ever so slightly, begging you to spill â which you do. âIâm the baby, yâknow â Bambi or whatever.â
He tilts his head back as he absorbs, âBambi⌠I like that, you look like a Bambi â the deer right?â
âYes the deer, theyââ I hurriedly take another sip of my drink as I recount the story of my ubiquitous nickname, âOnce Dad went hunting and brought me along, we spotted a deer and instead of uhâ killing it I kind of ran towards it, while his gun was still aimed. He said that he was about to shoot me like I was a Bambi, he said I was so fast that he almost pulled the trigger while watching me through the scope.â
Mystery man looks at me with wide eyes, âJesus fuck, thatâs a shit thing to say. How old were you?â
âUh maybe ten, by then my siblings were gone and he visited me where I lived with Uncle Ewan in Canada.â
âWhat a fucking prick.â
âYeah.â
You stare at each other for a minute, him in front of you and you below him, you really like his eyes. You break it though, your head was starting to spin from the one drink and he was making it almost worse. âCome on, letâs go sit down, Iâm gonna get stumbly.â
Pushing yourself away from the wall, you walk towards an empty space with a few chairs around a table and plop yourself down. Curling into yourself, you can just feel him situating himself next to you.
âYouâre a lightweight, arenât you? You look like one too,â he says, taking a swig of his still-almost-full beer.
You glare up at him as you start dozing off, âIâm gonna nap, you do you, pedophile.â
He guffaws, âOkay, no more pedophile jokes, the press hears and Iâm done.â
âI wouldnât know,â you mutter before tucking your head into your own shoulder.
âI have to ask you something before you nod off.â He seems almost genuine in his words as he furrows his eyebrows and leans towards your chair. You lift yourself ever so slightly showing that youâre listening. âWeâll fuck later right? Like guaranteed?â
You close your eyes again before you can roll them, although a tiny smile slips onto your face â you hope he wonât see it as you bury your face into the back of the lounge chair.
âI saw that grin, Iâm going to take that as a yes.â
âFuck off, asshole.â
âDonât contradict yourself now.â
You shake your head in mock embarrassment as you go to sleep. Your head was throbbing a bit, and your heart was beating faster â but you realize that youâd forgotten the loud music, and the crowds of people around. Youâd forgotten. Youâd found solace after so many years looking for it, in the middle of a mock replica of your childhood treehouse.
And this sleep was peaceful for a while, but then a fucking earthquake rumbled you awake.
âWhat the fuck,â you grunted as you felt hands on your shoulders, your eyes bulge open and you see Roman above you. âRome, leave me alone, you bitch.â
âWere you trying to seduce Matsson for dad?â
You just roll your eyes, not understanding in your incoherent state what the fuck your brother was talking about â per usual. Looking around you saw that mystery man was gone, and the party was still raging around you. And his name was Matsson? Strange name, but a little bit fitting.
âI have no clue what youâre talking about⌠whyâd you even wake me up, miss me that bad?â you asked, clearly trying to antagonize him with your whiny voice.
Roman with all his pessimism and ass-holery deadpans at you, âWell Iâm fuckinâ sorry, you totally missed the six foot tall Viking who was camped out beside your unconscious body?â
âIs that not the point of being unconscious, dumbass?â
âDid you fuck him, Bambi? Were you so fucking tired after fucking him that you had to take a big girl nap?â
âThereâs something psychologically wrong with you.â
Roman sits squatting on the top of the chair as he pseudo-interrogates you, âYâknow he didnât let me fucking wake you up, was that a power play or did you let him do you?â
âRome, I have no idea who that man was, he just said he was your friend and Ken told me to keep an eye on him.â Half-lying was your thing, you guessed. Your life was full of half-lies, momentary omissions of details, ignoring parts of sentences so you seemed more innocent. That was the life of a youngest child out of five you guessed.
âAnd since when were you Kendallâs bitch?â âSince he invited me to something, unlike you.â
Roman completely skipped your comment before going off again, âDid he tell you anything, Matsson?â
âOh yeah, he told me he fucking hates your guts,â you say with a smile, watching your brother getting riled up.
âIâm going to tell Dad that you fucked him if you donât tell me the truth,â he threatens, it was fun being in this position. Youâd so regularly in your childhood been put down by your older siblings, so it was interesting being the one to give it back to them. You finally understood the appeal. Ah, leverage.
You smile as you pretend to recount, a finger to your chin as you mockingly itch it, âOh he told me that Dadâs an asshole and he has no interest in business with any of you creeps.â
âYouâve seriously been spending too much time with Uncle Looney? You know that right? You sound delusional, completely and utterly gone.â
As you sit up straighter trying to compose yourself, you eye Shiv coming over to where you and Roman sit (although heâs very much standing, pacing, like a lunatic), her hair a mess and her makeup smudged all over. Sheâd either just had mind blowing sex or something was seriously wrong with her.
You and your sister were strained to say the least. You wanted the idealized big sister who would braid your hair and make you up. The sister who would talk about boys with you and argue with you over stealing her clothes. You guessed Shiv more so wanted to prove herself to Dad â sheâd always been his favourite. You were more of an afterthought to her. The kind of afterthought that made you do a double take when you remember that youâd buried it so long ago.
