#almost started tagging this like it was a fanfic lmao

[zishu-arts]

how i imagine the reason mango went with the whole “king” persona

also lmao i apologize to everyone for needing to decipher my shitty handwriting

[scarysanctuary]

surprised just how big ghoulcy has been from just the first season, because they didnt get to interact enough for me, but season 2 has the opportunity to be very shippy!

[youling-the-ghost]

More handwritten fanfiction!!

I've decided to just write this entire bubbamiah fic in my notebook and honestly it's so much fun to write on paper. I've said this before but I genuinely recommend you try this out if you're a writer, even if it's just for a bit. It makes you think about your word choices more because it's so much harder to edit a mistake when it's on paper.

[undermostcorgi]

the media which consumes your entire soul at age 12 will forever be a part of you. this is an unavoidable consequence of living and you have to accept this fact. no matter how old you get, no matter how long it has been since you last saw its smug face peeking out from the bushes as it follows you, no matter if you think you have outrun it for good and that you're finally finally safe and you hardly even remember it exists anymore and your brain knows a few brief moments of true peace, it WILL catch up to you in your moment of weakness. and listen you don't want to hear this but sometimes this is necessary for your mental health. you will on instinct want to reject it and run away again but sometimes. sometimes you just need to watch that old show or listen to that silly song or read that weird book again as an adult and it will hurt you a little bit in various little ways but it will also heal you a little bit. you can call it nostalgia you can call it connecting with your inner child or whatever you want but just listen to me it WILL HAPPEN TO YOU TOO AT SOME POINT AND YOU HAVE TO BE PREPARED FOR THIS (i am forcibly dragged off the stage by security)

[coquitokisses]

Back Together | Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader, (husband!Bucky Barnes x wife!reader, dad!Bucky Barnes x mom!reader)

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings/Tags: Bucky being dad and hubby material, fluff, angst maybe?

Summary: Bucky and reader are married and have two girls, but because of Bucky’s work, reader decides to “break up” and have been separated for a few months. (Let’s say that this “job” was when the whole thing with John Walker happened in TFATWS, idfk lol)

A/N: so I’m currently writing a fanfic (on wattpad) and I had this idea, but I’m not there on the fanfic just yet lol so I decided to just post it here (also, my first language isn’t english so if there are any errors or mistakes, I’m sorry lmao)

The girls are like 4 and 5 years old and those aren’t the names I have planned on using for the fanfic, but it’ll do for now.. and Steve is alive and well lol (he doesn’t make an appearance, but I do mention him, like I said, this idea came as I was writing a fanfic so what I did was try and edit it a little bit so yall don’t need context and shit lol just enjoy okay?)

A/N #2: this is my first time doing this so just bare with me please lmao

It’s almost 10 pm which means Bucky must be on his way to bring the girls back after having them for the weekend. You were away in Seattle the whole weekend for work, but anyways it was Bucky’s turn to stay with the kids. They were supposed to stay with Wanda tonight, but since you arrived earlier than anticipated, you told her that Bucky was gonna bring them over.

You’re not on the best terms. Actually, you’re broken up at the moment and have been like that for like three months now. It all started because of Bucky’s “job”. You always said that he wasn’t being careful with the things he did and you didn’t like the constant worrying about him every time he went out to do his things. He didn’t really see it that way which made you get into a really bad fight and you decided to break up because he wasn’t putting his safety, or his family, as a priority and you didn’t like that.

Which was kinda true. So you’re currently not living together. Bucky has been staying with Steve, or with Sam whenever he comes to New York. The girls usually stay with you and then Bucky takes them on the weekends, but whenever you can’t take them to school (or get them on time) or something on week days, then Bucky takes them without a problem.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pick them up for you?” Wanda asked while on FaceTime with you

“It’s alright, red, don’t worry.” You replied “Besides, Bucky’s probably on his way anyway.”

“Still haven’t talked?”

“Well we talk, just not about us.” You said walking out of the kitchen

“And are you guys still, like, mad or..?”

“I don’t know.” You let out a sigh

“Steve told you he got out.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“I just.. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to him about it.”

“Well I think you need to.” She said “Just have a little chat and see where things are at.. you guys still love each other.”

And you did. Of course you did. And the girls want you to get back together too. But you just haven’t talked about it again.

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it.” You replied and just as you said that, you saw the car lights through the window “He’s here, I gotta go.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“I will, love you.”

“Love you more.”

You hung up the call and left the phone on the couch before heading to the door. You opened it and saw Bucky walking over to the house holding Olivia, your youngest, in his arms and Eloise was walking right next to him. And the three of them just looked tired as hell.

“Hi mommy.” Eloise ran over to you

“Hi, pretty girl.” You immediately hugged her

“Say hi to mama, Liv.” Bucky said as he got closer

“Hi mama.” Olivia opened her arms wanting you to pick her up so you did

“Hi, my angel.” You kissed her cheek

“Sorry to bring them so late, we just got out of the cinema.” Bucky said

“Buck, it’s fine, they don’t even go to school yet.” You told him “Did you guys have fun?” You asked the girls

“So much fun!” Eloise replied excitedly “We also went to the trampoline park earlier.”

“Oh well that explains why someone’s a little more tired than others.” You looked at Olivia and she rested her head on your shoulder

“Mommy, can daddy tuck us in tonight, please?” Eloise asked

“Baby, I’m sure mommy had a really long and tired flight and she just wants to sleep.” Bucky told her

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You said “Daddy will tuck you in, sweetheart.” You tucked a few strands of Eloise’s hair behind her ear

“Daddy, come on.” She grabbed Bucky’s hand

You all went inside and you gave the girls a quick shower before Bucky helped them get in their pjs.

“Mommy, are we staying with auntie Wanda tomorrow?” Eloise asked as she got on her bed

“Yes, baby, I need to go to work.” You replied

“Can’t we stay with daddy?”

“Daddy works too, honey.” You moved her hair out of her face “I thought you liked staying with auntie Wanda.”

“We do, but we wanted to stay with daddy again.” Olivia spoke

“Well I can pick you up at auntie Wanda’s house when I get out of work, how does that sound?” Bucky told them

“And we can get dippin dots too?” Olivia looked at him with puppy eyes

“We can get whatever you girls want.” He said squishing her cheeks making her giggle

You couldn’t help but smile a little. You loved watching Bucky with the girls, he really is an amazing father and they love him like crazy.

“Alright it’s getting super late, time to sleep.” You said to them

“But mom!” Eloise pouted

“No buts, listen to your mom.” Bucky said “Come on, get in bed both of you.”

Each of the girls got in their beds and Bucky went and tucked them both. They have their own separate rooms, but they’re pretty close and they’ve always wanted to sleep in the same room so when the time came and you bought Olivia her big girl bed, Bucky just placed it in Eloise’s room. Anyways, when the time comes when they get to the point where they don’t even want to look at each other, you’ll probably make Bucky move Olivia’s bed back to her room and problem solved. But for now, they absolutely love being in the same room.

“I love you.” Bucky kissed Olivia’s forehead “And I love you.” He then kissed Eloise’s “So so much.”

“We love you too, daddy.” They said

“Now get some sleep because auntie Wanda is coming early tomorrow to pick you up before I leave.” You leaned down to kiss each of them on their heads “I love you both so insanely much.”

“Love you too, mommy.”

“Now go to sleep or I’ll call the slender man.” Bucky said as he turned off the light

He quickly closed the door once you got out of the room and the girls let out a scream that made you both laugh.

“You’re evil.” You chuckled “Creating them traumas so young.”

“It gives them strength.”

You rolled your eyes laughing. “Of course.”

You both went downstairs and then Bucky went back to the car to bring back Olivia’s shoes and a few toys that the girls left in the car. While you put them on the dining table, Bucky was just telling you what they did and how the girls were on the weekend.

“Liv didn’t even asked for my help to wipe her after using the bathroom.”

“No?!” You looked at him kinda shocked

Potty training Eloise was way easier than training Olivia. First she was afraid of the toilet being flushed, then she was afraid that something would come out and bite her, then she didn’t want to stay alone while using the toilet. It’s been a rollercoaster for all of you.

“No, she did it all by herself.”

“Oh my god, really? I’m gonna cry.” You said with a hand on your chest

“She said she’s a big girl and big girls don’t need any help to go potty.”

“She is a big girl.” You said “Fuck, they’re both getting so big.”

“They are.” He nodded “How was Seattle?”

“Fucking amazing.” You said excited “It’s so pretty.”

“And how did it went? Are they planning on transferring you?”

“Hell no, I told Nick I’m not leaving New York.” You replied “If we were still living in the compound, then this would’ve been a whole different conversation, but we’re not and we have kids now so no, I’m not leaving even if they pay me more.”

“Well if they are paying you more then..” he raised his eyebrows

You laughed. “You know what I mean, idiot.” You rolled your eyes “But no, I’m not being transferred.”

“Then why did you go?”

“Nick said that they needed someone like me for some training.” You answered “It was great, I got to teach a few people about self defense, how exciting.”

“I’m glad.” He said with a small smile

He was genuinely happy for you. He knew how much you’ve missed working like that. Being an agent, a spy, you missed it. But at the same time, it wasn’t really in your plans anymore ever since you got pregnant with Eloise. It happened during the blip as well so you weren’t exactly working as an agent or spy anymore so you just decided to leave it behind for good. Until recently.

“You know, if it’s really what you want, then go for it.” He told you “The girls aren’t stopping you and neither am I.”

“I know, but it’s just that I feel like I’m on a different stage in life now.” You said “It felt fucking amazing, don’t get me wrong.”

“Then do it, talk with Nick and tell him to put you out there, that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know.” You let out a sigh

“We’re not going anywhere, you know that, right?” He said and you looked at him “And how cool would it be for the girls to say that their mommy is a spy?”

You laughed. “They will brag about it for sure.”

“And the best part is that you’re great at it and always have been.”

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it.” You shrugged looking at the time on the stove “It’s getting very late.” You looked at him

“Ouch okay, I’m leaving.”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes

“Are we gonna keep this up?” He looked at you

“What?”

“This nonsense.” He motioned his hand between the two of you

“This nonsense?” You arched an eyebrow “Do I need to remind you whose fault is it that we’re on this position right now?”

“It could’ve gone so much better, but little miss I’m extremely petty over here, doesn’t like to listen to people and doesn’t care about anything other than her opinion.” He said

“Oh don’t make me mad, James.” You crossed your arms

“It’s the truth and you know it.”

“I think you can go now.” You said turning around and starting to walk away

“See what I mean?” You heard him say from behind “Can’t we just talk about it like normal people?” He asked following you

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” You said turning around to look at him

“Well I think it is.”

“Bucky..”

“Y/N, come on.” He sighed “It’s been three months, are you gonna keep pushing me away?”

And he’s right, you’ve been kinda pushing him away. To be honest, the whole thing could’ve been avoided if Bucky and you came to an agreement, but you never did. You were upset that he was going away with Sam to do all these things that you weren’t okay with and you were thinking about the kids, which, at the moment, he wasn’t doing and that pissed you off. That was the whole thing. He didn’t want to empathize with the way you were viewing the whole situation and he was kinda making you look crazy. Saying things like “it’s not a big deal” or “everything will be alright, you don’t need to freak out”.

How does he expect you to not freak out when he doesn’t care about doing all this dangerous things? Was he insane?

In other circumstances, if you didn’t have kids for example, maybe you would’ve been a little bit more okay with it, maybe. But it’s a whole different scenario now.

And you were kinda pushing him away, sort of. But it wasn’t intentional, it’s just that you were kinda petty and there were times where he wanted to kinda fix things, but you wouldn’t let him because you would find a way to push him away unconsciously.

“You made me feel like I was exaggerating when I clearly wasn’t.” You said

“Because at the moment I did feel that way and I didn’t want to view the situation the way you were.” He explained “And I know I was wrong for that and I’m sorry.”

You let out a sigh. “You still went.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I should’ve stayed here with you, I regretted it the moment I left with Sam.” He said “And I came back as soon as I could.”

“And you stayed with Steve.” You rolled your eyes

“Baby, you wanted to kill me, do you really think I was just gonna come and ask you to take me back after that shit? Like you were just gonna accept me.”

“… Well, you’re kinda right.”

“I know, Steve told me you were pissed and that you wanted to punch me.”

“I did tell him that.” You nodded

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“It’s fine, just forget it, I’m sick of the topic anyway.” You replied leaning on the back of the couch

“But are we fine?” He asked

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Well I’d say we are, kinda.” He got closer to you “You want me to do anything?”

“You could start by fixing the damn back door.”

“Again? But I just fixed it a few months ago.”

“Well I think you did it wrong because the doorknob is broken again.”

“I need to change that fucking door already.” He rolled his eyes “Anything else? Are you still mad at me?”

“A little.” You replied

“Just a little?” He moved his hands to your hips “I can help you change your mind.”

“Easy there, soldier.”

“Easy my ass, come here.”

Before you could even protest, his real hand grabbed your neck and he pulled you in for a kiss that screamed need. You really missed his kisses and just the way he would always give you a peck, whenever and wherever, whatever you were doing, he didn’t give a single care in the world. This man could see you sitting on the toilet and he still would go and give you a quick kiss.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He whispered on your lips “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

“I did too.”

“Can we please never fight again?” He gently put his forehead against yours

“As long as you don’t piss me the fuck off doing some stupid shit like that again, we’re good.”

“Good.” He nodded before kissing you again

“And I swear to god..” you started saying between kisses “If I see you again that close to John Walker, I’m gonna kill you.”

“I know.” He said lowering his hands to the back of your thighs and picking you up

masterlist

a/n: should I post the fanfic here? What do we think? Lol (I’ve been thinking about it A LOT lately)

**UPDATE! I ended up uploading the fanfic and here is the masterlist for it lol

Anywaysss, hope you liked this! <3

(Likes and reblogs will be appreciated)

[crescenthistory]

Hi Carina! It’s the anon who referred to your fanfics as poetry if you remember lol.

Number 1 I still stand by that and it’s even more enforced after reading your most recent poly!postwar!marauders I was hooked!! And number 2 I finally have a proper request for regulus and whiskers - perhaps some scenario where reader comes to regulus all scratched up and he p a n i c s but treats her (the scratches are from some random student’s pet cat that decided they suddenly wanted that specific patch of sun reader was napping on or something silly like that) and it’s just a mix of fluff and humor?

You totally do not have to do this specific prompt especially if you think of something similar but better, I 100% trust your vision. Also I’d like to be 🧸 anon for future posts if that’s ok with you. Once again thank you for blessing us with your stories and sorry for the long message haha❤️

of course i remember, that is my favourite compliment to date ��� all i want is for my writing to be considered poetry, thank you so much. i'll add you to the list as 🧸 anon my love, feel free to share your age and pronouns too<333

Words: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: gn!reader, no use of y/n, light injuries, some blood, physical and emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship, mentioned bsf!sirius, idiots in love, like literal soulmates, some cat telepathy bc i can lmao

A/N: more of whiskers and shadow can be found starting with this fic ! the cat pictured below is @nrthernsong's sweet Echo who is my whiskers faceclaim, exactly how I picture her<33

Regulus heard that something was wrong before he saw it.

The past hour had been spent on the sofa closest to the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, alternating between lazily reading his current paperback and dozing off. You had grown restless and given him a sweet forehead kiss before whisking out the door, assumedly to run out your leftover energy chasing mice and climbing walls. The mere thought made him smile, but he was far too comfortable to join you, and you were sleeping over in his dorm tonight anyway.

He figured it was no harm; he enjoyed knowing that you were doing your own thing and would be coming back to him. That you were such a fully realised person with your own desires, impulses, life and friends – even if one of those friends had to be his very own brother. That you were such a remarkable individual and kept choosing him every day, with every ounce of that self. It was as good a way as any to spend the evening.

That was, until he heard the desperate clawing of familiar paws against the stone common room door.

Apart from his usual doomsday gut feeling, he found it strange that you weren’t transforming back into yourself to open the door and walk in. Though, he told himself, you clearly could not transform in the still half-filled room, and perhaps you just wanted to remain in cat form without giving your animagus status away. Yet, your scratching seemed almost fervent, even over the sounds of chatter and laughter, which told another story.

Regardless of why, Regulus shot up out of his seat from the second he registered the noise as coming from you, hurrying across the floor. A wave of dizziness hit him from how fast he went from a reclining to borderline-sprinting position, but he pushed it down without a second thought.

When he opened the common room door and a white and grey figure sped in past him at an unbelievable speed, he realised what the problem was. 

Because your usually beautiful, fluffy fur was ruffled all about and there were distinct streaks of redness across it. The blood was striking against the already blinding white, and Regulus could not fight the way his breath hitched. 

“Amour,” he all but hissed, speed walking after you to where you had hid away in the first available corner.

Despite remaining mostly aware of your human self, once you were in your animagus form, certain animalistic tendencies took over. It was how you were able to communicate so efficiently through hisses and pets, but also why in states of panic, you would seek out physical shelter to hide beneath rather than coming to him for protection and comfort like you otherwise would.

Uncaring of how he looked running after a cat and murmuring to it as if it was a person, Regulus followed you, crouching down on his knees before you when you hid beneath an armchair against the wall. He couldn’t see you well in the darkness, but he did see a pair of yellow eyes shine out at him, so stunning that the fear in them should be illegal.

“Mon amour.” Regulus decided to forgo any reservations, and laid down on his stomach with his cheek against the floor so that he could be face to face with you. “Darling, what happened to you? Are you alright?”

The whimpering sound you made shot straight through his heart, drawing a rather pathetic coo from him.

You curled further up into yourself. Regulus inched his hand forward so that it was close to your face, but you made no move to butt your head against it like you usually would. Your eyes seemed to be pleading with him, but in this form, Regulus couldn’t read you as well.

In this form.

Regulus suddenly knew what he had to do.

Before that though, he retracted his hand in favour of letting his fingers curl around his wand. He brought it up to rest before you, slowing his movements down so as to not alert you in this frightened state. Even in a moment like this, you still trusted him entirely, and only blinked slowly at him while you shivered. He brought the tip of his wand up to rest just above your red spots.

“I’ll make it better, amour, I swear,” he mumbled, almost as if to himself. With a light graze and two whispered incantations, Regulus spelled away whatever shallow scratches you had across your beautiful fur and cleaned up the blood that had stained you so unjustly. 

Though he could not be certain, he thought he heard a sigh escape you. This time, when he put his wand down, you leaned your patterned forehead down against his fingertips. Worry was still clouding most of his mind, but his lips did twitch at the sentiment.

“I’m not leaving you.” He declared before saying anything else, not wanting fear to take over you once more. “Just stay right there, lovely, and I’ll be right back for you.”

Regulus almost stumbled when he pushed himself up onto his feet and near-sprinted up towards his dorm, taking the stairs three steps at a time. If you were startled, he could neither see nor hear it, and fully intended to soothe you in a mere moment.

The second he was out of sight of any other students, Regulus twirled into his own animagus form, Shadow.

At this new level of elevation and with the animalistic instincts taking over him, Regulus felt the wave of concern spark in him anew. While he could sense when he spelled away your injuries that they were not serious, the thought of you scared ached throughout him. On speedy onyx legs, he leaped back down the stairs with just one thought swimming through his mind.

Amour, amour, amour.

You must have smelled Shadow on his way to you, because even before he saw you, he picked up on the keening noise you made at the approach of your mate. 

