#i stopped working on an actual piece to draw this last night it was so serious like

[kaogens]

crossover of the century

[lorelune]

(continuation of this piece. part ii of regency au with jing yuan)

"he needs to stop doing this."

you tell lord luocha this as you stumble out of your one room cottage, desperately attempting to smooth down your day gown. your palms shake as you do and you shoot your patron an angry look.

lord luocha looks perfectly passive, painfully neutral with a hint of mirth. the bastard. "i think it's quite appropriate for the general to call upon you this hour of the day. i thought you would be prepared."

"i am not an 'eligible lady' as i am so often reminded," you shake your head. "i cannot constantly be ready to take his company, just because it's before supper. be reasonable, my lord. speak with him about this."

"perhaps," luocha tilts his head with the barest hint of a smile. "i'll consider it. for now, why don't you go greet our guest? i'll have some refreshments sent in."

"fine." you say. your voice wavers.

this is not the first time the retired general, Jing Yuan, has called upon you. it's more like the fifth. maybe sixth. it is more frightening to keep count of his increasingly frequently visits (as they clearly indicate some type of explicit interest), so you stopped counting them recently. peace of mind and all.

you enter the drawing with and bow to the general without thinking, "good afternoon, general."

"likewise," he says easily, voice so deep and rich; it makes your insides feel wobbly.

jing yuan sits on one of the loveseats, legs tastefully spread and in some amount of regalia. well-dressed, certainly. his hair is half-tied up as he so favors, and his face has a healthy amount of blush. a crisp jaw. bulging forearms and thighs beneath his various dressings. a broad chest. it is hard not to ogle him overtly. you train your gaze on the hand-tufted rug before rising and daintily (as you can) sit across from him on the other side of the loveseat. you tuck your legs to the side, barely remembering to not fully fold them under yourself. decorum and all.

(it feels foolish. jing yuan hardly seem to care. lord luocha thinks your bumbling is amusing.)

"i apologize for the intrusion," he says. he squeezes his hands into loose fists. you don't miss the action. "will you indulge me for a time?"

"i'm already here, aren't i?" you quip back, tone light. easy. "i don't mind the company."

there's more you could say—

("general, i think you are so very kind and thoughtful. thank you for spending your spare time with me.")

("general, i am sorry i can't attend any of the balls and festivities as anything more than a performer. i would not mind being on your arm, if circumstances were different, and you desired it so".)

("general, how much longer will you entertain this? are you intending to steal my heart, only to break it?"

instead, you remain quiet, picking at your nailbeds. jing yuan watches you with a hum. flexes his hands.

"are you working on any new pieces?" he asks.

"a few, actually." you reply. "the muses have been kind to me."

"oh?" he smiles. he tilts his head cutely, almost boyish, despite his age. "may i ask the subject matter?"

"ah—" you feel your face heat. "a number of things. subject matters. a varying themes."

truthfully, you have started four new paintings in the last week. all of which were started in moments of such deep inspirations, they had you painting and laying base colors from sunrise until sunset. it just so happens that these... works have. a clear theme. that of the general.

(during his second visit, he commented on the blooming azaleas. you've been obsessed with perfecting the shape of their petals. his third visit, you sat on the same seat as him. you were so much closer then, and found yourself lost in the honey color of his eyes. the punch of purple underneath them, an accumulation of sleepless nights. another is of a lion, like that of his crest. the final is a portrait of him that has you committing every bit of him to memory. perhaps you'll be able to capture his likeness with your memory if the muses continue to favor you.)

"you're quite the varied artist." he leans his jaw on his fist. "your dedication to your craft is most admirable."

"i cannot help the ways in which inspiration forces me to act," or, to thirst over the man in front of you. god forbid a parched man be given drink so fine. you shake your head. "i have had... some amount of increased, enjoyable, new interactions over the past while. i suppose i'm feeling invigored."

"oh?" jing yuan looks smitten. his eyes go half-lidded. "may i guess the source of your inspiration?"

"if you do, you'll only embarrass me."

"so, you think i will be right in my guess then?"

"i know so." you roll your eyes, sheepish. "i am not foolish enough to think i could hide face and play games with the Divine Foresight and win."

"you underestimate yourself."

"hardly. have you... met yourself, general?"

"often, frequently." he nods to himself. he catches your gaze. it's piercing. "i find myself in the mirror, often, these days. i tell myself that i am spry enough and have retained enough charm through my years to properly court and woo the recluse, genius artist i have been stealing time from. i meet the man in my mirror and think that he is quite clever, but tends to underestimate you as well."

your breath is caught in your chest. you scrunch the skirt of your dress up in your palms and swallow.

"the general speaks freely and foolishly."

"and yet, i do not lie."

"... you are brazen."

"do you not require such treatment?" jing yuan laughs sweetly. "if i were any more gentle with you, you would've already retreated far into your lord's gardens. i wouldn't hope to see you again. you will need to forgive me for my shamelessness."

"... i could perhaps be convinced." you scoot closer on the love seat. you should. create space away from him. before you do something stupid and unbecoming. but you find yourself drawn closer. "the general is a kind man. good-hearted."

"such a charitable assessment."

"i know it to be true." you do know. the man keeps his own gardens, tends them himself. he pays his servants good wages and left war and bloodshed behind sometime ago. "i would like to get to know his good heart more."

jing yuan steels himself then. you watch it happen. his spine straightens, his throat bobs. sweat beads at his temples, you now notice. his keeps his hands in his lap, wringing them together.

"then we are in agreement?"

"... only if the general treats me well." you stumble over your words. "only if you treat me well, general."

"jing yuan, please."

"fine. jing yuan, then." it takes everything in you not to reach for his hands. your last threads of civility barely remaining. "will you treat me well, jing yuan?"

he breathes. you feel the warm exhale of it fan over your cheeks. your gaze drops to the softness of his bottom lip.

"only the best, for you."

"so, you're smitten with me?"

"simply struck." he gulps. you need him, you decide, decorum be damned. you lean forward, just as he does. you can hear the tremor of your breath in time with his—

the door the drawing room opens, suddenly, with a resounding thud. you jump away from the general, a hand over your heart. you attempt to not noticeably pant, though you perhaps fail. lord luocha raises a knowing eyebrow as a few of his staff bring in a platter of a small treats and bubbly drinks in fluted glasses.

"forgive the intrusion," luocha places a hand on jing yuan's shoulder. the general straightens up. "i figured that you two must be in need some of refreshments. may i suggest a walk in the garden, later? perhaps, you could show him your herb patches, [name]."

lord luocha shoots you a knowing look.

(said patch of herbs is just outside of your cottage. a good distance away from the main estate.)

"i'd love to." you swallow and shake your head. "if the general will deign to spend a bit more time with me."

jing yuan looks at you, really looks at you, and smiles. it is an honest, genuine thing. you are glad luocha is at his back, so only you can see the earnest of it. it is something special, you think, just for you.

"as much as you will allow me."

and you will give him as much as you can muster.

[jellyfiishatr]

Being friends with them!!

a/n : just some friendly hang out sessions with the great spider four >_<★!!

☆☆☆

Characters : Miles Morales / Gwen Stacy / Pavitr Prabhakar / Hobie Brown

content : headcanon / fluff / platonic / pure silliness

☆☆☆

Miles Morales!! (Small Ganke mention!!)

☆ study sessions with these two ofcourse

☆ ^and by study sessions I mean Miles is doing work and Ganke's been done and has been playing videos games since you came over to their dorm

☆ Miles asks for help with English, and you ask for help with whatever you're missing

☆ if not study sesh, then definitely out and about spray painting a new wall

☆ ^I can imagine late night talks with him after he's finished a piece are very heart to heart, he loves to speak his mind to you and hopes you do aswell

☆ I can imagine you meeting his parents are a little nerve wracking since he's mentioned that they didn't like ganke or Gwen

☆ so you tried to be as respectful and kind to them as you possibly could (probably also kissing up to them idk I would too)

☆ if you also do art, you guys compare drawings and give eachother advice on what you need to work on

☆ ^definitely the type to steal your notes and draw in them during class

☆ ^will also steal said notes for a week and forger he has them till your banging on his door in the middle of the night before your assignments due and those notes are very much important to you

Gwen stacy!!

☆ it took a long time for her to actually consider you a friend, a lot of the time you just stayed following her and talking

☆ ^anything you said in those few months prior to her considering you a friend, went through one ear and out the other

☆ She's definitely a teaser, making fun of you in a friendly manner

☆ movie night, or weekly sleepovers at one another's house is a must with her

☆ ^she says she's into horror/action but is really into romcoms, she won't admit that outloud though

☆ I feel like she's really bad at cooking so teaching her how better her cooking skills has definitely happened once or twice

☆ ^she loves when you make her lunches, she usually buys you lunch for the next two days in return

☆ when she's playing the drums you usually sit right outside her window with headphones because she's likes to have her room shut off

☆ ^but she still wants to hang out so she makes you wait outside for about an hour till she's done and has you back inside for dinner

Pavitr Prabhakar!!

☆ Study sessions pt2!

☆ he's a straight A, top of the class student. He doesn't really need to do homework because he does it in class

☆ he does help you with yours though, especially if you're failing

☆ early morning walks, he's an early bird and makes you walk with him because "It's good for the mind!"

☆ if you're not an earlybird, you're grumbling the entire walk about how it's a "weekend" and how "you do this everyday pavitr" and how "you need to stop making me do this"

☆ he doesn't understand whatever you're trying to say and pushes you lightly the rest of the walk (that last part definitelywasnt written by pavitr, no definitely not)

☆ he loves to rant about his girlfriend, talking about how they sneaked out and went on a late night walk that week

☆ if you have an s/o you're definitely talking about them with pavitr, telling him all about them

☆ he's definitely a dog person, he always has a dog following him no matter what

☆ you guys are walking to school? There's a dog right behind you. Hanging out at his house? There's a dog right outside his bedroom window. LITERALLY IN SCHOOL?? A DOG HAS WALKED IN DURING THE MIDDLE OF CLASS AND SAT DOWN NEXT TO HIM WHILE THE TEACHER WAS AWAY

☆ ^everyone think he just has some sort of dog treats on him always but it's really from just recognizing his face from him always feeding them, such a sweetheart

Hobie Brown!!

☆ draws on your hand a lot

☆ ^you always have faded sharpie on you no matter what because of him

☆ you tease him for his accent constantly, saying "pip pip cheerio," or "ello luv." In the most horrible accent ever

☆ You have to go to protests or big government events with him, whether you're political or not he's dragging you along

☆ Always has little trinkets for you everytime you hang out

☆ hang outs in an abandoned building are a daily thing

☆ ^he's probably made you carry a big couch for him to put in a new hang out spot because he said he "knew a place."

☆ he did infact know a place

☆ the playlist guy, he's the one with fire songs to hype everyone up at rallies/protests

☆ knows how to design, outfits, or banners whatever. He knows how to do it right

�� you'll always have heart to heart conversations with him, early in the morning, mid-day, or late at night

☆ if you ever bring up the topic, "you think we're friends in another universe?" He just looks at you and nods (I've mentioned this before in my hobie hcs)

☆☆☆

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I request Welt, Dan Heng, Sunday, Gepard, and Argenti finding their s/o's poetry collection of them?

Argenti:

Would sit himself down somewhere nearby and read every last poem, each one leaving him with a full heart, butterflies in his stomach and another addition to the list of reasons why he adored your creative soul.

He’s extremely honoured that you decided to chose him as your muse for your poems, for he could feel the love and respect you have for him through your writing, before holding the collections of poetry made in his name against his chest as he beamed with happiness.

He’d even openly praise you for your works if he were to see you later on in the day, which would make you understandably upset and embarrassed that he went through your things, but with the way that he passionately talked about your writing and the look upon his face that clearly shown his appreciation and admiration for poetry.

At the end you’re the one who ends up being flustered whilst Argenti was still sending appraisal after appraisal your way, all the while re-reading your works and proudly reciting his favourite passages without shame.

Sunday:

He thought it was sweet that you write poetry about him.

He didn’t feel as though he was invading your privacy at all, seeing as how he’d like to claim that whatever of yours was now also his by osmosis…totally not because he’s fishing for stuff to hold over you and maintain control should you act out…

Anyway- he’s taking his sweet time reading each and every poem you’ve written with him in mind and smiling at the hold he’s taken within your heart, finding it fascinating what adoration could make one do just to express their whole array of emotions.

It was almost as though they were on some timer that others couldn’t see just to express all their innermost feelings towards the special person in their life. Then again love tended to make people feel as though they were invincible, so the unthinkable and accomplish things that they never thought that they were capable of achieving in the first place.

So it didn’t matter whether or not you were able to wax poetry before him, but it was obvious to Sunday that the moment he had taken hold of your life and your every thought, poetry has became your primary outlet for feelings that you weren’t nearly brave enough to say aloud to him. Rest assured however for that day will come for you to open up about those unspoken feelings of yours…sooner or later.

Gepard:

He feels as though he was invading your privacy by reading your poetry collection and wanted to leave before he’d inevitably get caught, but just as he was about to take his leave, he stopped when the title of the first poem caught his eye;

Everlasting winter

He found himself reading through the first few opening sentences and immeditly made connections between himself and the person within your poem. To say it didn’t take long for Gepard to realises that the similarities between him and the person in your poem were purely intentional, and that he was the one the poem was actual about.

His face was blossoming red upon the realisation and averted his eyes elsewhere as he takes in the fact that you found him a perfect enough muse for your poetry. Him, the man who couldn’t hold a tune to save his life, grows flowers that unfortunately don’t last long, and wasn’t possessed with the basic skills of drawing.

And yet you found something about him that was worth writing poem after poem about. He didn’t know why that was but he was appreciative that you found something in him that urged you into written it down on paper, where your affection and admiration for him would be forever immortalised…He also may or may not have taken a poem to read to himself later on at night.

Dan heng:

He had noticed that you left a piece of paper laying about one day and was about to call out to you and give it back, while scolding you for leaving your messes everywhere for him to pick up after, only to see that it was in fact a poem about him.

Red faced, Dan Heng still planned on taking the poem back to you and journeyed to your room where he found that the door was left ajar, but could immeditly tell that your room was empty. Sighing, Dan Heng opened the door and quickly made his way towards your desk, where’d he found more poems in regards to him.

Much like Gepard, Dan Heng felt as though he was reading something he shouldn’t but he found himself unable to look away as he was secretly tempted to know how you viewed him. What he found was nothing short of you portraying him in a way that he’s never quite thought of himself before. If he wasn’t already so easily made flustered by your words alone, your writing was enough to put the poor man into a catatonic state.

Dan Heng wasn’t use to being smothered in a love like yours. Where you felt as though speaking your love for him wasn’t nearly enough, so you had to expand and start writing it instead in the form of poetry. He doesn’t feel as though he’s deserving of it but isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and is more then willing to try to accept the fact that you care deeply for him; especially when he can not find it within him to find anything about him remotely worth being with.

Welt:

He’s made copious amounts of drawings of you that he’s kept hidden in his room. So upon coming across your poetry collection about him, it only made him feel more comfortable knowing that he wasn’t the only one to express his innermost feelings through an art form.

Besides it wasn’t like he was actively searching your room for your poetry collection, he really wasn’t as he just came across them out of pure coincidence. He was currently about four poetries deep and was finding it extremely endearing how you viewed him in most of your writing: which was mainly as an well educated, wise man with a young man’s heart and restlessness sense for adventure, who had a talent for drawing.

Welt would chuckle under his breath at all the moments you’ve shared together, before you’d then went on to write about how beautiful he was in every possible way. From his sweet, insightful eyes that seemingly held all the knowledge you could ever ask for, to his calming, velvety voice that could lull you into a deep sleep within seconds.

You posed him as this figure of comfort, a figure of warmth and Welt soon finding himself not so subtly sneaking some of your poetry into his pocket to read for later. Your poetry only gives Welt the confidence he been looking for, as he would then starts to leave his drawings of you in places where you’d be able to see them; all in hopes that you would know that you had just as much of a huge place in his heart as he did in yours.

[whimsickool]

RATING THE ENTITIES ON HOW FUN THEY'D BE AT MONOPOLY:

1.  The Flesh - 1/10, wont stop trying to use severed body parts as its player token, houses, and hotels. This would be fine if they werent so fresh and thus staining the board. Brought meatloaf and refused to specify what meat was actually involved. We agreed to order pizza instead.

2. The Desolation - 4/10, is a sore loser and barely wants to play as intended. It mostly keeps trying to flip the damn board and when finally realizing its temper tantrum won't work, they just give all their assets to one player to tilt the game unfavorably like a dick.

3. The Lonely - 5/10, didn't show up on time, didn't play, and mostly sat on the couch for all of game night watching reruns of Golden Girls. This is due to the lonely feeling one gets when realizing you'll never have friends like The Golden Girls. They still get a point for watching though.

4. The Dark - 2/10, at first they just kept flipping off the lights which made it hard to play but when The Desolation suggested candles (the only helpful thing they did all evening) The Dark responded by leaking dark water all over which got the money and chance/community cards wet.

5. The Spiral - 6/10, just enjoyed going around and around and around on the board, sorta played? Mostly lied about how much money they had or owed or what chance/community card they pulled. This was because, "math is for losers." Thus, they did whatever they could to quickly get back to going around and around the board.

6. The Vast - 4/10, played the game, didnt perform any antics, but they kept pointing out their vast amount of wealth  after getting hotels on the first row. Points lost for being a prick.  I will say, from time to time, I would get the over whelming feeling that I was falling. This wasn't a large issue until it happened to The Spiral and suddenly no one can seem to find the bathroom in petty revenge.

7. The Slaughter - 0/10, killed the pizza man. This provided two major headaches: a deadbody to deal with and the pizza being ruined from being dropped. Luckily, The Flesh found use for the dead body. As for dinner, we resorted to just munching on the snacks. Also, its really uncomfortable being threatened whenever they happen to land on your property and owe you rent.

8. The Corruption - 3/10, always brings rotten snacks covered in mold. Uses live bugs for pieces which aside from being gross is just not effective cause they dont stay still. How can I recall that their property has three houses when the peices are crawling on my wall? I also just think it is common courtesy to shower before coming over to game night.

9. The Hunt - 8/10, overly competitive but focused on the game and largely helped wrangle the others. Did keep making references to Wolf of Wall Street though which got old quick. It is worth mentioning that they also talked alot about their various hunting trips and buddies which was fine at first until they started describing a recent hunt that I think may have been my coworker who went missing last week.

10. The Eye - 2/10, cheater. Fucking. Cheater. I didn't even know you could cheat that many ways in Monopoly. Also they brought the lead pipe from a Cluedo board as their game piece and kept giggling when I asked why. Further, it is rude to pressure a trade deal by use of blackmailing. Had a lengthy argument about how technically you dont have to draw from the top of the Chance and Community Chest pile

11. The Buried - 8/10, dirt everywhere and I can't be certain but I think they made my chairs smaller? Maybe it was the table? I felt far too close to everyone. I will say they did mostly play the game but you will feel buried beneath your debt after landing on their property which... now that i think about it.. why was their rent so high? That can't be right..

12. The Web - 7/10, much like insects spiders are NOT a suitable game piece. Didn't technically cheat but managed to get ridiculous trade deals from everyone, especially The Spiral. The Desolation gave all their assests to The Eye to screw over The Web but.. to be honest the game is still going and I.. is it possible to have a stalemate in monopoly?

13. The End - 9/10, played the game but kept saying we should up the stakes by having losers die. I explained that this was the sort of game where if it goes on long enough, death is actually the preferred alternative. They understood and got really quiet for awhile. I think they are to blame for why I'm up past my bedtime. I'm growing afraid they'll all still be playing by next week.