There wasnât any sentimentality in the title of sister with the two of you. You were just another sibling, and probably her third favourite before Connor. But still, you love her, and you know in the deep recesses of her heart she loves you too. All the siblings love each other, although a strong belief for you was that there were certain dynamics that you were excluded from because of your age and difference in childhood.
âYou do you, Roman. Just know that Iâm hoping for your business with him to fail, just handing you my two cents.â Business was a strange concept to you, you were always pushed away from it as a child, leading you to know less than nothing about it. At one point you felt like you would go into it, but that too was ripped away from you. So right now, you just wanted to make Roman feel bad. Sure it was wrong to want to churn your brother into pieces, but it felt so good.
âI know youâre a fucking liar, so just like, sit with that, okay?â
âWhatever, Roman.â
Roman ignores your words calling out for Shiv. Shiv runs a finger through straight but frizzy hair before coming to give you a half-hug.
The hug was weird and a little bit detached, but it was something, and it made you feel not instantly uncomfortable, but almost happy. Happy to see your sister again a little bit. âBambi, itâs been like two fucking years.â
It hadnât been, but you agree. It felt like it.
âI didnât know you were keeping trackââ you try to say, but Roman quickly cuts you off. Biting off that Shiv was out dancing. Dancing was a human thing. You didnât know your only sister was a human.
âGuys, Iâm gonna go now, Iâll probably not be in touch, so yeah,â you try and gracefully leave as your siblings bicker about finessing or some shit.
They both nod non-committedly as you trot off observing Kendall and Connnor at the opposite poles of the room. You choose to not go off towards Kendall, who you knew probably already ruined his night with his overthinking or underthinking. Instead you go to Connor, probably your only kind brother, albeit the fact sometimes he was fucking lawful psychotic.
âCon, Con,â you call out, your small purse at your side as you push it around your body â youâd refused to give it to security earlier, citing personal reasons which they were too scared to deny. They probably assumed it was your period or something like that â youâd made that insinuation when they didnât relent for your last name.
You see Connorâs coated body turn around as he returns your call, âBambi! My favourite sister â you remember Willa?â Connor gestures to his arm candy, who didnât seem too excited to meet you â or meet you again, but obviously faked it. She was very pretty, nearly to the point where she made you feel insecure. But then again, no hate for your brother, but she was with your brother. You were sure Connor had mentioned her in a phone call, but you two never really talked about those kinds of things. He was always ranting on about politics (you think youâre the only one who would listen, so he took advantage of that) or you would talk about your life â never about the company, or really how he was doing besides his ranch.
âYes, at Shivâs wedding, I believe?â She just nods, and youâre both just pretending to know when you last met. There was no recognition in her eyes, and you donât think youâd ever interacted with her. It was a nice connection youâd had, a shared lie always brings people together.
âKen, told me you were here, but I thought youâd be gone by now.â Connor pulls you into a hug before saying, âHave you been taking care of yourself, sis?â
âIâve been doing okay, normally as always.â Noticing his cast, she asks, âWhatâs up with your arm, Conâ?â
âOh, I was doing an Irish jig as one does, and boom I slipped and it bent in all different directions,â he describes in a strangely vivid way. âIâm feeling better though, Willa helped me recover, right sweetheart?â
âYep,â she nodded, a smile on her face as she bore her eyes into mine â uncomfortable? Very.
Connor was probably the only one of your siblings you regularly spoke to, yes it was by phone, and no you didnât always enjoy it, but there was a beautiful normalcy to speaking on the phone with your brother. With Kendall or Roman it always turned into businessâ about Dad. With Shiv it was her ranting about some political thing, well maybe that was before she turned so Waystar-loco.
Connor was your normal brother.
âHave you heard of my recent presidential proclivities?â he asks, tilting his head as he looks at Willa for support â in which she enthusiastically nods her head.
Maybe he wasnât exactly the most normal of brothers, but he was more normal than the brother who spoke about you having sex weirdly too much or the one who canât stop fucking over your dad and snorting cocaine.
You nod, but before you hear a tumble and watch Roman bending over a kneeling Kendall. What a fucking dick. Kendallâs girlfriend, who you also didnât recognize was helping him up, and you stood there with no intention to help or rush in, frozen to your spot.
Connor shouts out, âEveryone take it easy, okay?â as Roman maniacally laughs and Kendall helps himself up.
As Kendall walks past you, Connor, and Willa he grumbles, âTake your fucking coat off,â repeating it to Connor as he walks like a man scorned. Willa blocks Connor from Kendall trying to calm the younger brother down. You avert Kendallâs gaze, standing next to Willa blocking Connor who looks to the ground much like you.
Shiv seemingly walks away from the scene as well, but in the opposite direction from Kendall, and immediately after Willa and Connor walk arm in arm out, saying a quiet goodbye to you.
With one glance to Roman, whoâs still muttering curses under his breath on the sofa chairs, you leave. Youâd quickly sobered up, and it was time to face the darkness of New York. Walking out of the luxurious Manhattan skyscraper you peer at the artificially brightened roads and the strange silence of the backroads. Instead of taking an Uber or Taxi, you opt for the Subway. You didnât take an allowance from your Dad like Connor did, you never inherited anything ever, and your last poetry anthology wasnât lucrative enough to have casual taxi money. You were sure nothing would happen on the Subway, from experience you know that there would just be a few people throwing up and tired workers coming home from the night shift.