Still sheltered carefully beneath the armchair, you were perched up on your front paws, staring eagerly towards where Shadow was pouncing towards you. This time, you let him slip beneath the seat and into your hiding place without any hesitation. On the contrary, you made space for him, and as soon as he was within reach, you curled up against him, hiding away.

With your face burrowed into Shadow’s furry neck, he could finally feel you sigh out in relief, any tension and fear seeping out of you. It was exactly what he had been hoping for, exactly what he wanted, no needed to accomplish.

Your love was true in any form, but the connection the two of you shared in animagus form was different from anything Regulus could even think to communicate through words. He had yet to find any relevant literature on animagi explaining the bonding experience you had in animagus form, but perhaps this was one of the things in his life that Regulus didn’t need to intellectualise.

Instead, Shadow curled back up against you, keeping his head over yours in a protective manner as he held you close with his paws. Absentmindedly, he began grooming your fur, placing every strand back down in the correct direction, ridding you of any evidence of whatever tussle you had suffered when roaming the castle. Certain places of your fur seemed to demand more of his attention, and though Regulus could not prove it as he healed and cleaned you up magically earlier, he had a creeping suspicion that was where you had been scratched up. So he didn’t resist it, instead doting on you exactly how he wanted.

Beneath his touch, you were becoming soft and pliant once more, purring loudly and occasionally looking up at him with the yellow eyes he had come to love so. His Whiskers. His amour.

Using the very bond he had no words to explain, Shadow asked you through some odd form of cat communication and animagi telepathy: What happened?

Your grunt and huff communicated what he had feared. Mrs. Norris.

Shadow made a hissing sound directed at your shared menacing nemesis before doubling down on his efforts to soothe you, nudging you over onto your back so that he could groom and kiss along your neck and chest – your most vulnerable areas in cat form, showing you just how safe you were now. 

This was part of what occasionally living as a cat entailed, but Regulus would be damned if he did not care for you as if it was a tragedy each and every time. Spelling out I love you with every lick and pet and nudge and purr.

Based on the lovely sounds you were making and how you seemed to melt into him until you were one and the same, you loudly claimed I love you too.

Regulus could rest easy with you safe and sound in his hold, content just to have you near him, any anger subdued for as long as he was comforting you. In the meantime, he was dreaming up how a certain big black dog might have a little chat with Mrs. Norris.

[poorly-written-fiction]

talking in your sleep pt. 2 || logan howlett x gn!reader

pt. 1 here for anyone who wants to read

A/N: AAAAA HELLO EVERYONE! this fic - and "taste" - brought so many new and amazing readers. thank you all for your amazing support and kind words. i really appreciate it. i stopped writing fanfics almost 10 years ago, so to hear that you all like my (very rusty) writing makes me so happy. thank you all, so very much. here is part 2 for "talking in your sleep", as was voted on by all of you!

tags: SMUT MDNI PLEASE read at your own risk from here forward, logan howlett x gender neutral reader, no mentions of reader's anatomy or appearance, swearing, dry humping/grinding (because i wanted no specific mentions of reader's anatomy), logan lowkey likes pain but we knew this lmao, not super proofread just was excited to write this but also i'm not great at writing smut apologies okay i hope you enjoy bye

“Good morning, how did you sleep?” You were at a loss for words, completely taken aback by the situation. Logan smiled, “Did you have any nice dreams?” With those words, heat was rushing from your chest and rising into your neck and face. He had you caught.

“Were you listening to me, you fucking animal,” you spoke bitterly, trying desperately to mask your embarrassment. You couldn’t escape the situation, even if you tried. Logan hung onto your doorframe, trapping you between him and your bedroom. He wore that cocky smile and you cursed yourself realizing how handsome he looked with it on. 

“I can’t help my good hearing. You start talking in your sleep and I get curious.” He had you on the spot, looking and acting like he had you all figured out. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you, but you only call for me when you’re sleeping, now why’s that?”

I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you. You thought you were going to fall flat on your ass. You were done for in that moment, grabbing Logan by his shirt collar and kissing him with heated passion. His eyes widened in shock, before he rested his hands around your ribcage and leaned into the kiss, pushing you into your bedroom and kicking the door closed behind him. He moved his hands to the back side of your thighs, hoisting you up around his waist and resting your legs on his hips. He pressed your back against the wall, and that cocky smile painted itself on his lips again.

“You’re a smug motherfucker, you know that?” You chuckled, “Makes you hard to talk to.”

“Me? Never,” Logan husked back, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He peeled you away from the wall, pulling you over to your bed and sitting down with you straddling his lap. He pressed another kiss to your mouth while his hands ran up and down your back gently. “You’ve had my eye for a while, but you wouldn’t let me talk to you.”

“I was just… nervous, is all.” You won’t meet his eyes, even though you so badly want to.

“More like stubborn. Had me thinkin’ you really didn’t like me,” Logan smiled, rubbing your hips gently. “You wanna tell me what your dream was about now?” Your whole body felt like it was on fire, making you shift slightly against Logan’s lap.

“Something… like this, actually.”

Logan hung on your every word, he needed to hear the words from you. He was so lost in the fact that he had you here, now, that he didn’t realize how tight his jeans were starting to feel. You, on the other hand, could feel the sudden hardness between your thighs, making it even harder to get your words out. You felt dizzy, realizing what was happening - Logan Howlett had carried you into your room, kissed you, and now was getting hard under your lap. It was everything you had dreamed of. You shifted again, trying to get a better angle to feel as much of him as you could. As you did, Logan himself suddenly became aware of what you were doing and realized how fucking turned on he was that you were doing it. His fingers dug into your hips, not hard enough to leave any bruising, but hard enough that it made you gasp. He pressed gentle kisses and bites to the sides of your neck, breathing you in in your entirety. He moved your hips against his own, desperate to just feel you. He didn’t realize that he was starving for more than your attention, but your affection as well. The heat building between you both was almost unbearable, but the tension was so delicious at the same time. Logan’s kisses were all lips, teeth, and tongue, and it drove you crazy. You dragged your nails down his back, earning a groan from him as well as a long, drawn out roll of his hips. You both moaned as your bodies pressed together, both of you chasing a climax, both of you still completely clothed. You both pulled at each other’s clothing without taking anything off, too lost in the heat of the moment. 

Logan grabbed your body tightly and rolled on top of you, pulling away both of your pairs of jeans but leaving your underwear, and his, on. He wanted to pull away every layer and ravage you, but something about the confines of your clothing made everything about the moment all the more sexy to him. He began to grind down into your hips now, his cock pressing hard between your thighs. Even if he wasn’t inside you, you could feel how big he was against you, and it made your insides tighten. You kicked your jeans the rest of the way off of your legs, before wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, and closer… closer…

Soon you were coming undone beneath him, clawing at Logan’s back and an endless stream of moans and curses spilling from your mouth. Your thighs tight around his body as you rode out your orgasm, your underwear becoming ruined in the process. Logan’s own orgasm followed soon after, his moans muffled by your lips, and his hips stuttering against yours, before they stilled. You felt the warmth of his seed leaking from the fabric of his boxers as it began to seep into your own. You looked at Logan, as he panted and gripped the sheets underneath you. He looked at you with hazy eyes and a satisfied smile. He was everything you had dreamed of, everything you had desired, and he hadn’t even properly fucked you yet.

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A/N: hello! thank you for reading! part 2 of "taste" will go live soon, again thank you to everyone who voted and has been giving their kind words.

users tagged: @heart-0f-silk

[acalfinthemuseum]

nightingale

Fandom: Succession Pairing: Roman Roy x F!Reader Length: 15.5k words AO3 Link: acalfinthemuseum This is my first time writing a fanfic ever so please be gentle, I just couldn't resist writing something about my favorite little chew toy, Roman Roy. There's a little bit of Spanish sprinkled in because I love anything that keeps a miscommunication trope running. Click the AO3 link or see the footnotes at the bottom for a translation. English might be my first language but I’m bad at both lmao Genre: Angst, Fluff, and Smut. Porn with Big feelings

Tags: weird power dynamics, spit kink, slight degradation (mutual), fingerfucking, mutual masturbation, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of familial abuse Summary: Your job as an assistant to New York’s most eligible fascist bachelor, Roman Roy, comes with a lot of challenges. You find it hard to leave him though when you see the way his family treats him, and that's the only reason why you stay. It has nothing to do with the way he makes your face heat up at times. You both have a gift for digging under each other's skin and it's only more amplified when he visits your home late one night.

You find yourself hunched over your kitchen table and feel your eyes glaze over the unfinished puzzle taking over two-thirds of the table’s surface. Your brow furrows in frustration as you stare at the jigsaw pieces over the rim of your mug; sipping the “sleepy time” tea that has failed you miserably. You avoid looking at your phone, knowing that it’d only frustrate you more if you saw the time tick away closer to 3 in the morning. Sleep has evaded you once again, nothing new. You had decided long ago that rather than try to beg your body to let you sleep, thrashing about pathetically on your bed, you’d ride it out. You’ve rebranded your chronic insomnia as just a little bit of “me time” where you try to do the hobbies that you say you enjoy to people during small talk. You can practically hear your brain cells fizzle out and you decide to step away from the puzzle and sprawl over the nearby couch. You close your eyes in hopes that you might finally drift off but that dreadful antsy feeling— that anxiety for a train that will never pull in— seeps back in. Your eyes snap back open and you let out a small groan as you peel yourself off of the couch, opting to pace around for a bit instead. This was actually the first time in a few weeks that you’ve had to confront this problem. Your job, an assistant to New York’s most eligible fascist bachelor, Roman Roy, could almost be considered a relief to this issue of yours. Almost.

Your boss had a nasty habit of making you work late and not just an hour or two of overtime. He’d like to call you up at night when you had finally settled in at home and he’d ask —tell— you to come running right back to the office. Any sign of rebuttal from you is met with a quirky threat of firing you, raking you over proverbial coals. And, like the sweet dumb lamb you are, you do go running back to help him with whatever menial tasks he’s given that evening; there you are, hunched over the boardroom table (much larger than your own kitchen table) looking through the papers that clearly didn’t interest Roman enough for him to actually move from his perch. At times you’d look up from your work to look at him as he leans far back on a rollie chair sipping at god knows what kind of alcohol from the overpriced crystal in his hand. Each time you see him you quietly hope that he’ll lean too far and eat shit. No one has heard your silent prayer yet. The work he gave you during those nights was never too difficult, which you were grateful for, but sometimes it was the ease of it that drove you insane. It left you feeling a little hollow, an insignificant gray decoration for his desk that hasn’t had any time to do things outside of his orbit, even if you wanted to. Your own friends have started begging you to leave, find a job where your boss didn't expect you to drop everything and run, but for some reason you won’t. It was painfully cliché to say, but you didn’t find Roman nearly that bad during those evenings. Every so often he said something you genuinely found funny and in exchange there were other not so rare moments where you managed to make him crack. He would always order too much of some type of ludicrously expensive food for himself and then guilt you into finishing what he couldn’t. Eventually you realized it was his way to keep the both of you from starving overnight. His leftovers were always conveniently your favorites, you found him even ordering things he normally hated. He also always made it a point to message you each time you headed back home. Caring enough to check that you were still alive was as low as a bar could be but you did emphasize flexibility in your resume and you were, shamefully, a little too eager to bend for him. You couldn’t bring yourself to fully hate him but it was even worse that you found yourself liking him a little.

You remember one night you were in his office and he had given you the task of forging his signature on months’ worth of papers— a mind numbing task that you were certain he had given to you as a form of entrapment. You finished up rather quickly that night. The clock hadn’t even reached 1am and as you stood up, hoping to leave, he added on another task: to proofread his latest speech for a shareholder meeting. If he had asked you at a reasonable hour you might’ve been intrigued at the idea of being trusted enough to edit your boss’s work. But that night you felt snappy and asked why he couldn’t just use some sort of AI software instead to polish whatever garbage he had frankensteined together. He shot back that the moment a new Alexa or Cortana came with a better pair of tits he’d happily fire you on the spot. You must have felt sentimental that night because the only response you could muster was a bitter “thanks ”. A smarter person would’ve heard something like that and quit, but a little part of you felt fuzzy when you saw him grin at his own joke. An even sadder part was almost curious to know what that meant about how he looked at you, the phrase “better” implying he looked at your chest often enough to develop an opinion of it. Did you want that? You shake your head free of the memory, You drag your hands across your face and groan, suddenly feeling a little pathetic thinking about your boss late at night. You take in a deep breath and step towards your kitchen table once more. The loud, grating buzzer at your apartment’s door causes you to flinch midstep, fuck! For a split second you flip through all of the possibilities of who it might be and how quickly you could hide in safety if your home intrusion nightmares prove true. You slowly step back into your kitchen and you jump at the sudden ring of your phone. Speak of the devil and he will appear.

“Roman?” You answer curtly, any fear you may have felt is now blanketed by a layer of annoyance.

“Finally! I knew you were awake, now be a dear and open the door!”

“That’s you?? Why are you here? Go home.”

“Hmmm nah, nope. I’m good here. Now open up.”

“No???”

“ ‘kay, let me make it easier, open the door ooorrrr you’re fired.”

You feel your eyes threatening to roll back into your sockets as you head towards the door. You’re not particularly thrilled by the idea of him being in your home but you know he’d never leave without at least harassing your neighbors. Too tired to reason with him further, as is often the case, you do as he says and head to open the door for him. You crack the door open a smidge, blocking the opening with your body, he asked you to open the door —not to let him in. Your eyebrows raise in surprise as your gaze lands on a disheveled Roman, he raises one hand to wiggle his fingers in a hollow hello. You ignore the greeting and blurt out the first thing you notice.

“You look like shit.” Not the nicest thing you could say but you could live with that guilt.

“Aw, thanks.”

“What do you want?”

“Do you think the only reason I’m here is because I want something? That’s a little mean, I thought we were friends.”

Your mind slides the word friends back and forth, like floss between your ears.

“Are we?”

You let that question hang in the air, the idea of being considered Roman’s friend felt equal parts exciting and disappointing. Maybe he could tell you were hesitant. You didn’t like holding eye contact with Roman, it made you feel . .  odd. But your annoyance, coupled with the restless hum that’s kept you awake, seems to help take the edge off and you don’t look away. The lighting is crude and sterile in the halls of your apartment building, your cheap landlord is seemingly attached to the fluorescent’s hostile charms, but you can still trace out what’s different about him tonight. You were accustomed to seeing him lose a bit of his polish at these hours when at work. His stupid slicked down hair turns unruly, suit jackets and ties go missing and his sleeves roll up unevenly, wrinkling his pristinely starched shirts. You’ve caught yourself staring at this version of him once or twice. It’s painful to admit that you thought he looked good— you’d sooner bite off your tongue than use the actual word you had initially thought of when you saw him, attractive . But tonight he looks tired, the stark lights shadow his face harshly and, when he shifts slightly, you notice he’s hurt. A busted lip and a matching cut on his right cheek are undeniable. You feel your jaw clench tight and an icy feeling slides down your neck.

“Rome…..” You hesitate using that nickname, it feels foreign in your mouth. Something indecipherable flickers past his eyes. You had heard the name said numerous times between his family but you weren’t quite sure if familiarity was a requirement for it. You push through it and keep speaking. “…. what happened?”

The smug smile he wore when you first opened the door has been pulled into a frown. He thought he’d be able to fall back into a comfy rhythm when he got you to open the door but the look in your eyes makes him feel small and stupid for even considering being here. His eyes drop to his feet and voice gets a little quieter.

“Can I come in? Please?”

The tension in your jaw releases when you hear him say please. You suddenly feel guilty making him wait outside like a stranded animal. 

“Y-yeah, come on….”

You step aside to make room in the doorway for him. His shoulder brushes against yours as he steps inside and you bite your inner cheek at the rare touch, now’s no time for that. It was hard to push it down though, as big of a penchant as Roman had for draping himself over things, he rarely touched you. You had touchy bosses in the past so he was a welcome change, but sometimes it left you wondering if it meant something, like if he had a weird repulsion around you. Maybe that was for the best because you couldn't be certain that you'd pull away if he did lean in. You get a better look at him once you've closed the door and headed into the warm light of your kitchen and you feel a load of stones drop in your stomach. 

“Shit. You look bad.” You grimace looking at the cuts on his face. He lets out a small puff of air through his nose.

“Are you always this nice to your guests?” His face scrunches up as if offended but the hint of amusement in his voice relaxes you a bit.

“Only the ones that I’m friends with.” He can hear a teasing lilt in your voice. 

“Fuck off.” You see a small smile on his face and that warm fuzziness in your chest returns.

Hot coals sit heavy in your stomach though as you think of how it must hurt to smile like that with his face the way it is now. You roam around the kitchen to fix him a cup of water and some pain meds. You remember whiffing some type of malt liquor off of him when he brushed past you and then decide to pick out the dosage for him. You feel uninterested in helping damage his liver any further. You place the cup and pills on the countertop in front of him. 

“Take this.”

He picks up the cup and pills in either hand. His eyes narrow as he looks at the medicine in his palm and back up to you.

“You better not be trying to roofie me.”

“Only in your dreams, Roman….” Your reply sounds tired. Ah, there’s the annoying man you know and love, you think to yourself. 

“Clearly. Can’t even get you to admit that we’re friends, fuck .” His voice grows bristly and he looks back down at the pills in his hand.

“Why are you so bent over this?” Your face is furrowed with frustrated confusion.

He glares at the bargain brand ibuprofen in his open palm. A sour look grows on his face and he mutters under his breath.

“Yousaiditfirst.”

“What?”

Despite your one worded question, he leaves no space after what he said to elaborate. He swings the meds into his mouth and chugs all the water in his cup. You stare as he drinks, watching his throat gulp it all down. He takes in a sharp breath and sets his cup down on the countertop once he’s done. 

“You said it first.” He repeats it clearly.

 You give him a blank stare, cocking your head inquisitively, and if it were a different time and place he’d think you looked like a pretty bird. Roman grits his teeth and narrows his eyes at you, he knows that all things considered he shouldn’t be cold around you right now. It’s a dick move, but something about the genuine curiosity on your face as you blink at him makes him feel irritable. He knew when he hired you that people often deemed you to be a patient person, at least more so than the average person. And he had a wonderful knack for testing the nerves of anyone in a 15 ft radius. A perfect fit. He felt an initial sick glee at dragging you around everywhere, a shiny new stretch armstrong toy to entertain himself with. It made things easier that he actually enjoyed being around you; he thought you were funny, smart too, in a way that mattered. He had spent plenty of time around enough mouthbreathers to know the difference. You felt like a real person to him, a nice one, not some smarmy creep that plays all field but rather, someone who had a large capacity for kindness. And right now he feels like it’s coming back to bite him in the ass. You felt comfortable to him and that was an uncomfortable thought to have. He’s noticed that he’s always looking forward to being around you, to the point that whenever you’ve tried to leave him on late nights he feels offended. Wasn’t being around him enough for you like it was for him? He liked to bury that thought by reminding you, both of you, that he could ruin your life in minutes. You can’t go away, the only way this can end is if he makes you. He knows you’re smart and part of him tries to convince himself that that should be enough for you to already know how he feels and why he acts the way he does around you. It’s a half-boiled alibi that helps him feel better about being a shitty friend. Why did you come back to the office, why did you open the door, why did you answer your phone? It’s not his fault if you kept coming back after he gave you numerous outs, right? It’s incredibly manipulative of you to look so fucking sweet and make him feel guilty for being a constant shithead. Yep, your fault. Not his.