14. The Stranger - 6/10, tried to pretend they were my mom. I know they arent my mom. So they taunted me bu saying they were my dad. This was effective as I don't know my dad. Asshole move. Also, would not stop commenting how dry my skin looked. Other than that, yeah actually played the game!

15. The Extinction - 0/10, when it was finally time for everyone to leave we all learned why Extinction had not shown up. Bad news, the outside world has been nuked. The good news is that I don't think I have to pay rent anymore. Or go to work. Oh god. What do I do about groceries?

[veronicaphoenix]

until the stars stop shining | noah sebastian

previous part to all that's left, but it can be read as a one shot.

summary: noah and his girl spend an evening by the lake | words: 1.2k | reading time: 5mins

tags & trigger warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff. noah is an illustrator, reader loves baking cookies, mentions of noah having been reader's first, and that's it—they love each other a ton.

This is for the anon that asked for something sweet and fluffy after i posted All That's Left. I hope this does it. It's not actually a standalone work, but a sort of flashback belonging to the same story where All That's Left happens. I have a full plot developed in my head, but I can't tell if I'll ever write it and post it, so here goes this little thing where you get to know a little bit more of those characters and the story.

Thank you for all your constant love and support <3

 ͢ until the stars stop shining

Noah leaned back in the Muskoka chair, one leg lazily stretched out, balancing his sketchbook on his lap. He was shirtless, only wearing his bathing suit. For over an hour, he had been sketching, savoring the tranquil solitude offered by the lake, the warm caress of the late afternoon sun, and the rustling of leaves. Early fall was the perfect time for moments like this, when nature felt intimate and unhurried. Most of the tourists had long gone, leaving behind only the soft chorus of birds and the quiet murmur of waves licking the shore.

The breeze teased the pages of his sketchbook, carrying with it the crisp scent of pine needles and the rhythmic whisper of water against the rocks. Noah’s pencil glided in slow, thoughtful strokes as he tried to capture the scene before him, but his thoughts drifted constantly to his girl.

The door to the cottage creaked open right then, and she stepped outside. She carried a wooden tray filled with oat cinnamon cookies, their powdered sugar dusting glinting in the soft afternoon light. The sweet, comforting aroma mingled with the crisp air, making Noah smile to himself even without glancing back. 

She padded softly down the dock, her bare feet almost silent against the worn wood, and placed the tray on the armrest of his chair, her fingers grazing his shoulder in a brief, affectionate touch.

“I baked something,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. Of course she had. Baking was her favorite thing to do.  “Something sweet for my favorite artist.”

Noah grinned as he finally looked at her, his eyes catching on the spot of flour smeared across her nose. She had no idea it was there, and he decided not to tell her—she looked adorable like that.

“You need to refill your energy after working so hard for hours on end,” she pointed out as she glanced at the open sketchbook on his lap. 

Instead of reaching for a cookie, Noah broke off a small piece and gently brought it to her lips. Her smile widened as she took a bite, the sweetness melting on her tongue. A moment later, he let out a soft chuckle, reaching to brush a crumb off her lip with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before dropping back to his half-finished sketch.

“I’m not half as good at drawing as you are at baking,” he admitted.

She tilted her head, glancing at the sketch. “This one looks pretty good to me, Noah.”

He smirked, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Wait until you see the one I did last night, after you fell asleep on the couch.”

“Why do you find it so entertaining to draw me?”

His gaze softened as he looked back at her. “Because you’re my favorite subject.”

That’s when he bopped her nose, making the flour stain disappear.

Her grin was bright and effortless as she leaned over the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder, close enough to feel his warmth. “And you’re my favorite person to bake for,” she whispered.

Noah’s cheeks flushed slightly at her words, a rare blush coloring his usually composed expression. She kissed the warm skin of his left cheek, lingering for just a moment before pulling away with a satisfied smile. She wandered toward the edge of the dock, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden planks. She sat down, her legs hanging off the edge.

Noah watched her for a moment, admiring how the wind gently tousled her hair and the way the light danced off her skin. The contentment in her posture, the way her eyes reflected the colors of the setting sun—everything about this moment felt perfect.

“You ever gonna let me teach you how to swim?” Noah asked.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the water before she responded quietly, “I don’t know... I’m still a bit scared of it.” She dipped her feet a little deeper, letting the cool water lap around her ankles. “But... I love being here. With you.”

The memory of that first visit just the two of them was vivid in both their minds. This was Jolly’s cottage, the same place where Noah and her had meet back when she was still fourteen and he was eighteen. They had spent countless of weekends and birthdays and fourths of July in this very same place. But nothing had been as special as the weekend Noah convinced Jolly to let him stay with her, alone. It had been six years since then, and even now, the memory of taking her virginity—in Jolly’s bed—was still as clear as water.  

Noah watched as the wind played with her hair, blowing soft strands across her face. He picked up his sketchbook again, unable to resist capturing her in this moment—the peacefulness, the effortless beauty. His pencil moved in quick, steady strokes as he sketched her sitting at the edge of the dock, her feet in the water, the sun casting an orange glow over the horizon. He knew that one day, he would marry this girl. There was no question in his mind.

Once satisfied with the drawing, Noah quietly set his sketchbook aside and rose from the chair. He walked over to her with slow, deliberate steps, his heart swelling as he took in the sight of her in this perfect, secluded spot. Without warning, he bent down, pretending to lift her by the underarms as if he were about to toss her into the water.

She yelped in surprise, her heart leaping as she felt her feet lift off the dock. “Noah!” 

Before she could fully react, Noah pulled her back into his arms, turning her around to face him. She clung to him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms tightening around his neck, her pulse racing from the surprise.

“Don’t you dare!” she gasped, breathless from both fear and thrill, burying her face against his neck.

Noah laughed with her, holding her close, feeling her warm breath against his skin. “I wouldn’t let you go that easily,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Still holding her, Noah carried her over to the blanket they had left spread out on the dock earlier. He gently laid her down, her body sinking into the soft fabric, and then settled beside her. 

“Don’t you ever,” she started to say, “ever, let me drown, Noah Sebastian.”

“Never ever,” he promised, showing her his pinky finger. 

She laced it with hers and finally, she let out a heavy sigh and cuddled closer to him, nuzzing her cheek against his bare shoulder. 

They lay close, facing each other, their fingers lazily tracing along each other’s arms and faces. Neither spoke for a long while. Her fingers trailed down his chest while his hand rested lightly on her hip. Above them, the stars began to appear, one by one, until the sky was a dark, glittering canvas. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water.

“How long will you love me?” Noah asked, his voice barely louder than the breeze.

She gazed at him, eyes warm and steady. She placed the most tender of kisses on his lips.

“Until the stars stop shining.”

[tanema123]

Hello this is a little thing I’ve been working on thanks to your Yandere post. Velvette is the Yandere.

"My sweet Carmilla, do not worry I will take you from this nightmare and truly make you mine." Velvette said, smiling from the shadows in Carmilla's closet.

————————————

"Thou art mine tonight, my angel..." He said while a mischievous grin was spreading on his face.

"What do you mean by that...?" Zestial's grin spread wider. He crushed his lips to Carmilla's. He was surprised when she was just as hungry as he was. He rolled over to place her on the bottom of him. God, she was so beautiful! He removed his lips from her mouth and began kissing her neck.

"Zestial!" She felt a sensation in her thighs. Zestial once more began to kiss her lips and his hands began roaming down her waist, feeling the curves of her body. Carmilla could feel him harden which made her blush. He removed his lips from her as he slowly began to pull down her black nightgown to her waist. He smiled at her and whispered "beautiful" before he pressed his lips on hers once more.

This was a night they would never forget...

————————————

Velvette heard screams coming from Carmilla. Was that bastard hurting her?! She moved through her hideout and peeked through the door where she could see that demon thrusting inside of Carmilla!

No! She must save her! Zestial claims to love her and then rape her? But, then she heard that the screams from Carmilla were more from pleasure than pain. "Zestial, deeper!" She heard her scream. God, did she actually want that monster inside her? No! He must have threatened her. She was her lover not that spider freak! No, she couldn't.

Carmilla was her’s and only her’s.

(Oh my god. I love it. Someone made a thing inspired by my post. *Happy tears*

It may take a while for the drawing to be done I mentioned I will do. I had a plan, and it got derailed....

Some stuff sneaked in. And I have some requests to do. But... I can offer you this instead)

Velvette doesn't know how to read

Velvette stormed off in the direction of the V tower. She was grumpling about Carmilla the whole way. She can't love that spider after all!

She is hers!

Her love!

Her woman!

As soon as she entered the tower, she passed Vox and Val making out in the middle of the living room, easily ignoring them and trotting to her humble abode.

Upon entering her room and slamming the door, she didn't stop. Instead she passed directly to the small side door.

The evil smile was evident as a light of day. She opened the door and turned the lights on, lighting up the area. She breathed in the smell.

The whole room was covered from head to toe, in pictures of one and only, Carmilla Carmine. They showed her every angle, every clothing piece, every hangout place and some were even in various states of undress.

Velvette indulged in them for only a bit... Before heading directly to the table. She opened a drawer, pulling out a doll.

"Finally, the thing I was working on will be done."

She grinned, excitement evident in her face. The doll she was holding looked exactly like Zestial. She hates that man, but it's necessary for it to work.

Velvette out the doll on the side for a bit. Taking the knife in her hand, she went to the middle of the room. She cut her hand, letting the blood drip, before drawing a circle combined with ruins.

As soon as her blood stopped she continued the plan, putting the doll in the middle. She smirked.

"And the last ingridient"

She pulled a long green silky thread from her pocket. Only one spider in the entire Hell has a thread like this. She tied it to the doll, before stepping back.

"I can curse him. Carmilla will surely be mine now!"

Velvette started chanting in a demonic tongue. The circle glowing a sickly red colour, proving it's doing some sort of magic. As Velvette finished the last words, the glow dispersed in an instant, as the thread became crimson.

Velvette started laughing manically.

"Haha...Haha... muahahhahahahahsh.

It worked! Now surely she will be mine!"

....

The next overlord meeting, 4 weeks later, she turned up late like usual. She got places to be after all. But what she didn't expect was to Zestial actually be present. And for Carmilla not to.

What is going on?!

"Where is the old hag"

Zestial groaned in annoyance as she entered.

"She will come shortly... She has an announcement to make."

Velvette was confused. Carmilla was never late, and now Zestial says she has some sort of announcement.

What the fuck did her spell do if it didn't kill him!

Right then, Carmilla Carmine herself entered. She looked normal as per usual. A bit more tired, but that's normal for her. She stood in front of the table barely giving them all a nod in a greeting. Barely acknowledging her. Velvette is getting angry. Why hasn't she said anything to her!

Carmilla coughed once to get their attention. She looked nervous.

"Before we start a meeting I have an announcement to make... I will be leaving the position for a bit and Zestial is taking over till I return."

Why the heck is she leaving! What the heck is going on! Velvette was in disbelief.

"What do you mean you are leaving?! What kind of reason would make Carmilla fucking Carmine leave for "a bit". You are the biggest workaholic we know"

That sentence brought all eyes onto Carmilla. She shifted in her place. Zestial is staring at her... Is he giving her some sort of go ahead to talk?! What kind of bullshit are they hiding?!

Carmilla finally spoke.

"I guess... I should say... It will avoid any problems in the future. It appears someone did a spell a while back around 4 weeks ago. We can't really track it as the spell was done so long ago and I haven't had the symptoms for a while."

Velvette's eyes widened. She did the spell, but Carmilla wasn't supposed to feel the symptoms. What is going on?!!?Did Velvette mess up?!?! She couldn't, she used Zestial's tread!

Rosie was instantly worried. And asked the question they were wondering.

"We can see you are not worried about dying Carms, otherwise you wouldn't be saying it like this. But there are no obvious sights that you are sick in any way. So what is going on?"

Carmilla breathed in, before smiling softly and putting a hand on her stomach.

"It seems it was some sort of fertility spell as currently I'm pregnant."

....

Velvette's mind: Fuck.

AND THAT'S HOW PEOPLE VELVETTE ACCIDENTALLY HELPED THEM WHILE READING FROM A WRONG PAGE.

I'm so glad you wrote this mysterious person. I hope you like my little add-on. 83

[pandorasprongs]

JAMIE TARTT | and i don't even like you that much. wait, i do. f*ck.

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

SUMMARY: jamie is actually a board game nerd and starts spending more time with one of the employees of a local shop.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: this idea came to me as someone asked me if i wanted to buy another volume of a board game we had HAHA if you can figure out what game i'm referring to in this story, hmu! alsooo i want to apologize for the length i swear i didn't mean for it to get that long, but still, i hope you all enjoy! title is from the song 'apple cider' by beabadoobee!

It was another slow morning in the store, given that most of your frequent customers were forced to be in school at this time. You ended up continuing one of the readings for your class during your shift. Despite a wave of drowsiness hitting you the moment you opened the book, it was still better having free time to be tired than the afternoon rush when 13-year-old boys came in to get another booster pack of Magic: The Gathering cards.

You were practically setting all these children up for a gambling addiction the way they'd spend 20 pounds trying to get one of those shiny ones in their deck. You never bothered to learn the names really, because that wasn't part of your job description. When it came to those kinds of things, those boys probably knew more than you did.

When it came to board games though, that was your area of expertise. It was partly one of the reasons you applied to work here while you were finishing up your Master's, — and also because of how generous the owner was with your salary, — so you always loved helping people out for their board game nights. You didn't have regulars that would come in often, but here and there, there would be a person you recognize from before asking about another game.

You don't know how much time had passed, but after deciding that your brain could no longer take reading the word cognitive multiple times in a sentence, you end up shutting the book and resting your head on the counter.

Soon after though, you hear the bell at the top of the door ring, causing you to jolt up. You only catch a glimpse of the guy walking towards you before he drops his head, his cap completely blocking his face, and a loose black hoodie covering his frame.

For a second, you get worried that the store was about to get robbed but the man finally stops in front of you and speaks, in a thick Mancunian accent. "Do you have any suggestions for board games? Like for family and stuff,"

You swear you've heard his voice before. Maybe from school? Or a former customer? You decide to shake it off before replying. "Well, this is a board game store, so there's quite a lot to pick from. Do you have any specific theme in mind? How many players?"

"There'll be 3 of us, but I'm not really picky with the game. Not any of those monopoly type shit though, cause I'm sick of never winning."

You chuckle at the revelation and that's what gets the man to look up at you. It definitely wasn't his appearance he was worried about. His chiseled jaw and striking blue eyes almost draw you in, not to mention his hairstyle looks eerily like the one David Beckham had in the 90s, who you had to admit was a crush of yours as a kid. He could even pass as a contestant on one of those dating reality shows.

And then it hits you where you've heard his voice before. This guy was on Lust Conquers All and was immediately voted off. You remember it well because your sister was so pissed at him for joining the show since the football season had just started. Jamie something, but the show never mentioned his last name. You try to hide your realization by turning to the shelf behind you.

"Alright uh, I’d recommend this one." You turn back around and slide it across the counter as Jamie (?) starts looking at the box from all angles.

"Looks cool," is all he says in reply and he looks back at you, presumably for you to explain the game. You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before going on your usual introduction to the game.

"Basically in the game, there are 4 characters you can choose to be your 'heroes.' Your main objective is to get your opponent's health to 0 using the different cards in your set. All the characters have different decks and skills you can use throughout the game, and some of them even have side kicks." You look back up for a second to see his expression and you can tell that you're still holding his interest.

"So for example in the one I gave you, you can battle Sinbad, Medusa, King Arthur, and Alice, who's fucking amazing, by the way."

"Alice? From fucking Wonderland?" You laugh at his surprise before nodding to affirm it. "She's your favorite then?"

"How'd you know?" You ask sarcastically. "But yeah, she's just really versatile and it's just really fun to shrink and grow every turn just to piss off the other players. I'm practically unbeatable using her." You admit though you're not really sure why.

Most of the time when customers come in here for a game, they don't ask questions and just buy the first one you suggest. That’s probably why you answered Jamie's question so earnestly. Cause he's the first one to ever ask you what you liked about the game.

You quickly run through the rest of the rules and mechanics of the game with Jamie chiming in occasionally. You describe the other editions as well and Jamie is tempted to buy the other one — "How is anyone supposed to beat fucking Dracula?" — before he ultimately decides to take home the one you offered.

"If I end up losing using Alice, you owe me a refund." He states as you ring up the game. You playfully roll your eyes as you scan the barcode on the box.

"Oh yeah, since you're the first customer of the day, you get a 7% discount on your purchase," you quickly inform him when you glance at the post-it note on the register screen reminding you about it in bold letters.

Instead of the usual gratefulness or blip of happiness from hearing that news, Jamie instead asks, "Is that really a thing or are you doing it because you know who I am?"

You look at him to check if he's serious and given his blank look, you assume he is. You don't know how to respond to that, so instead you just slowly shake your head.

"Wait, do you not know who I am?" His question itself comes off as arrogant, but given the genuine surprise in your voice, you're not sure how to feel about the guy after he says it.

You decide to answer him honestly. "I do, but given that you walked in here in clothes that make you look like a stalker who's about to rob the place, I didn't think you'd want me to make a big fuss about it, Jamie."

His shoulders seem to relax at your statement and once he goes quiet, he finally pulls out his wallet. You quickly place the game in a paper bag and hand it over to him.

He whispers a quick thanks and turns to leave, before pausing. He turns back to you, "Look, it's not like I'm dressed this way because I'm embarrassed to be in a store like this—"

"I didn't think you were," you answer blankly with a hint of sarcasm. You decide to mess with the guy a little bit because hey, when's the next time a famous footballer comes into your store again? "Why, is there something I should be embarrassed about?"

Jamie quickly shakes his head. "No, fuck no! I think it's cool, really. You know, being surrounded by all these games and cards and knowing so much about them. Especially someone like you,"

You tilt your head in amusement. "What do you mean someone like me?" Jamie's embarrassment only seems to deepen at that.

"Fuck I didn't mean it like that. Honestly, when I came in here, I was expecting some teenage boy to be at the counter. Wait no— I mean, girls can like all this stuff too! I just didn't expect someone attr—," he stops himself and shakes his head. "Shit, wait,"

You watch Jamie scramble for words and you decide to just put an end to his misery. "Look, look, I was just joking around. I don't give that much of a shit about what you said." The football player visibly relaxes and you hold in a laugh at that reaction. "And you're basically right about the kind of people who work here. Most of my co-workers can't work these hours right now 'cause they're off studying for their A-Levels."

"Yeah, well thank you for this," Jamie lifts the bag slightly and you give him a genuine smile.

"No problem. Hope you enjoy the game! And if you ever feel compelled to dress like a shitty robber again, you can come back and tell me what you think." Your sarcasm no longer throws Jamie off who instead, just playfully rolls his eyes and leaves the store.

You go back to your reading for your behavioral science class, putting your interaction with the football player in the back of your mind.

—

The next time you see Jamie is two weeks later, although this time, he comes in right before closing. Technically, you weren't the only one assigned for this shift, but you decided to let your co-worker go home early since he said he had an English exam the next day and still hadn't studied.

So, you were counting down the minutes to 8 pm when you hear someone come inside. Fucking hell. You force a smile, "Hi, welcome! We'll be closing in a few minutes, but please approach me if you need anything so you can have a speedier process."

"Are you really that desperate to get rid of me?" The person moves away from the shelves and turns out to be Jamie Tartt, you learn his last name is. He's wearing another grey hoodie but seems to have decided to ditch his hat. Good, because you weren't sure how much longer you could stare at the ICON written on it and not judge him. "I wanna know, did you think offering to help the customer would get them out of here quicker?"