Before walking down into the station, you check your phone, one hand on the railing and the other carefully gripping onto your phone. Attention split both ways.
Unknown
Know who I am yet?
1 Missed Call from Unknown
Your heart skips a beat, an adrenaline rich positive-ending to the night beat skip.
Instead of heading inside, you turn around, sitting down on the top step of the stairs, hoping a coked up crypto-bro doesnât push you down.
Pressing the call, a part of you hopes he doesnât pick up, so you can return to normalcy, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
âBambi?â
You groan, âI thought the story would stop you from calling me that.â
âNot because of the story, it suits youââ he pauses, the line going crackly as you hear him talk to someone, âYouâve left the party?â
âYeah, walking home now.â âWalking? This is America, ja? Youâre on a death mission.â
âItâs not too late, you know serial killers only come out after two in the morning.â
âI can send a car, hmm? You can come over here.â
âWhat does âover hereâ mean? To a strangerâs home?â
âYou promised me something, didnât you?â
âHmmmm, a promise? I donât remember.â
âSend me your location, Iâll get my guy to get you.â
âOkay, Iâll send my location to a stranger just because he was nice to me at my brotherâs party.â
âSee you soon then.â
____
The drive was awkward to Matssonâs (you preferred mystery man to what seemingly sounded like a last name, although it might be a first, Europeans were in themselves a mystery as well). The driver was quiet, and the car was a rich personâs. It was a car you were all too familiar with, the car you drove in during your childhood, the same tinted windows and leather seats.
Same thing of riding up to the penthouse of a hotel â he was only here temporarily you surmised. Youâd probably be a one-time thing.
When the elevator doors beep open and youâre in a hallway with one door, anxiety fills you up. What if this was a trap? If he was some sort of sexual pervert, or even worse an axe murderer with an even worse temper than anyone you could find on the New York streets?
But before you can even knock the door swings open and a hand pulls you in, âFucking asshole,â you whisper as you feel his lips trace over yours, your breath in his.
Heâs rough, and rushed, like heâs a man starved â of you.
As he starts tracing his fingers underneath your shirt you push his back, two hands on his chest as he kneels his head to meet yours. âWhatâs wrong?â âI donât know your name,â you say, almost embarrassed that you hadnât found it on your own, âMatsson? Thatâs your name.â
He doesnât respond, just pulls you close to him, before picking you up into his arms. You restrain a squeal as you struggle in his arms. He navigates through the hallways, looking as though he was confused on the layout of his own homebase, he finds the bed â splaying you down and standing above you like an animal.
âYou know, I refuse to orgasm without your name,â you insist. He moves closer and closer, uncharacteristically quiet as he pulls your shirt up laying a hand on your stomach, the other tracing over your soaked panties, slowly creeping towards your sensitive skin.
Heâs strangely gentle with it, until he pulls your panties to the side, spreading open your legs as he buries his face into your pussy. You move your two legs onto his shoulders, as plays with your nipples â languid twisting and faint touches that leave you just wanting more.
You let out a yelp as you feel his tongue move into you, like a fucking shark he dives into your clit as he watches you for your reaction. You know you look like a mess, breathless and desperate. âPlease, pleaseââ you moan, desperate for his tongue, for his touch, his everything.
âYour pussyâs so good, babyâ fucking heaven,â he whispers into where his head lay between your thighs. As he blows gently on it, you are wholly exposed and cold, you start squirming. Your thighs start pressing around his head, trying to push him further, which seemed to turn him on even more. Your legs start to shake as your orgasm builds up and builds up, you feel like screaming from the bliss of it, his attack on your pussy is like God reigning down on earth. âRefuse to orgasm, hmm? Want me to stop?â
You shake your head as he continues, âPlease, keep going, keep goingââ He listens to you, beginning to rub your clit as the feeling of everything continues to crash down on you
âCome baby, come.â He keeps on licking you up, every fucking crevasse.
Your orgasm came hard and quick, with a groan and a twitch your eyes rolled over as you released his head from in between your thighs, and as quickly as he got there, he climbed on top of you â his larger body engulfing yours as he hurriedly kisses you.
âI want to inside me,â you say into his ear, you could feel him from underneath his pants as he grabs your ass, groaning into you as you palm him.
âTake off your fucking clothes,â he orders, as you do it, you take off the loose t-shirt youâd been wearing to Kendallâs party off slowly, you can feel him staring at your tits, and a part of you loves it. Loves the attention you get from him. As you take off your pants from where they are bunched up from your ankles, and then the greenish-blue granny panties you wear, you watch him take his suede pants and then his boxers off. Oh god, you feel yourself thinking as you stare at him.
He picks you up as he brings his length into your entrance, rubbing it on your clit. He keeps going, relentless before he surprises you and slips it in, tilting your head towards him so he could watch you as he fucked you.
You hear him groan as he starts with slow thrusts, he would push in and then wait five seconds before slowly sliding outâ making sure you felt every inch of him. He was too big and you felt so full, with every time he pulled out you felt like five years were taken from your life span, that time had slowed down too much. You fucking needed him.
Of course he starts going fast, rough. There were no thoughts in your mind as you arched against him, and moaned in his mouth as he kissed you. Deeply and raw, like he had everything to lose and you would disappear in a heartbeat.