“You were the first one to say it. Remember? Amigo?? Your cousin???” His voice sounds like he tastes something bitter around the word amigo. You give him an empty blink and then it clicks.

“Oh.”

He was right. 

That night was such a shitshow, it’s no wonder that you had forgotten what you said. There were parts of it you wish that you could forget. It was while you were all still in Argestes, Roman and his siblings were set to speak on a panel together and address the controversy surrounding gross misconduct rampant in their company’s cruise line. In a twist no one could ever have predicted, Shiv and Kendall use it as a chance to stomp each other out, and then there’s Roman, with barely enough room to squeeze in a paltry line. You remember the dejected slump of his shoulders when they all walked back into the green room, you stood close by but didn’t speak, listening on as siblings and father bicker. You remember hearing Roman grilling into Shiv, the way she threw their dad overboard. He sounded vaguely content, like he was eager to have a chance to kick the dog rather than be kicked. The smugness was knocked out clean in one sudden strike. You blink, there’s the loud smack, a blur of Logan’s hand, and Roman keeling over, hand over his face. You feel cold, stuck in place watching it unfold. His siblings help him up, others focus on talking Logan down, pleading with him, and when you see blood you think you can feel your heart stop. You snap into movement, scrounging around the room for ice and a towel– a rag, anything that might help. Your head nervously sways around the room, looking at Roman and then back at your surroundings, each time you look at him it feels more urgent, you have to stop the bleeding. You look back and he’s making a beeline to leave. You need to stop the bleeding. You chase after him.

“Roman! Roman, wait! Rom—”

He groans loudly and turns on his heels, about to tell you to “fuck off” when you crash into him slightly from momentum. You mutter a few “sorry”s but don’t leave him any room to reply, your hands press a makeshift ice pack to his face. He tenses when you take his hand in yours, guiding it to hold the bundle in place. 

“Come on, let’s go.”

He doesn’t respond, he feels like he can’t. Maybe the slap was enough to bite his tongue off. But even if he could retaliate, he doesn’t want to, not now when your hands rest on his forearm; your grip is gentle as you guide him to the parking lot. He gets in when you open the car door and it’s not till you’ve driven off the property that he looks back at you and manages to mumble something.

“Where the fuck are you even going?”

“Not sure.” A dentist hopefully. Home, eventually.

You don’t look at him when you answer, eyes locked on the road ahead. He notices your knuckles growing white as you grip the wheel but he doesn’t say more, icing his wounds feels like a perfect excuse. You call up a distant cousin, one who, luckily enough, had opened up their own dental practice less than an hour away. It’s only till the third call that they answer, they had been getting ready for bed. You speak to them Spanish, it serves as both a familial appeal and a chance for some privacy. Roman focuses on you as you talk, suddenly regretting not paying more attention in his language classes back in college. Your face is enough to keep him vaguely in the know. Your cousin sounded tired, unconvinced and you looked scared.

“Anda primuis…. Por fa?? Es mi amigo.” ¹

Now that’s a part that he understands, he feels a funny flutter in his chest when he hears it. That sentence feeds a warm hopeful part of him but it’s accompanied by a strong sense of guilt when he hears your voice crack oh so slightly. You were scared. He fucked up and now you’re stuck here trying to help piece him back together. Great. He turns his head away and looks out the passenger window. There’s dozens of things that could float around his mind at this moment but he tries to hold on to that weak little sound byte. It’s all he could repeat in his mind to keep from crying, he keeps his face stiff and watery eyes trained to the window. He doesn’t speak the rest of the car ride, you barely make out a slight nod of his head when you hang up the phone and tell him you’re headed to your cousin's office. You give silent thanks when you see your cousin's car already in the parking lot. 

Roman greets them politely, a bit more quiet than you’re used to seeing him, but he looks collected and that gives you some relief. You act as your cousin's assistant, handing them tools you vaguely recognize and holding a mirror and light in place. Apparently Logan had managed to knock off one of Roman’s veneers; the porcelain had left some nasty cuts on his gums. It was a quick enough fix between the two of you. You neared the final step and you watched your cousin prep a needle, ready to numb an area where Roman needed a suture. Absent-mindedly, one of your hands grips his arm. He tenses slightly under the comforting squeeze and you worry that you overstepped something, not used to seeing him so still. Once the final stitch is tied off, you step back and admire the work. Your cousin instructs Roman to smile and you both feel relieved that your work paid off, his smile looked as unfairly handsome as you thought it always did. Before you can think clearly, you blurt out something that Roman can only conceive of as a stupid joke.

“You look nice.”

He clicks his tongue in response. You think you can see warmth in his eyes when he smiles at you; a small dimpled thing. He opens his mouth to give you another quip in return but your cousin ushers you away to the corner of the office and Roman feels a chill on his neck. He hears them speak to you in Spanish again and he tries not to look strained as he leans forward a bit, trying to hear you.

“Sabes que me puedes decir lo qué sea, verdad?” ² Your cousin's voice sounds soft, a little like yours. 

“Qué?” Roman knew that word, you’ve even made that same scrunched up face at him a couple times. 

“Es tu novio?”³ He knew that word too, your cousin's head tilted slightly in his direction. his ears perk up and that weird flutter comes back. His eyes stay on your face, he tries to decipher the look on your face: embarrassment? disgust?  

“No.” You punctuate that word with a small bark of laughter. Roman suddenly feels sick.

“Creo que el no sabe eso. Te queda viendo.”⁴ He’s lost again. Your head turns to look right at him. Shit . You lock eyes with him and smile. If he didn’t already feel a little dizzy, he would have now. Something about that smile felt like a slap. He supposes that rejection doesn’t always need a physical hand to follow in order for it to hit. You look away and he feels something sharp. It’s as if you had just sliced him, belly up.

“Soy la única cosa en este méndigo cuarto que él reconoce. Obvio que me queda viendo. No soy pendeja.”⁵ He’s got no clue what you said, but you sound a little defensive, annoyed even. There’s still a smile on your face when you turn back to talk to your cousin. Roman can’t see it fully but it loses its warmth. He assumes that, as usual, he’s the distasteful thing in the room. In reality you turn away to avoid your face growing flushed once more. Leave it to the family to strike a nerve so easily.  

“Hm.” A skeptical sound from your cousin.

“Hm.” You mimic, not enjoying the doubtful look they give you. Not enjoying the skip you felt in your pulse when you noticed Roman looking. This was something you’d have to think about later and you weren’t looking forward to it.

“Me vale madre pues. Dile que le va a costar 60 bolas, descuento familiar.”⁶ Your cousin gives a smug smile, believing your annoyance proves their point. They’re definitely telling your aunt and uncle.

“Oh.” You can’t say much more. You feel your face grow hot as the memory comes back. He heard that , you wonder what other parts he listened in on.

“Oh.” He echoes bitterly. The accusing glint in his eyes is gone but part of you wants it to come back. Anything might be better than the disappointment that’s left there. That pang of guilt you had swings back in at full force.

“I’m sorry.” You sound defeated, your head tilting down. You feel a pinch of regret following him that night, you never questioned if he even wanted you there. 

“You’re sorry ?” You’re gutting him.

“I— I shouldn’t have said that.” Maybe you had misread things, maybe he didn’t want you close. He certainly reminded you often enough of your fragile position to make that a possibility. That couldn’t be further from the truth though and your meek little “apology” for calling Roman your friend entrenches him further in his belief that there’s no way you actually ever liked him.

You won’t look him in the eyes, his empty glass on the counter now more interesting than him. Oh, you are twisting that fucking knife into him.

“Oh so now you’re just taking it back??” A new emotion for tonight. You had the displeasure of an angry Roman in your kitchen now and you weren’t even exactly sure why.

“Wha–  do you want to be friends?” Your eyes snap back up to his and he almost flinches. You look upset, sound upset, but the question is worded the same way a kindergartener would ask it. He’s surprised your teeth aren’t rotting out from the sickly sweetness. He didn't want to answer you. It would have been easier if you had never picked up the phone tonight. Of course, he wanted to be friends, he’d take anything you’d give him and it feels humiliating.

“Fuck no.” Roman lets out a mirthless giggle. 

You’re not happy with his answer. You don’t want to believe it and you’re not gonna. You wonder if Roman would’ve ever done the same for you; given you the option of being friends. He’s got on a cruel tight-lipped smile and you realize he never would’ve given you the option. Why offer that courtesy to him? You take in a short breath.

“Sounds like you really want to be friends with me.” You ignore the prickle of heat at your tear ducts and manage to conjure up a self-assured smile.

“I don’t. You probably have cooties.” He quips with a jeer. 

“I do, actually. Aaaaaaand you drank my spit water.” He ews. You keep going. 

“So we’re pretty much cootie-bonded to each other forever. I’m, like, legally your friend now. ” You see his face struggle to shape itself into what he wants. His nose is wrinkled in disgust but his mouth threatens to pull into an earnest smile.  You grin, feeling a speck of warmth grow in your chest. Every so often you understand why Roman enjoys being a pest, his annoyance is funny to you.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not yours.” He was, though.

“That’s fine. I can work with that.” You manage to sound casual.

“I don’t like you.” There isn’t any acid in his voice as the smile that was pulling at the corners of his mouth fully takes hold. He likes you. But the words still sting a bit. You feel your throat getting a little tight, you have to tread lightly. Back and forths were fun for you till they suddenly weren’t.

“Bummer. My cooties like you, I can hear them. They're swirling around in there.” You step a little closer, eyeing his stomach in stubborn commitment to the bit. There’s a glimmer of pride when you hear him laugh. A full bellied, honest laugh.

“You’re gross.” And just like that you manage to coast past something stormy, Roman’s no longer souring the air. He really fucking likes you. A small part of him wants to kiss you, condemn you with real cooties. But he smiles back at you instead. Your heart rate shoots up and you blame it on the lack of sleep, not the twinkle in his eyes.

“At least I’m not the one who looks gross.” You move to grab a damp paper towel. “Seriously, did you even bother cleaning yourself before you got here?” 

“Shut up. It’s not that bad.” His brows rise up in emphasis.

“It kinda is.” You move in closer, feeling bold. Your hands reach out to wipe his face but he grabs hold of your wrists. You let out a small huff and try to pull out of their grip.

“Stop that.” His voice gets a little higher, like he’s nervous.

“No.” You both wriggle around like that for a bit. It looks a little silly, like he was trying to keep you from tickling him.

“Fuck off.” 

“Just lemme see it.” You lift your arm in a way that gives you a chance to bite his hand. He lets go of your hands, swearing loudly but not in pain, just surprise. You manage to wipe at the cut on his cheek. He can feel his mouth go dry when you stand so close. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it …” You trail off, distracted. That cold feeling creeps back in.  He watches your brow furrow in concern. “You’re still bleeding.” 

“It’ll be fine.” He looks unconcerned and that breaks your heart. Maybe he’s ok with bleeding out but you weren’t.

“It will be. Wait here. Don’t . . . don’t fucking touch anything.” You take a step away from him and he feels like the room gets a little cold without you in it.

As you make your way to your room, looking for the first aid kit you kept somewhere, Roman stands in your kitchen. For a moment he’s stuck in place, all he can do is think of what just happened. Clenching and unclenching his hands into fists repeatedly, he tries to linger on how soft your wrists felt, it unsettles him how nicely his fingers wrapped around them. He feels a little dizzy knowing he’s actually in your home and you haven’t even tried to kick him out yet. But the sting and dull painful ache across his face sober him up a bit. You were a nice person, and you were doing the things a nice person was expected to do for their friend. He shouldn’t think anything of this. Part of him wasn’t even sure if he would have gotten such a warm welcome if he didn’t show up bloodied on your doorstep. He didn’t dislike you patching him but he didn’t want this to be the only thing you saw in him; a sniveling puppy of a man. He lets out a deep breath and walks around your home, trying not to dwell on his feelings of inadequacy. The puzzle you left on your dining table catches his eye. His eyes scan over the pieces, he remembers your instruction to not touch anything and decides to ignore it. A single jigsaw bit stands out to him, he holds and places it gently, like he doesn’t want to make any noise. The piece fits right in and Roman smiles to himself, a small blink of accomplishment. He hears your footsteps but he’s still caught off guard when he looks up and sees you right by his side. 

“Didn’t I say not to touch anything? You better not be fucking up my puzzle.” You sound so warm. The small smile you give him is annoyingly cute.

“I’m not. I’m just giving you the help you clearly need.” Roman’s stomach feels lighter.

“Charitable of you.” You say flatly. There’s a smug smile on his face.

“Very.”

“I hear you’re getting the key to the city tomorrow?” 

“Yep, everyone loves me. Wouldn't kill you to be grateful either. You should be saying " Oh, thank you sooo much, Mr. Roy!”  He bats his eyes at you. “Please, how can I repay you? I’d do anything . . .” His voice goes high and airy trying to mimic you. You fail to hold back a laugh and he feels ill from the dopamine rush that sound gives him.

“I don't sound like that.” You try to sound annoyed, it's unconvincing.

“You do.” He gives you his signature shit eating grin and flicks a jigsaw piece at you, it bounces off your shoulder.

“I do not.” You fling a puzzle bit at him in return but it sails right past him miserably. He chuckles, sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry. Actually annoyed now, you reach out and flick his nose. He groans and his face scrunches up; the sound makes your cheeks feel a little warm. 

“Fuck you.” His voice is a little lower as he rubs his nose. You giggle a bit.

“Anything for you, Mr. Roy.” You say dryly. You continue and give Roman a smug smile of your own. “Now go sit on the damn couch.”

With a dramatic “ ugh!” he does as you say and moves to the couch, you follow close behind. You set out the first aid items on the side table. You perch on the sofa’s arm as you flip through the kit for some alcohol wipes. You open the packet and stand up, thinking it might be easier to just lean over him. He suddenly feels squeamish when your hand guides his chin to look up at you.

“You washed your hands right?” He asks. He already knows the answer but he’s looking for something to fill up the silence.

“Of course I did.” One of your legs knocks against his knees and it rattles through him.

“You’re sure?” He does his best to not look a little panicky but he can smell the laundry detergent you use and he hates how much he likes it.

“Positive.” You look down at him a little worried. You think he’s still making a fuss in stubborn faith that the cuts will turn out fine. Your frustration leaves a bit of a kick in your words. “Roman, I need you to trust me and shut the fuck up for once in your life .”

“Okay, okay. . . I’ll shut up now.” 

You both end up feeling uneasy- oddly guilty. You regret telling him to shut up. Your hands reach back for his face gently, you hope he can't tell there’s a slight tremble in your hands. He can’t, he’s too focused on how warm they are. But the words you said are snagging into his sides. There's a part of him that wonders how much he annoys you and if you knew how much he actually did trust you. You were the first one he thought of when he got hurt. 

“Sorry. That was a little mean.” Your voice is quiet again and it sounds so soft. Weight is piling onto Roman’s chest.

“It’s fine.” He sounds so small, there’s a part of you that wants nothing more than to just hold him. Another small but loud and prideful part is disgusted by the idea of coddling him and it shames the rest of you into stoic submission. The guilt eats away at you but you give him a small doleful smile before you tilt his face to the side. 

“Deep breath. This is gonna sting a little.” He does and you begin to lightly wipe the fresh cut on his face. You hear him grunt a bit, his face scrunches slightly in discomfort. You let out a small commiserating hiss as you stare in concentration at the angry welt along his cheekbone. You bite your lip as you apply ointment to the area.

“This really looks like it hurts.” The concern in your voice is clear and he can feel the skin on his cheek tingle from both the rubbing alcohol and your touch. He looks up at you from the corner of his eyes, his head still turned and he feels like it's almost worth the pain  when you glide your finger across his cheek to keep the bandage in place. Your tightly knit brow drops when you hear him chuckle.

“You should’ve seen the other guy.” He slides back into that sarcastic tone so easily. You don’t fight it, you know it helps him feel a bit safer.

“Oh yeah, what did he look like?” Roman sees a flash of teeth when you grin as you speak. Your voice sounds amused and he tries to ignore the blood rushing to his face when you guide him to look you head on again. It feels like you’re taunting him when you gingerly push his hair back a bit, his scalp tingles where your nails drag along and he wants to sink into your couch. 

“Geriatric. Wrinkly old fuck kicked my ass.” His voice is quiet and tense. The latter for more reasons than you were aware of.

“Hm” You let out a quick, sharp puff of air, not enough to even be classified as a snort or a chuckle. You mull over his words for a moment. You know he meant his dad and you feel something in you freeze. You hate seeing him get hurt, but you know well how much someone could put up with, how strongly you can want someone to love you back. You rattle your brain trying to find something a little helpful to say. You can’t. “You were doing your best.”

“I fucked it.” He frowns. Your palms are warm when they cradle his chin and he wants to enjoy that but he can’t. It’s a little sad that this is the only way he can get you to touch him. 

“Maybe. You tried though.” Your thumb presses lightly against his bottom lip, trying to get a better look at the wound. Roman hisses a bit, he can feel his cock get hard and he feels . . . icky, for lack of a better word. You’re trying to care about him and he was being gross, creepy; he needs to leave.

“I think that makes it worse.” You sigh through your nose, you want him to let you in but you focus back on patching the cracks for now.

“Deep breath.”

A pitiful, pained noise is caught in his throat, his body jerks away from you and it’s just enough to make you lose your footing. You steady yourself by gripping his shoulder roughly, one your legs that fell forward against the couch is now slotted between his knees. You’re the closest you’ve ever been and Roman’s scared shitless. 

“You fucking bitch.” His words are slurred as he sucks in air to soothe the chemical sting. You feel like a disembodied hand is tightening its grasp on your throat. 

“I told you to breathe, and don’t call me that.” You manage to spit out a response that doesn’t sound as weak as you feel.

“What? A bitch? Sowwy, does that hurt uwr feewings??” His voice slips easily into a mocking babyish voice. The tone sounds meaner than you’ve ever really heard it being directed at you and you aren’t sure how to respond, you feel your face grow pink with shame.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! And close your fucking legs, you’re letting in a draft!” He shoves your leg away from his knees and he shuts his legs tight, he tries not to look at his lap when he feels his cock twitch a bit in his pants. You’re completely oblivious.

“Stop saying that shit. I’m trying to fucking help you.” You bite your inner cheeks for a moment, a habit you developed as a kid to keep yourself from tearing up in front of others.

“Can’t help me much if I fall into your cavernous vagina, can you?” Hostility stretched into a smile makes it feel more like he’s baring his teeth. Roman’s mind is racing with things to say to get him out of this. A coyote typically settles for biting off his own limb to escape but yours will do fine.

“It’s not my fault that everything looks huge compared to your sad little cock.” Finally . You’re finally biting back, he’s trying to build a reason to push you out and you just took the bait.

“Oh that’s nice. I think Human Resources will love that one.”

“HR? Really? Don’t you think they’re tired of seeing your name come up in the complaint log weekly.”

“You’re right, it might just be better to let you go.”

“Ooo, you’re gonna threaten to fire me again? Cool. Awesome. Go ahead, if that’s what gets your wormy little dick stiff.”

“It does actually, yeah.”

“Well, I hope you actually get to fuck something once you’ve fucked me over.”

“Sure will, gonna hire a bouncy new little fuck bunny assistant. One that doesn’t use her dick lips to talk back.”