"I had to try something," you defend yourself, shrugging. You notice Jamie carrying the bag you used to wrap the board game and slightly frown. "Didn't like the game?"

He follows your eyes and is quick to correct you. "I loved it, actually. First time playing a board game that Simon didn't win during the first round." You aren't sure who Simon is, but you laugh nonetheless. "And you're right, Alice is fucking unbeatable."

"I'm glad you liked it, and Alice," you start, but then glance at the time on your phone. "But, is that the only reason you came here?"

"Well no, I was wondering if you wanted to play. That's why I came so late, in case there would be too many people if I came at the usual time."

"Yeah, there was a fuck ton, actually, as you can tell from the fully stocked store." You say, pretending to look around the room. "But sure, if you want. I don't have anything going on tomorrow anyway," Now you're really glad that you didn't procrastinate that paper due tonight.

Jamie smiles as he starts to unbox the set and you grab one of the chairs behind the counter and push it to the other side for the footballer.

Never did you imagine you would spend a Saturday night with a hot football player playing one of your favorite board games, but here you were. In between one of the rounds, the topic of football is brought up and you admit that you don't know all that much about it despite your family being made up of fanatics.

"Everyone has their team they support. My dad loves Arsenal, my mum loves Chelsea, and my sister bounces between West Ham and Crystal Palace. Though, she fucking hates Rupert Mannion, so maybe this is the end of her West Ham support." You answer as you shuffle Jamie's deck.

"Shit, the season must be fun for you guys," Jamie remarks and you snort, though instantly regretting letting that sound out. The football player looks unfazed, so you decide not to apologize for it and answer his question instead.

"Yeah, I basically end up being their messenger till the finals, which ends up becoming World War 3 if their teams are competing," you hand him his deck back and start the round, but your conversation doesn't end there.

"What team would you support then, if you got into football?" He looks hopefully at you.

"Yours, probably." You confirm as you look through your first hand of cards. "I mean, I'm about to destroy one of their players at this game. It's the least I can do."

"We'll see about that," Jamie replies and you roll your eyes playfully, but you smile.

Working at the store meant you were surrounded by board game fans every day, but not even your regulars would come in here after your shift to play. You couldn't help but feel warm at how Jamie matched your enthusiasm about the game, something, you admit, you didn't expect from the player. You knew nothing would probably come from this harmless happy crush of yours, but if he decided to start coming in often to play, you wouldn't be opposed to it.

Your attention turns back to the game once Jamie picks his next move. He smirks at his decision until his expression suddenly shifts. "Wait, if you're not into football, how'd you know who I was the other day?"

You move your piece before looking directly into Jamie's eyes and respond, "I just really love trashy reality shows." Jamie playfully groans at the reminder and you burst into laughter before you continue the game.

True to form, whichever of the two of you uses Alice is the one to win that round. You finally decide on a tie-breaker with your favorite being banned from usage.

"Christ, if this is how you maneuver in a board game, I wonder how good you are at football." You tease, as you glance at his character being at only 4HP.

"I'm fucking amazing, actually. Ask your family, they'll tell you." Jamie moves a few spaces on the board, hoping to escape your Medusa, but instead, he falls into one of your traps.

You corner him and finally reduce his King Arthur's health. "And there you go, 3-2."

It takes Jamie a second to absorb everything before he slouches. "Fucking hell." You laugh before getting up from your chair and helping him keep all the pieces and cards.

"Better luck next time, Tartt."

Jamie, whose competitive side seems to be shining in this game, doesn't let it end there.

Almost every week, he would come into the store at night asking to play. He was definitely getting better, but after making a deal where the loser has to tell an embarrassing story after the round, you realize you know more about him than he probably does about you.

"God Jamie, how are you alive?" You ask as he shares a story from when he first started the league.

"How was I supposed to know doing multiple headers in one match could lead to a bloody concussion?" He retorts, only making your eyes widen even more.

"I'm pretty sure that's common knowledge to about 80% of the population," you say through your laughter.

It's almost 10 when you finish playing, so you grab your jacket and start heading to the door with Jamie. You lock the store up and notice that Jamie's still hanging around you.

It's dark outside, but it seems like his features were even more enhanced by the moonlight. The light hit his eyes just the right way that it made the blue more evident. You notice just then how his hair is neater today, mainly because of his sports headband. The front strands of his hair had fallen out it though, falling on his face in just the right way that it gave you butterflies. Did all footballers look this attractive?

You realize that you may have been starting a bit too long and as you tuck the keys in your jacket pocket, you decide to ask, "Need anything else?"

Jamie opens his mouth to say something, but instead, he just shakes his head. "Nothing actually, just good night," he waves and starts walking in the opposite direction, but you swear you hear him muttering something under his breath.

—

It had been a week since then and you had to start telling yourself to not be so excited when you hear the bell ring. Every time it did, you'd look expectantly at the door expecting to see Jamie again, asking for another or a new volume or even just game tips. Each time, you'd end up disappointed and would have to fake a smile to the customer approaching you.

This time you hear it ring, and you do your best to not look up. If it was Jamie, you knew that your boss George probably would be sounding an alarm. You only learned the Monday after that he was a major AFC Richmond fan when you mentioned that a football player had visited the store multiple times to play board games.

"Do you think we can get him to sign a picture and put it on the wall? Can you ask?" You quickly have to explain how those interactions were the only times you ever spoke to Jamie and had no actual way of contacting him.

As you close your laptop, — one more paragraph and that essay is done! — you look up to find two guys standing in front of you.

"Hi, do you have any board game recommendations?" the one on the right greeted, his accent quickly revealing him to be Welsh.

You don't have a chance to answer because the left one lightly elbows his friend before whispering (though loud enough for you to hear), "He already told us what to get, bruv."

You may not know who this 'he' is, but the guy pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of a board game, the same one you recommended to Jamie. Wishful thinking gets you to believe that they were friends of his and he liked it so much that he told them about it. And maybe about you, too.

You've never been so happy to be right.

You nod your head and as he kept his phone, you started pulling the same edition from the shelf behind you when you hear a screeching sound that almost made you drop the box.

"Oh my God, Colin Hughes, and Isaac McAdoo!" George exclaims and you wonder where you've heard those names before.

The owner joins you at the counter as you place the board game in front of you. Maybe you weren't pretending to be as peppy as you usually do, because George decides to ask, "How are you so calm? Do you know who these guys are? They're Colin Hughes and Isaac McAdoo!"

"I heard you the first time," you turn to the two guys once again, embarrassed on behalf of your boss.

"They're part of the starting team of AFC Richmond!" And that's when it clicks. On one of your all-nighters, you decided to take a break and search up Jamie Tartt just to see what you could find. You ended up at his club's website and saw the rest of the players as well. You didn't pay them much attention given that you were so focused on player number 9, but you saw enough pictures to recognize them, at least.

"So you guys do know Jamie," you think out loud and the two players turn to each other, before sharing looks of realization.

"Oh, you're the girl!" Colin exclaims and you can't help but feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Yeah, I guess so," you try and act as nonchalantly as possible, so neither of them picks up on anything. You turn back to the game and ask, "Is this the one you wanted?"

"Jamie said there were other versions?" Isaac asks and you nod your head to confirm it, which he smiles at. "We want the Sherlock one."

"Okay," you reach for that one on the shelf as George starts offering them discounts on the game.

When he almost offers to give it to them for free along with another set, you stop him by slamming the box on the counter. Why were you the one trying to keep his business alive? "Here it is, hope you enjoy it!"

You ring up their purchase, still trying to hold your boss back from scaring these footballers away before they can pay. You finally bag the whole thing and hand it to them. "Thank you!" you shout as they exit the store.

"Yeah, see you soon!" George says afterward and you look at him in confusion.

"What the fuck was that, George?" He only sighs, most likely the embarrassment only hitting him at that exact moment.

Once he goes back to doing inventory, you can't help but replay what Colin said. Oh, you're the girl! Why was such a simple phrase like that affecting you so much? For all you know, he might've mentioned you being a sore winner, which wouldn't be the first time you've been called that.

But you still hope he said good things about you and maybe even kept better things he thought to himself.

—

"Okay, time's up. Please pass your papers." You write one last word as you get up to give your exam to the proctor, sighing in relief that the semester is finally over.

You had asked for leave for the past few days and didn't have a shift until tomorrow, so you decide to treat yourself to some coffee and pasta for lunch at the campus cafe.

As you settle down at one of the tables, you get a phone call from George. He was more than happy to let you take the time off, so you wonder what emergency had to happen for him to contact you.

As soon as you pick up, George screams your name into the phone. You pull it away from your ear for a second, and respond, "What? What do you need?"

"Look, I'm sorry to disturb you on your day off, but you said that your test ended at 2:30, so I decided to hold off calling you till then. Anyway, someone came in a few days ago asking if we host board game nights."

"And we do," you answer for him as you chew your sandwich.

"Right, and then he said that he was from AFC Richmond." You flinch after imagining how your boss could've reacted at that revelation. "They wanted to hold it a few days ago," George pauses.

"Why didn't you say yes? You could've been game master."

"Yeah well, I wanted to, but they specifically asked for you to go." You put down your sandwich and straighten up. George continues, "I told them you were on leave, but they said they could wait till you were back at work. I said that your test was this morning and I would ask if you'd be willing to end your leave early."

"Okay, sure." You answer, a little faster than you intended. You couldn't believe that the team — and maybe even Jamie personally, — was willing to postpone their game night just so you would be the one to facilitate it.

The surprise was evident in George's voice. Normally, you would reject his idea the moment he mentioned board game nights, but something about this was different for you. "Oh okay, well, I'll send you the address. I'll be bringing the boards there since you don't have a car and I'll meet you there at 4 pm. It's a restaurant, so maybe you can get something to eat before 'cause shit can get crazy at those things and it's best to load up."

You don't know how a board game night could get crazy, but you decide not to comment on it. He sends you the details through text before you end the call and continues eating your sandwich. The place wasn't too far from campus, so you didn't have to rush to get there. But after 10 minutes, you consumed your sandwich and were out the door with your coffee in hand.

While walking, you decided to familiarize yourself more with the players trying to put names to face before you had to interact with all of them at once. You started to get the hang of it, — even looking at team photos and naming them one by one as a test — as you get to the venue at around half past 3.

You arrive at a restaurant called Ola's, and you remember seeing one of the Richmond players post about it. Your dad wanted to have dinner here once, but they were always fully booked so the four of you gave up trying to get a table there.

Because of that, you expected the place to be swamped with customers, but instead find an almost empty restaurant. You notice one guy standing in the middle of it and approach him.

"Hi," He turns around and you recognize him as Sam Obisanya, meaning he must be the owner. You introduce yourself quickly before asking, "Am I at the right place? I'm here to help host a board game tournament."

Sam's eyes widen as he seems to recognize you. "Oh yes, this is the place. Sorry, I didn't expect you to be so early. We already fixed up the tables, but I can also help in setting up the boards if you like."

"Ah no, it's alright. My boss is the one who’s bringing them. I came from my university, so I don't have any of them on me right now." You quickly explain and Sam nods as he leads you to one of the tables to relax, while he grabs some appetizers from the kitchen.

He makes his way back to the table, though he can't seem to stop looking at you. You subconsciously start fixing your hair, wondering if you should've gone to the bathroom before going in here.

He seems to pick up on this and is quick to reassure you, "Oh, I'm sorry for staring. It's just Jamie has mentioned you so many times, so it's nice to finally put a face to the name."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of the football player. You grab some of the food he offered as you reply as calmly as you can, "Oh yeah, did he tell you how he is nowhere close to beating my number of wins?"

Sam lets out a short chuckle. "No, but I'm not surprised. He did say you're very good at it." You smile and decide to ask why they decided to do a board game night.

It takes a second before Sam replies, "Oh well, Coach always says to do team-building activities every once in a while, and seeing as Jamie has asked almost everyone on the team to play the game at least once, we thought it would be a good idea. I think Isaac and Colin got their own board too and they started bringing it to the clubhouse."

"Shit, I didn't realize that football players loved board games so much," you remarked as you hear the door to the restaurant open.

Both of you look up to see George, who is trying to carry 12 boxes of board game sets. You rush out of your seat to help him out and so does Sam. The sight of the player almost makes your boss drop all of them from his arms, but you quickly scoop four of them and Same takes another four.

"Sam Obisanya," George exhales, once some of the weight is literally lifted off him.

The player simply says, "Hello," and states that he'll start setting up the four boards on the tables near the back.

You snap your fingers to get George out of the trance and the two of your start setting up on the rest of your tables, dropping the character figurines at the bar table and putting the sign-up sheet next to it. Slowly, the restaurant starts filling up with players with George gradually losing his mind at the number of footballers from his favorite team.

You finally get him to leave, but only by promising to convince the team to take a picture with him when he came back to pick up the boards. You're pretty sure he's already making plans to put it on a canvas and hang it on his bed.

You settle yourself behind the bar table to be in charge of the players setting up, each time expecting it to be Jamie standing in front of you. You try and keep your focus on the task at hand every time you hear the boys greet someone new.

Isaac and Colin are the next to write their names and they give you a look that you can't quite decipher. Soon enough, Jamie finally gets here and you straighten up in your seat. He greets some of the players till his eyes land on you.

He approached the bench and once he looked up, he observed out loud. "You're here,”

"Aw, did you want to get rid of me that badly?" You mimic him before explaining that you finished your leave earlier, "just to see you, of course." — with some truth behind that statement. Jamie laughs — albeit, a little awkwardly, — and takes the clipboard. As he signs up, you decide to take the chance to tease him. "Heard you were talking about me to your teammates."

Jamie's eyes widen and he stops writing to shoot glares at the rest of AFC Richmond, not sure who told you. Jamie turns back to you and you laugh. "Don't worry, Tartt. I'm sure you just told them how I'm an absolute god at the game and you're glad I'm not playing tonight." The football player simply rolls his eyes as he joins his teammates.

Once the whole team is complete along with their kit-man Will, you decide to start the tournament. "Okay, hi everyone! Welcome to your board game night." The crowd cheers and you're startled by their enthusiasm. You quickly explain the rules of the night, — though they seem to already know most of it, — and the order of players. It's a draw lots method, so the players will be randomly given a character and an opponent.

Once everyone gets their characters and settles in, you start making rounds in case anyone had any questions. After a while, you start heading back to the bar when someone taps you on the shoulder. You find Jamie already done with his round.

"How'd you win that quickly?" You don't try to hide the surprise in your voice. "Even I take like 20 minutes minimum to win."

"Oh I didn't," Jamie clarifies, and you widen your eyes. "I just couldn't attack Dani. I mean, look at that face." You turn to their table and find Dani smiling at you — "This is fun!" — and waving using his Dracula figurine.

You laugh at his reasoning. "Alright then, guess you're done for the night." You walk back to the bar and Jamie stops on the opposite side of it.

"You hungry? Sam said there's prepped meals in the back and since none of the games are ending soon…" Jamie offers and you obliged, seeing as this might be the only time you might ever get to eat in this restaurant. He grabs two plates from there and settles down next to you. Surprisingly, he managed to grab one of your favorite dishes. You remember mentioning to him that you had tried it at another restaurant in the past and loved it, but you doubt he even remembers it and dubbed it a coincidence.

You decide to keep the topic off board games and instead let him talk about what he's doing since he last saw you. Turns out they had multiple back-to-back matches, so practice was tight and he didn't have time to visit you. He also said the next time he did, it was one of your teenage co-workers manning the counter.

"Oh, Chuck! Yeah, he's pretty shit at board games." You say blankly while you shove another spoonful of food into your mouth.

"I ended up just buying a card game and leaving." Jamie continues and you laugh.

"Sorry, you went all the way there for just that. I go to class on Wednesdays, so I don't have a shift then." The conversation then shifts to your degree and you explain that you plan on becoming a psychologist.

"There is another upside to getting that degree too," Jamie chimes in, and you tilt your head. "You can fuck with someone's head while playing."

"Okay, psychology isn't mind control." Though, you think about it for a second. "But it is pretty close. You’ll be my first victim.” You make your sound more ghostly in that last sentence and Jamie pretends to act terrified and faint.

There is a short silence between the two of you when you realize that most of the rounds are done. You start organizing the next round and once the games start, the other players start going around and rooting for their teammates.

It leaves the area near the bar much more isolated and Jamie lowers his voice. "About that card game I got, it's pretty fun, too."

"Yeah?" You ask as you bring your plate back to the kitchen.

"Yeah. I'd love to take you out and talk about it," you stop in your tracks before turning back to the footballer who adds, “If you want."

You turn around to see Jamie is much closer to you now. It's only then you realize how much taller he was than you, but despite that, you’re not intimidated, especially with him looking so expectantly at you.

It takes a second before your mouth turns into a smile. "I think I'd like that."

Jamie does this small bounce thing on his heels, before trying to tone it down. You only laugh and kiss him on the cheek before heading to the crowd of players. He follows suit and rests his arm on your shoulders.

Some of his teammates notice and start cheering. You look at them confused before deciding to ask Jamie, "Was this all an elaborate scheme to ask me out?"

He shakes his head, "No, 'course not. Was there a deal made after I lost a game to Jan? Possibly," The both of you laugh as you playfully push his head away. You start to accept that this unfairly attractive football player — whom you'll be going on a date soon — can be as much of a nerd as you.

If this is what George meant when he said game nights could get crazy, well, maybe you should’ve given them a chance earlier.

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 32.6k | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

There's no way he knew Joel was just ogling his daughter’s pussy in the glow of the fridge light not five minutes ago, right? Right?

“Uh, I just thought I’d give it a try.” Joel mumbles, fiddling with the lid on his cup that opens and closes the mouth piece. “You sure you’re alright, son? French vanilla is a little out of character for you.” It’s such a lighthearted comment but it makes Joel's heartbeat ring in his ears. “Fine—I’m fine, just wanted to try somethin—new. I should get to work, ya’ll have a nice morning.”

a/n: that center pic of joel is him in the glow of a fridge light.

vi: If She Wants A Cowboy

He’s going absolutely crazy. Out of his mind bat shit—nuts. Last night felt like a fever dream—maybe it was all along and he drempt it all up. Maybe he passed out in the snow and you dragged him in. But his mind cant make up the way you smiled at him, the look in your eyes when you peered up at him and said it—those three words that led joel straight to his eleventh hour. This is it, almost too late to catch with the cold tips of his calloused fingers. He reached and reached until his grasp finally brushed along the edges of your relics, along soft skin and forgiveness, scraps of understanding in the bitter, oppressive cold. God, the way you looked up at him like you might not stop him if he kissed you right there, the way your eyes searched his when you said—

You know why

But he doesn’t know in the early morning hours when he jolts awake to the ceiling fan against the popcorn texture and the quiet creak of the old house. He’s a little disoriented from his spot on his back at first, wondering if last night had happened or if he’d dreamt the whole thing up. Had he? Because he can’t wrap his mind around the sudden shift in every aspect of his relationship with you.

Why had you looked at him like that, touched his hand so softly he almost crumbled at your feet? He was ready to beg and plead for your hands on him forever. Why did you lay a blanket over him with that same soft look he’d only seen a few times before? Why did you lean down and press your soft, delicate lips to his wind bitten cheek, let them linger and warm him all over, thawing him out from the inside after years in this frigid body? Why did you climb the stairs slowly and glance over your shoulder to make sure he was still there on the couch?

His socked feet sticking out of the too small blanket with his weary eyes and pounding heart.

It’s been at least a half hour since he opened his eyes on this couch, but he can’t bring himself to get up yet. This is his last link to where you’d left him and he wishes you’d come down those stairs and tell him—why, and why should he know when he thought you hated his guts for so long.