Pinning your hands above your head, he continues with his pace, passionately and without boreâ âYouâre so good for me, I just want to be inside you all the time,â he says a grin on his face as he watches your face before glancing down looking at his dick pound into you.
He presses kisses to your throat as he whispers, âMy nameâs Lukas, Lukas Matssonââ strangely enough hearing his name sends you off the edge as you moan out unintelligibly, overstimulated as he keeps on going, getting more and more erratic.
Not long after, he pumps into you a few more times before completely spilling inside of you, collapsing on top of you, not leaving your warmth as he buries himself deeper.
You donât say anything afterwards, you let him lay on top of you as he stays inside of you all the same. It feels like time doesnât pass as he wraps his arms around you, âStay the night?â he asks, all you do is nod.
You lay in silence for a few more seconds before you tell him, âIâm on birth control, by the way, pretty fucking risky to cum inside me without asking though.â
âI wouldnât be mad at a little me running around if I could fuck you again.â
Not saying anything, you press a kiss to his neck before tucking yourself closer into his bodyâ finding sleep comes to you when so often it fails you.
#lukas matsson#succession#lukas matsson x reader#lukas matsson x roy!reader#fem reader#smut#first time writing smut#to be continued#kendall roy#succession fanfic#succession x reader#will post on ao3 when more chapters
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New To This - Chapter 11
MASTERLIST
By the time she touched down in Pensacola, all Delilah wanted to do was sleep for the rest of the month. This past week had been exhausting, both emotionally and physically, and as she climbed into the Uber she ordered, she sincerely hoped it wouldnât get worse when she arrived home and had to lay eyes on Andre for the first time in a week.
Judging from the layers of guilt that had been padding in her belly since she boarded the plane, âworseâ seemed more inevitable than anything.
Walking into the trailer park home she didnât realize she would miss so much, a voicemail appeared in her notifications. Seeing it was from Josh, she quickly shook her head and rid herself of any of the numerous X-rated visuals her brain could resurrect. Putting him on speaker, she dragged herself and her suitcase toward her bedroom, his low teasing voice bringing a smile to her face even though the memory of him swirled in her gut like a ship in the middle of a storm.
"Hey, baby. About to get on the plane back to ATL. I had the best time with you this week. UhhâŚmiss you already, girl. Miss everything boutâchu, and I mean everythingâŚAnyway, call me. Yeet! Mwah."
Dude actually blew a kiss. So cute.
Pushing open the door to her bedroom, her heart leapt into her throat, her eyes wide at the tableau before her. The bed she shared with Andre was perfectly made, something she wasn't sure it ever had been since they moved into the house together. The expensive white satin sheets theyâd unwisely splurged on one random day years ago and never used since then, draped the bed. On her side of the bed, a single red rose lay on her pillow along with a piece of notebook paper, folded with her name on it.
With numb legs, Delilah managed to lower herself to the mattress and took the note slowly from its place. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the paper, which she realized heâd spritzed with his favorite cologne. To top it all off, one scan of his familiar scribble caused the tears to instantly fill her eyes.
My Dee-Dee girl,
You've been gone for six whole days and I think I went a little insane. I think this was the longest time weâve ever been apart and it sucks ass. All week Khalid kept telling me that youâre all I talk about since you been gone and I didn't even realize it. I've missed you being home with me. I wondered if the tryout was everything you dreamed of and I really hope you had fun. I was gonna call you, but I didn't wanna mess up your flow.
I know youâre home already and when I come back, we're gonna have a candid discussion about you probably getting called back by WWE. Something tells me you did and I canât wait to hear all about it.
I love you.
Dre.
P.S. Did you see the video I sent you?
Reaching for her phone, she searched around for said video and her heart sank to discover heâd sent an email to her three nights ago. Her chest tightened further as she remembered exactly where she was â whom she was with â at that exact time. She tapped the video open and found Andre standing in front of the mirror in their bathroom. Then, he opened his mouth and began singing the first couple of lines from what she recognized as Justin Bieberâs âGhostâ, one of his favorite modern songs.
As her fiancĂŠâs melodic voice sounded around their bedroom, her arms dropped to her thighs helplessly with his note still in her hands. Her eyes looked to the ceiling and saw nothing thanks to the tears blurring her vision and spilling down her cheeks. This video, this letter, didnât sound like the same old Andre. This was a repentant Andre. An Andre she didnât expect at all. She had come home with metaphorical boxing gloves on, waiting to confront the guy who still couldn't understand why the woman he was marrying was pursuing such a wild, unattainable dream. She had come home ready to move on from him. She had almost convinced herself that it was his fault she had ended up in bed, multiple times, with another man.
That if I can't be close to you
I'll settle for the ghost of you
I miss you more than life
And if you can't be next to me
Your memory is ecstasy
I miss you more than life
I miss you more than life
Sobs wracked Delilahâs body as she curled into the fetal position on the bed, her watery eyes resting on the video playing of Andreâs handsome face, his eyes closed as he sang his heart out to her.
She fucked up. She fucked up so bad.
And the guilt was going to eat her alive.