“I fucking hate you.” You pull on his hair, hard. Part of you doesn’t want to be this harsh with him after what his father did tonight but part of you knows that this doesn’t really hurt. Not as much as it should. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, enjoying the sweet, wimpy cry that falls out of him; it makes you want to sit on his face. Roman finds it hard to breathe, the tip of his prick is dripping no doubt. His eyes are half lidded but they glimmer under the dim light of your living room as he blatantly stares at your lips. He's transfixed by how soft they look, your grip on him feels good and he doesn’t care enough to pull away. You rest your thumb on his lower lip again and his lips part but not wide enough.

“Open up.”

He nods a little and opens wide. His brain short circuits when you spit into his mouth. He thinks your spit tastes sweet like you— he ignores the idea that there might be something wrong with him. You feel that familiar wanting flutter down below when you watch him swallow your own spit. He whines again when your hand loosens its grip, he needs more. His hands, that were gripping the couch beneath him this entire time, find their way to the small of your back. He pulls you into his lap and buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing any skin he can find. A nagging voice in your head knows that this is probably a horrible idea but then he nips the skin on your shoulder and you feel yourself turning into putty. Your grip on his hair tightens again as you look for something to cling onto, he groans and his breath is hot and wet against your skin. You say his name in a soft, pleased sigh and it makes something in him crack. Fuck . He needs to hear that again, the glowing pride he gets from making you sound like that feels addictive. He needs you, he doesn't really know how he’s held out this long around you. His kisses are feverish and his grip tightens around your hips. He can’t help but grind up into you looking for some relief. You tense when you feel how hard he is under you.

“Rome... wait.” His entire body stiffens under you, stopping immediately. He makes a cute little groan when he lifts his head away. His cheeks are flushed and you almost regret pulling away when you see how pretty he looks. You feel yourself clench around nothing.

“What is it?” He tries to sound casual, but he’s terrified that he might have fucked things up.

“I still need to fix your lip.” He groans again, this time in disappointment.

“We can do that later.” He sounds impatient but his thumbs rub light circles over your hips and it feels so gentle. 

“No, we can do it now.” He looks upset but it doesn’t sting you this time. You know you’re in the right. This serves as further proof to him that you’re an annoyingly nice person.

“Can’t you just. . . I dunno, kiss it better ?” 

“Rome. . . “ You’re smiling at him and it doesn’t feel like pity, it feels like love. He wants that to be the case but he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if it weren’t true.

“Please?” He sounds so good like that, a little desperate and pleading. You wonder if he said it like that on purpose, his big eyes and that small little pout feel unfair. You take in a sharp breath and bite your lip in contemplation; your cunt feels painfully empty. Ever the self-denier, you shake your head.

“I think it’s more important to make sure you’re ok.”

“I’m fine!” His tone is defensive, face annoyed.

“Stop saying that, no you’re not. You don’t see me when you’re doing fine!” Your voice is firm, a little angry even, and he knows you’re right. 

“Shut up, I see you all the time.”

“You wouldn’t have come tonight if you were ok.” That part seems to stick with him. He doesn’t have anything to throw back at you. “You can ghost me or fire me or do whatever you want after tonight but I at least want to try to help.”

You make it sound like it’d be a little too easy for him to just leave, and it is. He’s made a big point of it since he first met you, but that’s not what he wants. He’d like a cage big enough for the two of you, he’d never worry about who would help him lick the wounds.

“Why bother, just gonna get hit again.” He avoids your gaze, this is starting to make him feel small again. You grit your teeth and fight back the twisting in your gut at the thought of seeing him get hurt. Again. 

“Then you can visit me again.” You make it sound like a small thing, like you’re not eager for the company. Truth be told, you’re going crazy wondering what he’s up to when you aren’t around.

“You’d get sick of it. Sick of me.” 

“I won’t.” Those two words slip out of you so fast, it surprises the both of you. His eyes meet yours again and it helps you keep going. 

“I care about you, Roman.” He didn’t expect to hear those words from you, not after you said you hated him just a minute ago. You don’t sound like you’re lying to him, but he still feels an urge to look around for a trap. “I wouldn’t be doing this for anyone else.” His pulse goes haywire. 

“If you cared about me so much you wouldn’t just ignore me when I say my dick’s about to explode.”

“I’ll kiss it better later.”

“You really are a bitch.”

“Sure am.”

You lift yourself off of him to grab a few things from your aid kit and he instantly misses your weight on him. His heart gets into a funky little panic till you come back and lean into him again, easing the ache. You feel a bit more confident touching his face this time round. Your hands don’t shake but they hold his chin gently. Roman loves any touch you give him but he can’t help but be a little amused that your hands feel so shy. You feel a little embarrassed that he distracted you so easily, that he could have had you so quickly. You were whipped, plain and simple. You try to drown those thoughts by focusing on cleaning him again. You don’t think you could live it down if his cut got infected from his vacuum-seal sucking on your neck, and you’d rather die in a hole than learn if it was your spit that did him in. You refuse to let either be an option and so you dress his wound diligently, you try to ignore the heat building in your stomach as Roman distracts himself by tracing circles along  the sides of your thighs. Your knee is back to being stuck between his thighs and he prays that you shift your weight, bring your knee a bit higher so he can get some friction. His grip on you tightens when you apply liquid bandage over the cut, it burns a bit. You know it's an uncomfortable feeling so you scoot in closer, you run your fingers through his hair and he moans a little. The strands are stringy with gel but his roots are soft, he closes his eyes when you scratch his scalp. You blow air gently over his bottom lip, like you were drying a new set of nails, trying to soothe the sting. He leans up, trying to catch you in a kiss but your hand rests against his chest and he stills again. His eyes look so hopeful when he peers up at you, he’s oddly obedient. You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek instead, your voice is quiet as you speak close to his ear.

“It takes a few minutes to fully dry. . .”

The full on pout on his face would have made you laugh if the whine he made didn’t sound so needy . He’s been so cute, you’d feel guilty if you made him wait any longer. it’s not like you could wait for it either. You’re grateful that he can't see how drenched he’s made you, it feels a little shameful and a little good. You test the waters and move your knee in closer, he presses his erection to it and grinds softly against you. Your fingers run through and grip his hair again, you pull his head back and trail kisses down his neck. You nip at a spot beneath his jaw and his moan rattles around in your brain, your skin feels hot and you can feel yourself aching. You kiss his collarbone and blindly fumble while undoing the buttons of his shirt. He lets out a small giggle, something grating and high pitched that his father would beat him for; it’s one of your favorite sounds.

“Someone’s a lil desperate, aren’t they?” His voice is quiet, a little raspy, but smug.

“You feel hot, I don't want you to die from a fever.” You sound a little breathless when you respond, your lips latched on to him so quickly you hadn’t really taken a proper breath. 

“Mmm, lucky I’m around someone so thoughtful.”

“Yep, no ulterior motives.” He can hear you smile as you talk back against his throat. You undo the last button of his shirt and your hands find their way to his sides. Your mouth moves lower to his sternum, he notices that you like leaving a little trail of bites wherever you kiss. He makes a note in his head to return the favor.

“None whatsoever, just wanna motorboat my flat tits.” He talks a lot. You don’t mind. 

“Yeah. Consider it your breast cancer screening.” You realize your cheeks hurt a little bit from smiling as your mouth and hands move to his chest. You hear a soft groan get trapped in his throat when your teeth graze against his nipple. You feel his hand shift and cup your ass firmly while his hips rut against your leg again.

“You’d make a terrible excuse for a nurse. Absolute shit bedside manners.” That earns a laugh from you, something bubbly and cute. You look up at him with what he thinks looks like a loving smile and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. He’s not sure why he feels this, it should be easy for him to touch you, he wants to touch you but he still feels wrong. Is this gross? Is it good? He gulps and it feels like swallowing needles; his face manages to keep a soft smile. You give him a small playful pout and you cup his face, your other hand slides down to take hold of his.

“You think so? I thought I was being nice.” You guide his hand under your shirt, sliding up your stomach to your breasts. You dig your leg closer into his groin and he whines again, his hand grips mindlessly onto one of your breasts. You smile and kiss his forehead. “Do I feel nice?”

“.. yeah….” He nods slightly, not wanting to move away from your kiss. Your lips feel so soft, you feel softer to him than anything. There’s an anxious bubbling in his stomach at feeling so warm. Nothing he’s wanted has ever been his to keep, he shouldn’t think this is any different.

He rests his head against your shoulder and sighs as your hands slide down his chest. He can feel his stomach lurch, here comes the drop, the point where you leave. You’ll see him and find something you hate and then he’ll learn to hate it too. Your fingers thread through his happy trail downwards till you feel his soft stomach tense. You lift your hand off slowly, not wanting to scare him with sudden movements, and bring it up to hold his face once more. 

“Rome? You ok?” Your voice is hushed and quiet.

“Y-yeah I’m fine. Peachy keen.” It sounds forced, the words rush out too fast. You worry you might have pushed him into something upsetting. Your thumb rubs his cheek gently. 

You were one of few people in his life whose touch didn’t make his skin crawl. It feels like a good thing but it also leaves him paralyzed. For Roman, sex was followed by a bitter aftertaste, a heaviness in the chest. He worries that it’s a balancing act. If he’s not the one feeling repulsive and shameful then that must mean you are, he doesn’t want that for you. He’d die if he ever made you feel that way.

“You don’t have to go through with this, you know. You’re allowed to back out.”

“I know that. I’m not dumb.” He rolls his eyes as if in annoyance but his voice sounds cagey. He doesn’t want to back out, he’s wanted you for so long. He’d rather lose another tooth than admit he’s nervous and he doesn’t know what to do.

“I never said you were. I just— I want you to know that I’ll still like you after this, even if nothing happens.” There you were, saying just the right thing to cut into him.

“You said you fucking hate me. Won’t even kiss me.” His voice cracks a little and you feel your stomach flip.

“I did, yeah. I was mad at you and I said that and I’m sorry. . .  you know when people just say things they don't mean?"

 Roman knows you're referring to him and he thinks of every rude thing he's ever said to you. He meant none of it, he thinks you're wonderful. He swallows thickly and takes in an uncomfortable breath but he doesn't open his mouth to respond so you keep talking.

"But I don’t really hate you, Rome, I like you too much to ever hate you.” You cut him again and a happy warm feeling bleeds out.

It’s getting easier to swallow but he hates how much this matters to him, he wants you to like him. Your hand cupping his face slides down a bit and your thumb ghosts over his bottom lip, checking the wound. You smile when you feel the liquid bandage has fully dried, you lean in close.��

“I can kiss you now. . .if you still want me to. . .”

Roman blinks for a moment, trying to breathe and take everything in. He stares at your lips for a moment, full, pink and soft, and there’s a flicker of something on his face that makes you scared he’s gonna leave. But he nods and you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his hand holds the back of your neck gently and he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s slow and delicate, different from the frenzy he had when he attacked your neck earlier. As if he’s no longer worried that you’ll vanish into a speck of light the moment he admits he wants you. He buries his hand in your hair, enjoying how soft it is. He can feel you smile into the kiss and a sappy sweet feeling fills him up, overflowing. He bites your bottom lip and swallows the moan that leaves your mouth, he tastes your saliva again and the tenderness he has for you mixes with something volatile. He lets himself be needy, his hands grip at your hips and hair and his teeth clash against yours as he tries to taste more of you. You reach a point where you need to catch your breath and you pull away. He gives you that same dimpled smile he gave you that one night and when he tucks your hair behind your ear you feel like you might say you love him.

“I’m glad you came here tonight, Rome.” That's the closest to saying it that you can manage for now. 

“Ew.” He says it softly, teasing.

“I need you to be serious with me.” You chuckle as you speak.

“I am being serious. 

“Are you?

“Yeah, I am and my dick is seriously about to fall off.” Ah yes, very serious.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” There's genuine curiosity in your voice. A part of you is actually surprised that he wants to escalate things.

“I don’t fucking know, suck me off or something?” Once again, Roman holds the same levels of charm and power of seduction as a cum-filled sock.

“Incredibly tempting offer. Buuut, I didn’t really hear a “please” in there so I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh god, it’s falling off and it’s all your fault because you won’t be a good little assistant and fuck your boss.” He tilts his head back, reveling in melodramatics to avoid telling you exactly what he wants. If this were a different night and he acted like a different man then the scenario he painted might have appealed more to you. You enjoyed whenever past partners wielded power over you but something about Roman's choice of words tells you that you shouldn't let it be so easy. Isn't it typically the boss who fucks the assistant?

"Would I get a raise?" Roman thinks he sees something wicked flash in your eyes as you keep an innocent smile on your lips.

"You would get to keep your job." The haughty grin on his face leaves your knees feeling a little weak. Where's the fun without a threat to your livelihood?

“Yeah, nope. Not gonna touch you until you tell me what you want so you might as well start figuring out how to fuck yourself on your own.”

Whatever frustration there was on his face disappears, a satisfied smile takes it place like he just had an idea.

“Fine.” He sounds a little too content. He lowers his hands to his lap and unbuttons his pants. He keeps his eyes on you while he shoves his hand down his pants reaching towards the thick bulge straining against his slacks. Your gaze hovers between his crotch and the wry glint in his eyes.

“What are you. . ? Is this supposed to make me jealous?” An incredulous tone is heavy in your voice.

“Yep.” He sounds a little breathless, he lets out a little moan before he speaks again. His hand slowly strokes himself in his pants. “I know it will, you’re probably gonna soak my thigh through your shorts.”

“Take them off then.” You say it in such a calm tone it catches Roman a little off guard. With a puzzled look he glances down between your crotch and then his own. You smile and nod at his pants. “Blocks my view.”

He smiles, a little giddy that you’re playing along. You lift yourself off of his lap for a moment so he can shimmy out of his pants. You settle back onto him, straddling one of his thighs, and try to ignore the ache between your legs. His eyes fall back on yours and you raise your brows expectantly, Go on. He’s not sure where to look, not sure if you’d appreciate him staring. He tilts his head back a bit, opting for the tried and true, and looks up at your shitty popcorn ceiling. His forehead creases with a nervous look as he adjusts himself a little and pulls out his cock, the length curves upward towards his soft stomach. It’s cute. Roman would probably die of embarrassment if he heard you say that aloud, but it’s the first word that comes to mind when you see it. A light pink, twitchy little thing that you know would hit that gushy spot deep in you just right. You want him to fill you till you hurt. It’s impossible for you to push that thought down when you hear him curse under his breath and feel his legs shake slightly. His thigh grinds slightly against your clit, it’s puffy and sensitive, desperate for touch like the rest of you. You whine softly at the friction but the moment it passes through your lips his eyes are back on you and you know what you're in for. 

“Having fun?” You feel your face get hot. Roman grins widely, way too happy to hear that little sound you made.

“I guess…” You don’t bother denying it but there’s an urge to talk back. “Out of curiosity how long does it usually take you to cum?— Not that I’m bored or anything but it’s getting pretty late. . .” You hear him snort, he’s stopped stroking himself. 

“It’s usually faster when I’m watching something. But if you’re feeling antsy to rub one out in your room you don’t have to wait, you could do that here.” He bounces his leg under you a bit, he’s found another way to annoy you. You keep your hips still, your pussy screams at you to grind down on him and chase your release.

“Are you asking for something to look at?” 

“Yeah, gimme a show.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and you feel your mind go into a fritz when he pulls at them a bit. “It’s the least you could do.”

He lets go and the elastic snaps back into your hip. Your thighs squeeze around him at the sudden feeling and you can feel blood rush behind your ears when he gives you a knowing smile. It doesn’t surprise you that one of the richest men you’ve ever met was a shitty little brat, but you’ve never wanted to fuck someone’s brains out more.

“The least I could do, huh?” He looks comfortable. That mean urge creeps into you. “Fuck it, why not?” Your voice is light and playful.

Roman looks a little surprised, a small eager gleam grows in his eyes when your hands move to the hem of your shirt. His full attention is on you. You take a breath, ignoring the small tinge of shyness and take off your shirt, tossing it aside. The cold air of the living room doesn’t affect you when you hear Roman let out a low whistle of appreciation. That fluttery feeling comes back for a moment and you let out a small laugh. You lift yourself off of him once again and slip off your shorts, leaving them where they fall. You stand in front of him clad in nothing but your panties and you struggle to push down the urge to wrap your arms around yourself, make yourself smaller. When you lock eyes again he smiles at you, just a sweet happy smile on a battered face, and you feel something in you thaw out. Your knees sink into the couch, interlocking with Roman’s legs but you don’t sit fully onto his lap. His hands hover over your hips, unsure where to touch you and his awkwardness melts you enough to bring him in for another kiss. He feels his heart skip a beat the moment your mouth lands on his. His lips feel sore and there’s an ache when he presses his mouth against you but it doesn’t stop him from trying to deepen the kiss. His soft, uncalloused hands grip at your sides and he can’t help himself from kneading at the extra flesh; fully enjoying how soft and warm your skin feels. There’s a pleasant buzz in his head when he feels you bury your hands in his hair and he moans your name against your lips. You forget to breathe for second when you hear it. The urge to dote on him will always be second nature to you but you won’t let it distract you from putting him in his place tonight. A twinge of excitement shoots up your spine at the idea of denying him. You feel his arms try to pull you closer to him and you don’t comply, you yank his head back roughly by his hair. He groans, disappointment overshadows any pain, but there’s nothing but lust in his eyes when he looks up at you.

“The least I could do is let a twitchy freak like you get off next me.” There’s a venomous tint to your voice. Roman takes in a sharp breath when you peer down at his lap and see his pretty cock twitch up at you. He’s never felt this strained, reeling with a need to feel your walls clench around him. You grin. “Those hands of yours have never done anything useful before. I don't think you deserve to use them tonight. You were doing just fine on my knee earlier.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“ I’m not fucking you at all, actually.” You smile as you let go of his hair and take his hand into yours. You lift it to your face and kiss his inner wrist. Your eyes gleam warmly at him before placing his hand on your thigh for him to hold on to. Your walls clench around nothing when his fingers graze your inner thigh and part of you hopes that all of this goads him into fingerfucking you till you squirm. His expression is muddled with confusion and annoyance but there’s no trace left of that nervous tension he had. He follows your lead and brings his other hand to rest on your thigh. He scoots a little closer to you and there's a glint of something, maybe gratefulness, in his eyes when he looks up at you. Some starved part of you found it sweet, oddly romantic. His hips stay still but his cock twitches against your thigh and the sight makes your mouth water, you want him badly and it’s all his fault.

“Here, I’ll make it easier for you.” You use the saliva that’s pooled in your mouth to spit onto your thigh, you grin when some of it dribbles onto his shiny, pink tip. It’s warm when it touches him and Roman’s hands dig into your thigh as he groans, picturing your pretty mouth wrapped around him, drool peeking out the corners of your lips and over his shaft. It was something he had pictured a few times, but tonight was the first time that the visual wasn’t accompanied by a guilty churning in his stomach. He can’t stop himself from taking up your generous offer, he’ll happily take your scraps, and his hips begin rocking back and forth. You chuckle softly and tilt his face up at you, he can feel his heartbeat quicken. The skin of the back of his neck bursts with goosebumps when he sees the smug look on your face. 

“This is really what you want??” He does the best he can to sound irritated. To be fair, he was a little upset at not being able to touch you more, but your coldness has gotten him harder than he could’ve imagined.

“It is, I wanna see you get what you deserve.”

"I always knew you were dirty.” A toothy bastard grin grows when he speaks. He’s enjoying this, a runt acting out.

“I’m easy, too. I’d let practically anyone fuck me. Just not you.” You smile lovingly despite the vulgar joke, playing with his hair. You laugh when you see his face shrivel in disgust. It was a bold faced lie, one you knew he wouldn’t fully believe. Either way you knew it was prickly enough to stroke that mean streak in him, the one that leaves you feeling a little cheap and a little wet.