You know why

Why you didn’t have sex with his brother. Or why you spent the day beside him in a saddle and got to know him instead of analyzing every little move he makes. Why you looked at him with hope in your eyes, or why you laid in Tommy’s bed and couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The more he thinks about the occasion, the more he realizes the answer is the same either way. No matter the instance, why will always have the same answer.

Because you want him, the way he wants you. Maybe not as desperately as him, but it’s in there, it must be. Or maybe thats just his muddled brain making up thing that aren’t there, seeing things that didn’t happen, making something out of nothing. Theres a layer of his desire blanketing every interaction he has with you. He sees vibrant, beautiful colors where it used to be dull and gray, his mind recognizes your kindness before your actual presence, sees the sparkle in your eyes and your depths of color before he reads what they are trying to tell him. All of that combined, maybe you didn’t mean to draw him in, maybe you were just nice to him and he took that as interest.

“Morning,” soft words pull Joel from his thoughts and his mindless tracking over the textured paint above him. He picks his head up from the pillow with a low groan, something about his neck tells him he’s going to pay for sleeping here. He’d do it all over again a million times to see you at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a big tee-shirt and nothing else, a sleepy little smile with your hair a mess around your head like a halo. He’s so gone on you, so blatantly smitten that the whole world can probably see it. He’ll never recover from the way he wants you, it will live with him everywhere he goes, like a open wound that will never close. He can’t even remember who he was before he laid eyes on you.

“Mornin’, darlin’.” Your face cracks in a smile you can’t hide, cheeks redden in the dark hallway. Joel wishes you’d climb onto the couch with him, curl up along his side so he could plant a soft kiss atop your head and drink you in. “I was just getting some water, I thought you’d already be up.” He sits himself up slowly, until his feet hang over the edge of the couch and his back gets a much needed stretch.

“Gettin’ a late start today. That alright with you, boss?” A statement that would usually hold so much more distaste, suddenly takes on a new tone—teasing with a dash of heat on Joels part, his eyes chasing after your bare thighs as you walk into the kitchen. If his eyes were a little better, he’d probably be able to see the soft curve of your ass just under the hem of the shirt, so dangerously close to exposing you.

Are you wearing panties this time, too? Or, are you naked? You stop and look at him over your shoulder with a sleepy smirk. “I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t make it a habit.” He catches your eyes and they singe together from across the dark house, like two fireflies dancing across the somber shadows, readying themselves to outrun a brewing storm. “Yes ma’am,” his lips quirk up into a smirk.

“Coffee?” You offer in a different tone than you’d been maintaining, this one is quiet and soft, genuine to the point that Joel cant imagine turning you down. “Absolutely,” he gets up and doesn’t slip into his boots when he follows after you to the kitchen. Barefooted beside you, he gets the full wrath of your height difference, so much smaller than him, captivating in the softest possible ways, with your hair a mess and yours eyes glossy from the hood over the stove. He finds a spot leant against the door frame while you move around the kitchen quietly, filling the water reservoir, then the filter and ground coffee from a can. You set the old pot to brew and open the fridge, light scatting across the old hard wood floors in-front of Joel, encircling yours frame like a halo to his unadjusted eyes.

“Cream?” You ask without looking back, leaning down every so slightly to reach for the half and half on the top shelf, hand hovering on the carton while you take stalk of what else there is. The only thing Joel can pay attention to his his view, your shirt riding up to the middle of your ass, exposing soft creases where your cheeks meet your thighs. You look so damn smooth, softer than any fabric his calloused hands have laid upon. His eyes tick to the fridge and he spots a bottle of french vanilla stuffed into the back of the fridge on the bottom shelf—he’d never dare ruin his coffee like that, but to watch you bend a little further, he’ll risk his taste buds.

“French vanilla, please.”

His heart is absolutely pounding at the thought of you turning your head around catching him openly ogling, but the opportunity is too good to pass up. You lean lower and the shirt drags the rest of the way up, Joel leans back a little to adjust his view and—christ…

You aren’t wearing any panties.

You aren’t wearing any panties and Joel can see just the faintest vision of your lips, peeking out between yours thighs, your cheeks spread as you lean towards the back of the fridge—you have to know what he’s seeing right now, how easily he could step forward, place one hand on your back to keep in you in place while he pressed two fingers knuckles deep just to listen to the way you’d gasp his name. He’s not going to last long in this house, knowing what’s under that night shirt.

“This one?” You ask when your hand finds the lid and he hums without taking his eyes away from your bare ass. “Yeah, s’perfect.” He murmurs, adjusting himself in his slept in jeans so he can somewhat hide the way his blood rushes south and away from his brain.

Fucking hell, he can nearly see it all—a little further and he’ll get a glimpse of that tight little hole—wishes he could take a mental screenshot for when he inevitably wraps his hand around himself to the thought of you, bent over in front of him in nothing but a tee-shirt.

His day dream is interrupted when you straighten up and walk back to the counter. He doesn’t move from his spot on the doorframe, trying to keep his pounding heart and ragged breaths to a minimum. You make his coffee in a thermos with a lid, filled all the way to the top with dark liquid and sweet smelling creamer, even if he hates the idea of ruining his joe.

“Better get out there soon, Cowboy…I think the suns coming up.” You offer the mug to him and he steps away from the door to take it gingerly, his fingertips brushing along the backs of your knuckles when your relent to release your grip. “Your hands are freezing.” You reach up with the other and place it over the top of his hand. They looks so damn small wrapped around the cup with his like this. “Keep yourself warm out there, will you?”

Your hands drop away and he wants desperately to beg you to put them back, to touch him with such concern every day, or he’s afraid he might turn to dust. “It’s damn cold out there, how do you suggest I do that, little lady?” He moves forward a step without realizing it, closing in on you until your head tilts back to look up at him. “Well���in that case, think of something that warms you up.” His right arm takes on a weight when your delicate fingers incircle his forearm, smoothing out the hard muscles there. In your eyes, Joel finds something he’s never seen before—hope. It propels him into honest bravery, the burning heat of your hand on him driving him forward. “Only thing that keeps me warm is standin’ in front of me, darlin’.”

His eyes tick down to your mouth, pretty pink lips just begging to be kissed, to be bit and sucked and nipped. He could, he could right now and you’d probably let him, he’s pretty damn sure and he’s not certain of a lot when it comes to you. His sight flicks up to your eyes again and they are gleaming at him in the low yellow light. Your other hand finds the left side of his chest, sprawling your fingers out across his peck.

“In that case, make sure you wear your gloves so you can keep these hands soft,” you lean up on your tip toes, tilting your head to the side of his until you nearly tuck your face into his neck, warm breath drenching his collar bone. He can feel a ghost of your mouth against his ear, your bottom lip dragging across the shell and covering him in goosebumps. “And think of me, cowboy.” Your words are like hot, sticky syrup, catching every inch of his skin and coating him in sweet warmth. His eyes close and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding onto when your lips connect with the corner of his jaw briefly, before pulling away just far enough to plant a second just bellow his ear.

When you pull back from him, he has half a mind to press you against the counter top and finally know what you’d feel like on his lips. He has half a mind, but the other half registers a creaking coming across the floor boards. He has just enough time to step away from you quickly before the kitchen light comes on.

He should probably work on being more subtle, because he reels around like he’s been caught when he spots Hank in the doorway with tired eyes. “M-Mornin, Hank.” Joel gets out quickly, his ears barley picking up the stifled giggle you’re hiding under your hand. “Mornin’, what’s going on in here? Why’s it so dark, you two ever heard of a light?” He doesn’t sound accusing, but thats not what Joels ears tell his brain as he tries to make his way out of the kitchen. “N-Nothin, s’just gettin’ coffee, late start is all—“ he starts in but Hank puts a hand up to stop him. “Calm down son, just meant you should turn a light on. Can’t see a thing in here.” He chuckles, walking over to the pot to pour himself a cup. “Christ, who’s drinking this shit?” He picks up the bottle of french vanilla creamer and Joel’s cheeks go ghost white, trying his best not to wear it all on his face despite the utter fear in his wide eyes.

Theres no way he knew Joel was just ogling his daughter’s pussy in the glow of the fridge light not five minutes ago, right? Right?

“Uh, I just thought I’d give it a try.” Joel mumbles, fiddling with the lid on his cup that opens and closes the mouth piece. “You sure you’re alright, son? French vanilla is a little out of character for you.” It’s such a lighthearted comment but it makes Joels heart beat ring in his ears. “Fine—I’m fine, just wanted to try somethin—new. I should get to work, ya’ll have a nice morning.”

Hank gives him a absent wave and he makes it a point to not look at you because he knows what you’ll see written all over his face. He hightails it to the living-room and slips into his boots and jacket, slipping his hat onto his head once he’s fully dressed.

When he gets the front door open, thermos in hand, he hears his name from somewhere behind him. You’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, headed back up to your bedroom. “Yeah?” His voice cracks and he winces a little at his failed attempts at subtleties again. “I’ll see you at breakfast?”

Joel swallows and swears he was born to be tortured by you, angry or not, distant or stranding right in front of him, you put him through agony every day from the way he wants you.

“I’ll see you at breakfast, Honey.”

You grin and start up the stairs with one final glance over your shoulder. “Don’t forget to think of me, Cowboy,”

With a sultry wink, you’re gone and Joel is left panting, straining and confused.

How could he forget?

Joel definitely thinks of you when he runs to the cabin to change, only getting his jeans down his thighs before he’s working his hand over himself in a frenzy, plagued by the sight of you naked and soft, willing and encouraging. And when his gut tightens and his back arches off his creaky mattress—

He thinks of you.

After that, all hope of keeping him at a distance is out the window. The teasing had started out as just that—seeing how far you could push him before he told you to stop, to know the kinds of reactions you can cause him against his will. It becomes like a game, your outfit choices get a little tighter and you spend more time out on the ranch, in the stables when he’s working the horses, perched on the porch swing with a book when he’s got grease up to his elbows working on the old tractor.

You find that it’s hard to reach that point of pushing him too far and when you do, he gets this far away look in his eyes and stammers about something that requires his attention elsewhere. You play coy, even when you spot the thick outline of him through his blue jeans when scurries off to the nearest bathroom.

But you don’t make a move on him. Despite the shift in your relationship with him, he’s still so damn distant and vague, never letting you in on anything too personal that would lead you to believe he’d risk everything to be with you. What if it didn’t work? What if it fell through, would he still be able to walk around here with that kind of ache? You promised yourself that it would be his choice, he had to be the one to break that thinning ice. If he was willing to face the consequences, he would have to be the one to initiate the action.

Until then, you have other things to keep you busy—like the discrete package dropped off in the mailbox with your name on it. You track the package until the very day it arrives and your skin is nearly boiling off as the hours tick down until it’s in your hands.

You get the mail directly from the postal worker before it even hits the mailbox. With a quick thanks, you hurry back to the house and drop off your parents mail on the dining room table. Your mother was in town grocery shopping and Joel had dragged your dad out to the north pasture to look over a few young calfs who were suffering from some kind of upper respiratory illness.

The house was empty, aside from you and your heavy box and the slick slide of your thighs as you take the stairs two at a time to your bedroom. The second the door slams behind you, your already ripping open the box and pulling the toy from its discrete packaging.

Holy shit.

You sink onto the edge of your bed as you gaze at it in your small hands. You hadn’t given the color much thought when you’d purchased it, just clicked the right buttons that would get it to you as soon as possible. Sitting here in your quiet bedroom, the soft blue hues shine back at you like oceans of possibilities at your fingertips. You can’t imagine something of this size attached to a body, let alone Joel—it feels almost comical how large it looks.

When you’d caught a glimpse of Joel in the bathroom that day, it had been quick, momentarily providing a rough image of the sheer size, but sitting here in your palms it feels so much bigger. You turn it over a few times, fingers dragging along the false veins of the shaft, the thick, round head and the balls at the base, providing a sturdy bottom to rest on a flat surface if need be.

You’ve never owned anything quite like this, not even close. You’ve had a few vibrators, a few (much smaller) molds like this one, but never had you ventured out like this before. Setting it down on your lap, you realize just how unrealistic and fictional it looks, nearly taking up the entire length of your thighs. How will this ever fit inside of you?

How will Joel ever fit inside of you?

With your resolve diminishing, you dig through your bedside table for your toy cleaner and a bottle of lube you’d kept just incase. The whole process makes your thighs shake in anticipation, anxiously jittering through cleaning it and clearing off your bed, bringing up a music app on your TV to drown out any impending sounds you won’t be able to contain. Your heart starts to race when you get undressed, stripping yourself all the way down to nothing before securing the lock on your bedroom door.

Soft afternoon light coming through grey clouds makes the thick toy look cold and shadowy, looming against your stark white duvet.

It’s been nearly a year since you’ve had sex, so it’s tireless work even stretching yourself enough on your fingers to try just the tip. It feels like work, your shaking hands and disappointment in yourself, leading you into a string of bitter curses and irritation. It hurts and your thighs strain from holding yourself up and trying to lower yourself on it—no fucking way.

You flop back on your pillows with a loud, shameful groan. Why can’t you just—do this? Why can’t you just relax, let yourself enjoy this? It’s not supposed to be work, it’s supposed to make you feel good.

Realization hits you while staring up at the ceiling fan casting shadows on your walls. “Fuck,” you curse at yourself, draping an arm over your eyes while you try to catch up with your racing mind.

This is what Joel goes through every time he tries to have sex—fighting to make it fit, the frustration that must come with feeling like a novelty, fun but useless. He must feel every bit of humiliation you feel in this moment and then some, faced with women too scared to try, too impatient to work up to it, to cruel to give the same kind of effort Joel must have to give them just to get lucky a few times in his life.

So fucking cruel because you know—know Joel has to be a gracious lover. You see it in every thoughtful thing he does, the effort he puts into small things that equate to the effort he would put into you, worshiping your body with his reverent, greedy grasp. The same hands you’ve seen rope steer, tie up calves for branding. Hands you’ve seen holding reigns and synching saddles, the hands you’ve seen bring life into the world. The same hands you’ve seen wrapped around his cock in a dimly lit bathroom with mindless gasps, flexing biceps and a furrowed brow.

Oh—yeah, theres that hot rush across your skin, that tingle that starts in your thighs and travels up slowly, tickling your starved body. The things Joel would do to you, suddenly filling in the blank spaces behind your eyelids. It’s easy to slip into the fantasy of his big hands, ghosting ever so lightly along your bare thigh, a touch but not quite—like he’s there but he’s so far away, tickling the inside of your right thigh until chills work down your spine, flourishing into faint goosebumps down your legs.

The way he would talk to you, fuck, that would turn you into a murmuring mess for him, that deep rumbly accent of his. You could listen to him talk all damn day long, simple words suddenly transformed into the most eloquent, intoxicating sound that has ever graced your ears. He could probably talk you through an orgasm, blindfolded with minimal effort.

What would he say if he saw you right now?

Look at ya

If he saw you right now, laid out on your bed with a monumental task set before you.

So fuckin’ proud of you, sweet girl.

You feel brave with the phantom whispers of his praise in your ears, so you try a new angle, reminding yourself to breath slowly, relax and let yourself think of Joel.

Joel, who’s obviously ashamed of himself, who probably hasn’t been truly appreciated in years, if ever. Joel—you get past the wide head of the toy and it punches out a soft gasp that catches in your throat—sweet fucking Joel with his thoughtful eyes and graying curls. He’d probably want it like this too, you on your back with him above you, your legs spread wide to accommodate those solid hips instead of your own exploring hands.

I know, I know—you’re doin’ so good, darlin’, just a little bit more for me—thats it

It’s a little less intimidating when you don’t look at the toy in your hands, imagining flesh and pulsing want instead of cold blue silicone. It takes a lot of breaks, a lot of stilling and breathing deep while you force yourself to relax despite the absolutely agonizing stretch. When you get about half way, it hits you that this—this is what it’s going to feel like when he presses into you, the way he’ll burn when he splits you open.

Joel isn’t a boaster on any given day, but witnessing you arched off the mattress with a slacked jaw and quivering muscles, he might let that facade slip.

Shh, baby, I know. S’big, ain’t it? You gonna take it? You gonna be good for me, honey? You can do it, girl—let me ruin you for anyone else.

“Oh, god…” your chest heaves this time, the toy brushing against a spot inside of you no one has ever reached. Your stubbornness bleeds into your desire, determined to get your new favorite toy as deep as you can, your secret, concealable, personal Joel. You’re so damn close now, just a few more inches to go and you’re in the home stretch.

Shit, you’re so tight, think all of me s’gonna fit, baby?

Another inch down and your starting to work up a sweat, one hand holding the blue silicone by the base while the other hand works slow, steady circles through your folds. It helps you take the edge off, doing your best to forget about the way the toy inside of you burns you up, stretches you past what you thought your body was possible of.

Almost there baby, that’s it—thats my girl.

Feel ya squeezin’ me, darlin. You gonna cum? Just from this?

Come on, beautiful—cum for me.

It’s abruptly apparent just how obsessed you are with the eldest Miller when you can nearly picture him crystal clear above you, holding your thighs around his hips while he sinks in deeper, the determined set of his jaw and his wild eyes, consumed entirely by dark pupils that drink you in. He would be breathless right now, probably making soft sounds to the way your body tightens up completely when that final thread finally snaps.

He would be the soul witness to the way your body arches and shakes, the way it pulses around him, recoils then springs to life with a heavy gasp of his name on your parted lips.

That’s my girl, absolutely shakin’ for me, ain’t even fucked you yet.

The adrenaline high takes you soaring across your room, spinning out of control with light dancing behind your closed eyelids. When you come to, the vision slips and it’s no longer Joel you see above you, but your spinning ceiling fan and white popcorn texture.

Your toy is pressed in to the base, finally all of it, every inch of it’s cool blue silicone is wrapped in searing heat.

You’re one step closer to everything you’ve wanted for the last two years—Joel Miller.

The following morning, the breakfast table sits obliviously to the day before, the night before and the early hours of this morning—the ones where you laid out panting his name silently, shaking fingers grasping the blue silicone base.

Now, those same hands grasp a empty fork as you push food around absently. Your eyes are on the plate across from you, Joels big hands on his coffee mug when his sight catches yours. His eyes flick to your parents, then back to you with a knowing glint.

“S’that right, Honey?” You snap out of your daze and glance up at your mother. “Huh?” She offers a oblivious smile. “I was saying how many boys ‘round here are beggin’ at your feet to be their dates for the spring formal.” She smiles over at Joel. “You haven’t been the last two years, but the town puts on this big dance at town hall. Everyone comes dressed to the nines.” Joel tries to imagine you, dressed in a elegant gown, brainless fools groveling at your feet for a chance with a girl like you—he imagines himself, one of those worthless fools right beside them.

“Think it’s comin’ up soon, ain’t it?” Hank asks over a bite of pancake and you look over at your father. “Next week, it falls on my birthday this year. You guys are still okay with Mel coming down for a few days, right?”

Your parents agree easily and the conversation shifts to a new topic, but Joel’s eyes pierce into you through the entire meal.

Plotting, planning and imagination the same things that are running through your equally muddled mind.

Both oblivious to how absolutely fucked you’ll both be come next week.

[turtletaubwrites]

I Saw You First (Pt. 2) ~ Part 7.5

Thank you @zoroswifesblog for this request!! Here's Part 1. I recommend that if you're reading through the series (linked below) to read this after part 7. This is Zoro's pov of the next day.

Pairings: Sanji x Fem!Reader, Zoro x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1309

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Summary: It's the morning after your first night with the cook, and Zoro is determined to make you forget about him. Zoro grapples with his rage, and tries to understand why he's so worked up over your casual arrangement.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Fem!Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Reader-Insert, No Smut here except for brief memory descriptions, Casual Sex, Penis in Vagina Sex, Angst, Anger, Shame, Mild Violence Mentioned, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Crewmates with Benefits, Relationship Discussions

A/N: Feelings are tough, Zoro's having a bad day, y'all

I’m gonna show you. 