----------------------
Five hours after some much-needed sleep, Delilah stood at the kitchen counter picking at the bowl of chicken salad she had made for herself. She had been disappointed to wake up and realize that the unscrupulous decisions that she made in Orlando were not one bad dream. She had gone to the bathroom to freshen up and winced as she was instantly transported back to said bad decisions, her mind replaying the visual of herself bent over the sink, Josh pumping away behind her. Same reason she was standing by the counter and not sitting down, as the image of her back arched against the countertop with his face buried between her thighs materialized the second she laid eyes on the table. Ditto with the majority of the furniture around her house and the numerous positions sheâd been twisted into on each one. Long story short, she would never look at any of them the same way again.
The front door swung open, causing Delilah's stomach to lurch once again. She wished she could run away, and that notion did not waver as Andre bumbled inside the house, his trusty backpack on his shoulder and a big relieved smile on his face. "My baby is back!" he exclaimed, slamming the door with his foot as he made his way over to her. When his arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, she fought the urge to throw up on his flannel shirt.
"You're home early," she feigned a smile, crossing her arms defensively as she took refuge behind the counter once again.
If he noticed her strange behavior, Andre didn't let on. "I worked a lot of overtime this week when you were gone," he shrugged, grabbing her fork and stabbing it into her bowl of salad as he lowered himself down to the stool next to her. Even with his mouth full, his lips curled into that goofy little boy smile that always made her heart melt, and not for the first time, Delilah felt the bile rise to her throat.
"So how was it?" he asked her.
The simplest of questions, yet he might as well have asked her about quantum physics. How on earth was she meant to tell him that it was the greatest week of her life without telling him that she had cheated on him? How was she meant to admit that she hadnât given him much thought because she was with another man? Could she bring herself to break his heart like that?
"It was good." Her answer was flat and curt, her gaze studying the countertop like it was the most fascinating thing in that moment.
Andre just laughed, his face still alight from the triumphant return of his fiancee. "That's it? Just good?" he asked. "So modest. Câmere." He stood and held his hand out. When Delilah took the invitation, he led her away from the kitchen, over to the couch and gathered her into his arms when they sat down. "Tell me. I wanna hear all about it."
So many times she had hoped for this, him finally showing an interest in the life she was pursuing. But instead, this abrupt personality turn of his was rubbing her the wrong way. His happy-little-camper attitude was grating on her nerves, and the guilt bubbling inside her was the reason.
"Why?" she demanded, the question spilling out before she could think it through.
Slightly taken aback by the question, Andre pushed on. "Why? Cuz you're my girl. Cuz I know how much you want this and I'm anxious to hear how it all went down."
Oh, he went down, alright, Delilah thought angrily. She understood that most of the rage she was feeling was directed at herself, but she couldn't help but what the hell had gotten into this man sitting before her. It was as if he knew he was on the verge of losing her, and now he was pulling out all of his famed charm to reel her back in. "Oh really? You care now? What changed?" she asked coldly, pushing out of his arms and crossing hers defensively over her chest.
The wounded look in his eyes made her heart sink. "Baby, I've been an asshole about this. I admit it," he said softly, taking her hand once more. "But I missed you so much, you have no idea."
"Oh riiiiight, I see. You didnât have your fuck buddy for one week and now youâre all up in your feelings!" Delilah argued. She knew that she sounded bitter and wounded, but she couldn't help it. The emotions of the past week were rushing over her at such a dizzying pace and she wasn't coping well at all, struggling to find her footing on this rollercoaster that her life had suddenly become.
Andre, meanwhile, had had enough of Delilahâs antagonism. "Dee, what the fuck is going on?" he struggled not to raise his voice, scooting back on the couch a few inches. "I thought you wanted me to be more supportive!"
Delilah jumped to her feet. "I want you to be supportive because you believe in me, Andre! Because you're proud of me. Not because you got lonely!" Sometimes she wondered if he understood her at all, if he had heard anything she had said over the last several months.
But Andre was tired of this already. He had just admitted to being wrong and yet she was still berating him. "I can't win with you," he threw his arms out, standing to regain some sense of equilibrium. "What the fuck happened out there?"
"Nothing!" she answered, a bit too quickly.
âWell something happened!â Flinging his arm to the side, Andre was in fight mode. "Just days ago, you were talking about how I didnât care about you, and now that Iâm putting in some effort, you want me to just back off and drop the whole thing? What kinda bipolar bullshit is that?" They had been here too many times, all over this house, outside this house, arguing about anything and everything, specifically on one increasingly annoying subject.
"I want you to actually mean it!" Delilah lashed out, no longer able to contain her emotions. The tears threatened to fall again as she pleaded with him, arms extended helplessly. "I want you to come to one of my matches. Dre. Just one. I want you to see what I do, see why it's so fucking important to me!"
"How many times have I told you, wrestling ainât my thing," he dismissed. "You don't like all the things I like, but you don't see me cryinâ and begginâ you to like âem."
Crying and begging. He couldnât even see that his nonchalance had forced her to confide in someone else, and sheâd ended up doing much more than that with him. Maybe if he knew, maybe if she told him what his apathy had done to their relationship, his mind would finally, finally change. But she refused to feel guilty for following her dreams. She refused to settle. "I don't need you to be a fan of wrestling!" she argued, "I donât give a flyin' fuck if you donât know any of the moves or any of the wrestlersâ names!"
"Then what is this abou-" Andre interrupted.