“Gross fucking slut.” He mutters it under his breath like a toothless quip but it bites you just the same. You yank his head back harshly and a bitchy whine slips out of him.

“You don’t get to say that to me. Not when you’re humping my leg like a fucking dog.” Roman teases a talent for cruelness out of you that you’ve never really considered before, never really explored.

There’s a dissonance in you that winds up tight in your stomach as you consider your next steps. You could get up and lock yourself in your room till he leaves to avoid saying any more hurtful things. Or you could cry a little in front of him and ask him to forgive you for being so mean; let the guilt take hold and be ashamed of enjoying ripping into each other in this way. Either one ends with Roman potentially never speaking to you again, and that’s what scares you more than anything else. 

Unknown to you, the ire in your eyes would’ve been enough to make his dick rock hard had he not been already. There’s no doubt that he’s always liked the kind and bright person you normally are but seeing you mad made him go beet red, he could feel his blood run hot .

“It’s not my fault that you want it like a bitch in heat. ” There he goes again, the little shit loves talking back. Your doubts fall away. There’s a glint in his eyes and his little fangs peek out when he gives you a lovesick grin. It makes you drip. He wants you to sink your teeth into him. You grin back, your hands still grip tightly at his hair, you move your knee to press to his groin. He whimpers and it feels like someone’s set you ablaze; the sound shoots around your skull and lights up every nerve in you.

“I’m sorry. Does it hurt?” An overly saccharine tone coats your voice as you speak down to him. A long heady whine comes out of him so freely, he’s always been willing to fill up a room with noise so it shouldn’t really surprise you but it does. Roman’s expressions were enthusiastic, even the pained ones. He nods his head fervently, his brows strung together in discomfort but eyes cloudy with arousal. His lips pout and part as if to speak but a pitiful croak is all that leaves his throat when you nudge your knee, gliding it gently along the underside of his cock.

“Do you want to cum?” You speak quietly next to his ear and a rush of heat rolls over him. The sweet tone you had is gone, all that’s left is the cold firmness that was underneath. He squirms under you, scared he’s gonna burst and a little curious about what you’d treat him like if he did. How badly would you grill him if you knew how starved you made him.

“Y-yes….” He sounds breathless. You move away from his ear to look at him again. one of your hands still grips at his hair tightly while the other slides forward to gently grip his chin.

“Then I need you to play nice .” You dig your knee in harder, crushing his balls in the most careful way you could. Rather than move away from the source of the pain, he leans forward closer to you. His hands still grip at your thigh, practically pulling you in as if determined to feel whatever touch you give him. A long pitchy cry comes from his chest. He makes such pretty sounds and you’re filled with a deep need to hear each one he can make. “Can you do that for me, Romey?”

“Yeah…. Yes. . .  I’m sorry, I’ll be nice.” He sounds so gentle, so weak for you, this can’t possibly be the same man who’s made your life a living hell 14 hours a day for the last year. Your memory might be stunted while in your aroused haze, but you think this might be the first time you’ve ever heard him say sorry. His wide eyes blink slowly at you, his long lashes fanning whatever flame he lit in you. Another small twitch of his cock against your leg reminds you of your own needs and you decide to give in a little.

“Good. I’ll be nice too. . .” You pull your leg away slightly to grant him some relief, but his hips press back into you reflexively. There’s a glimpse of hunger in Roman’s eyes and he feels a deep need to do anything for you, anything to keep you looking at him. Your voice softens again, slightly smug around the edges. “Did you still want that show?” 

He nods shyly, his eyes widen further in curiosity when your hand slides off his face and moves to touch your own body. He holds his breath when he sees you lightly touch yourself over your panties. Your pointer and middle fingers slowly drag across your outer lips and then dip slightly between your folds. You sigh when you brush against the hood of your clit, you’ve staved off touching yourself for this long and each touch feels like sweet relief. Roman’s eyes are fixed onto you when you tilt your head back, you bite your lower lip in concentration as you rub circles over your sensitive bud. Your pooled arousal comes much more apparent as you keep touching yourself, your wetness leaves a stain in the middle of your blue panties and Roman thinks to himself that that dark blue might now be his favorite color. He groans when he watches your hand slip under your panties, wondering how warm you must feel. You shiver when you tentatively dip your fingers in your wet center. A soft moan slips out when you feel yourself slide in so easily, grateful that he can’t feel how slick he’s made you already. You groan Roman’s name softly as you work at yourself and a whirl of lust and jealousy slices through him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to hear you say his name like that before and it kills him that it’s nothing of his that’s buried in you now, helping your mouth form the letters so smoothly. He keeps his hands on your thigh, minding your instruction, but he can’t really help himself from touching you in some way, not now when you sound so good that it makes him wish he had shut up. He leans into you, testing the waters by peppering kisses across your shoulder. His stomach lurches when he feels you tense under him and he thinks he’s ruined something for a moment till your free hand ghosts its nails gently across his scalp and he feels his brain liquefy just a bit. 

It’s all the encouragement he needs to latch back onto you; his hips press down, humping your leg shamelessly. You breathe in deep when you feel his teeth nip at the end of your throat. He smells so good to you, a mix of cigarettes and sweat and a cologne that’s just as obnoxious and overwhelming as him. You can’t help but moan his name again, spreading your cunt with your fingers, desperately mimicking the way he might stretch you. He mumbles a barely recognizable “ Yeah ?” against your skin in response, his thumb stroking softly along your inner thigh all the while. You roll over for him so easily. You don't say anything as you slip your hand out of your panties to hold his and guide it to where you want it most. He holds his breath when his hand digs under the soft cotton hiding your wet center. His soft, manicured hand trembles slightly against you, unsure where to go till your hand leads him. A thrill runs up his spine when he glides his fingers between your slick folds and feels just how soaked you are. He teases you, not necessarily intending to do so but so invested in knowing how all of you feels that he ignores the crucial bundle of nerves aching for him. It makes you want to scream. His fingers stroke up and down along your opening, and you try to choke down a whine when he finally presses into you. Heat rushes to your face as you both hear the wet squelch of your tight walls, he groans at the way your hungry cunt swallows his fingers whole. He finds himself wishing he’ll have another chance to have you, not ready to accept a possibility of him never feeling you around him. Both the physical and emotional grip you have on him feels insane as you clench over him, your free hand digs its nails into the skin of his back. Your leg moves in tandem with his hips, helping his heavy cock garner friction and it leaves him feeling worse. Needy for more and muttering soft nonsensical nothings under his breath, he feels a flicker of shame and wishes he could do more for you. You nip at a spot below his ear and he doesn’t bother biting down the moan of your name that surfaces. He’s begging any thing that will listen to let him keep you, he needs to know he’ll feel the creaminess of your thighs and tight cunt again. You pull him off of your collarbone to look at him again, he thinks he feels himself throb when he sees the flush on your cheeks and nose, the swell of your reddened lips. You cup his face softly and he slows his mindless rutting against your leg. Your thumb brushes his cheek lightly as you smile at him, no hint of cruelty to be found.

“Look at you being so quiet.” There’s a teasing slant to your voice but it’s overshadowed by a warm love-drunk drawl. A giggle slips out of you as you continue and it rings on inside Roman’s head. “Are you feeling good?” 

“Yeah…” He leans his face into your hand and nods softly, fully melted into your touch. The light brown of his eyes shimmer while he looks at you, a shy smile on his face makes him look a little angelic. Maybe it was a mix of that and his soft voice that had you fooled into thinking he was so sweet. He looks ready to burst, he practically confirms that thought of yours as he mumbles. “ ’m getting close…”

You bring him in for a gentle kiss, thinking he’s had enough cruelty for tonight. His lips land against yours softly, the hunger for you is still there but he tries to reel it in. He wants everything from you but he doesn’t want to risk being greedy. He needs to give you a reason to let him be with you again, the concept of someone liking and caring for him feels so foreign that he’s still thinking of it transactionally. He needs to feel you cum or he might not ever be able to face you ever again. His fingers curl up towards that sweet spot of yours and slowly pump in and out of you, pulling a moan out of you that he uses as a chance to snake his tongue into your mouth, desire burning hot to taste more of you. A strand of saliva connects you both as you pull away to catch your breath, his face follows yours slightly as if unwilling to part. His thumb presses down and swirls circles around your swollen little clit, it’s sloppy but it manages to rile you up just the same. Your soft sighs help boost his ego which took quite a bruising tonight and he smiles against your lips when he feels you snake your hands into his hair. The glowing sense of pride returns when he hears your breathing grow staggered. Your walls clamp down around his fingers in an almost sinful way and he feels his cock twitch against your skin, hoping for the chance to have you milk him dry. He groans your name against your neck, strumming at you with a vigor that leaves the corners of your vision a little blurry. Being touched by Roman is different than you had thought it’d be, you always thought he’d be lazy–  selfish maybe, but he feels like the opposite. He grips you like he wants you, really wants you, his fingers pushing and spreading in you eagerly. He’s a little clumsy, so eager to touch you that the broad strokes of his thumb over your clit feel like an effective little tease. He’s not clueless though, it's clear that he’s listening intently to your breathing and the way your folds squelch around him. The once dead air of your living room now filled with steady moans and sloppy wet touches. You feel that the coil of heat near your center winds up tightly, set to release at any moment. Roman’s own moans sound distant to you and you barely register his hips rocking against your bare thigh. You can feel yourself getting fucked stupid, unable to form any meaningful words. Any brain cells you had left at this time of night are now just honey-thick liquid arousal smeared between your thighs and down Roman’s palm. You feel him sink his teeth into your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark and at the same time he twists his fingers into you so sweetly, pressing deep into that spot that leaves you drooling and the last thread in you snaps. Your legs start to shake and that white hot feeling rolls over you, leaving you struggling not to crush his hand. Roman pumps his fingers in and out slowly, helping you ride out the wave of pleasure as your walls clench and spasm around him. You tilt your head back and catch your breath, you can’t do much but watch as he licks your creamy slick off his hand. You curse quietly under your breath as you see him moan and suck noisily at his fingers, his softened eyes lock back onto yours and you feel like your cunt might have you start begging for more. There’s no space for that as his mouth crashes back on yours again.

“You taste good.” He mutters the compliment against your neck, back to his frenzy of kisses which earn a fit of giggles from you.

“. . . yeah?” You chirp sweetly. A blush is clear on your face.

“Yeah. Shoulda told me sooner.” He mumbles more along the edge of your jaw, he pulls away a bit to look at your face as he continues. “Might’ve given you your own office if I knew you tasted like a pink starburst.” 

You snort. You know it’s a joke with the way Roman says it so confidently but part of you wonders whether he’s ever actually had a starburst before. Or even eaten pussy before.

“You’re gross.” You say it as a joke. You hope it lands, serving as another way to tell him just how much you like him. He smiles wide enough for the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

Holding his face in both hands you bring him in for another kiss, each one feels like he’s trying to make up for lost time. You lean into him, your body weak in the post orgasmic rush. His shoulders press back into the soft cushion of your couch and he pulls you down, fully into his lap, your arm brushes past his hard length and he lets out a soft pained moan. You freeze and look at his groin. Poor, sweet Roman had kept to his word and not touched himself this entire time, and now here you were facing the sensitive flushed thing that a small part of you actually believed might fall off. He looked almost sheepish when he met your gaze, it was like he froze once the spotlight was back on him. 

“Oh, Rome. . .” You lean in and pepper kisses across his face, it makes him laugh. The air in his lungs doesn’t feel so heavy. You kiss the tip of his nose and his face scrunches in mock distaste. 

“I can help you if you want.” You murmur it close to his face, forehead resting against his. Your thigh feels the air grow chill against the large sticky wet spot on your skin, a mix of your spit and Roman’s precum. 

“Please.” The way Roman wraps around that word, it was meant for him.

You press a kiss to his forehead and slip off his lap to adjust yourself on the couch. You give him a soft smile and pat the space between your legs to have him saddle up into you like a little spoon. He raises an eyebrow quizzically for a moment but doesn’t hesitate to settle in, eager to be in your arms. You lean against the arm of the couch for support as his back presses against your bare chest, your legs on either side of him. You rest your hands on his thighs and brush your lips against his shoulder, that fondness you have for him comes back when you feel his back arch slightly in reaction to you. 

“This ok?” You keep your voice soft, nonjudgmental. You take hold of one of his hands and he’s suddenly grateful his back is to you, his eyes feeling watery.

“Yeah.” He gives your hand a squeeze, a silent request to keep it there. “Thanks.”

You smile and lift your free hand up your mouth to spit into it then hold it below his mouth, he spits as well. A cute little whimper comes out of him when you wrap your hand around his shaft and you hum approvingly in response. Roman does his best to keep his hips still, trying not to buck roughly into your palm. He’s still a little embarrassed by the idea of you seeing him undone even if he also finds it exciting. But regardless of how he feels about it, he fails to hold back a long string of moans the moment your teeth graze the back of his neck. Whatever cold, macho ideals were drilled into his mind at early development, it all falls apart when he’s around you and he’s so happy that you don’t seem to mind in the slightest, you don’t see what he believes to be shortcomings. He lifts the hand of yours that he’s still holding on to and kisses the back of it. He staggers out a groan of your name into it too when he watches your thumb circle around the shiny wet tip of his cock. He knows this isn’t going to last, he’s too sensitive, but he tries to focus whatever parts of his brain that can into fully enjoying this. You make it an easy task. Your hand on him feels good: it’s soft and warm and you squeeze him nicely while you tug him off. He feels that familiar pressure build up faster than he expected, his blood runs hot behind his ears and he can’t quite fully hear the lewd wet slaps that come as his hips jerk up to meet your hand. He feels your thighs squeeze around his torso and your hand grips tight on him and when he feels your hot breath on his back it’s enough to fully pull him into something that feels safe and warm. The sight before you makes you want to devour him whole. You try to commit all of this to memory. The way his weight presses into you as his body melts under you. The soft whisper of your name as you lightly drag a nail across his balls. You admire the veins along his length and take in a sharp breath when you feel him throb against your palm. His sticky head twitches desperately as you pull back his foreskin and his hips writhe beneath you. One last, long, crying moan ripples out as his hips rut into your hand and he feels that hot flash of pleasure take him. You run your hand along his length slowly, coaxing him down from the high, his release spills over your hand and his lower stomach, which rises and falls with heavy breaths. You wish you could see what he looked like right now: pupils blown and tear dotted lashes, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. But more than anything you want him to feel comfortable around you, if you only get to hold him while he makes such pretty sounds then that’s enough for you. He mewls a little at your touch, now overly sensitive and reaches for your hand to lick up his release. You groan his name softly at the feeling of his wet tongue wrapping between your fingers, sucking them clean. He pulls them out with an unceremonious pop! of his lips and he smiles softly when he feels your teeth pull into a grin against the back of his neck. You lower your hand to his stomach and wipe up the last few drops of his cum. He holds your wrist gently as you raise it, thinking you’ll bring it to his mouth.

“Wait.” You speak softly, your breath tickling him just behind the ear. He twists a little to face you better, slightly confused. Did you want a better view of him eating his own spunk? You chuckle a little at the way his face morphs in bewilderment and press a small kiss to his temple, a little salty with sweat, and mumble against it. “I wanna taste you.”

His grip on your wrist goes slack, a slightly anxious drumming starts in his chest. He stares at you as he watches you lick up the rest of his mess off of your fingers, waiting for the warm bubble he’s found himself in to burst. He tasted mild and inoffensive but it was Roman’s and that fact alone made it slide down your throat like honey. You swallow and lick your lips in silent appreciation, his brows raise at you in a weird form of anticipation.

“Like a cream soda.” You can’t bring yourself to say that with a straight face, cracking into a grin as you look at him. His skill for being disgusting has not yet fully rubbed off on you. He giggles.

“You’re sick.” He replies, twisting his body fully to better face you and bring you into a deep kiss. One that leaves you with that old fuzzy feeling from your chest to your tummy. You find yourself wrapping around him like a plant, he folds into your embrace easily. His eyes shimmer when he pulls away and looks at you.

“I like you.” You blink, thinking you misheard him for a moment till his eyes narrow impatiently, like he expects you to say it back. It feels silly, the first time you said it you never expected him to say it back and here he was now, prompting it from you like a conductor’s cue to a symphony.

“I like you too.” You share a smile, and he rests his head on you, nuzzling into your chest, exhausted from the swirl of emotions you’ve put him through tonight. Your hand finds its way back to his hair, and he quietly hopes you never get tired of playing with it. 

He feels you wriggling around a bit beneath him, reaching for something but he doesn’t bother lifting his head off your chest. His ears are met with the sound of sloshing and plastic crinkling and his brow dips in confusion but he stays still. He’s made you his bed to lie in and his arms are already wrapped around your waist snugly, stubborn with his drowsy affection. Suddenly, he feels something smooth and cold press to his cheek over his bandaged wound. He opens his eyes and tilts his head to see that you had brought an ice pack. He thinks that one day you’ll be the reason his blood sugar will spike and kill him.

“Thanks.” He mumbles it quietly but you’re pressed close enough to hear it clearly.

“Anytime.” You ruffle his hair as you speak. “Hopefully, your face isn’t so fucked the next time you come and see me.”

He hears you say the words “next time” and he immediately feels a hopeful buzzing in his ears.

“Yeah. . ."  He smiles softly. ". . . You should try waterboarding me with that wet cunt of yours. . . next time, I mean.” He tacks on the last bit in hopes that you’re on the same page. That this isn’t his last chance to be intimate with you. He wants to try being with you in general. 

“I’d like that….” You start giggling, you hate to admit that you think he’s funny. He hears the smile in your voice as you rest your head back against the cushions. Exhaustion creeps in on you both.

 A sun ray somehow manages to find you both in the dark of the night, you both feel warm and tired in its light.

---

Translations (These are not all direct word for word translations. Just what I think sounds better): 1. Come on, cuz….. please?? He’s my friend. 2. You know you can tell me anything, right? 3. Is he your boyfriend? 4. I don’t think he knows that. He keeps looking at you. 5. I’m the only thing in this damn room that he recognizes. No shit, he’s staring. I’m not an idiot. 6. I don’t give a shit, then. Tell him it’s gonna be $60. Family discount.

[bluemerakis]

Fuck it, let’s start a lil tag game because why not !! I want to get to know my moots a little better 🌸

Tell me a random fact about yourself, like a secret hobby, a hidden trick or talent—literally anything. Then, if you’d like to, search “my aesthetic” on Pinterest and choose the first three pictures that pop up!

I’ll go first:

I got into writing when I was 12 years old and I’ve always been in love with it. I probably would’ve gone the creative route in terms of careers had my family not been pro-practical lmao, now I’m studying Vet, but I do hold onto the hope of being able to write as a side hustle and potentially publish a book one day. But for now, y’all are stuck with my lil fanfics. I also love art; I dabble in digital art (becoming a graphic designer was almost in my future) as well as pencil drawings and shading, and I deeply despise painting unless it’s in an Impressionistic art style because I’m messily expressive with paint ~

These pics are scarily accurate 😭

npts: @gibson-g1rl @violent-darkness @bohemianblasphemy @bobabilbil @kus-babygirl @incrediblyawkwardgremlin @babyfri3dric3 @angelically-yours @certifiedbundleofsticks @dwinchesterspie1967 @frank3nfag @fallbhind @noonwardmoss

[ilys00ga]

𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀, 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀.