Zoro had barely noticed he was awake before the rampage of thoughts from last night piled on his brain. The sounds he’d heard, your little whines while you let that idiot cook fuck you in the kitchen. 

Trying to scrape the anger off of his skin in the shower, he had to hop around, shaking himself to release the images flooding his mind now.

Right there. She hung onto that safety bar when I fucked her against the wall. She was so fucking good, so tight and wet. She took it so well, even though I didn’t go easy on her.  

“Fuck.”

He rushed out of there, wanting to save his energy for everything he planned on doing to you later.

I’m gonna fuck the memory of him out of you. 

Zoro paced in his small room before heading to the galley. He kept his gaze away from the cook, and waited for you by the door. 

He sat next to you at the booth, blocking the waiter from leaning in close to you like he had the day before.

You were blinking slowly, your under eyes a bit dark. He tried to convince himself it was because being with Sanji had bored you so much. He shoved away the thoughts of how late it was before you left last night, the sounds of you both moaning as you came. 

Zoro’s grip on your thigh started pressing, and he let up. 

But he hung on a bit tighter when Sanji leaned over him to give you a fancy fucking coffee, with a pretentious little flower painted on the foam.

The pathetic perv has to bribe her. 

“I told you Usopp, Y/N’s sick. Chopper, can fevers make you go deaf?”

“Actually yes, a high fever can cause cochlear damage-”

“She’s not sick, she’s just been having trouble sleeping. Right, Y/N?”

He hadn’t registered what Luffy had asked until Robin’s calm, pointed words broke through. She looked at you, but her gaze slid to Zoro as he narrowed his eyes at her. 

Who fucking cares if she knows. 

You rushed out of the kitchen, and he followed you out on deck before he caught another glimpse of him. 

You let out a cute little yawn, and Zoro watched the line of your body as you stretched. 

Fuck, I want you right here, right now. 

His body was nearly buzzing as he came up behind you, breathing across your neck. 

“You’re coming to my room tonight.”

He watched your sweet mouth as you turned with another yawn, leaning toward him as you replied. 

“I can’t tonight, Zoro. I need to get some rest.”

The sound of your moans last night clanged through his ears again, and he felt that rage bubbling up. You took a step back from him, and he couldn’t fucking stop himself, the words leaving his mouth like poison. 

“What, now that cook treats you like a little princess, and you don’t want to fuck me?”

The sound of a lighter sparked behind him.

“I believe the lady told you she wanted a break, Marimo.”

Zoro spun, his fingers on a sword, itching to draw it.

I’m gonna kill this fucker, always butting in on what’s mine. 

“Fucking stop it, both of you. I’m not a piece of meat to fight over.”

Your voice was shaky, but angry, and Zoro turned to watch you take your step back toward him. 

“And Zoro, I enjoy our time together, but there’s a line. You agreed to this, so speak up if you can’t handle it.”

He had to clench his teeth to keep more poisonous words in, anger boiling hotter the longer Sanji stood beside him.

He missed something you said as he imagined everything his swords could do to the cook, and he had to bite his tongue to bring him back to the moment. 

“Okay, rule number one; no fighting over me. The whole point of this arrangement is to keep things casual, and I won’t put myself in the middle of your feud.”

Zoro could barely hold himself back from breaking that rule as you uttered it. 

“Rule number two; no one gets their feelings hurt when I want to take a break. I’m fucking tired, and I’m not a doll you can use whenever you want.”

Rage was replaced by hot shame, pouring into Zoro’s stomach.

What the fuck is from with me?

“Fuck, Needy, I didn’t mea-”

He almost flinched as you held your hand out to stop him. 

Fuck, I’m fucking this up. I’m going crazy, why can’t I handle my fucking shit?

“Rule number three; we need to come up with some sort of system to keep things fair. I don’t want to have to choose between you guys, and get caught in your pissing contest.”

The shame stayed in him, but rage bubbled back.

She still wants to let that perv fuck her.

Zoro fucking tried to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t stop himself from blurting his question out, too soon. 

“So, what’s the system?”

“Let her catch her breath, moss head.”

“You don’t know what she needs, waiter.”

“Guys, seriously? Stop.”

Zoro had leaned toward Sanji’s smug face just aching to slam his fists into it, but your voice cut through. He turned to you, fighting his need to teach that shit head a lesson, and keep calm for you. 

Don’t fucking ruin this. 

“Let’s alternate. One day with Zoro, then the next day with Sanji. And I get to take breaks without you destroying the ship.”

Zoro swallowed the knot of rage that was threatening to bubble up at the thought of continuing to share you with Sanji. He fought to breathe evenly, and missed something else you’d said.

“... Okay then, good! Do we all agree to the terms?”

“Of course dear-“

“Sure-“

“Great! I’m going to get some work done.” 

He turned to watch you walk away, not wanting to look at the piece of shit blond before he broke rule number one. 

“Marimo, you need to-”

“Don’t fucking talk to me, cook.”

Zoro fumed all the way to his quarters, the restraint it took not to break the walls was painful. He started counting pushups and situps again, but all he could think of was your tired, angry face. 

‘I’m not a doll you can use whenever you want.’

Slamming his fists against his thighs, Zoro slumped to the floor, putting his head in his hands. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? We’re just fucking, why am I going off the deep end like this? I need to get my shit together. 

Shame curdled in his stomach as Zoro’s mind raced over everything you had said to each other since you’d started this. Clenching his eyes shut again at the thought of you stepping back from him. 

Gods, I’m a piece of shit. Of course she’d rather be with that annoying waiter over me. I fucking scared her. 

Zoro stewed in his anger and disgust for hours, trying to figure out how to fix his fuck up. The thought of you not wanting to see him again made his gut clench, especially coupled with the fear that he’d have to watch you with him everyday. 

And that step back you took when he spoke to you like that. It haunted him, hovering in his mind like a cloud of hornets. 

I’ve gotta make this right. 

He’s never been good at this, but Zoro walked himself through a hundred ways to apologize to you. He practiced, needing you to never look at him that way again. To never be afraid of him. 

I need her to feel safe with me. 

I need her to forgive me. 

He finally left his quarters, shame still aching through him as he searched for you. 

Thank You for Reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Tag List: @astheni-a | @ferns-fics | @heilee | @iamn1ya | @ghostfacefricker6969 | @onlybassoon01 | @apothicgloom | @slyhersophia | @cyberaestheticals

*Hi tagged friends! I wasn't sure if you'd like to be tagged in the extra scenes without the reader, so please let me know if you'd like me to leave your name out of these going forward.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed Zoro's version of the next day! He sure didn't 😅 I am loving taking requests for this series, let me know if you have another other scenes you'd like me to explore!

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

[bluebunnysart]

Fanart of my own fanfiction (Chimera Teto x Android Miku)

Good news! When I woke up and looked at my art again today, I liked it, so here's the uncolored version! I trust you tumblr people, so here you go! You may view. This technically means I've drawn UTAU Teto (here) and SynthV Teto, but I really want to color this and take my time doing so, so here are the lines before it turns into something else hahaha 😂😂😂 Read More for the stuff I wanted to write last night but was too tired to (also the art time lapse)

I showed like two WIPs of different ideas on Twitter but none of them were this LOL (just goes to show how much I wanna draw and see of these two specifically) but the reason I decided to go with this is 'cuz that fanfic I wrote in like one day really got me excited and it made me really want to draw them as I was imagining more stuff about them. Here I'll talk about what I had in mind

I love chimera Teto, especially her majestic wings, and what I drew here is basically inspired by that! Teto's basically the only "living, sentient" thing around Miku so far (I dunno how to approach adding more creatures just yet), which makes Miku extra interested in her. But basically Miku likes Teto's wings and tail too and is very fascinated by them.

I had an idea where Miku is just holding or playing with Teto's tail out of nowhere and complimenting the heck out of her, and that was condensed into this piece. It was too crowded on Miku's side to have Teto's tail there as well, but the reason Teto's embarrassed (tsundere is nice, aint it xD) is 'cuz Miku is indeed praising the heck out of her. Calling her cute and saying how cool her wings are and whatnot.

The dialogue kinda goes like, "Your wings are so cool! And I really like how expressive your tail is! I wonder what I would do with a tail. It's so cute! Actually, now that I think about it, all of you is really cute!!" (Teto, embarrassed: "Stop talking now.") wwww

Miku does have a kinda tail actually! It's the chain on top of her skirt. As an android, I was thinking it works as sort of a battery plug or USB or something. I can show off more of that later (since it's really small here lol) but she can use it to receive electricity and recharge herself, I guess~. (Note to self: make it bigger?)

I haven't shown off much of my art style, but most (normal) characters usually don't have pupils. (See: this Teto, who's a living breathing creature.) As a result, I decided to give Miku pupils (kinda robot-like) to make her seem like more of a robot. She also wears the thing (headphones) over her ears, of course, which I can also use to make her seem more robot-like. There's no green flashing of code in her eyes right now but I might draw that sometime too, after my loads of other ideas...

Teto's wings aren't fragile. They're probably firm, hard, and could even be scaly/rough (up to my own whims or the reader's own preference). Her letting Miku touch her (wings) is probably a huge display of trust/confidence. Teto's wings are strong enough to carry her far distances and even allow her to fly in bad weather, I think. It's up to Teto herself how much energy/desire she has to do things like that though.

This is mentioned in the fic too, but Teto probably folds her wings a lot so they don't get in the way. She's kinda like a bird. I think her silhouette against the sun or moon, with full wingspan, is probably majestic (I'm imagining the Batman symbol for some reason lol). I know some people color Teto's wings as purple, but I specified black in my fic to match her tail. ^^

In order for her wings to breathe, there are probably holes in the back of her outfit to accommodate them, but they're only big enough for the wings (ellipses/ovals probably): she either tears/cuts holes into the shirts she wears for her wings or they already fit her wings so there's no problem. I wonder if Teto made her UTAU outfit herself in this setting. xD (A girl has to pass the time SOMEHOW plus she's probably at least a little bit handy when it comes to clothes and stuff (survival).)

If, while I'm coloring, I need to make adjustments to the seating and lineart and all that, I will, but I figured I'd show off what made me stay up 'til 5 AM last night and then get embarrassed to post 'cuz I thought I wasn't finished yet. I woke up and I liked it, so I'm just gonna put it in this here blog. c:

I don't know how to color, so coloring will be a trip 😂

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Smile Wiped Clean

Roman loves his job. He loves to be creative, to make things, to put everything he has into his work. Roman loves his job. He does.

He loves his job, but he struggles to get it done sometimes, the pressure is overwhelming, the criticisms feel like splinters digging into his skin, working on a script can sometimes feel like he's being asked to cut off his own hands. What is he supposed to do when he has to love his job?

----

| AO3 |

----

Warnings: Self depreciation, RSD, Roman be struggling, Patton adn Logan are kind of assholes in the beginning.

Pairings: platonic dlampr

Word Count: 7961

Notes:

Hello everyone :3

I was inspired to write some roman angst and then cranked out almost 8k in like five days. Why can't I do this for the projects I actually need to work on, huh?

----

Roman let out a deep sigh, putting down his pencil and resting his head in his hand as he gazed at the sketch he had begun to work on today. He had planned to attempt a storyboard of the latest script idea he had come up with for Thomas’ video, hoping a change of format would help with the pooling sense of dread he had been feeling every time he thought about working on it. 

Somehow, though, it may have made it worse. When he drew all the lines simply came out wrong. The sketch looked off, the lines were wobbly, when he tried to draw himself and the others the faces just felt off in a way he couldn’t hope to describe or fix. He groaned, ripping out the notebook page and tossing it into the overflowing basket beside his desk along with every other attempt he had made so far. 

With another groan, Roman tugged at his hair in frustration. If he couldn’t at least get this started before their next meeting tomorrow Logan would get angry and Patton would get upset. Virgil would probably tease him and usually he would tease back, but right now he just couldn’t fathom being able to handle it. 

He had to get something written, even jotting down ideas in bullet points would be better than staring uselessly at a blank piece of paper and pulling his already dishevelled hair - from the amount of times he had run his hands through it in frustration. 

This wasn’t working. It just wasn’t and trying to force it wasn’t helping. Roman stood abruptly and shut his notebook. Take a break, he told himself, that’s what Janus would tell him to do. He had so many things to do today, even catching a glimpse of todays to-do list in the front of his book made that sense of dread come back. Roman counted out three deep breaths to calm himself and ease the knot in his stomach even a little before snapping himself into his Prince outfit, stopping in front of his mirror to fix his hair before squeezing his hands into fists. Another deep breath and he stepped out of the room and into the hallway. Go downstairs, get something to eat, sit and watch a show maybe, relax for a bit and then go back to the tasks. 

He really hoped no-one else was downstairs. Roman wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with that right now. 

Tapping his fingers against the counter as he waited for his leftovers to eat up, Roman wondered if he really even wanted to eat them. Sure, the meal was nice last night, but… Roman wasn’t sure it sounded appealing right now. He had to eat something though, and the idea of cooking something new felt even worse. No-one was downstairs right now, it was a little late for lunch but too early for Patton to be downstairs working on dinner already, so he figured he would be safe for the moment. 

The sound of the microwave timer running out startles Roman out of his thoughts and he quickly rushes to remove his food, bypassing the table entirely and bringing his plate and a glass of cooled water from the fridge over to the living room couch. He would just watch an episode or two of a cartoon whilst he ate and then get back to work. That sounded like a good idea, right?

He put on an episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender and sat back to eat his meal in peace. 

Admittedly, Roman was eating a little slower than maybe he should have been so that he could watch more episodes than he would have otherwise, but when he finished his food he was halfway though - he couldn’t exactly stop in the middle of the episode, so he told himself he would go back upstairs as soon as this was done.

Unfortunately, his luck with the common area being empty seemed to run out only moments after he had finished eating, putting his plate on the coffee table to be cleared up when he left. Alas, it seemed the end of the episode was destined to be interrupted as Logan came down the stairs. 

For a moment, the two just stared at each other. 

“Roman,” Logan greeted, Roman hid a wince.

“Hey Logan,” Roman said, smiling brightly as they all expected from him, “How are you on this wondrous afternoon?”

“I’m doing well,” Logan said with a nod, “I have had a productive day, I simply came down for a cup of coffee.”

“Ah! I think the pot was brewing when I came down, so it should be done now,” Roman said happily, glad he could provide some hopefully useful information to the other side. Logan just hummed.

“Hm,” Logan hummed, Roman let out a soft sigh, before glancing back at the TV. Logan’s gaze followed his, “Don’t you have a lot of work to get done today? Why are you wasting time watching a cartoon?”

Roman wished he was exaggerating when he thought about how that felt like an arrow to the chest. He gripped the material of his trousers between his fingers, looking back at the TV - any hope that he could do this he may have gotten from the cartoon was immediately crushed. It turned out, Roman was well aware of how much work he had to do today, being reminded of it only made things worse.

“I do have a lot of work to do,” Roman said, “I’ve been attempting to work on it all morning - I simply came down for some food and a break, I was going to go back to my room and keep working after this episode.”

“Ah, of course,” Logan said, rolling his eyes. Roman couldn’t help that he felt a little crushed. “Well, I shall prepare to pick up your slack, as usual, then.”

With that metaphorical punch in the gut, Logan turned and walked into the kitchen. Roman grit his teeth as he reached for the remote to turn the TV off. He had wanted to finish the episode, but now even the thought of doing so made him feel sick. The passive aggressive remark rang in his ears, bouncing around the inside of his skull and bringing back that feeling of dread tenfold. 

He went to put his plate in the sink. With a scathing look from Logan as he went to leave it, he turned back to rinse it off and put it onto the dishrack. All whilst trying not to cry or scream. 

Part of him wanted to make a cup of tea and grab a few biscuits to take up with him, but the idea of spending a second longer in the kitchen with Logan made his gut twist. How was he supposed to write a script when he felt like this? The break was supposed to help, but now he just felt even worse than before. 

—-

“Roman,” Logan said at the meeting the next day as he held Roman’s proposed script in hand, “I thought we talked about you doing this work yesterday?”

Roman might have winced, “I did? It’s… right there? You’re… holding it?”

“What I’m holding,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses as he looks down at the binder, “Is…. mediocre at best.”

“Well… yeah teach, it’s a first draft? It’s not going to be perfect-”

“Roman,” Logan interrupted, fixing his gaze on him, “This reads like an elementary school child’s first play script. What happened?”

Roman really did wince this time, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to come up with something to say around the burning hole that had just been punched through his chest, “I-”

“Surely it can’t be that bad, kiddo,” Patton said brightly, “Hey Logan, can I have a look?”

For a moment, Roman was relieved as Logan passed over the script, Patton wouldn’t be as harsh, he was always softer in his approach. Roman tried not to hold his breath as Patton read through it.

“Well-” Patton frowned, shifting from one food to the other, “I’m sure there's… some part of this we can use? With some refining of course! Roman did say this was a first draft after all!”

That did not make him feel half as reassured as he had thought it should. Roman fidgeted with his fingers, chipping away at the red nail polish he had applied yesterday in hopes it would make him feel any better about this. He took a deep breath and tried to swallow it down.

“Right, right of course, I can refine it,” Roman nodded, his smile felt forced and broken, he suddenly wished Virgil had come to this meeting - he was always good at distracting Roman even if it was with something equally painful. It would even be better if Remus popped up and distracted everyone, maybe then the attention would be off of him. 

“Wonderful, please don’t procrastinate this again,” Logan said primly, “I would not like you to leave it to the last minute again.”

“I wasn’t-” Roman started protesting, before biting his lip, “I won’t,” he said with a soft sigh, “It’ll be done.”

“Awesome! Thank you Roman!” Patton said with a clap of his hands, clearly trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room.

“Yeah, um, is that all?” Roman asked, looking at the two of them, “I’d like to get working on the script, you know? So that it’ll be ready?”

“Of course, I believe that was the primary purpose of this meeting,” Logan nodded, “The rest of the points I have for today do not require your input.”

Roman nodded and wordlessly sunk out to his room, trying to ignore the stab of pain from that closing statement on top of everything else. He dumped the script on his desk and sat down on his bed, holding his hands in his lap and trying to stop them from shaking. 

—

The script made him feel sick. He knew it was bad, it really was thrown together. Just like Logan had said, it read like the creation of an eight year old. After the events of yesterday Roman had barely managed to get in an hour's work. He had no idea why he was struggling so much. Thomas was doing okay, Roman was getting enough sleep and eating when he was hungry and getting water when he was thirsty. Usually when he struggled to get words down on a page it was because something else was wrong, but now he couldn’t figure out what that was. 

Roman took a deep, shaky breath to battle the threatening tears. The script was awful, Roman didn’t know how to fix it, no matter how hard he tried now no ideas were coming to his brain. Part of him didn’t want to create at all now. He didn’t want to work on the script, he didn’t want to disappoint them again. Everything he made recently was like this, just getting worse and worse. Logan was just trying to encourage him to be better, but Roman couldn’t help the dread he felt at the idea of picking up that script, opening up that document, even the idea of brainstorming felt like too much right now.

If everything he made was useless anyway, why should he bother?

Maybe going into the imagination when he felt this bad about his creative talents was a bad idea, but Roman couldn’t stand the sight of that script on his desk like a beacon of failure and he couldn’t go to the common area incase one of the others found him there and chastised him for lying to get out of the meeting. He definitely didn’t want Janus to find him after that show and ask him what was wrong, so… imagination it was. 