"For fuckâs sake, Andre! I want you to be a fan of me!" she screamed, her voice breaking as she kicked their wooden coffee table across the tiny room, âI want you to know my name! I need you to support me, to care about my wrestling, dammit!â
An awkward silence fell over the room, punctuated by the heart-wrenching sounds of her sobs as the love of his lifeâs words sank into his soul. For nearly a year, he had watched her morph into someone he no longer recognized, and not liking what he saw, he distanced himself, hoping it would be out of her system in due time. But now it was clear that this wasnât going away, and it was breaking both their hearts as what they had â what he thought they had â was starting to collapse before his very eyes.
"You wrote me some letter and sang a song. Big deal!" she continued through her tears. "You're doing everything but taking an actual interest in watching me find myself, because thatâs exactly what Iâm doing, Andre, and you can't handle it." She shrugged, even more emotionally exhausted than she was before she returned home. "You laugh, and you joke, and you tease me about it. You laugh at me with your friends. You laugh with my mother." Letting out a sardonic laugh, she shook her head, relaxed her shoulders and met his eyes. If she was going to be honest, she was going to have to be completely honest.
"You have never believed, not one time, that I could do this. You wanted me to fail just so your life wouldn't have to change. But I didnât fail! They liked me out there! They want us to move to Orlando in three months so I can start training at the Performance Center. Thatâs another step closer to NXT, and from there, I could make it to the main roster. I went out there and I left it all in the ring and for the first time in my life I felt like I belonged somewhere and they agreed! The biggest wrestling company in the world wants me, Andre! It ainât no dream no more and Iâm sorry if thatâs a problem for you."
Again, silence. Sniffling, she wiped her tears with her forearm and turned, walking toward the bedroom. She was done. And it had nothing to do with Josh, or with wrestling. She was just over it, and she was desperate to let off some steam because if she stayed this way she would most likely combust.
"Where are you going?" Andre asked, watching her change into her sneakers, which he noticed were brand new. Her suitcase was open and filled with more items than it had when she left. Things that, in real time, neither of them could quite afford. She wasn't lying. WWE were pulling out all the stops to bring her into their ranks.
Grabbing the keys to her motorcycle, Delilah responded, "To Tankâs gym. Need to work out." She was still a little tired, but sheâd much rather be outside than stuck in this hellhole she was about to call her matrimonial home. She longed to talk to a certain someone but he was in faraway Atlanta and she really couldnât keep running to him with her problems. Not anymore anyway. Not when he had become one of those problems.
Andre looked dumbfounded that she was leaving this unfinished. "We ainât done talking, Delilah! You canât just walk out on me!"
With a bitter chuckle, she picked up her gym bag. "Damn right I can," she informed him, walking past him towards the bedroom exit. Just as she swung open the door, he grabbed her, his strong arm wrapped around her slender waist. Blushing as she glared hard at him, he cleared his throat.
"Aâight. Gimme ten minutes to change. I'm coming with you," he said quietly, blushing harder when she raised an incredulous eyebrow. "I'm serious, baby. Let's take the truck. I wanna see you, see what you're all about."
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THOUGHTS? Is Andre finally coming around?
đˇď¸: @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @femdisa @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @lizzyd1ish @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya @kia1996 @randomuser0711 @yourtribalqueen @caramelcleopatraa @katymae12344 @that-one-anxious-mango @yana3sworld @ajenae @truefant4sy @thetribalqueen @bhjszsdxc @paigereeder @christinabae @justazzi @maknaehyucks @mindairy @headoftheetable @truefant4sy @mscarter213 @ariiaeltheedonn @sageispunk @xbriexx @shamaness11 @shantinextdoor @whatdoeseverybodywant
#jey uso#main event jey uso#jey uso fanfiction#jey uso imagines#jey uso smut#jey uso x black oc#jey uso x black reader#new to this
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Humans Are Weirds/SpaceOrcs: Junkers
I've seen that quite a bit but what if the thing that made humans so strange and deadly was their ability to use anything in any state, what if the aliens are so much advanced technologically that they have developed some safety mesure such as not using a component if it got the slighest damage, "just buy a new one" they say "or go to the workshop and get a fresh one, decadent component shouldnt be used". And then, here come the humans.
It was my first time on a human vessel, my superiors warned me about the human and their excentricity, that i should read carefully the Intergalactic Manuals About Humans and learn the most i could from the specie still using a technology old enough that even my grandparents barely heard of it.
I wasn't expexting much when i boarded on the ship, it seemed nice and i was here for 14 cycles to help the humans explore the void of space, some kind of guide telling them where they could go and where they couldn't. To be honest i was kind of curious to see how those fleshbags were going to navigate.
The captain, a Lady of roughly 49 humans years with a missing eye welcomed me and offered to give me a tour of the ship, it felt weird for the captain of a vessel to give a tour to a guest but i already knew human were weird but.. have they got no shame ? To be so open like that ? It's dangerous, more than one specie would take advantage of that. But anyway i accepted her offer as i had to live there for the next 14 cycles and everything seemed right at first, i met Colonel Stabby their... cleaning robots with what looked like a military knife strapped on it and explored quite a bit of the ship. All was good, just a few holes to patch after a rough travel in a asteroid field, until i saw the state of their engine room.