➞ pair: yoongi x reader.

➞ genre: hurt/comfort (why do I keep making these lmao), established relationships, I'm so bad at tagging sorry.

➞ warnings: angst and fluff cuz we all need that (we really do). reader has anxiety and abandonment issues, yoongi is trying his best for the sake of both of them, just relationship things.

➞ A/N: requested by @parkjennykim, this was very fun to write! thanks for yet another idea <3 I hope u like it. I'm organizing this blog/post (?) while listening to mono, and let me tell yall, it's such a vibe omg. I think you should read this while listening to that album, I love it sm, I can't even begin to explain UGH- if namjoon ever goes on a world tour, he better perform every single song in that album, cuz imma be losing my mind in the crowd, esp during moonchild. my vocal cords are already getting sore. yeah. if u want this to hit that spot, maybe u should do what I said (this is a friendly order, if u will). if not, just enjoy and pls ignore any mistakes, english has been challenging me recently (for the last 10 years lmao)

ps. I am in a dire need of a yoongi in my life. specifically the one I wrote in this one. oh how I love being a lonely fanfic writer <33

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

God knows how long it had been after it hit midnight when Yoongi stood in the kitchen. His eyes were red and heavy with drowsiness, but he couldn't sleep that night.

How does one sleep through a restless, biting night?

Surely not with a bad headache, or overflowing thoughts, and especially not with guilt chewing on his core.

He gulped, throat begging to be quenched as it held onto a slight, delicious, yet bothersome burning sensation. He opened the fridge and filled a glass with some water, raising it to his lips when loud a cry of his name, followed with a thud and a number of sobs, disturbed the quiet of the night and made him jump, startled.

His limbs froze in their place, glass almost slipping his hand and crashing on the floor when his sleep deprived brain realized that the muffled cries were yours.

Wide awake, he dashed after the sound. Thirst and sleep no longer occupied his mind, all he could think of was holding you in his arms.

He found you on the stairs, trembling as you wailed into your hands.

He hated it so much: seeing you in pain. He wanted nothing more than to shield you from the rainfall of your gloomy sky, from his own rainfall, from the world. How could one be an umbrella and the rain at once?

He blinked, once, twice, then gulped and heaved a deep, tired breath.

One storm doesn’t require another storm to be calmed down, that he knew. One needs to be composed and collected to stand still during a storm, that he knew as well.

With worried eyes, he gently called out your name and walked up to you, “darling, what’s wrong?”

You looked up as soon as you heard his worried voice, some tiny sense of relief washed over you when you saw him right there. A hundred daggers digged so deep into his heart and bones, aching, the moment a broken whimper of his name fell from your lips.

Without a second thought, Yoongi hugged your face to his chest. One of his hands was patting your back and the other affectionately caressed your head.

As he listened to his name that never left your lips, Yoongi held you there on the cold of the stairs with nothing but sweet nothings whispered back to your ears.

Everything he did and said was so gentle and soft, like he was so afraid you'd crack and come to tiny bits and pieces at any given moment. It all made you want to cry even harder, to hold him so tight and never let go.

Soon, when your tears started winding down, pulled away and cradled your face with his hands, palms faintly pressing on your cheeks as if he hoped to share their warmth with you.

Tender eyes met your wet ones and stared as their owner’s voice made its way through the noise of your sniffles and hiccups. He said, “It’s alright. I'm here. Talk to me, hmm?”

You answered his plea with a small nod, before wiping your tear stained skin and hugging him again. He smelt like home. You took a deep breath, greedily feeding your lungs with his lovely scent.

He hugged you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your body closer to his. He pressed light kisses on your temple, patiently waiting for you to talk.

“I had a really scary nightmare. so, so scary- I woke up, didn’t find you there- then…then I remembered the fight we had earlier. I…I thought I lost you- I'm sorry. sorry for the stupid things I said earlier. I love you so much! please don’t leave. please..”

Your voice quivered with fresh tears ready to be spilled again. Yoongi started hushing you as soon as he noticed that you were working yourself up.

Squeezing you in his arms, he whispered “I never left, and I never will.”

“I’m all right, nothing happened to me, see?” he leaned away just enough to allow you to take a quick look at his body, then added, “a stupid fight is not going to make me leave. I love you way too much for that, and I'm sorry for hurting you too.”

He could still read fear and uncertainty all over your face, and he didn't like that. He knew that you trusted him, and he didn't doubt your love for him.

At first, he didn't get it. He didn't understand the insecurities, the anxiety and the nightmares you suffered from especially after the inevitably worst of arguments that happened between you and him. But after longer and deeper talks, with you expressing your feelings and him listening with careful ears, it made much more sense to him.

Sometimes he hated himself for triggering your alarms and making it harder for you, but he knew it was neither his fault nor was it yours.

Growth and pain are two key elements that come arm in arm with love, and fights are an unpreventable part of any kind of relationship. For all that, he always ended up blaming himself for making you question your worth to him when he can't even sleep without you happily cuddling his side.

Softly, lovingly, he started prepping tender kisses over your cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, temples, all over your flushed face.

It worked like watching waving fields of green wheat dancing with the wind, your storm started to slowly die down and your heart felt at ease again. slowly, but definitely.

Smiling ever so affectionately, Yoongi sealed his reassurance with a loving kiss that consumed you whole, and it left the corners of your mouth curving up in a dazzling smile. You nuzzled his chest and sighed.

“I really hate fighting with you.” you mumbled into his clothed chest, drained and light headed from all the crying and nearly-a-panic-attack you went through.

“I know, I'm sorry. I hate it too." he whispered back.

There was a pause of comfortable silence, with both of you breathing each other in, before he wondered aloud: “did you fall down the stairs? are you okay?”

You chuckled breathily at his question, recalling the hysteria he had to deal with just a few minutes ago. But Yoongi was there, right beside you. your arms were tightly wrapped around his torso, right by your side.

He had some kind of exceptionally irrepressible magic in those fierce eyes and that gummy smile of his, you inarguably couldn’t be more grateful for that.

“I'm alright. Was too busy crying, I didn’t even feel a thing to be honest.” you said, and he giggled.

“I love when you’re clumsy like that, but please be more careful, muffin. Can’t have you hurting yourself because of me even more." Even with your face buried into the crook of his neck, you could feel and hear the heavy pout in that comment.

Huffing, you leaned away with furrowed brows and a strict gaze. Yoongi gulped. Hesitation took over him, yet he knew that honesty is the only thing that must be present to drive this conversation to an end.

Honestly brings clarity, he found himself reminding himself of that very often.

"as long as we take care of each other, it's okay. I love you." you affirmed, and perhaps Yoongi almost teared up because of the way you looked at him right then and there. He wouldn't utter a word to spoil that information out loud, though.

The shy grin and the flushed cheeks you were met with were worth risking the entire world and its eight billion residents. You couldn't help but smile and pull him into another hug.

"This is great and all, but my butt is numbed. I think there's no blood flowing down there anymore," he said, his heart swooning when you giggled at his humorous change of topic, so relieved that he was finally able to hear your brightness again.

"Let's go back to rest, darling." He stood up, grabbed your hand and squeezed it in his, then gently pulled your body up and dragged you to your shared bedroom, where everything and everyone else meant little to nothing at all as you laid in each other's arms.

[deaf-solitude]

In The Shadow of the Valley Pt. 1 (Squire!Thaddeus x Knight!Reader)

Pairing: Thaddeus x Knight!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings/Tags: Future graphic violence, injury and blood, no use of Y/N, placeholder knight name for the reader, mostly gender-neutral but reader is called “sir” at some points, the reader is called “my lord” a lot too, reader is also a bit of an asshole but dw they soften up

Summary: You’re a knight sworn to the Brotherhood of Steel, and you’ve just lost your asshole squire to a yao guai. Maybe it’s for the better, as you prefer to work alone anyway. Unfortunately, the Brotherhood thinks otherwise and quickly sends you a replacement. Turns out that the replacement is someone you never wished to meet again, but thankfully, he didn’t know it was you! Not yet, at least.

TDLR; What if Thaddeus was assigned to be your squire instead of Maximus’?

((A/N)) I have no defence for this. I’m so weak for pathetic men it's not even funny 😔 I’m planning on making this a 3 or 4 parter, so this parts a little on the shirt side for simplicity’s sake. Also I swear I’ve been trying to work on some Umbrella Academy stuff, but I got major writer's block for one of my requests that I was super excited to write. I’m hoping this little fallout tangent will kickstart my motivation. Anyway, enjoy my brain rot-induced fanfic bc there’s not enough appreciation for my boy Thaddeus lmao

You really wished you didn’t have to have a squire tagging along with you constantly. Okay, sure, you didn’t want to be carrying that overly-massive bag of shit yourself, but all they ever did was get in the way and die.

That’s how you found yourself in your current position, gripping your radio tightly between your metal-clad hands.

”No, I do not need another squire! Do not send one-“

”A replacement squire is currently on its way to you. Hold position.”

You groaned loudly as you released the call button, feeling inclined to rip the radio out of your suit and be done with the person on the other side of the transmission. You could do this all by yourself. There was no reason to waste yet another squire on a mission that could easily be completed by you and you alone.

Your last squire already had you walking a fine line between focusing on the mission and focusing on not smashing his head into a wall, though the yao guai he pissed off had beaten you to it. You looked back at the cave behind you, where your squire’s mauled body currently resided, deciding to move away from it in favour of getting yourself back on your intended path.

You didn’t stray too far from the general area, however, begrudgingly waiting for the Brotherhood transport to deliver your new squire. You leaned against a tree in wait, sighing heavily as you tilted your head back.

You were starting to regret ever joining this odd faction, though you supposed you didn’t have many other places to turn to as an abandoned child. Some knights had picked you up off the side of the road one day, where you were protecting an injured dog from a small band of rad roaches. You’d been caring for it for days, bringing it any food and water you could scavenge, and you weren’t going to give up on it so easily.

The makeshift spear you made with your small pocket knife tied around the end of a stick made them laugh, and they quickly shot the roaches before offering to take you back to the Brotherhood. They told you that you could help people just like you helped the dog. You, with your big heart and even bigger ambitions, agreed to go with them.

From that foggy interaction, you specifically remembered the look of the squires’ faces when you so readily agreed to tag along. They almost looked remorseful. You understood why now: the Brotherhood was not a very welcoming place to wannabe heroes. You understood that quickly.

…You never did see that dog again.

You weren’t sure how much time passed, maybe a half hour or so, before you could hear the familiar sound of an approaching vertibird. You sighed, pushing off of the tree and straightening up your stance. Here we fucking go.

You hardly had it in you to look up as your new squire rappelled down, the oversized bag he was carrying falling to the ground with a loud thump while he clumsily unhooked his harness.

He had already started talking before he even turned around, sending the rappel lines back up to the vertibird. “Oh, Knight Mire!” You barely registered the familiar voice before you saw his face, and it took everything in you not to scream or curse him out.

It was fucking Thaddeus.

He kept talking even as you froze in place, getting down on one knee and going on some spiel about how he was honoured to be in your charge, but it was drowned out by the ringing in your ears. You were going to strangle this man.

You and Thaddeus didn’t have the… best history. Arriving at the Brotherhood airbase around the same time some other kid—Maximus—did, you were both subject to his horrible bullying for a while. You were able to stand up to him after a while, giving Thaddeus a thorough beating for shoving you past your breaking point in your first few weeks there. You were pulled off of him by some officers and thoroughly scolded by Elder Quintus but returned to normal duties soon enough.

Thaddeus had enough of you after that, avoiding you at all costs as long as you weren’t near Maximus, who was now his group’s primary target. As nice as the younger kid was, he never had it in him to fight back against them. You decided to keep away from him regardless, not wanting to get caught up with those assholes again. Another infraction could’ve meant a much more severe punishment for you, and that was not something you were interested in.

“Uh, Knight Mire?” You were snapped out of your thoughts and looked down at Thaddeus, who was still kneeling and looking up at you with some expression of concern or anxiety. Did he not… recognize you? No, of course, he didn’t: he didn’t know your last name, and as far as he was aware, you were dead as soon as Quintus sent you off base years ago. Being sent off base almost always resulted in death.

Good. That was good.

”Rise, squire,” you commanded, your voice garbled by the voice modifier in your helmet. Thaddeus scrambled to his feet, his posture tense and his arms held closely to his sides. You inspected him a little longer, taking note of his skittish demeanour before brushing past him to resume travelling to your original destination.

“You’ll do,” you commented briefly as you passed him, hardly giving him a second glance to see if he was following.

Thaddeus was a bit taken aback by your words, pausing for a moment to mumble to himself: ”I’ll do…? Do for what?” He blinked and shook his head, rushing to fall in line behind you. He struggled to carry the pack that was nearly as big as he was, stumbling every couple of steps as he tried to balance himself.

”What do we have to do?” He questioned quickly, trying to keep pace with you. Great, still as talkative as he used to be. You could never forget his stupid rants, though they used to be more ill-intended, when he would muster up every possible insult and demeaning phrase he could to try and get you all upset. It worked against him, in the end.

You were tempted to pick up your pace and leave the fucker behind—there was no way he’d be able to keep up with you with that thing on his back—but you decided against it, lest the Brotherhood send you another squire.

”You just have to lug my shit around and try not to die,” you answered begrudgingly, “I will do everything else. That’s all you need to know.” You didn’t need another brainless squire getting in the way of your missions, so you hoped he’d take the hint and shut his mouth. But when did he ever?

”B-but the officers said you’d fill me in-”

You stopped suddenly, causing Thaddeus to run into you. You turned to glare at him the best you could from behind your helmet, but all Thaddeus could see was the intimidating blank stare of your metal face covering as you looked down at him.

“You will follow my command while we’re out in the Wasteland, or you will die. Is that clear?” You growled, taking a step towards Thaddeus while he took two steps back.

“Y-yes, my lord! I-I would never doubt you, m-my lord!” He responded enthusiastically, albeit nervously, eager to stay on your good side. That was going to get old fast. You turned back around to continue walking, slightly picking up your pace as Thaddeus hesitantly began following again.

”M-may I ask you something, though?”

You were unable to stop the sigh that came out of your mouth, the sound garbled and distorted coming out of your voice modifier. That made Thaddeus visibly shrink back, his mouth snapping shut at your disdain.

”Right, no! N-no time for talking. We-we have a mission to complete!” He exclaimed with a finger pointed in the air, unable to expel the shake in his voice from your previous order. Silence fell over the two of you for all of one minute before it was broken: “Do you think we’ll get in any fights out here?”

You were going to kill him, you were sure of it.

[becauseplot]

90 Seconds to Midnight: An Ordem Paranormal AU Masterpost

Figured I should make one of these so I can keep track of my own posts lmao. Will be edited with new entries as they come but don't expect toooooo much content. Spoilers through OSNF finale and OPD 6. Asks are always open for the AU!

90 Seconds to Midnight is an AU where Thiago survives Santo Berço, but he doesn't quite escape the Symbol. After all, anything that is touched by Death cannot ever go back to the way it was. (Liz+Thiago-centric.)

FANFICS

Full fanfics that I (or others!) have written and posted in regards to this AU. All main links eventually lead to Ao3.

Still Feel (Original fic where I made up the basic premise of how Thiago survives Santo Berço. This was written BEFORE I decided to make the AU angsty lol. You can definitely read this as standalone and pretend the rest of the AU's storyline doesn't exist.)

almost midnight by rabbit-harpist (A fic written by a friend of mine who is also crazy about Liz and Thiago. Very good writing with amazing atmosphere! Explores Liz's side of their downward spiral as things start to slip.)

The Event Horizon (A fic written exploring a scene touched on Post 5 (see Tumblr Posts below). Many months after the burning of Santo Berço, as the Symbol is pulling apart what remains of his mind, Thiago follows Liz to the New Dawn Apartments in the hopes of saving her from herself.)

MORTE (One-off I wrote for Inktordem. Towards the end of the AU's storyline. One of my reblogs on the original tumblr post has extra meta info about it, but the explanation contains spoilers for OPD 19, so be warned!)

MY TUMBLR POSTS

Posts where I've written/rambled/drawn things that happen in the AU: setting, what the characters are going through, major plot points, etc. They're listed in the order I posted them and not necessarily in chronological order story-wise.

Post 1 (Self-indulgent rambles and Liz and Thiago's living situation. Secret-third-thing Liz+Thiago my beloved.)

Post 2 (First explanation of how Thiago's situation starts to take a turn for the worse.)

Post 3 (How Thiago initially tries to cope with the nightmares.)

Post 4 (Toying with ideas concerning Thiago and Liz's entwined decent.)

Post 5 (Ending of the AU's storyline.)

Post 6 (Epilogue!)

Post 7 (The entanglement of their love, their trauma, and paranormal influence.)

Post 8 (Liz's nightmares. Can't believe I haven't talked about Liz's nightmares yet.)

Post 9 (Some art about Thiago's sinking feeling of running out of time, inspired by the song All the Time in the World by Kiltro)

MY TAGGED POSTS

These are posts I've reblogged that I think fit with the "vibe" of the AU. Consider this list something like a deconstructed web weave.

Post A (Textpost)

Post B (Textpost)

Post C (Gifset) (God it's so pretty)

Post D (Song lyrics)

Post E (Textpost ft. my buddy calling me out)

OTHER STUFF

Some wonderful art made by the lovely @rabbit-harpist! Please go look at this it's amazing it's incredible I love it so so much.

HEY LOOK AT THAT I MADE A SPOTIFY PLAYLIST :D

[sam-loves-seb]

weekly tag wednesday thursday? maybe?

thanks for the tags loves @jrooc @deedala @gardenerian <3

name: sam(antha)

age you are mentally: like, 23

top 3 fics that came out last year (that you can remember at this point lol): absolutely ignoring the 3 rule

changing like shifting shadows by vitalspark

claiming intimacy by echotrees

double bullseye by @whatthebodygraspsnot

losing dogs by @sgtmickeyslaughter

lilac shirts and bart simpson by @em-harlsnow

i'm sure there are more that i've absolutely loved, this is just me going through my bookmarks and seeing which ones i remember

add in any authors who you read all of their things:

i know i'm gonna forget some but @crossmydna @whatthebodygraspsnot @catgrassplantdad @em-harlsnow @mmmichyyy @the-rat-wins off the top of my head

fave artist/band/singer/group your discovered last year (has to be new to you, not new): gotta be chappell roan baby

one thing you learnt last year that you’re taking into 2025: it's never too late to start over, it's never too late to go for what you want

was it a good year or bad year? good i think !! i--

finally left the job i hated and found a new one at a place i love

travelled (minimally) for the first time in a few years !! went to albany and nyc with some pocket pals <3

actually started and maintained a workout routine last summer that i'm still carrying into the new year

tried a lot of new things !!

is there anything superstitious you do to try and continue that vibe or absolutely change it? not really, other than just trying to listen to myself and my body a little bit more

fave WIPs you're following into this year:

itqd by @spoonfulstar

the blackwing prophecy by @crossmydna

iron bars by @em-harlsnow

are you doing any January ‘get healthy’ things?

yeah i usually do dry january but this year i think i'm extending it because i'm doing the "75 soft" challenge, or at least a variation of it. i have to do all of these things every day for seventy-five days

workout for at least 30 minutes

drink 2L of water

read 10 pages of a book

no drinking alcohol (i have 2 exceptions for this on planned trips)

so far it's been pretty good, i'm on day 23/75 and the newness is wearing off and it's starting to feel tedious and annoying but i think i just gotta keep pushing and keep grinding so wish me luck

more random questions ~~ did you consider yourself an avid reader before you found fanfic?

yeah i've always been an avid reader ever since i was a kid

do you read books as well as fanfic?

yes, i read 48 books in 2024 lmao

what are you doing to survive this january so far?

writing a lot ?? idk i'm watching a lot of tv and movies too and that feels like it's doing more to distract me lmao but yeah trying to write and work on some stuff

tagging anyone who wants to play cuz i'm almost two days late and i feel like everyone has done this already lol

[monpalace]

ships .. (ocarina of time/majora's mask) link/reader, (linked universe) time/reader.

content .. it's only natural you search for your nephew after he enters the lost woods on a dare. you can't have a problem with the hand dealt to you when the beast who gives you shelter is so kind.

warnings .. no beta, we die like the promise i made to finish this before the summer after my junior year ended (i started this in april, it's august). i didn't know where i was going with this after a certain point and i think that's obvious. reader uses she/her pronouns. large, legal age gap (reader is in her 30's - 40's, time is a few hundred years old). less of a fic and more snippets, but it's almost 7.5k+ words. i don't think i explicitly say which link it is, so i guess it's ambiguous? nephew is named because this would be a pain to write otherwise.

notes .. prompted (not inspired!!) by beauty and the beast, but also the batb fanfic i found after my friend showed my an nsfw ao3 tag account on twitter. beelzebub / lord of the flies from fear and hunger was a huge inspo for link / time's physical description but there is leeway for how he can be envisioned. he's still large as shit though lmao. the layout of the manor was this, only because i wouldn't be able to write this without knowing.

supposedly there's gonna be a second part. supposedly.

idk. i might hate this enough to just. not.