—

The imagination was normally bright and full of life, Roman’s side especially was always populated by vibrant colours and lively bright characters and creatures, butterflies that fluttered around the forests, townsfolk going about their business with smiles on their faces in the villages he had created, the palace gleaming in the distance, shimmering with gold on the hilltop, the mountains behind coated with shimmering mist from the seas beyond.

Right now, yellowed dead grass crunched beneath his feet, the leaves on the trees were dulled, there wasn’t a butterfly to be seen. He spotted a hornet's nest in the woods and quickly altered his path to avoid it. 

The villagers he talked to - hoping for any sort of kindness or reassurance were snappish and rude, turning away from him with a huff or a scoff. The sky was dimmed with clouds and the palace and mountains loomed menacingly on the horizon line. The imagination always reflected him, after all. There was no escaping the reality of the situation here.

After walking for what must have hours, Roman found himself on a beach. Unable to go further - he had no energy to conjure a boat right now, or turn himself into a fish or a merman. In the end he just settled down on the shoreline, watching the grey waves lap at the gritty sand that was normally golden and bright. Roman let it fall through his fingers, knowing he wouldn’t find any seaglass was in this state. Sighing softly, Roman pulled his knees up to his chest and looked out to the sea. 

Roman didn’t move even as it got dark and the tide went out. The sky was clouded over, he saw no sunset nor moon and stars, just a dark, black void. The smell of seaweed and salt was too strong and vaguely unpleasant, the sound of the waves grated on his ears and the texture of the sand under his hands made him feel a little sick, still it was better than the alternative of going back. The script he had to work on was back in his room. He almost gagged at the thought. 

—

“Hey Roman!” Patton called the next day as Roman came downstairs for breakfast. He hadn’t changed, only making his way back from the imagination when the sun began to rise, washing the sand off of his hands and running water through his hair to make it look like he had just showered, he’d snapped himself into suitable pajamas and covered up the bags under his eyes and made his way downstairs, “Tried to come see how you were doing with the script yesterday but you were out of your room! How’s it going?”

“Oh! Uhm,” Roman said, glancing around the room. Virgil was sitting at the dining table and Logan was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, invested in some book, okay, it would be okay, “It’s going fine - um, I went to the imagination yesterday to get some more inspiration - building scenes to write and stuff.”

It was a blatant lie. Roman knew it and resisted the urge to look around for Janus. But Patton seemed to buy it. 

“That’s great! Did you get what you needed to work on it?” 

“Yeah, for sure, I’ll start doing the actual rewrites today, what’s for breakfast?” Roman said, plastering a smile on his face in the face of that same sheer dread he felt at the idea.

“I was actually about to start cooking!” Patton said, “Virge and I were trying to work out what we should have, I wanted to make eggs and bacon but he thinks we should have pancakes.”

“We had eggs and bacon like two days ago,” Virgil huffed, crossing his arms on the table and digging his fingers into his jacket - which he had pulled over his pajamas it seemed. Roman slipped into the chair next to him, “And yesterday we just had toast.”

Roman was about to say something about how he’d prefer pancakes too - sweet foods were always great for getting him in the mood for creative thinking - before Patton got there first.

“Why don’t you decide, kiddo?” Patton asked, looking at Roman with a bright smile - Roman tried to keep his own on his face even though his chest seized with panic at the question, “Would you rather have pancakes or eggs?”

Roman’s eyes darted quickly between Patton and Virgil as his fingers tapped worridly on the table. Patton’s smile never left, but Virgil’s grimace might have become something more concerned. Roman suddenly felt trapped, being the tiebreaker, he would disappoint someone no matter which option he picked. He knew which he would prefer, but it wasn’t that simple. If he sided with Virgil then Patton would get upset, but if he sided with Patton then Virgil might get angry. Not to mention, if he picked the more unhealthy option then Logan would probably get upset too, but he didn’t want to disappoint Virgil-

“It’s fine,” Virgil said after a few seconds, “Make your bacon, me and Princey can make pancakes ourselves afterwards, boom, problem solved.”

Roman couldn’t help but perk up - getting pancakes and possibly being able to cook with Virgil felt like a good way to start the morning. Virgil sent him a small smile - he must have noticed. 

“Hm-” Patton said, frowning, Roman immediately deflated, hand coming up to fidget with his wet hair, Virgil seemed to notice this too because a quiet growl escaped him - Roman didn’t think Patton had heard, “Well, I s’pose you could, but… Roman is banned from the kitchen for a reason, kiddo.”

Roman cringed. The last time he had tried to cook had been a disaster, but if he and Virgil were doing it together surely it wouldn’t be that bad.

“I won’t let him touch the oven,” Virgil said, whilst Roman sat there awkwardly fiddling with his hair and looking away, not sure what to do with himself.

“And you’re okay with-”

“I wouldn’t’ve asked to do it if I didn’t want to, Pat,” Virgil pointed out. Patton sighed and nodded.

“Alrighty kiddos - if you’re sure, lemme just get things together for Logan and I, then I’ll get out of your way?”

“Sure,” Virgil shrugged and Patton headed back into the kitchen to begin cooking. Virgil immediately leaned over to Roman, “Hey Princey, what’s going on with you?”

“Huh?” Roman asked, eyes snapping up to meet him.

“You look like shit, dude,” Virgil said, still whispering, “You look like you just ran your head under the tap and slapped some concealer on your face, not to mention you panicking just now - are you okay?”

“What? Oh, yes, fine, fine of course!” Roman says brightly, forcing himself to sit up straight and put a smile on his face. Virgil frowned, clearly not buying it, but he just coughed awkwardly and moved on, much to Roman’s relief.

“Okay, well um - do you actually want to cook with me? Do you even want pancakes at all? I didn’t- mean to assume but I know Pat can be kinda pushy and you seemed panicked so I-”

“I do want to cook with you, Scaramore,” Roman interrupted him with a small smile, “As long as you can handle my ineptness.”

“You’re not inept,” Virgil rolled his eyes, waving his hand, “Pancakes are easy anyway.”

“If you say so,” Roman chuckles, shaking his head. 

Once Patton was finished in the kitchen, Virgil got up and urged Roman to follow him, setting out the ingredients. With specific instructions and supervision that was slightly overbearing but to a level that somehow made Roman more comfortable than less - it was nothing like when Patton did it, it felt more like he was being guided and looked after as he did the things that Virgil told him to do, rather than making one mistake and having Patton swoop in and take over. 

The pancakes weren’t perfect, but they were still nice. Roman had a lovely time making them with Virgil too - he didn’t think they would've been half as much fun if he had made them alone. 

He didn’t want the meal to end, honestly. The conversation was light and fun - Virgil was talking about some new music he had listened to and Roman had been laughing along with him. Virgil told him he should give it a listen sometime and Roman said he would. It was almost enough to give him his spark back. 

The rest of the day he spent working on the script. Careful to avoid Patton and Logan - Janus and Remus too in all honesty - Roman headed back into his room to work his way though the script, fleshing things out, making the descriptions clearer and the dialogue more interesting and nuanced. By the time Patton called them all down for dinner Roman was absolutely exhausted and incredibly drained, but he actually had something he thought he could be proud of to show them. Maybe this would actually go well.

Even still, the idea of having Patton and Logan look over it made his hands shake and hairs stand on end, he didn’t like it one bit. 

The next few days he spent refining the script as much as he could. It needed to be perfect for Thomas to use it after all. It needed to be perfect for Logan and Patton to approve. He needed to be perfect if he didn’t want them to get upset with him, and if they did get upset with him then… well he needed to be perfect then too. 

And then they had the meeting with Thomas.

Roman rose up with the script clutched to his chest. Everyone was staring at him - he knew he was late, he had just been making some panicked, last minute touches, making sure everything was perfect, but now he was late and they were all staring at him.

He should say something witty. Something about how he was always fashionably late maybe, but Logan was glaring at him and Patton looked disappointed and Janus was here too and Roman couldn’t get the words out past the lump in his throat.

“Roman,” Logan said when it became clear that Roman wasn’t going to say anything, “You were made aware that we had a meeting today. We were all waiting for you.”

Nevermind the fact that no-one ever chastised the others for being late for these. Roman squashed the thought down with a bitter feeling. 

“I was just making finishing touches!” Roman announced in his normal bright and boisterous tone, “I didn’t want to leave our darling Thomathy without something perfect, after all!”

Logan hummed and nodded, Roman couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him as the conversation moved on without a lecture. Janus looked at him for a second too long, Roman wished he hadn’t noticed.

“Well then kiddo! How ‘bout you show us what you’ve come up with?” Patton said, almost like he was coaxing Roman into sharing. Roman was, admittedly, reluctant, but he handed the script over to Patton to look at anyway. It was his job to come up with these things after all, he shouldn’t be afraid of the criticism he was bound to receive. Still he couldn’t help but nervously twist his hands together as Patton read through the script with a small frown on his face and passed it off to Logan to look at whilst Thomas and Janus tried to make conversation with him. He knew he was distracted, watching Logan’s face for any sign of what he might be feeling about the script Roman actually felt fairly proud of after all of the heartache that had gone into it. Whether he would actually let Thomas see it at all. 

“Well,” Logan started, snapping the binder shut, “It is not our best work-”

Roman felt like he had been punched in the gut, but he schooled his features to look neutral as Thomas took the binder.

“But! I suppose if this is all Roman can create it will have to do.”

“But I-” Roman started, wanting to tell them how hard he had worked on it, if that would even mean anything. 

“It’s alright, kiddo!” Patton said brightly, “I’m sure you’ll do better with the next one! One bad script isn’t anything to feel bad about.”

But Roman did feel bad about it, that was the thing. If Roman expressed that he wasn’t sure what would happen, would they get upset with him? Janus was giving him an incredulous look.

“Well,” Thomas spoke up as he skimmed through the script, “I think we’ll have to rework this a bit to get it to work - but it’s a really good start Roman! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Roman said automatically, almost not even registering that he had said it. His mind was elsewhere. He was too busy thinking about hiding his shaking hands and holding back the tears he knew were threatening to get through. They had said it was fine, it was a good starting point, but Roman had spent the last three days working on this, he had worked and reworked and spent so much time making it perfect - he had been proud of the script he had ended up with, and it was just… subpar. A good start, with pieces they could pull out though the majority was trash. 

“Are you alright, Roman?” Someone asked, Roman startled and looked up, glancing around. Everyone was looking at him - why was everyone looking at him?

After a long moment of blank staring, Logan sighed.

“I asked if you would be able to rework the script by Friday,” he asked. That was two days' time - they really wanted him to redo a whole script in two days? He pressed down the bubbling panic that was trying to make his way up his throat. He didn’t want to work on the script at all, the idea of doing so made him feel like he had just been told to cut off his own hand, but he would have to.

“Oh- uh, sure,” Roman said, “Um- can we go over what exactly I need to rework?”

As much as it would be painful to hear, he needed to know exactly what was wrong with his script so that he could change it to what they wanted. Janus frowned at him, but didn’t say anything to Roman’s relief. 

“Ah, of course, I can go over the issues with the script for you now,” Logan said, taking the binder back from Thomas. With every comment he made - every nitpick, every piece of emotional nuance he decided was unnecessary - Roman felt himself grow more and more upset. Still he kept that mask of indifference on his face, made it look like none of Logan’s words were hurting him. He made it look like he was listening intently and taking in every word whilst really he couldn’t hear a thing Logan was saying over the roar of his own insecurity in his ears. 

‘This part could be better’ Logan said, ‘this whole section is useless’ Roman heard. ‘There should be more jokes in this part’ Patton told him, ‘None of this is engaging’ Roman heard. 

‘If you rewrote this part-’, Logan said, over and over. ‘You should never write again’ Roman heard, over and over. 

This is bad, this is pointless, everything you create is worthless, you’ll never make the viewers happy with this, no-one will ever want to watch Thomas’s videos with this sort of script, do better, work harder, useless, worthless, bad, bad, bad-

“Roman?” A voice cut through the stream in his head and Roman all at once realised he had screwed his eyes shut and clamped his hands over his ears as though he could block out the voices in his own head. He knew he was taking their criticisms too harshly, they were being constructive, he shouldn’t feel this awful over a few constructive comments. Carefully Roman pulled his hands from his ears and blinked away the tears in his eyes to look around. Logan looked annoyed, Patton confused and a little upset, Thomas seemed confused and Janus looked… concerned. Roman thought he must be imagining it.

“Now - Roman, you know how rude it is not to listen to the rest of us, don’t you?” Patton said, in that gentle chastising tone that drove Roman up the wall, “What was that all about?”

“Indeed, I find it very disrespectful that you would resort to such a childish show of disrespect in the face of simple criticism.” Logan said with a frown on his face. Roman looked down - he wanted to retort that it wasn’t just that. He had worked hard on thai script, he had been proud of it, their simple criticism was making him feel like he was being torn apart at the seams, it was more than simple, every comment was like a needle stabbing into his heart, a new paper cut adorning his hands until they were unusable, it felt as though they were tearing out every one of his muscles and organs one by one until he was just a gruesome sack of bones and skin, they were tearing him apart and they didn’t even realise it. Roman didn’t even have the guts to truly tell them. Instead all he did was pretend things were fine and go sob to himself in the imagination when he had time to spare. What a miserable life to lead. 

“Roman, are you alright?” Janus asks eventually after Roman never replied. Roman flinches and takes a deep breath.

“Of course,” Roman says, willing himself not to stutter, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Darling,” Janus drawled, rolling his eyes, “You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

“What’s going on, Roman?” Thomas asked, frowning a little as he looked over at him. 

“Yes, I would like to know, if this is what is hindering your ability to do your job adequately-”

Roman broke. 

That comment was the last straw, his job, his purpose - he couldn’t even do the thing he was made for. He couldn’t even do the one single thing they expected from him correctly. He was so useless. 

“Maybe you should do it then,” Roman said, finally done with all of this, “You write the script, if my ideas were so terrible, maybe you should do it, give it a try, see how easy it is.”

“Roman, kiddo-”

“No!” Roman interrupted, bringing his hands up to his hair, “Stop it! Just stop! You want to know why I’m having trouble making things to your standards recently? It’s because of you two! You two and your constant- constant telling me what I’ve been doing wrong! Telling me not to take breaks, making me choose, standing here and critiquing something I was so proud of- I- I can’t do it! It hurts! It really fucking hurts and I can’t say anything because you’ll just start getting angry with me-”

Roman sucked in a deep breath, drawing himself up, and trying to calm down, but it was too late, tears were already streaming down his face, he was already shaking violently, there was nothing he could do about this now that he had started. 

“You two never - you never see how hard I’m working, you, Logan, you think I don’t care about the quality of what I give you when I’m trying so, so hard to make it the best I possibly can every time. You have no idea how hard it is to stand here and listen to you both tear apart something I’ve spent days working on- you don’t- you don’t understand how hard it is, Patton, to choose when someone will be upset with me no matter wha option I pick.”

“How could we know these things when you have never told us?” Logan asks sharply, frowning, “Perhaps if you expressed these struggles we would go easier-”

“Would you? Would you really? Because- because we’ve been through this before! We’ve talked about this! About you being too harsh with your criticism, about Patton’s conscientious language - we- we’ve been through this and you haven’t done a thing,” Roman said, “And when I try and bring things up you always get angry and defend yourselves - how the fuck am I supposed to express a problem I have when all I’m going to get in response is anger?”

“We wouldn’t-” Patton tried.

“You would! You would! You always do- that- that passive aggressive tone you do- and even now you’re trying to deny it! How the fuck am I supposed to get through to you two like this?” Roman asked, throwing down his hands, tears were streaming down his face now and he hardly even noticed, “How am I supposed to talk to you two when you act like this?”

“Roman if you could please just calm down - we can talk about this civilly-”

“I’m done talking,” Roman hissed, “I just- I don’t- I’m done, I’m going to the imagination, don’t look for me.”

With that, he sank out. The room was left in silence. After a long moment, Thomas turned to the three of them.

“Guys,” Thomas said, “What the fuck was that?”

“Language-” Patton said.

“Patton, respectfully, shut up,” Janus said, more harshly than he meant to, “I’m not going to look for him.”

And Janus sunk out too, leaving the other three behind to talk.

—-

Roman sat on his beach alone and sobbed into his knees. 

He cried so hard that storms raged in the distance, the waves crashed and the sun was blotted out with dark clouds, still Roman sat and cried and cried. He didn’t know what he wanted right now. He wanted to be alone, he wanted someone’s arms around him, he never wanted to talk to the others again, he wanted to be told that everything was okay. He wanted to be left to his beach and his crying, he wanted to be cared for and comforted. 

“Remus told me I might find you out here,” Said a voice behind him. Roman made a sad, startled sound and immediately felt pathetic for it, “I suppose he was wrong, hm?”

Roman turned quickly to see Janus behind him.

“What- what are you doing here, snake?” Roman asked, trying to sound angry and only succeeding in sounding choked up and miserable. 

“Oh nothing,” Janus said, walking over to come and sit next to him, “Totally not seeing if you need anything after that absolute delight of a conversation - Virgil told me how much you hate being hugged.”

Roman couldn’t help but laugh, “Why would you want to hug a failure like me? You might catch something.”

Rolling his eyes, Janus put an arm around him. Roman didn’t have it in him to protest, he really did want the hug. 

“There you go,” Janus said softly as he pulled him gently into a proper hug, three of his hands wrapped around him as he pulled Roman close, one running gloved fingers through his hair and another wiped the tears from his face, “You are definitely a failure, darling, everyone thinks so.”

Roman sniffed, “Really? How can you - how can you say that after all of- of everything?”

“Cause it’s true, RoRo! You’re not a failure,” Came the voice of his brother from the direction of the sea, Roman turned in Janus’ arms just in time to watch his brother pull himself from the ocean. Roman yelped as Remus ran over and pulled both of them into a hug.

“Remus!” Roman yelled, choked a little by his tears as he tried to push Remus off, “You- you’re soaked! Get off!”

Remus cackled and hung on, “Your fault for having a breakdown on the beach, Ro-Bro- you basically asked for it.”

“You stink of seaweed, Remus,” Janus sighed, “I will only allow you to join this hug if you dry off and change.”

Remus groaned, rolling his eyes, “Roro, snap us back to your room or something will you?”

Sighing, Roman shook his head, clinging to Janus and reaching out to grab Remus’ arm before sinking them back out to his room. Immediately he shoved Remus off of the bed. Janus coaxed Roman back into his arms as he relaxed onto the mountain of pillows in his room. Roman took a few deep breaths before burying his face in Janus’ shoulder and trying not to sob again as Janus rubbed his back up and down in a way that was so comforting. 

Minutes later, Remus joined them, draping himself across Roman’s back and thunking his head on his shoulder. 

“So,” Remus said, “Who do I gotta kill?”

“No-one,” Roman said at the same time as Janus said: “Patton and Logan.”

Roman huffed, “I don’t- I don’t want you to kill them - I just want them to listen for once.”

“I can totally make them listen,” Remus said, “If you tell me what you’re actually upset about.”

“Thanks, Ree,” Roman mumbled, sitting up a little and wiping at his eyes with a sniff, “Um- I just-”

“Why don’t we start at the beginning,” Janus said softly, never ceasing in the way he was petting Roman’s hair so gently, the touch made him want to melt, “Why don’t you just try and tell us both how you’ve been feeling?”

Roman nodded, taking a deep breath before he started spilling everything. Telling the two dark sides everything he had been feeling recently, the way the comments felt suffocating and the criticisms felt like thorns digging into his skin. He told them how he had been feeling about his creations and why the imagination was so grey, by the end he was once again teary. Janus was whispering soft reassurances to him the entire time, whilst Remus seemed to be seething in rage.

“I’m gonna go talk to them,” Remus said through his teeth. 

“Leave the morningstar,” Roman said, there was a stammer in his voice, but his tone was firm.