I don't know how to describe it other than by saying "How are they still alive ?", their reactor looked no where like the picture we were sent, wires were coming out of the side in a chaotic mess, the core looked like it was pieced together multiple time before being strapped on to make sure it wouldn't move, i'm pretty sure i saw some kind of caged wheel being used as a way of kicking the reactor into action and one of the crew was using the heat produced to Cook food ! When i asked the captain about this she simply shrugged and told me that this reactor was doing fine for over twenty humans years and that there was no reason for it to not continue doing so, apparently humans tech is built to stay usable even when damaged and for extremely long period of time. Her reactor was supposed to be changed at least ten humans years ago !
I immediatly asked to leave the ship on the instant and went back to bring my reports to higher ups, i was stunned to learn that it was no special case, those kind of ship were well known and called "Junker" because they were full of junks. But the weird thing was that out of all the humans vessels those were the most dangerous in a fight, because the humans usually pieced together old and new tech to fight, making it hard to know what would hit you, they apparently roam in the battlefield arter battles to collect scrap to add to their vessel. I asked to have my affectation changed and promised myself to never step in a ship where every component could be throw at the bin again, Humans are definitively too weird !
#human are weird#humans are space orc#human are space orcs#humans are space orcs#humans are weird#writers on tumblr#writing
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SHATTERED EARTH INTRO POST
DEMO | DISCORD
Shattered Earth is an Interactive Sci-Fi/Fantasy Fiction about retreading old ground and working for your good ending. less formally, this is meant to go on my portfolio
Five years ago, you watched the world split open, bore witness to what you could only refer to as "dragons" made manifest in scale, flesh and skin. You saw cities razed to the ground, asphalt streets shattered like ice. Fleets of dragons and foreignâalmost alienâaircrafts alike seared across the skies, while towers of dirt and metal tore free from the landscape. The world has inexplicably, incomprehensibly changed, but you know this to be true: Earth never really stood a chance.
With your world now overrun by dragons and dangers alike, you've lived alone, hiding from the world you once called home, scrounging for scraps and surviving by the skin of your teeth. But when a chance encounter with a mercenary ship leaves you reeling with the realization that you're not the average-joe of a human that you thought you once were, you're forced into an ultimatum: enlist with the Seekers, or live out the rest of your life in a Human compound on Therius. But your horrors extend far beyond the threat of the dragons; your monsters are at home in your head, but they might just be the key to stopping all of this madness⌠if they don't take you out first.
The gears turn, the worlds spin inwards like ever-onwards like painted tops. You will undergo a journey of self-discovery, of potential romances and of incredible loss. And somehow, you can't shake the sensation that this has all happened beforeâŚ
A customizable protagonist: Customize your gender, your body type, your pronouns, and personality.
Five ROs to romantically pursueâsome in the most conventional sense, others in⌠a not so conventional sense.
Engage in brief flings, one of which is... an RO's estranged divorced mother. (Your crewmates will disapprove.)
Train your body or your mind to perfection. Are you a frontline fighter, or do you prefer the aethereal arts?
Cute cat dog wolfboy�
The female version of a himbo
There's no good way to put this: you remember things you shouldn't. The end of your story is not the end; something awaits you at the place where your endings converge. What is it? What are you?
There's an egotistical mind entity in your head, and the flags aren't just red; they're blood-crimson. Romanceable, but at a steep cost to your sanity. Or maybeâŚ
Skippable, customizable NSFW content. My friends have advised me not to continue.
Avett Ironsturm
Role: RO
Gender: Male (he/him)
Race: Kattish
Age: 20
Specialization: Arms specialist
Appearance: Avett is a Kattish man of average height. His complexion is fair. Perched upon his head are two swivelling cat-like ears, and at the base of his spine is a prehensile tail that is about the length of his armâboth are adorned with soft, black fur. His hair is black, hangs just below the shoulders, and he keeps most of it in a messy ponytail. Most of his frontal hair frames his boyish, youthful face. His irises are copper colored, his pupils slitted.
Personality: Avett is bristly, prickly, and very easy to anger if he's not trying to get into your pants. He's a flirt through and through, and knows how and when to be charming, just⌠not with his coworkers. Or you. Though if you can get him to let his guard around you, you might just find him a lot more bearable.
Your impression: Once upon a time, you saw his old ID, stuffed in a cabinet along with his boxers and body spray, and you realized he was smiling in his photo. Not outwardlyâthey don't want you smiling on those cards, but behind those eyes was a laugh ready to bust out at any moment. That was four years ago. Now? All he does now is sulk and yell at people. Something happened in those four, long years, and those years have only been getting longer since.
Sexuality: Bisexual (woman-leaning)
Yuda Hellsbridge
Role: RO
Gender: Female (she/her)
Race: Half Gallian, Half Kattish
Age: Secret?
Specialization: Restrainer
Appearance: Yuda is a half-Gallian, half-Kattish woman of above average height. Her complexion is a pale, seafoam greenâcommon for most Gallians. Her hair is white with blue undertones in the right lighting, and is short and choppy. If you look too closely into her metallic gray eyes, you will notice a swirling, foggy substance within her irises, as is common for all Gallians who are at least a bit adept in magic⌠which is to say, almost all of them. Yuda is extremely fit and exercises often, and as a result her build is stocky and muscularâvery uncommon for a Gallian, though she claims that she's half Kattish.
Personality: Yuda is outwardly cheerful, loud, and brashâtact is not her forte. But behind every sunny smile is a shadow, and Yuda keeps her shadows well away from the spotlight.