The Lost Woods wasn't as intimidating as everyone talked it up to be.

Yes, it felt like the trees moved when you turned your back to them, and, granted, there were a few mobs of monsters that could get the jump on you if you weren't paying attention, but you had managed to get away with a few scrapes the few times it had happened.

The only thing to keep you company was the howling winds that grew in intensity and your own thoughts that were sprawling into whatever corners they could reach, but that was fine. You'd gratefully take decades-old gossip from the next town over instead of the creeping paranoia of what was behind you.

Of course, you would willingly go through this, that, and whatever else one thousand times over if it meant finding your nephew— and to keep yourself from reprimanding yourself from reprimanding the teens that had dared him out into the woods, but that was another thing.

Along your investigation, you'd found a broken trail of breadcrumbs that led to nothing when you followed them. They were torn pieces of fabric from his clothes, just big enough to be noticeable but small enough to keep himself protected from the elements.

(You'll forever be thankful that a younger your drilled the idea into his head.)

You'd long since discovered calling his name was useless. The only thing you've managed to do was draw the attention of a few wandering stalfos dressed in clothes from centuries ago.

The ones that had managed to find weapons were always the most painful to deal with.

If your determination weren't so established, you would've lost your sanity within the first day.

Food and water were no issue, you were smart enough to pack more than a week's worth of both. There were non-perishable options and several choices for your nephew when you found him; he'd no doubt have his fair share of cravings after being lost for so long.

(Three days was an eternity to you.)

Just before the sun had reached its crest in the sky, you'd realized that there were more empty clearings than trees. Wildlife had become scarce as well.

Where deers and wolves previously ran abundant, birds and squirrels that ran from the smallest of noises replaced them.

The wind had calmed, at least. It no longer wanted to push and shove you in whatever direction it pleased or steal the bag full of items you brought along. You didn't have to hug your sweater to your chest in fear of it being ripped from your arms either.

Instead, it was still.

Admittedly, the clearing gives you more paranoia than anything else.

When your mind starts to wander to places you'd rather it not reach, you begin to hum a quiet tune to yourself— your nephew's favorite— and allow it to ground you.

You were here for a reason. You wouldn't leave until you found him. You'll be fine until you find him, and you'll find some way to live in the forest that refuses to let its inhabitants go peacefully.

It's hours later when you hear the first sound of life (or suspended death) that doesn't feel like a threat— though, in hindsight, you should've been smarter and more suspicious of it when you first heard it.

A high-pitched instrument repeats each croon you let out, eventually taking over and silencing you. You follow the tune without much of a thought. If it were some sort of elaborate trap to lure you in, you couldn't be mad at yourself if you fell for it.

Clusters of trees become less and less as you follow the instrument and its recreation of your nephew's song. You call his name and are met with nothing but the music (from an ocarina, you quickly recognize) growing louder as time passes.

To say you're shocked when a large and, admittedly, well-kept manor enters your field of view would be an understatement. It's covered in vines, invasive arrowroots, and spreading flowers, but looks lived in if the smoldering smoke slowly dissipating in the afternoon air was anything to go by.

You couldn't begin to imagine who lived inside before the woods took it over (or what lived in it now). The architecture says it predates the Hero split in four, but you doubted the inhabitants of the floating sky built something so elaborate when they returned to the surface.

Your eyes jump past the crumbling pillars and dilapidated statues to the half-glass double doors that seemed to open on their own.

The music was coming from inside the manor now.

Steeling your nerves and squaring your shoulders, your hand grips tight on the strap of your satchel as you walk up the stone stairs covered in moss. You have to hold onto the guardrail installed next to it just as tight. Looking down, you find the carvings of it sorely separating it from the older antiquity of the manor.

Taking in smaller details (for future escapes or weapons against whatever lived inside, you'd figure out later), you find that the small pools of water that came from the sides of the manor and ran and fell alongside the stairs you climbed held small clumps of straw-colored fur. Some caused the surrounding water to turn into a pink hue that reminded you of fairies you've seen in childrens' books.

(Your hand reaches into the satchel to make sure you brought all of your nephew's well-loved books as well as a novel or two for yourself.)

(You did, thankfully.)

There's a smell filled with musk that permeates the air the closer you get to the manor, thick with amber and ginger and it reminds you of the times you come across a pack of wolves during your childhood.

Upon entering the manor, you find it was strongest in the wing of the manor to your right. It took over almost the entirety of your senses, but it wasn't an unwelcome or overwhelming sensation. If you paid close enough attention, you could sense the homely feeling underneath the ferality of it.

You prayed you'd be able to tell when the beast returned; if it was gone in the first place.

You take close note of how the foyer wasn't truly a foyer with how it was filled with windows rather than walls that led to a courtyard and how the only way to enter the wings of the manor was the winded stairs that connected via the terrace.

You don't fail to notice how the wing coated in the musky scent is coated entirely in shadows despite all the sources of light.

You couldn't decide if you were thankful or filled with loathing at the idea of what roamed on that side of the manor.

It's a struggle to turn your eyes away from the darkened wing of the manor, but you do manage when the music picks up once more from the left wing. It's significantly brighter and doesn't fill you with a sense of dread as the right one does.

Trap be damned, your nephew was here, you knew it— you felt it.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you find that you're inside a parlor room that leads to three other pathways. One was a library, another was a dining room, and the last was a small hallway.

In any other situation, you'd explore some more. The supposed beast that possibly lived in the manor kept everything in better shape than what you'd expect— or hopefully it was the forest spirits that lived throughout the forest.

Hopefully, those same spirits kept your nephew safe.

You have to close your eyes to better determine where the music is coming from, the only thing you can hear beside it and your own breathing being the manor settling. Your ears guide you inside the hall and you find it branches into a corridor, a bathroom, and two bedrooms.

Common sense seems to leave you when you spot the back of your nephew's head. Your breath quickens as you watch him clap along with the ocarina, you force your eyes to keep their clarity when you hear him hum each note just as you remember.

"''ire," you call in a weaker voice than you intended or thought you had. The nickname he claimed he hated so much tumbled from your lips so easily as you rushed inside the room, one arm rushing to remove your satchel while the other reached out to almost check if he was real.

The Lost Woods were known for their tricks, after all.

When he turns to face you, he's scrambling over himself in the bed. You're able to see how he limps on his right ankle and knee, how the entirety of his limbs were wrapped in bandage wrap as though done by a child. There was no blood, so you hold off on checking him over.

(The bandages were stained, thankfully not with blood. It was mostly dust and grime.)

(You'd have to sanitize whatever was wrong.)

You meet him more than halfway when you catch the way he winces and hisses with each movement.

"Auntie— Auntie— Titi!" His voice is airy as he speaks, emotion causing his words to come out as chokes. His arms reciprocated the tight hug you had on him, forcibly keeping his arms from trembling due to either nerves or injuries. "Titi, Titi, Titi!"

The way he says the word makes him sound like some chittering bug. If you listened hard enough, you could tell how his teeth clattered together, but you couldn't decipher if it was from a chill or emotion.

All you wanted to do was keep his head against the crook of your shoulder and neck while you pressed kisses to the crown of his head and kept him as close to you as you could, but you knew better.

Pulling away, you reach back for the satchel that you previously discarded. "What's wrong? What happened?" You force your voice to even out when you speak, hands already reaching for his arms after you sit the bag against your hip.

He shakes his head, but you've known him long enough to know there was something wrong. "They're from when I first went in the forest," he answers, voice quivering. "It's all healed. I think."

He doesn't push your hands away or pull his arms back when you skillfully unravel the bandages, carefully pulling and prodding the scars that littered the skin, and he was telling the truth despite the coloring.

"Did you forage like I taught you? Why are most of them green?"

"The spirits."

"The spirits?"

"And the soldier." He looks over your shoulder as though searching for their figures. "I haven't seen him yet, though."

Your eyes squint as one of your hands rubs over the strange texture of the scar, the other reaching for the antiseptic and clean fabric in your bag. "Are these spirits children or small trees with masks?"

You'd heard of both in legend. No one's ever seen them.

You're not sure which you'd rather watch over your nephew.

His eyes drift to his side before peering back over your shoulder once again. His brows furrow as he thinks of how to answer, head tilting as his pupils dilate.

"Both," he answers, "and ones that look like scarecrows. I asked them to bring you."

You force your gaze to keep itself on your nephew. You wouldn't let it wander to spirits you couldn't even see. "The ocarina?" You instead ask another question jumping around your mind, sucking your tongue in appreciation when he nods. "Smart boy."

An airy laugh leaves him, his face lighting up with a smile. "Learned from the best," he snorts.

You risk pressing kisses to the apples of his cheeks and forehead at his flattery, hands cupping themselves on the nape of his neck to bring him closer.

A younger him would push you away without a second thought, whining on about how you were embarrassing him in front of his friends.

He lets you do so now regardless of the spirits that surround you both.

"What've you been eating?" Your hands drop to his biceps when you pull away. They weren't thin like you'd expect them to be after three days in the forest; they were fatter than they had been before he left. "Who's been feeding you?"

His answer of "the Soldier," is quicker than you would've liked. "He goes out and hunts. He always brings back meat. I think it's deer.. it tastes.. bland."

"He.. cooks it, right?"

Another laugh wracks through your nephew's body. He knows you're only being cautious, but he can't help it.

"All the way through," he hums, flexing his arms when they start feeling stiff. "I think I don't like it because it's not your cooking."

He knows what your response is going to be before he finishes speaking, years of having lived under your guidance making him attuned to the smallest of your movements.

When your expression shifts from being relieved to disappointment with a twitch of your eye, he can tell you're not pleased with his statement.

Dousing the fabric in the antiseptic, you take his arm in your hand and begin wiping it down. "Don't be rude." Your voice takes on a less-than-pleased rasp, speaking lowly as if you knew the Soldier was near; but you still apologize when the sting sets in. "Have you thanked him?"

(You're sure you would continue to speak quietly regardless of the context of the conversation. You didn't want to risk "the Soldier," doing anything unfavorable.)

(Your nephew's words of praise did little to ease your stressed heart.)

"I never know when he's here. He drops the food off while I'm asleep. He brings books and carvings too." He watches as you wrap his arm in another roll of (cleaner) bandages, undoing the old one on his other arm while you prepare another piece of fabric. "The Spirits say I'm the most excitement he's had in a while, so he doesn't mind."

His voice was beginning to grow hoarse from speaking so quietly. You tap his throat to tell him to relax.

"They say he's nice," he continues, doing as told. Tapping the fingers of his now free hand against your shin, he tries to recall what all they've told him.

"I think they said he used to live in another part of the woods when he was a kid?—" His eyes glance back over your shoulder, suddenly becoming sure of himself. "— Ah. They did. They said he left and came back when he was older."

You raise a brow but don't speak your question.

Your nephew takes hold of your retreating hands in both of his.

A clatter and snippy huff outside the bedroom door rouses you from your light sleep.

Nearing a week into your stay at the manor, you'd think you'd be more accustomed to the noise, but you aren't.

You carefully remove your nephew's head from your arm, using even more caution when trying to remove the conjoined weight of several spirits from your legs as you slip out of the bed.

It's hard, but you manage to do so without waking any of them— you hope.

(You still couldn't see any of the Spirits, but over time you could feel when they crowded around you and when the wind moved as they rushed past you.)

The floorboards creak beneath your feet.

You hear the sound of claws scratching against the floor on the other side of the door.

Pressing the crown of your head against the door, you tap your fingers along the handle to give the Soldier a warning and wait a few moments.

If you listened hard enough, you swear you could hear him scurrying into one of the other rooms before he shut the door behind him.

It reminded you of a dog.

Smiling to yourself, you're careful opening the door, keeping your head to it and your eyes on the floor. You turn to the other side of it to close it, waiting for the click of the lockset to speak.

"Are you decent?"

His confused "huh," sounds more akin to a gasp than any other noise.

You rap your fingers against the handle again. "Can I look up?"

"Oh—" he sounds choked. "Yeah— Yes. Yes. You can. Sorry."

"Thank you," you hum, leaning down to pick up the tray of food. It consisted of almost entirely meat with a few vegetables you figure are exclusive to the woods. "For both the food and taking care of my nephew."

There was a thumping noise behind the door, the frequency of it was like a tail beating excitedly.

The Soldier lets out a croaking noise and you know his mouth started moving before his mind was able to catch up. "No, I should thank you for looking for him— and for telling him not to use his name."

You let out an airy laugh. "It's common knowledge where I'm from. I wouldn't be a good parental figure if I didn't."

Another noise leaves the Soldier as you fix yourself to open the door. You can't discern what this one means. "I don't know when they started calling me the Soldier, but it's not— uhm.. A favorite.. of mine."

"Oh?"

"Soldier," he sounds more confident in himself and you don't have the heart to tell him you heard him the first time, "it's a nickname. I don't know where the kids got it, but I don't like it."

Readjusting the tray to rest against your hip and forearm rather than in both your hands, you hum curiously. "So what should we be calling you?"

He pauses longer than you'd think it'd take to remember your own name, but you wait.

"Link."

"Link?"

"Yes."

"Like in a chain?"

".. Yes."

You nod even though you're sure he can't see you. "I'll be sure to tell 'ire."

"Thank you." There's more thumping from behind the door.

"And thank you."

There's another noise from Link you struggle to understand, but you figure it's because he starves for conversation. "I heard what your nephew said about the food, too. I'll try to find something to flavor it with next time I'm out."

"Thank you," you repeat. Your eyes curve with your smile. "He'll greatly appreciate it."

Link raps his fingers against the door in response, but he doesn't say anything. You take that as your queue to reenter the bedroom.

"How come your side of the house is always dark?"

You gently pinch your nephew's elbow and he swats your hand away, leaning impossibly close to the door that separates him and Link.

There are a few moments of silence from the man that 'ire filled with bated breath. Link takes an audible, steadying breath before knocking what you think is his nail against the door.

"I wouldn't want to scare you both off."

It was an answer you expected, but you were disappointed nonetheless.

"Boo," your nephew groans. You're sure Link could hear the pout in his voice if the quiet chuckle he lets out was anything to go by. "You can't be worse than what I've seen out there."

There's genuine intrigue in the noise Link lets out. "Oh? What exactly have you seen then?"

Pure excitement fills your nephew's expression when he turns to look at you from over his shoulder. His fingers tap against the floor restlessly, tongue already listing off whatever monsters he's encountered (read: come up with) in his twelve years of life.

"— but their teeth are the worst! They're poisonous and there isn't a cure for it!"

You have no clue as to what creature he was talking of now. There were at least fifteen of them who injected poison through their teeth, eight of which had no cure.

(You don't have to strain as hard to see the Spirits as you did two weeks ago. The shadows and light shift around then as they move to sit around your nephew, seemingly hooked on your nephew's every word.)

(You remember when he would crowd himself around you similarly whenever you would tell him a story.)

You close the book that sat in your lap more for decoration than entertainment at that point and place a hand over your heart.

"I drew a lot of them too! My aunt brought them with her!" He pushes himself through the motions of standing up before immediately stopping and returning to his seat in front of the door. "I'll show them to you if you eat dinner with us!"

There are a few stammering noises from the other side of the door and yet you can't bring yourself to apologize for your nephew's bargaining.

Your own curiosity was quickly starting to get the better of you against your wishes.

The noise he had made several nights before makes itself heard again. His claws (you discovered those a few nights ago) scratch against the wooden flooring as he moves to sit against the other wall rather than the door, his voice moving with him.

"I don't want to— I wouldn't want— want to disturb you— either of you." His words are muffled by the door and his growing quietness, a  regretful lilt stuck in his throat. "But thank you for the offer."

If he truly didn't want to join you and your nephew (and the spirits) for dinner, he was terrible at showing it.

"I know I wouldn't mind," you hum, standing to put away the book. A loud thumping makes the floor vibrate and 'ire has to stifle a laugh. "I wouldn't mind picking up a pot and pan again either."

"No!" Link quickly apologizes for his tone after realizing his outburst. "You don't have to. I wouldn't be a good host if I made you do that."

"Are you scared I'll poison you?"

Your nephew's voice drops to a whisper he swears you won't be able to hear. "She can't. She's the best cook ever."

You're not sure how the two correlate, but you'd take thew compliment.

"She won't?" Link's voice drops to entertain your nephew despite his earlier convictions. It takes on a playful direction, fur rubbing against the wood-tiled floors in excitement (based on prior interactions). "You've never gotten sick? Not once?"

'ire begins to shake his head but quickly stops. "Only from eating too much— which you will do, by the way. Best cook around," he reiterates.

Link chuckles, tapping his fingers against the floor restlessly. It takes him a moment to come up with something to say and neither of you push him to hurry.

You were both too hooked on his every word to do so anyway.

"I'll.." He's shy for all the attention. You wonder when the last time he got so much focus on him outside of the spirits. ".. I'll be sure to think about your offer. Why don't you tell me about a few of your monsters so I have more of an incentive?"

Your nephew jumps on the opportunity while you think over the plethora of recipes in your mind.

It wasn't rare for one of the imps to accompany you outside when you went foraging.

You never strayed too far from the manor— the last time you had been dragged outside of the area you had designated for yourself (and your nephew) by the children, Link had to come and rescue to lot of you before the sun had gotten too low.

Suffice to say, it was a rather humbling experience.

Kneeling, squatting, or sitting on the ground had never been easy on your knees or back, but the grass below you had felt as though it were a pillow hailing from the Heavens itself.

Your body works on picking herbs from the ground before placing them in your bag repurposed for your (new) everyday tasks while your mind wanders elsewhere.

You're humming to yourself when a twig snapping breaks your focus.

It was a nice reminder that the imps hadn't, in fact, accompanied you that day.

Your head lifts to survey the surrounding woods. Your entire body was still, mimicking a deer caught on a hunting trip.