“You never let me have any fun, Roro,” Remus said, leaving the morningstar leant up against Roman’s bed. Roman nodded his approval and Remus sank out.

They stayed there for some time, about fifteen minutes or so, though Roman wasn’t sure, he spent most of it with his head buried in Janus’ shoulder. The comforting arms wrapped around him helped him to calm down a little more from all of that. The outburst - all of the pent up emotions he had about all of this - had honestly made him feel a lot… better, especially now that he had comfort.

A while later, when Roman was just starting to get sleepy from all the comfort, the door opened slowly - almost cautious, and Virgil’s face peeked into the room. Janus smiled a little and shifted, making Roman grumble. 

“It’s Virgil dear,” Janus said softly. Roman glanced up and made a grabby motion at Virgil, who chuckled and walked into the room properly. Coming to sit down next to Roman on the bed. Roman immediately grabbed him and pulled him into the hug. 

“Hey Princey,” Virgil said, shuffling closer and wrapping his arms around them both, “Hey Dee.”

“Hey Virgil,” Janus smiled, “What are you doing here?”

“Remus is talking to the others,” Virgil said, “I kinda heard what happened a little and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, as long as Roman wants you here, you’re welcome,” Janus said with a soft smile. With the way Roman was now clinging to Virgil’s hoodie as well as Janus’ capelet it seemed he really did. 

“What’s up anyway, Princey? I heard what Remus was saying about their mean comments and I mean - I kinda noticed you were having a bad time a few days ago with Patton but…?”

Roman sighed softly, “I don’t know what it is,” He said, “I’ve just… been struggling - with motivation or - I suppose drive? I’ve been feeling bad about everything I make so I’ve been reluctant to make anything, but that just makes me feel worse so it’s just a cycle-”

“Ah,” V said softly, dropping his chin to Roman’s shoulder, “That sounds like burnout.”

“Burnout?”

“Yeah it’s like - when you’ve worked yourself too hard and now it’s causing you problems,” Virgil said with a head tilt. Roman hummed, “When was the last time you did something for yourself Princey? Like - just went wild and didn’t have someone criticising you for it?”

“I…” Roman said quietly, “I don’t know, I don’t remember - I mean, I’ve just felt so uninspired…”

“I think, and you’re not going to like it,” Janus said, Roman sighed, already pretty sure he knew what the other was about to say, “That you might benefit from a break?”

Roman groaned, he had seen it coming, “I can’t stop creating - it’s - it’s my whole purpose! What will I be if I can’t create?”

“Darling,” Janus said gently, “Just like the rest of us, you are allowed to take a break if you need to, a week or two, just… relax, create things for yourself, perhaps we could do something fun in the imagination? I’m sure Remus could help, but you’ll never get out of this state if you keep pushing yourself.”

Roman knew that he was right, he was sure Virgil knew that he was right, but he just… couldn’t figure it out, how was he to be useful if he couldn’t do the things he was supposed to do? But then - if he kept going he would never create anything worth sharing with Thomas anyway. What would it matter then if he took a break?

“What about Logan and Patton?” Roman asks softly, “Won’t they be upset with me?”

“Hopefully not after Remus is done with them,” Virgil said, the frown on his face clear from his tone. Roman sighed softly and let himself melt into them both. 

“Thanks guys,” He says softly.

“Of course,” Janus says, scratching his scalp, “You’re not welcome.”

“Anytime, Princey,” Virgil said with a small smile on his face.

—-

It was just a few hours later when Roman woke up from the impromptu map Roman had had with the other two. It seemed that Janus hadn’t fallen asleep it seemed - he was just sitting there on his phone - nor did he think Janus had noticed him wake up. Virgil however was asleep with his head on Roman’s shoulder. He sighed happily - being surrounded by the two of them made Roman relax so easily, he wished he had asked them for this sooner.

“Good afternoon darling,” Janus said softly, running his fingers through Roman’s hair, “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Roman said, smiling a little, “You okay?”

“I’m totally not fine,” he said, “Remus came back, he said the others would like to talk to you whenever you’re ready.”

 Roman winced, “Is that- is that wise?” He asked, tilting his head, “what if they’re upset?”

“I won’t be with you the whole time,” Janus said, “And if they do get upset I think Remus plans to hurt them.”

Roman made a face, “I don’t want that,” He says, “Don’t want them to get hurt.”

“Well then you can’t tell him no,” Janus said, “And we can bring Vee too.”

Roman nods, looking at Virgil who was somehow still asleep on his shoulder, he gently nudged him awake. 

“Mmm?” Virgil hummed, blinking lazily up at him, Roman laughed. 

“I think the others want to talk to me,” Roman said, Virgil frowned immediately, “I’d um- I’d really like it if you guys were there, for uh- moral support, and possibly Remus control.”

Virgil laughed, “Yeah Princey, of course I’ll be there for you.”

—-

Patton and Logan sat together on the living room sofa. Remus stood opposite them, in front of the TV with his morningstar in hand, smiling in a way that was a little bit terrifying. Roman had decided to walk down the stairs instead of just sinking out, so Janus and Virgil had followed him. The two sides on the sofa looked up, Patton gasped and almost stood up, but something - Roman could guess a menacing glare from Virgil - had persuaded him to stay sitting. 

At least the looks on their faces were fairly remorseful as the three of them went to stand with Remus. A hand was placed on his shoulder and with a glance back he saw it was Janus. With a small smile, Roman turned back to the others, waiting for them to talk. 

“Roman,” Logan said. Roman flinched involuntarily and Virgil placed a hand on his back, Logan sighed softly, “I did not realise that my criticisms were causing such a problem for you, nor did I realise that my harsh tones were causing you so much stress.”

Roman did notice that Logan was talking a lot more softly than normal, it was like he had sanded the edges of his words, the sharp points that tore against Roman’s skin were a little more dull now. 

“Now that I am aware of this I will endeavour to do better in the future,” He says, looking down, “I am sorry to have caused you so much distress.”

“Me too,” Patton said, “You always act so happy and energetic I didn’t - I didn’t realise I was causing you so much pain! I don’t ever want to hurt you, kiddo, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s -” Roman said, taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.”

“Roman,” Janus said softly.

“But - I need a break,” Roman said, taking Janus hand, “I have - come to realise that pushing myself as I have been hasn’t been helping me or anyone else, and I know it’ll impact your schedule Logan - and it’ll make Thomas’ viewers upset if we don’t get a video out but I just - I just can’t-”

“It’s okay,” Patton said, getting up to come over to him, “You’re more important to us than one missed video.”

“I do believe that there are other videos Thomas is able to post this week,” Logan said, “If I rearrange some things perhaps we could film an unscripted video instead, allowing you time to rest.”

Roman’s eyes widened a little in disbelief - looking around at everyone. They weren’t chastising him? Logan wasn’t telling him that the script has to be done, they were really letting him take a break?

“See?” Janus said softly, “This was absolutely terrible, wasn’t it?”

Roman chuckled, elbowing Janus, “Thanks guys.”

“Of course,” Logan nodded, “Now, whilst you were gone, Patton, Remus and I had a discussion on what we could do to make you feel better.”

“And we settled on a cartoon binge session!” Patton announced brightly, Roman couldn’t help but smile.

“What would we watch?” He asked, tilting his head. 

“Well, Thomas has been wanting to watch Avatar: The Last Airbender all week, who knows why,” Virgil said with a small wink in his direction, Roman couldn’t help the way his smile widened. 

“Can we…” He said, trailing off, but with an encouraging nudge from Janus he finished his question, “Can we cuddle?”

“Of course,” Patton said, as if suggesting otherwise was offensive, “We gotta make our Prince feel better, right?”

“Come, we wouldn’t want to keep Thomas up too lote,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses.

Roman felt fondness bubbling up inside him, he looked around at his family and for once he wasn’t afraid to talk to half of them. He got to do something nice with everyone without fear of being criticised or told to get back to work - he could truly spend time with them and enjoy it for real, rather than pretend. 

“Then it’s decided,” Roman says, “A cartoon night with Thomas it is!”

It wouldn’t make everything better. Things still weren’t perfect for a while. But Roman could see that it was getting there. Though right now wasn’t perfect, he was certainly hopeful about the future. 

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash . @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @littlerat2 (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

----

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Fluff and gay rarepair are currently drawing. So I tried to write the fluff, with the idea I could finish it, watch some videos, then maybe crack at gay after stuff ends. I think this isn't actually fluff, but /I/ think its cute, and its soft, even if it is a bit hurt/comfort for what I meant by fluff.

Philza finds Missa asleep in the ram pen.

Philza wakes up, and he isn't sure what is wrong. His eggs are asleep, the doors are all locked, and dawn is still far away. Still, he swears he heard something. It's not from above - people still use his warp and garden too often to be bothered by noise from above - and that settles dread into Philza's spine.

He slips out of bed, bothering with shoes and scythe but not changing out of his pyjamas, and stats looking. It's probably a water pipe, he tells himself; he will not settle until he checks.

Chayanne's room and the kitchen are checked first, but nothing unusual is in either. Philza puts the plates from the night before away, then keeps looking.

Tallulah's garden is, too, empty of oddities.

Philza is about the chalk it up to nothing, when he remembers the aquarium beneath his feet. Instantly annoyed he breaks a piece of the floor, and drops down.

He fixes up the hole - he can just warp out after all - and looks around. The change isn't immediately apparent, but after he checks behind the animal pen… his heart breaks.

"Missa?" He whispers at the man - his husband - asleep among the animals. "Why are you sleeping down here?"

Missa sleeps on, oblivious to the question. Philza looks, and hesitates, then sees the ram try nibble Missa's hood and makes his descision.

He can hate him in the morning if he's wrong.

Carefully, he reaches down. One arm goes behind Missa's back, and the other tucks under his legs. His husband stirs with a quiet groan, and Philza gently hushes him.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers. "I'm just bringing you to bed."

His words have the opposite effect; Missa eyes slowly blink open, head turning to find him. "Phil…?"

"Hi Missa," he abandons his plan, and kneels next to the setee instead. "What were you sleeping down here for? Our bed is upstairs, silly."

Missa blinks at him, tears welling up. Philza reaches out and smooths then away, brushing Missa's hair from his eyes too.

"What are the tears for? My face isn't that bad, surely?"

"No," Missa whispers, and then his voice picks up. "No, no, no, its a good face! A very good face."

"Then why are you crying, king?"

Missa shakes his head; Philza reaches out, offering a hug. The shaking and tears both get harder.

"Missa?" Philza is worried now, genuinely worried. "Missa, what's wrong?"

"I don't deserve it," Missa sobs - in Spanish now, and Philza glances to his translator for support. "I don't deserve you, I'm a bad husband, I'm a worse dad, please, I'm so sorry-"

"Shhh," Philza continues to brush his hair. "You're not, you're not. You have to travel for work, that's all - plenty of parents have to. I don't blame you. Chayanne adores you. You're a good husband, I promise, there's no one I'd rather raise my eggs with."

"But-"

Philza waits, but Missa does not continue, just sobbing into a ball.

"I should have thought and asked Roier to keep up Chayanne's Spanish once your trip back was delayed," Philza says. "These things just happen with kids, it's not your fault, he's not hurt, he's safe and he's happy."

"Philza," Missa sobs. "Philza! Stop it! I… I know I did bad, you shouldn't comfort the terrible."

It's maybe too late, too emotional, too tired for that conversation. Philza instead reaches over, pulling Missa into a hug. It hurts, it hurts to see what words have done to his dear egg-partner. "You're not terrible," he promises. "You're not, you're not - come upstairs with me; some sleep will make things better."

The sobbing lasts a bit longer, before with a sniffle Missa manages to stutter out "really?"

"Really," Philza replies. "I want you in my bed, and the eggs want you with them. We've been waiting for you."

"For me?"

"For you."

Philza leans forwards, tapping his forehead to Missa's mask. There's another hiccupping sob and then Missa throws himself into Philza's arms more fully.

He is of course caught, and held as he cries.

"You're so good, king," Philza promises. "Phil e Missa, Phil e Missa - its still our house; I built it for you."

There is no answer, but eventually Missa's tears slow. Philza backs slightly away, just enough to grab a tissue and let Missa dry his eyes.

"… You mean it?" Missa asks.

Philza does his very best not to laugh, and nearly succeeds, "yes, king, I do. We want you here, I promise."

Despite the tearstains, Missa's face lights up in a hesitant but true smile. Philza sniles back, pressing a thumb to Missa's cheek and touching their foreheads again.

"So… will you come to bed?" He asks.

"Okay," Missa whisoers. "Okay, I- I-"

"Will get some sleep, and in the morning Chayanne and I will make you breakfast, and we're going to spoil you for a little while, okay?"

"I- I don't need that, just a bed, just a bed somewhere close to you!"

"Well, we have a double upstairs, and its a shame not to use it," he presses Missa's hand to the warpstone. "You remember where to go?"

Missa pulls out his warpstone, and allows it to pull him back atop the wall. Philxa follows a second later.

Above the door, the sign Missa wrote still hangs. Philza looks at it, then turns to see Missa doing the same.

"I missed you too," he finally replies to the message.

Missa whimpers, but smiles, "I missed you more."

"Bet?" Philza asks, even as he pulls him inside.

There's barely space in their house, a tiny place made for an egg and repurposed for his parents. The double bed is squashed tightly between the walls, and they both have to scramble to get onto it. By the time they are under the covers the pair are already a mess of limbs, one that only grows messier as Missa hesitantly gestures for a hug and Philza willingly provides.

/I love you/ Philza thinks, but cannot bring himself to say - not when the love he offers isn't the sort people ever want. /You are home and my home, you are family, you are mine; I love you./

Missa doesn't say anything either, having never entirely woken up; as soon as his head touches the pillow, he is asleep again.

"Goodnight," Philza says instead.

Then he huddles himself closer, and feels the warmth of his husband, and knows that shit though the island might be, here intertwinned is the best place he's ever been.

---

In the morning, Tallulah wakes up. Papi is no longer in his bed - she grabs Chayanne, shaking him hard. He wakes with a groan, and panics just the same. Together they search, getting more and more worried.

They're about to go get Tio Tubbo to help find him, when Chayanne remembers the house upstairs. They scurry up and across the ladder, and find the blinds closed for once.

They open the door and peer inside, and Chayanne jumps for joy as he sees both his dads inside. He runs and jumps up on the bed, a sleepy Missa grabbing him with one arm and pulling him close before turning back to sleep. Tallulah approaches more gently, scrambling quietly up. Still Philza's arms find her when she wiggles herself beneath the blanket.

Their dad - their dads - are here. It's later than normal, but they snuggle back in and return to sleep in the morning light.

[its-in-the-woods]

Down the Rabbit Hole Chapter 18

Chapter one here, two here, three here, four here , five here, six here, seven here, eight here,nine here, ten here, eleven here , twelve here , thirthen here, fourteen here, Fifteen Here Sixteen here, Seventeen here,

master list

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating/Warning:  As always minor get out Almost entirely fluff, vague suggestions of sex, lots of comfort, it's sweet and sappy

Synopsis: Packing sucks, not as much as getting interrupted did.

Note: Chapter is a hair shorter than normal, but I promise more is coming soon < 3

The last weeks of filming are done, you're exhausted but time stops for no one. There had been so many phone calls after the trip down south. Letting the head of department know you won’t be coming to their show after this one. Next, selling the car, which Deacon happily bought. As long with selling a lot of things that you won’t need anymore. Now you have four days left to pack all your stuff, label it, and have it ready to be picked up by the moving company by Friday. Though you lived in essentially a closet you were surprised at how much stuff you had accumulated over the years. Right now on day three of packing you are ready to dump everything in the trash and disappear into the night.

“Here,” Walton hands you a glass of wine. He has his cup, a sharpie tucked behind his ear as he sits cross-legged in front of a stack of boxes. You were so grateful for his help, the man hadn’t even hesitated to stay and pack with you. Trevor and Deacon had been over to help the first two days but had quickly been brought onto another show. The two of them promised to come down and visit as soon as they could. 

“Oh dang, I need this.” You sigh, taking a sip to try and soothe your frazzled nerves. As you try to figure out how everything is going to get done. “God, if I never have to see another box. I will die happy”

Walton chuckles wrapping your foundations in foam cushioning. “Only downside to moving, packing. How many of these do you need?”

“Oh, this is a sampling of the shade range I would like to have,” You tease, grabbing some paper to wrap up some pallets. 

The two of you work for another hour somehow getting all the makeup packed and secured. You could pretty much lose everything, but those eight totes and five boxes were the most important. Two of those boxes were bankers' boxes of notes, a box with seven hard drives of photos, and the last two boxes were portfolios. Leaning back against the stack of cardboard you feel a little relief. Tomorrow would be clothes and anything left in the kitchen. If it all went well you'd be done mid-day.

Walton was currently splayed out on the floor flipping through one of your portfolios. Bare feet moving back and forth, head propped up by one hand., an empty bottle of vino beside him. You had offered to open another, but Walton had sagely pointed out that a hangover tomorrow would suck. 

“You should bring this with you when you go see Jamison,” Walton comments, pointing at a sketch of creature make-up side by side with the actual piece. You had regularly taken up any opportunity to work on indie films that required monsters, it helped keep you and your portfolio fresh.

You wiggle over and bring the glass of vino with you, “Oh, maybe. I don't want to impose. Just happy to see the place really.” 

Walton squints at you, “I promise Jamison would love these. Bring the book.”  

He flips to another page, it had his face in various stages of being shit kicked. Along with several sketches you had done of him after the fact. You can see his eyes light up as he looks it over.

“Why didn’t you show me these?” Walton gasps, looking at the closer, “These are fantastic.”

You shrug while sipping the last of the wine, “You've kept me busy, hadn't crossed my mind. I think I have one from each time we worked before.” 

“You like to draw me? Would you draw me?” Walton asks, turning to look at you from above his glasses.

You flush, biting your lip a little. “If you like, can't say how good it will come out. I should probably brush up on my sketching skills, it’s been a minute.”

Walton grins, closing the book carefully and sliding it back into its box.  He stretches, crawling over to you. Laying his head against your thigh, his weight a comforting familiarity you’ve grown to enjoy.

“Maybe some tasteful nudes,” He said with a crooked grin, “Hang them up in the dining room.” Walt’s large hands made an exaggerated motion across the air. 

You snort, almost losing your wine, “It would be a heck of a conversation starter.” You run your fingers through his hair, watching as his eyes close. “Then again, I have a feeling people won’t be too surprised.”

A grin spreads over his face, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. As he snuggles in against your thigh, “I’ve never been shy, no shame in a human body after all.” He sighs, kissing your jeans. 

Your hand runs down his shoulders and back, massaging at any knots you find, feeling them relax under your fingertips. He groans a little as you hit one between the spine and shoulder blade. Mentally noting that you should both get a massage once things have settled. You close your own eyes letting your head rest against the boxes. Enjoying the heat of his body against yours, the buzz of the alcohol having you nodding off. 

Walton is kissing your cheek, you open your eyes blinking a few times, your knees yelling at you for sitting so long. You move, stretching out as your joint clicks from being in the same position for so long. 

“M’shit.” You mumble, rubbing at your eyes trying to wake up. Walton is already up and stretching glasses and bottle up on the counter. 

“Should go to bed, sweetheart,” Walton rumbles at you, you let out a breath and push yourself up. Following him over to the bed, sleep was sorely needed. 

The bed is cold and empty, you huff wondering where your partner could have run off to. Grabbing your phone, you see it’s nine in the morning already, which meant you had five hours to finish packing.  Groaning you slide out of bed, finding a mostly clean shirt and some loose-fitting pants. You had already packed a suitcase for the flight that evening. The smell of coffee and a closing door alerts you that breakfast has arrived. 