Your impression: It's not trauma. It's not a blip in her personality. There is something genuinely terrifying hiding behind Yuda's eyes, and that's not including the fact that you don't know how old she is. Oh, she's nice, and she's got no ulterior motives, you'll give her that. But it's like she's wearing her own body like a shadow.
Sexuality: doesn't care for labels, but for clarity's sake she is pansexual.
Ysh'vanna O'Raal
Role: RO
Gender: Female (she/her)
Race: Draconian
Age: 26
Specialization: Captain/Pilot
Appearance: Ysh'vanna is a short girl with wispy, white hair that topples down to her waistâif she doesn't brush it out of her face, it has a tendency to smother her slight frame like an oversized scarf. Her irises are orange, with a ring of emerald green around her pupils. Trailing from her ears are two, small, green webs that resemble translucent dragon wings.
Personality: Everyone onboard the Seeker is a wreck, yes, but Ysh'vanna is always at least two crises away from a mental breakdown everyday. Sorting through admin, funds, Avett's shenanigans and the odd dragon attack has left her riddled with anxieties. She has difficulty forming bonds outside of work because of this, so her relationship with Avett isn't great. After any particularly grueling mission, she will often be found comatose in front of the navigation panels, staring off into the skyline. Otherwise, Ysh'vanna tries to be cheerful. Most of the time. Some of the time.
Your impression: She's probably by far the most average person on this ship. Every morning she takes her coffee with three sugars and a cupful of milk; every night she takes a nail-sized tablet along with a full glass of water. "For the anxiety," she says. She's incredibly open about most things... until it comes to her family. What's the deal?
Sexuality: bisexual (woman-leaning)
Auren Draksparrow
Role: Platonic Option
Gender: Male (he/him)
Race: Gallian
Age: According to Avett, "Like, a hundred or something." He looks about forty in Human years to you.
Specialization: Warder
Appearance: Auren is a Gallian man of above average height. His frame is gaunt, almost frail; his hair is platinum blond, and is secured in a low ponytail that reaches down to his waist. His complexion is seafoam green, and his eyes are a faint violet. Swimming in his irises is a fog, a trait most Gallians share. His facial features are long and soft, but his cheekbones sit high upon his face.
Personality: Auren is cold, aloof, and it can be difficult to discern what he's thinking from speech and body language alone. He is clear in mind, even during high-pressure situations, until his abilities as a caster fail him.
Your impression: Here's the deal about living past one hundred and one; you're going to mess up. You're going to mess up a lot more than the average person, and your book of guilt's going to be pushing a trilogy if you don't start forgiving yourself for some of those mess-ups. You know for a fact that Auren has never forgiven himself, not even once, because he's yet to save the Seekers. Because he's yet to, in his eyes, make himself useful. But you're his lucky break: he's the only one on the ship who can see that thing in your head for what it is, and he knows it's a threat.
Sexuality: he's not looking for a relationship right now, if ever. He's married to his tomes and the study of aether.
Liam Salazar
Role: RO
Gender: Male (he/him)
Race: Human
Age: 24
Specialization: Researcher
Appearance: Liam is tall with an athletic frame and broad shoulders. He usually keeps his dark brown hair in a nest of curls atop his head. His skin is a deep umber, and his eyes are an even deeper shade of brown. He often wears a white lab coat over a simple sweater and dress shirt.
Personality: Quiet, but goofy; aloof, but sensitive. You sense that this boy would rather bury his head in a good book or some other complicated research than look you in the eye. That's not to say he's meek, thoughâcome any threat, and he'll lash out swinging. You had to be a special kind of tough to have survived the Migration as a Human, and Liam is no exception.
Your impression: You didn't expect to make friends at the IRC training facilityâmost Humans there wanted your head on a stick for the cardinal sin of having a deal with a merc ship already. The Migration wore everyone's patience thin, but not Liam's. For a hot moment at that facility, you were two renegades against the hateful world. Until your training period finished up.
Sexuality: Panromantic demisexual, though initially he believes that he's straight.
The Entity
Role: RO
Gender: Customizable/it
Race: Something intangible. A voice in your head.
Age: It laughs when you ask this. "How old is a concept? The fear of death, the love of life? How old? Are you counting? Think about that."
Appearance: A dark wisp of smoke that occasionally shifts to form parts of a person.
Personality: Loves you, like an overbearing parent. Punishes you, like a torturer gleaning for answers. It maims you and calls it affection.
Your impression: When you're not talking to it, it's rummaging through your memories. Why? For fun. It knows about that time you did this and that in the locker room and almost got caught for it. It knows about that time you stopped someone from leaving after class just so you could hit on them, unsuccessfully, for ten minutes before they had to beg you to leave. It knows everything about you, all the bad, all the goodâand it loves you anyway. That's the purest kind of love, isn't it?
Sexuality: Wouldn't you like to know.
With that all said, thank you for checking out this post, and DOUBLE thank you if you decide to try out Shattered Earth. đđ
#shattered earth if#if wip#interactive fiction#cog wip#choice of games#interactive novel#work in progress#intro post#choose your own adventure#cyoa#game wip#romance#scifi#fantasy#catboy#twine if#twine wip#twine game#twine interactive fiction#twine story
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