There was nothing immediately in your line of sight that could be seen as a threat, but you had lived a long enough life to know that wasn't enough reason to let your guard down.

You're slow to rise to your feet and your ears are strained as you listen for whatever had made the noise.

"I'm sorry!"

You can feel your body relax when you hear Link's voice call out from behind a tree. You sink back to your knees without much thought, clutching the fabric of your top to calm your battering heart.

You weren't sure what you were going to do if it were an actual danger anyway.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he continues. His arms move and you can see one drop against the side of a tree while the other tightens around the corpse of an animal. "You were so still, I wasn't sure if you were okay."

A quiet, breathless noise leaves you. You're not sure if he could hear it, but you can see his shoulders relax when you do. "You're— You're fine! I just.. didn't know that you'd be out and about at this time."

When the hand not occupied with that week's dinner (barely) lifts to grab ahold of a tree branch, you're shocked to just now find out how tall he is.

"It's not your fault. I didn't know you were out here," he grunts while gently tugging at the branch. "Are you alone?"

Your eyes drop to the flora that surrounds you to not feel so invasive. Your fingers rub against the blades of grass idly when a restless feeling overtakes you. "A few of the kids said they'd join me later, but I'm not too sure when that's supposed to be." A short, genuine laugh leaves you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they forgot."

Link lets out his own, quiet laughter that you can only clue together when you see the entire tree shake in your peripheral. "I wouldn't take it to heart. They say they'll join me in hunting all the time but never do."

"Have you ever given them a stern talking to? I've heard that usually works with spirits."

"They barely listen to me as is. I think you'd have more luck than me."

"Is that an offer?"

"Are you headed home now?"

A strange vice tightens around your heart at his wording while you look through your bag. "Mhm," you hum, standing now that your legs aren't like that of a newborn. "You'll have to remind me of the way, though."

"I can guide you," he hums in reply. "You just can't look back."

Turning your back to him, you're surprised you don't jump when a sharp claw gives a ghostly touch to the center of your back.

You're shocked that you disregard the urge to check over your shoulder every step back to the manor.

You were no stranger to 'ire's night terrors.

They'd gotten better over the past few years as he aged, but all that progress had been undone during the near month you'd been in the forest.

Wiping away the tears that had managed to slip out, you ignore the prickly and uncomfortable feeling that comes with keeping your lulling head up so you can watch him.

You'd done it a thousand times before and would do it one thousand and one more if it meant he felt better.

You don't miss how his grip on your arm tightens when you start humming his favorite song. Your hand trails up to his hairline, nails (claws?) tracing the paint on his face that refused to fade.

You'd spent so long trying to scrub them and the green marks off, you hadn't even realized his skin had started to pale into a sickly grey in patches while darkening into (what looked like) a necrotic black in others.

You didn't even want to think about the changes that had started coming to your body.

You were, however, thankful you weren't thinning into a stalfos.

"You're not as sneaky as you'd like to think."

"How'd you know?"

"I have a young nephew. You learn quickly."

A brief laugh leaves Link from behind the cracked door. Though you didn't face him, you could see the way his eyes illuminated the wall in front of you, even managed to catch on some of 'ire's face.

It was a pretty blue color.

You don't comment on it.

"What's wrong?" Your voice has a deep rasp to it, your hand continuing to stroke your nephew's face even after he begins to calm down.

He'd slowly begun dropping more and more barriers (physical and mental) when it came to communicating with you both, having taken up shadows in their stead. He had gotten more confident in conversation as well, stammering and stuttering less the longer your nephew forced him to talk.

It makes you wonder how long it'd take for him to finally make true on those dinner plans.

"I heard him," Link hums just as quietly, the glow of his eyes moving to instead look over the sleeping spirits that crowded themselves around the space not occupied on the bed. "I was worried. Do you want help with them?"

A soft laugh leaves you when one of the imps buries their head onto your calf as though it were a pillow. "They've been like this since we first got here. 'ire," you press a kiss to his forehead when he rouses, waiting for him to settle before speaking again, "says they like to cling."

"You don't mind?"

"He's not too far off from them nowadays."

"Does he miss anything?"

Laying on your back, you being 'ire's head to rest against your shoulder. Your gaze is finally able to see how he'd take up all of the doorway (and then some) through the crack of the door.

You'd be shocked he hadn't flinched away if it hadn't been for the way his hand reached out to clasp it.

The tips of his fingers reached well past the frame of the door, his claws further, and you could only imagine just how much space he was taking up in the small hallway.

You were confident he could fit five or six of you in his hand without trying.

Your eyes jump back to the three (possibly four?) eyes before he can become self-conscious.

"Almost everything," you answer after pulling yourself from your thoughts. "His clothes, his dolls.. He could go without his friends, though."

His eyes jump from your face to the window as he huffs out a nervous laugh. It makes you wonder if he knows something you don't, but you don't push. "And you?"

"Hmm?"

"And yourself," he clarifies, "what do you miss?"

You're silent.

What exactly did you miss?

The feeling of your village's grass between your toes after the rain, the baker's treats that no other could replicate, being a part of such a tight-knit community, the sun after a particularly muggy morning—

There wasn't any need to be a sap.

"I'm not sure," you finally say after a long period of silence. You hadn't realized your eyes had left Link, yet when you force your gaze back to him, he holds it without issue. "I struggled with becoming attached to things unlike 'ire."

"Hm."

"What?"

"I can't remember the last time someone said something like that."

"You have visitors like us often?"

"More than you'd think."

"And what's become of them?"

The glow of his eyes drops to the sleeping spirits that litter before looking to the window again and you quickly understand.

The hum that leaves your throat is more lackluster than you intended it to be, but given how quickly the topic had changed, you give yourself the grace.

"Well," you start after clearing your throat, "what's something that you miss?"

The manor creaks when Link leans against a wall and his confidence in the movement tells you more than you'd expected.

You don't think you'd ever have the same amount of trust he held in it.

There's a playful tone in his voice when he speaks, one of his hands raised to scratch against his chin. "You'd have to promise not to be dramatic when I say."

"Is it my fault you use such outdated terms thousands of years behind my time?"

Link turns away to stifle his laughter, shrouding the room in darkness and forcing your eyes to strain with it.

"I can't say I've had the easiest experience understanding you or your nephew's sayings," he hums, drowning you in the light of his eye when he turns back, "the kids have to keep filling me in."

"Shame, and here I thought you'd been closer to my age. Have you been leading me on this entire time?"

Link's claws knock against the wall, his tail wagging against the floor while he huffs his amusement. "Have I? When I don't even know your name?"

If the weight of 'ire wasn't on your shoulder, you're sure you would've had a physical reaction of some sort.

"It'd do you good to not forget it," he hums, the movement of his tail slowing until it stops entirely. "Titi and Auntie, as much as I hate to say it, won't do much good."

Another lackluster noise leaves you as the arm trapped underneath your nephew lifts to rub your thumb during his forehead. "How fun."

"The kids are too attached to do anything now." The door slowly creaks open before stopping. It shuts so there's only a crack instead. "You'll be fine to share your name now."

"You never answered my question."

"Which one?"

"I haven't asked a lot," you huff before taking a softer tone, eyes rolling closed. "What is it that you miss?"

Link quietly snorts, muffling it by pressing his face to the door. He takes a steadying breath before saying a quiet, "a lot, I suppose. I can't name just a few things." A low noise leaves him, it's similar to a growl. "My friends? Playing music as well— my hands aren't good for much but skewering these days. My horse, Epona, too. She was the prettiest mare."

"Is she red with a white mane?"

"You saw the kids' drawings?"

"I've seen her before, I think— or maybe it was a hallucination?" The hand stroking 'ire's forehead stops as you scrounge your memories. "When I saw her outside the forest, I knew it was real. Another fated hero was mounting her."

You'd like to think yourself a master of figuring out what each noise he makes is meant to mean, but the one Link lets out once you finish speaking is short and of a higher pitch than normal.

When he begins to stammer over his words as he had when you first interacted with him, it feels like years' worth of progress has been undone.

"I— uhm— You— I don't— err— Thank—"

His tail thumps three times before he knocks his head against the door with a heavy groan. He lets out a quiet "Hylia, be damned," you couldn't help but think he hoped you wouldn't hear to go along with his frustration.

"It's been a long night," you finally prompt. "You'd best get some shut-eye before 'ire bombards you with more from his imagination, yeah?"

"Yeah," Link answers in a weak voice. "Yeah," he repeats to himself more than anything, "of course. Good night," he steps away from the door. "Sleep well."

"Same for you."

The night Link finally takes you and 'ire up on your offer for dinner, your nephew and the spirits had taken to floating around the east wing's dining room to prepare it for such a grand event.

"Titi, titi!" One of the Kokiri exclaims, tugging at the fabric of your skirt (that Link had made out of a spare bedsheet). Her voice had a strange echo to it— all of them, really— and had given you migraines up until you'd finally become accustomed to it. "'ire says that you'll make your world-famous pudding! Will you? Will you?"

You ignore her exaggeration in favor of forcing yourself to wrench your eyes away unless you wanted her puppy dog face to work on you. "Should I? I.. I can't say any of you have been acting well enough to deserve it.."

Even in your peripheral, it's not hard to miss the absolutely crushed look on her face. Her eyes were wide and her bottom lip wobbling like she was about to cry despite your joking tone.

"But why—y," she whines, dragging the last syllable on while hiccuping on her breath as she went on. You know the tears pooling in her eyes are just as fake as your rejection of her request— but you know just as well who'll win the battle at the end of the day.

"I—" hiccup. "Want—" hiccup. "Cake—" hiccup.

You raise a brow. "Pudding or cake, sweetheart? I can't make both."

The girl begins to climb your back while you return to sautéing the vegetables, arms wrapping around your neck so she can press her cheek against yours. "Cake! No, pudding! No! Cake! No—"

"I'll tell you what," you interrupt, taking the pan from over the open flame once the food is charred to your liking. Your skin thanks you when you step away and douse the fire, the arid air leaving through the open window. "Why don't you ask a few of the others which they want then we can try and get Link to bake it after dinner?"

The girl jumps off your back with stars practically filling her eyes. She cries out for several names while she runs off, hands clapping excitedly as she shouts out the change in plans.

You're left in peace until your nephew enters with his journals clutched between his arms, bouncing between his feet while he watches you finish plating each food item on dishes you could only dream of owning where you're from.

"D'you think he'll come?" 'ire's voice is low, almost as though scared Link will hear. You know he does if the night of his nightmares a few months ago were anything to go by— but he didn't need to know that.

"He'd better," you answer in an equally low tone. "I didn't spend so long slaving away at this just for him not to."

"Is that a threat?"

The plates in your hands aren't spared by the flinch that wracks through your body. Your reflexes are quick to catch them before any of the food can hit the floor.

'ire, on the other hand, has no issue with voicing his shock in the form of a scream, scurrying from the doorway while dropping his journals. He jumps behind you, hands clutching the fabric of your skirt while he hides himself behind your hip.

"Well?"

Placing a hand over your racing heart after putting the plates down, your other hand comes down to rest on 'ire's head. "It's rude to sneak up on people, you know."

The blond fur of his chest rustles with his laughter. It was difficult to see much else other than that, what with the way he hid himself behind the wall connecting the kitchen to the pantry.

You hadn't even heard his footsteps or creaking floorboards when he first approached. Had he been there the entire time and 'ire hadn't seen him, or had he only walked in after 'ire entered?

You wondered if he was naturally quiet or if he just learned which floorboards were loose.

"Is it sneaking when you were expecting me?" Link's voice is lighter than it usually is, a slight tremble could even be heard if you focused on it enough. He rocks on his feet and briefly leans forward, a less organic-looking side profile coming into view before leaving right after. "If I knew I would be this unwelcomed, I—"

"That's a joke, right?" 'ire stomps away from your side while he speaks, stepping over his discarded compilations of works to stare up at Link with wide eyes. Your nephew ignores the way Link's hands raise to cover his face and how he backs away as soon as he pivots in his foot to face him. "You're not actually gonna pansy out, right?"

Your feet lead you to the two before you can have much of a thought. "Zaire," you say in a terse voice, taking hold of his shoulder and bringing him against your front so you can stop him from interrogating the poor man. "Don't be rude."                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Whatever argument he has dies on his tongue when he takes a good, long look at Link. His mouth gaped open like a fish, one of his fingers lifting so he could push it into the fur of his stomach, watching the skin beneath sink with the force of it as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Woah."

If you had any less sense of dignity, you'd let yourself have the same reaction.

"Don't be rude," you reiterate, pushing Zaire's hand down until it finally reaches its rightful place at his side.

"No," Link breathes into his palms, clearing his voice to try and rid it of the anxiety (and, possibly, humiliation). "He's— he's fine. This wouldn't be the first time someone responded like that. I'd be more concerned if he did any other way."

Zaire shrugs your hands from your shoulders, stepping until he is toe-to-claw with Link. "Then why are you hiding your face? It can't be that bad," he says, tugging at the fur of Link's elbows, rubbing them between his fingers so he could better be accustomed to the texture.

Spreading his fingers enough so you both could see the four holes in the inorganic material, Link lets out another heavy breath. "I'm self-conscious," he can tell the answer doesn't please Zaire and continues speaking, "It's been.. too long.. since I've shown anyone either of my faces."

"A mask is.." Your voice falters off when you finally find the words to speak, losing them again when you fail to find a proper way to articulate your thoughts.

"It's mostly you and the kids, no?" You try again when you figure out a way to better word it. "Is a mask not.. Is it.. necessary?"

When the blue light that emits from his eyes lifts to look at you, an unidentifiable emotion shoots through you. He holds your gaze for a few, silent moments before turning his head and dropping his hands.

"It's like a second skin," he simply offers.

"Sad," Zaire sighs, backing away and turning until he stood in the center of the kitchen. "Can you still eat with it? Like I said, Auntie is the best cook in all the realms and you have to taste it to believe it."

Curse your nephew's skill of lightening a mood.

Rather than let his insecurities keep him from looking at either of you for the duration of the night, Link looks down at Zaire with a playful jolt of his shoulders. "It's not fused with my face."

Zaire's eyes curl into crescents while he grabs two of the plates from the counter. "Good!" His tail (a terrifying new addition when he first started changing) wraps around the third dish, walking himself past the two of you in the pantry so he could place each one on the dining table. "You'll love this then! Auntie," you don't miss the way he adds your name causally, "always makes this on a big day!"

Link repeats your name under his breath before doing the same with Zaire's. He lets out a thoughtful nod as each one rolls off his tongue, one pair of eyes looking at you while the other continues to follow your nephew.

He wrings his hands together when he catches the way you examined him oh-so-carefully, arms crossed with your head tilted.

"It's nice," he gulps as though every inch of nervousness had reentered his body. "It's a nice name. I like it. It suits you."

You don't know if you were teasing him prior, but you decide to do so now.

"I'd hope so." You pat a hand against his arm as you walk into the kitchen, ignoring the oily feel of his fur. You ignore the feeling of him watching and instead focus on searching through the cupboards for the drink you had foraged around to make just days before. "I could say the exact same for you, thankfully."

"Now, why don't you have a seat so I can play host this time?"

[starryoak]

Reading Gravity Falls fanfiction is hard when you think that Ford is kind of a terrible person and it takes until post-canon for him to even begin to try to not be lmao. Because like. I’m not opposed to post-canon or canon divergence Ford getting his head out of his ass, but for me to really enjoy your fic, you have to recognize how firmly up his ass his head really is, and I feel like it’s not necessarily particularly common, at least considering the amount of “Ford Is a Good Brother” tags there are on fanfics I’m seeing lmao Like, he’s definitely getting better post-canon!… but that doesn’t erase the majority of canon where Ford is. Definitely not. In fact. A good brother… Or person, really.

We do see in the Journal the moment where he starts being a better person, you see his reflections on himself and realizing how much he fucked up, and you get this sense that he’s finally realized what a massive asshole he’s been to his brother and everyone else in his life, and like. It’s a huge step and you genuinely get the sense he’s going to improve. But at the same time, we don’t get to actually see the actual moment of apology, just hear of it, so for me there’s this huge missing piece in a lot of people’s stories between the Ford that’s in canon and the Ford who is a better person, and like. I feel like that missing bridge is sorely needed! And some people just jump straight over the bridge into “Ford is a better person now” land, and, well, it’s sometimes fine, but often I’m like /: ok but have you actually apologized to your brother yet.

And then there are the fics that just straight up don’t seem to grasp how much of a jerk Ford textually is lmao. Which is fine depending on the tone, but like. If the fic is trying in any way to be serious, it just leaves me going /: because like. If you treat the events of canon seriously in almost any way, Ford is insanely self-centered and selfish. He’s just kind of a bad person! Not an evil person, to be clear, but he has a horrible habit of not caring very much about anyone but himself or people who he can relate to himself, and not having the humility to admit his flaws or when he’s wrong, which is. Very interesting to write about! If you actually write about it, is the key!

[goldencuffs]

The way I devoured the first chapter the same way Damen wolfed down Laurent’s lasagna and dessert……. I’m LOVING !! the story setting, the complexity in your characters. I really love the way you set the story, I was able to get a vivid image of the setting, the mood, the vibe, the town they are in. The little reveals as the narration progressed had me sitting on the edge. Imagine me as this gif as I soaked up more and more:

And the COMPLEXITY of the characters?????? Laurent my poor overprotected little baby I just want to wrap him up in a bubble wrap 🥺 Damen how dare you be so mean to him!!! I love when stories have characters that are in no way perfect and since it’s from Laurent’s pov as reader you sense so much of his emotions to higher extend. The little reveals to his and Damen’s dynamic are soo intriguing I’m ready for them to fuck me up!!!! We know he’s a meanie and just plain rude to him but the bits of care~ he shows by defending him from his father and trying to get him to achieve his dreams :(.

I do hope the readers will let you explore the “sensitive” themes in this story without being weird about it, I mean I get it won’t be to some’s liking but that’s the BEAUTY of exploring FICTIONAL! characters and making them complex and imperfect. It also made me think of something I thought about before in CP. I always wondered how Laurent would turn out in an alternative universe (modern) if the things in the og story didn’t happen to him, and this was almost the exact way I envisioned him to be! So to be fair in my head this isn’t even as “out of character” as one would think he would be lmao. Like ofc he’s gonna be shy, overprotected and micromanaged and be a people pleaser :( … is that also something you thought about while writing his character? One more question and I’ll leave you be hehe, do you have a set schedule you wanna release the new chapters? Hope it doesn’t sound too pushy 🫶 thank you for the chapter!!!

do you know you are the kindest person alive and im in love with you!!!! 🫶 this is the nicest message ever im actually crying 😭

atmosphere + mood is such a big deal to me, especially in this fic where i see the town as a character so thank you for this validation!!

GREAT gif 😭

yessss damen and laurent's dynamic has been pretty fun for me to write. he's the complete antithesis from itaoak damen but also more of an asshole than dad damen lmaoooo.

HEAVY on exploring things in fiction lol...... like it's fanfic, it's really not that deep and i hope my excessive tagging will let people know this isn't like a fluffy story. and like there's no obligation to read it 🙃

omgggg i'm so happy to hear that despite being a different au you don't mind the characterisation!!! it's truly such a nice thing to say 🥰

AND YES -- for once there is a set schedule!! i want to post every two weeks on friday/saturday. so the next chapter should be up on the 31st of jan or 1st feb. i'm currently finishing up chapter four this week, and starting the fifth so hopefully these 2 week breaks will give me ample time to catch up 😅