You wander out from behind the stack of boxes, Walton balancing a coffee tray and a bag of goodies. A grin spreads across his face as he places it on the counter. He was also dressed in yesterday's clothes, a jacket covered in raindrops. 

“Good morning, gorgeous,” He beams, leaning in to kiss you. You linger there for a moment, really hating that you needed to continue to pack. 

“Whatever that is, smells amazing,” You smile back, reaching for a coffee that has your name written on top with a heart. He had taken to drawing little doodles on your coffee lid. Several you had stashed away as keepsakes. 

“There is this adorable cafe down the way, these breakfast sandwiches looked too good not to grab a couple,” Walt smiles, taking his own sip of coffee rolling his eyes, and moaning at the flavor. 

You chuckle digging a sandwich out of the bag, you take a bit repeating his groan at the food. He wasn't wrong, it was delicious food. Sighing you lean against the counter passing Walton his sandwich. The two of you munching on breakfast in a mostly quiet room. You take another sip of coffee and notice several newly packed boxes. You tip your head looking at them, walking over to see the writing on them. 

“Did you box up my clothes?” You ask, turning towards him. He has flushed a little, not meeting his gaze. You grin walking over to him, tipping his chin to look at you, surprised to see worry in his furrowed brows.

“What is it?” You ask quietly, putting your coffee down, and moving back over to him. 

Walt shrugs a little, placing his coffee beside yours, “Couldn’t sleep, didn’t know if I was excited or nervous. So I got up and packed while you slept, figured we could go down early?”

You squint a little at him, watching as he moves from one foot to the other, “Are you nervous about me moving in?”

Walton’s eyes go to the floor, his neck flushing red. It reminds you of the morning you woke up in his spare bedroom, nervous energy bouncing around the room. His usual cool confidence lowered as he looks anywhere but at you. 

“A little,” He finally looks up at you, those hazel eyes glowing in the morning light. “Haven’t had a lady living in my place in.” He looks away fiddling with his watch band, “Well it’s been a long time.”  

You pull him close so your back is against the counter and him standing between your feet. Your hands go to his waist, as you look at him for a moment, making sure to keep eye contact, before you speak. 

“You said you wanted to have hard conversations. Is this one of them?” You ask, trying your best not to let your stomach tie in knots. Since the last panic attack you'd learned to lean on him a little more, you found that getting out whatever was bothering you to ease the tension. Walton always listened, made sure that you were heard, then comforted or reassured you. You wanted to do the same for him, this wasn’t a one-sided relationship. 

Walton’s lips twitch into a smile, “I am anxious to be home with you, to have you there. I think I have this anticipation building, thinking that maybe we’ve gone too fast.” You nod your head, listening. He moves so that he is even closer to you. “But I also don’t want to slow down,” He lets out a breath. “Admitting that is terrifying. Cause the last thing I want is to push you away.”

You lean up and kiss him, holding him against you, “If we need to slow down, I promise to tell you. And if you need to slow down,”. You emphasize this, “You tell me. Open communication.”

He leans back looking at you, scanning your face. You watch his shoulder relax. “Promise?”

“Promise. I want us both to be content, however that is.” You lean up and kiss him again. “We will have our ups and downs, but knowing this.” You gesture between the two of you. “Is solid,” You shrug, lost for words. “Couldn’t ask for better.”

He moves forward, hands running over your knees, under your thighs to lift you onto the counter. Walton moves between your legs, and you wrap your ankles over his hips, hand looping up over his neck. The familiarity of the dance you two did making your heartache, 

“I will bring you the moon,” He whispers in your ear, lips trailing around your ear lob. “Pull down stars to decorate the backyard with.” He murmurs, kissing down your neck, his hands working at your hips. Soft fingers slip under the material of your shirt. “Give you the world.”

You wiggle a little, shivers running down your spine. “You’re my world.” You whisper back, letting your hands run through his hair, breath hitching as his warm hands splay across your skin. “Just need you,”

A bang on the door has you both frozen, Walton moves away adjusting himself to try and hide the obvious hardness, moving to stand behind a stack of boxes. You fix your rucked-up shirt and straighten your ow pants, face flushed. 

You open the door to see Tracy from a few doors down, you had completely forgotten that you had sold her the bed and frame. The woman had been your neighbor for the entire time you’d been in the building, the two of you only ever exchanging pleasantries. So you were surprised when she had offered to take the bed off your hands. The woman topped out at five feet, with sandy hair, leopard print glasses, and an oval face that always seemed a little worried. You were pretty sure she lived with her two sons a few doors down.  

“Oh hey,” You fluster out, trying not to look like Walton wasn’t just standing between your legs. “The bed right?”

Tracy takes you in, that worry deepening as she looks you over “Is this an okay time?”

You plaster a smile on, moving out of the way to let her in, “If you just give us two seconds, me and my-y-ah-boyfriend, will get the bed for you.”

Tracy slides in standing by the stack of boxes as Walton shuffles towards the back. Her arms crossed over her chest, a look of disapproval wrinkling her forehead more. She looks between the two of you as if you just admitted to dating a serial killer. 

“Oh, I thought that was your Dad,” Tracy says out loud, Walton nearly falls over at the words. You duck your head down as your whole face goes red. The two of you are close to having a giggling fit.

“Ahh, haha. Yeah, no.” You try not to squeak, Walton is now on the floor, hand covering his mouth as he does his best not to laugh. 

You smack his arm getting him to help you pull the covers and sheets off. Grateful that you were ridiculously anal and kept the mattress wrapped in plastic. Walton and you trip over each other moving it towards the door with it. 

“Can we bring it to your place?” Walton offers his face a lovely shade of pink as he comes to the door. You are purposely avoiding everyone’s eyes, trying not to make it any more awkward than it already was. 

“Oh,” Tracy says looking him up and down, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Walton shrugs, shaking his head, “Probably not, just one of those faces.”

Tracy’s eyes narrow, but she goes to open the door, her two sons standing there. They give awkward waves and smiles. They were male versions of their mom, except with black hair and freckles. One had a tattoo sleeve, the other wore thick blue glasses. 

“Come on in, It’s got handles at least,” You grimace, the boys grabbing the mattress, the boy with the glasses looking at Walton again. 

You and Walton go back for the frame, handing it awkwardly to Tracy who is still staring. You all but drop the thing onto her, as she continues to eyeball your boyfriend. 

“I got the transfer,” You try to get her towards the door. “So should be good to go,”

“Wait, are you Walter.” Tracey moves towards Walton, who is doing everything but crawling into a box to get away from her. “Walter Googles, you were in that show..”

Walton looks a little stunned, mouth opening and closing a couple of times.

“Ahh, I think you got the wrong person.” You say, quickly stepping in between Tracy and Walton. You were pretty positive Walton would be more than fine under normal circumstances, but really you just needed her out of your apartment. 

She glares at you, hesitating before she grabs the frames and shuffles out.

“Well I hope you have a safe trip then,” The woman says, eyes still squinting at you suspiciously as she exits.  

“Thank you, have a good day,” You reply in your best customer service singsong voice. 

You close the door, locking it before turning back to Walton, he bites his lip, the two of you waiting a good several minutes before letting out a laugh.

“I feel so bad,” You squeak, moving back over to grab a drink of coffee, 

Walton is giggling sliding down onto the floor. “You think I should go ask if she wants an autograph.”

You choke on the coffee, “No, I think that woman has been through enough.”

Walton sits there still giggling as you bring his cup of coffee. You slid down the wall, the only thing left to pack was the kitchen and bed dressing. You lean your head on his shoulder, as the two of you continue to chuckle about the situation. 

“Kitchen left?” Walton asks, kissing the top of your head. 

“Yes,” You groan, “Think we could leave?”

Walton chuckles, “How much was that damage deposit?”

Chapter nineteen

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*thank you all for the love as always, i can't believe we are hitting eighteen chapters! when the heck did that happen!

@ghoulphile @hiddlebatchedloki @live-logs-and-proper @justme12200 @ryankaylamartin96

@rachmar  @therest-stillunwritten @awhoresjourney @stankface

@itsyellow

[chvnssecret]

hiii!! love your writing! but as a girl who has no dominant bone in her body, so could i request a soft!dom felix middle of the night sex so it’s sleepy/lazy but still as passionate? <33

you tossed and turned, but to no avail, you couldn’t sleep. your eyes were droopy and your mind felt tired, unconscious almost. the sound of felix breathing next to you was utterly calming, it actually sent you half asleep. that was until you felt his soft hand wrap around your waist, drawing circles on the exposed part of your hip, occasionally brushing over the top of your panties. he knew you were half asleep, half awake by the way you were breathing.

“lix,” you mewled, turning so your back was facing him. “hmm?” he hummed back, placing a delicate kiss on your shoulder and down your arm.

you arched your back to let him know you were in heat, feeling his shaft stick up against your ass. you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. “close your eyes, baby. let me do all the work.” his deep voice groaned by your ear as he reached his arm over your waist, slipping his fingers into your cotton piece and between your folds. you felt a breath of air hit your ear when he chuckled, teasing his fingers up and down your clit until he finally inserted them inside you.

he made a point of nibbling your ear as you fully indulged in him. although your eyes were closed and you were half asleep, you still couldn’t surpress the moans slipping through your lips.

“that’s it..my beautiful girl” he slightly adjusted his position to putting his dick inside of you instead. you gasped as the tip edged in, lightly raising your leg so he could enter smoothly. “fuck,” you groaned sleepily, biting your lip to counter out anymore sounds. felix groaned as he rolled his hips into you, allowing his first pump to be slow and sensual. his hands found their way to your arms, caressing them gently as he sloppily fucked you from behind.

with each stroke, you could feel every inch of his smooth cock filling you up. “baby…” he started, yet was cut off by his own moan. you couldn’t describe the way you felt. it’s like you were having the best dream ever. your consciousness didn’t waken, even with your boyfriend rolling into you from behind.

your hand found it’s way to your face in a comforting manner, almost rubbing your eyes where you were half asleep. you felt the need to grab something. the lick of heat running up your spine was enough to tell you that you were almost there. his tip hit your g spot with every stroke, making it that much harder for you to stop yourself from climaxing.

“lix…” you mewled, grabbing onto his hand that wrapped around your waist, “i’m gonna..”

“i know, baby, let me do it” he cut you off, finalising his last few sloppy strokes before pulling out and spooning you.

“good night, princess”

[gravessyard]

Headcanons - Genshin men with the knowledge that you're a vampire: Ayato (ft. Thoma)

Notes from the Crypt: pretend I totally didn't disappear snddnsk as an apology, I give you this piece. Its the first time im writing for Ayato so I hope you enjoy!

Tags: GN!Vampire!Reader, jealousy, blood mentions, smut, dom!Ayato, headcanons.

• Many people in Inazuma know of your professional relationship with Kamisato Ayato, as you had practically stayed by the young lord's side since he was a child and you a freshly turned vampire. You were bound by contract, you'd be given free access to feed on the fauna of Inazuma in exchange for ensuring Ayato's (and in the future, Ayaka's) safety, or else you'll be sentenced to death, so you didn't really have much of a choice.

• There was one strict rule that you also could never break: you were never to feed from a Kamisato, it was a last resort from the late elder Kamisato to make sure you didn't try to backstab them in any way, and while it was a thorn in your side at first, as the years went by you didn't even give it a second thought. Always disappearing in the night to feed from local wildlife or an unfortunate treasure hoarder.

• Much like you, Ayato also never paid it any mind, relishing in the peace that you brought to him, his family and his household. He had nothing but praise for you, always so willing to listen to his every command and be at his beck and call, he never really took the time to truly wonder what it would feel like to be fed from an individual who lives off blood, as he was always busy with one task or another.

• Your first meeting with Thoma went smoothly, after introductions were made you had the pleasure of showing him around the estate, murmuring your own tips and tricks on getting along with the other workers and the guards as well as telling him that if he were in any kind of trouble to call for you, you'll be there as quick as the Shogun's lightning.

• Poor Thoma may have thought you were joking at first, not thinking too hard on it while he was in the city doing some shopping when he spots something he thought you would enjoy, and after a mumble of your name to himself, he's nearly scared out of his skin when you literally appeared next to him, hand ready to draw your sword at the apparent threat. You're puzzled when you look around, taking in the frightened and confused faces of Thoma and the shopkeepers before you relax and help the trembling housekeeper to his feet, casually dusting him off and remaining by his side while he finishes his errands. Thats the day Thoma found out you're a vampire bound to the Kamisatos.

• You're there when Thoma evolves from a fledging to a respectable worker, watching him form bonds and connections that were simply too complicated for you since the citizens of Inazuma saw you in a more intimidating light than the gentle housekeeper of the Kamisato estate. You werent too bothered by it, you were meant to be threatening and intimidating anyway, whatever helped keep your employers safe, you would pretend not to hear the rumors of the "Kamisato Monster".

• Working with Thoma has been rather refreshing, he was the bright bubbly personality that brought light into your seemingly gloomy existence, as all you've ever known was to obey orders and survive. He was the bridge that connected you and a deeper part of the Kamisato siblings, the line between professional and friendly becoming too blurred to make out until it dissipated entirely and you're now being called upon simply to hang out or be involved in events (you'd actually be given free reign to enjoy said events instead of stand stiffly beside the head of the Kamisato Clan).

• Ayato doesn't know what to make of the feeling that rises in his chest every time he sees you with Thoma, whether in the garden chatting idly or in the city. He knew that your loyalties lied with him and his sister, but he still couldn't stop the growing feeling of jealousy when you're smiling so openly with his housekeeper, regaling him with tales about your undead life that even he didnt bother to know about. That pang of posessive jealousy prompted him to call for you more often, keeping you busy with little mundane tasks like rubbing his shoulders or telling him about your childhood, tell him what you were like before you were turned.

• His inquiries shocked you, if your blood were still pumping through your veins you'd be flushing at the notion that he actually wants to get to know you better, for once he actually wants to get to know you as a person and not see you as just a loyal vampire. You find yourself seeking his company out when he doesnt request your presence, bringing your walls down little by little until he's known pretty much everything Thoma knew, and more. Thoma is excited for you, clasping your hands in his to congratulate you on your growing friendship with Ayato and the simple mention of the word has tears rolling down your smiling cheeks, you never thought you'd see the day your employers become your friends.

• Your friendship with Ayato would eventually become questionable when he caught Thoma mid yawn while sweeping the estate one evening. It wasnt uncommon that the housekeeper would lose a little sleep due to work, but the sight of a healing bite mark on his neck made Ayato's blood run cold. Once again, the shock of jealousy courses through him as he casually asks about the injury. "Oh, this? I gave y/n permission to freely feed from me if they become too tired to hunt. They just kinda took a little too much last night, heh". If Ayato were holding anything in his hand it would have snapped under the vice grip of his clench, smile never wavering as he dismisses Thoma to search for you instead. No amount of hydro would quell the fire that was burning in the pit of his stomach.

• You're changing the bedsheets in his room when he bursts through the door, startling you. "My Lord? Whats wrong?", you tilt your head in confusion, watching as he marches up to you and forces his thumb into your cheek, pulling the skin painfully back to expose your fang, his other thumb hooks into your lower jaw, pulling it down so he can get a clear view of the red that was still staining your teeth and tongue. The look in his eyes was dark as he took in the sight, ignoring the way you were whimpering in his hold, fingers grasping as his wrists yet not making a move to pull him off you, whatever Ayato wanted to do to you, you'd allow it. A few seconds of staring go by before he finally releases you, crossing his arms over his chest to furrow his brows. "So you fed from Thoma? Why's that?", his tone is cold, its the same one you've heard him use to representatives who hit a nerve. You saw the way they would shudder and tremble under its authority, the same way you shivered and felt a chill run up your spine as you rubbed your aching cheek.

• "Huh? He gave me permission... sir", you clear your throat, anxiety rolling through you in waves. Did you do something wrong by feeding from Thoma? You weren't aware that you couldnt feed from him, he wasn't a Kamisato after all so it shouldnt have broken the one strict rule that was enforced on you. Ayato studies you, lavender eyes going from your parted lips to your eyes and back while he gathers his thoughts, the silence only making you want to shrink more into yourself, fearful that you ruined all of the hard work put into getting closer to him. Realization flashes through his eyes for a split second before his face returns to its emotionless state. He takes a step closer to you, you take a step back. He takes a second step closer, you take a second step back until you stumble, falling back onto the plush covers you just laid out on his bed. "M-My Lord... I implore you, I haven't done anything wrong", you can feel the tears in the corners of your eyes, fear paralyzing you while Ayato continues to prowl closer, climbing over you so his face was inches away from yours. "The only thing you did wrong was not ask my permission to feed from me."

• Fear morphs into confusion as you take in his words, studying the look in his piercing gaze. The clouds fogging your mind seem to clear right then and there, the dawning epiphany that Ayato was viciously jealous melts the icy sensation of fear into something more primal. "But... My Lord... I'm forbidden", you whisper, eyes locked onto his while your fingers clench onto his bedsheets. He scoffs softly, hand coming up to pull his collar away from his skin, exposing more of his neck to you. He smirks finally, watching the way your eyes immediately train on his pale skin, how your pupils dilate with desire, bottom lip pulled inbetween your teeth. "Your Lord Kamisato Ayato commands you... to feed from him".

• You moan against his skin, hands pulling him impossibly close while you slowly gulp down mouthfuls of his blood, you had never tasted nectar so delicious in your entire existence. Ayato groans softly above you, face beautifully flushed while his bare hands explore your body, fingers running along every curve while his hips rut against your own, the venom in your bite making his head spin with lust. He takes no notice in the way his blood drips from your chin, or the way it stains his pristine suit, all he's focused on is getting your clothes off you as soon as fucking possible. You whine when he gently pulls you off him, warm blood being replaced by his warm tongue instead as he kisses you deeply, pulling your pants off you and practically tearing your underwear off while you fumble with his pants, trembling fingers struggling to undo his button. He pulls away from your lips with a chuckle, replacing your fingers with his own so he can quickly unbutton them and pull them down just enough to free himself from his restraints, a groan of relief making you shudder with need.

• A whimpering moan is ripped from you when he bullies his cock into you, thrusting shallowly until he bottoms out and stills for a few moments, allowing you to latch back onto his neck so you can continue to feed. You can barely swallow anything with how he sets a vigorous pace, pounding into you. Your screams and moans are muffled through his skin, biting down harder and eliciting a moan from him. He pushes your knees up, allowing him to push deeper into your walls and you finally pull away from his skin with a cry of his name, eyes unfocused. He fucks the jealousy out of his system, eyes never leaving your face, determined to commit your expressions to memory. "Thats right, only I can make you feel like this, ngh... From now on, ah, you're to feed from me only-hah! Is that understood?", he growls, the grip on the back of your knees bruising as you nod dumbly, eyes beginning to roll into the back of your head. "Y-Yes! Ah—yes, M-My Lord!".

• The next time Thoma sees Ayato, he's shocked when there's a bandage on his neck covering the bite you placed on him the previous night. "My Lord, are you alright?", he worries, brows knitting together at the implication that he somehow got hurt, even though it should have been practically impossible with you around. "Worry not Thoma, I gave y/n permission to feed from me, since you seemed to be out of it yesterday. By the way, they'll be coming to me for feedings in the future, so you don't have to worry about that either", Ayato smiles at Thoma, satisfaction practically radiating from the hydro allogene. "Is that so? Thank you for letting me know!", Thoma bows slightly, relieved that you'll have a stable source of blood here at the estate instead of having to go out and hunt. He begins to walk away before pausing at the sound of his master's words. "Oh, could you also bring some fresh sheets to my bedroom? We made a mess last night, be sure not to disturb y/n, they're still resting" .