#Cee's 8000 followers celebration

[bowieandqueen11]

🎶 for Roman Roy? ✨😌✨💕 Love your writing!! 🥰

Thank you so much sweetie!! I'm loving all the requests for Roman at the moment :P

Kiss Me / Roman Roy Imagine

Line: 'Silver moon's sparkling / So kiss me'

Writers block is kicking my ass today but I wanted to get this out anyway! Please let me know if you liked it :)

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @ushershiv. Song credit goes to Sixpence None The Richer!)

Warning: strong language and mentions of child abuse!

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Roman Roy nearly scared the shit out of you as you wandered up the moonlit side streets of the Tuscan town.

Shiv, of course, had left you to fend for yourself in unknown territory by storming out from the hen party before it had even reached ten o'clock, scowling as she impassively kissed her mother's cheeks and went straight back to scrolling through her phone as she became a blot in the distance. You had spent the last half an hour wandering around, peering around the edges of sun-kissed cafes and staring quizzically at dust stained cobbled streets that wound round balconies and down staircases you were sure you'd already been down.

So when you nearly tripped over Roman sitting, looking forlorn, at the bottom of one, you were more than delighted to jump out of your skin.

'Romy, oh thank fuck! My sense of direction was dogshit in America, and it sure as hell seems to be worse in Italy.' You laugh and place a hand to your heart, trying to calm its throbbing as you perch on the bottom of the stone railing. Roman sets down his beer by his feet and stands up, turning his head behind him languidly and trying his best to smile at you. You could tell immediately that something had gone wrong while you were out with Shiv: you knew your childhood best friend too long not to be hyperaware of his idiosyncrasies. His smile didn't reach his eyes, but to Roman, it was a relief: he had found you.

It had only taken his own half an hour of quizzing his sister on the phone and wandering around the Tuscan side-passages - but he had found you. Just as he had throughout his whole childhood; no matter if Roman was climbing up the pipe outside your bedroom window and peering his little goblin head eagerly over the edge of your windowpane when you were teenagers, or him screaming and crying, searching the house for you when he was just a toddler confused about why his daddy wanted to hurt him so much, he always sought you out.

It had infuriated him at first, just because he didn't understand why his heart felt such pangs of weakness. But as Remy grew, he started to relax into it, until he couldn’t remember a time when he was just him, instead of you as well.

And by god, if he wasn't going to ever let you out of his sight again.

His own heart begins to pound like an unbroken slap against the side of his ear as he gives you a once over, his eyes lazily tracing your figure, but plainly lovelorn. 'Well, yeah, thanks for fucking - trying and testing that dumbass doesn't change depending on the continent.' His eye sparkles against the graceful hue of dreaming grey as he smirks, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth to try and choke back the words he's spent his life so desperately trying to claw out.

'Fuck off', you reply, but you're beaming as you say it. Reaching out, you run a hand over his collar and do your best to try and straighten it out. Roman swallows harshly as he feels your knuckles brush as light as a lover's kiss against the pulse point on his neck. The touch is one of familiarity, of intimacy, of an intimate knowledge, of a ritual done over and over and over since you were children. One always reaches out, an olive's branch, a desperate cry, and the other stays stoic in a fear that over the years has been beaten into them.

He wasn't allowed this. He didn't deserve this. Roman Roy wasn't allowed love. Not unless it was callous, and course, and being shoved like poison down his throat by the fisted hand of his father, or being struck across his cheek with a chide for being a naughty puppy.

'So', you start with a furrowed brow and a tremble to your fingers, noticing the way Roman's eyes have begun to cloud a little under the thin sheen of starlight. He only blinks again, guiding his gaze back up to look at you expectantly as you continue. 'What's been going on with you tonight?' You pat his shirt, right between the top button and the start of his chest, not expecting him to sigh languidly at the touch. 'Nothing good, from the looks of it. You finally realising mommy's being taken off the marriage market for good?'

'Oh fuck you' he half-scoffs, but he doesn't move away, too desperate in his attempt to keep your palm as flatly and near to his heart as he can. He chews his bottom lip, trying to figure out in the dank recesses of his mind about how to tell you that you're the only person whose ever held it - the only person he's ever felt comfortable with, the only person he's ever fantasised about kissing, loving, spending every moment of his disgusting life with.

His voice cracks as he continues. 'It's fine. I'm fine, fuck, I just- uh, fuckity fuck me, it's just everything, you know? Like, this deal is looking pretty fucked, and it's like my love child so daddy dearest expects me to be on top of it, and-'. Roman's words die away on the tip of his tongue as he notices how eagerly you're watching him, anticipating every word and looking genuinely heartbroken as they tumble out.

He doesn't know how to process it: someone caring about what he has to say.

'And you know what', he whispers. 'It doesn't actually matter.' He reaches up and takes your hand - grasps it tightly and holds it between his lungs as he breathes you in. 'I don't fucking care, about any of it. That doesn't fucking matter to me.'

The ethereal shine of moon rays blink down sleepily from the clouds, and seem to bathe Roman in a light so innocent, and so dreamlike, that you can't help but latch onto his every syllable as being pure truth. His smile falters, and he shakes his head as he looks down at his feet, playing with the sides of your fingers between his own stout ones.

He never could bear to look at rejection head on. Usually he got by, solely because he could turn and look at one of his siblings instead, and pretend, for a moment, that they actually cared. But on his own? He didn't know how to handle it. So he shirks into himself, flaring his nostrils and trying to hide the tide of overwhelming dread that suffuses over his body and turns his neck a sheepish, splotchy crimson.

'Remy, where's this coming from? You've always wanted to be under daddy's heel-'

You're broken off by the sound of Roman's dress shoe stepping forward and the feel of something... strange? Against your lips? You try to take a step back, but an arm winds its way around your waist, as light as a feather but with a bark harsh enough to keep the bottom of your feet on the ground. It takes you a further moment to understand that the pressure that left, and then seemed to return with twice fold the intensity to your mouth, was Roman's itching, scared lips doing their best to caress your own. He's bleary eyed when he finally dares to open them, and it breaks your heart to see how vulnerable, how child like he looks in his fear. As you kiss him again, you didn't mind the tears that slide down his cheeks, a mixture of sadness and new joy mingling. He shakes his head slightly at the way he moans wishfully, latching onto you like a tired puppy as he follows your lips with his shivering body.

To the poor Tuscan locals, the two of you must have looked quite the state: two people, so obviously head over heels in love, kissing each other as if they'd never be granted another chance. As if this final pocket of happiness might tumble away once they wake up back into the real world. As if being so in love might be the destruction of them both.

[bowieandqueen11]

Hi!! Congrats on your 8000 followers 💕 you're incredibly talented 💞.

How about... 🎶 With steven grant please? Thank you darling <33

Thank you so much my lovely, and yes more Steven!! :)

Mystery Of Love / Steven Grant Drabble

Line: 'Oh, to see without my eyes / The first time that you kissed me'

(I do not own Moon Knight or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @avasillva. Song rights go to Sufjan Stevens.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Steven Grant felt as if every tense fibre of his being was buzzing.

It had been going so well. So, so well. Far too well, as far as he was concerned. He had managed not to stumble off the bus and straight into the very familiar beckon of the puddle beneath his feet: he had managed not to pass out straight on your doorstep and into your questioning arms when he had seen you in that outfit, even if his eyes had rolled back into his head a little bit. He had even managed not to stab himself with his fork while he ate his salad: a feat made even more impressive by the fact that between each mouthful he had spent the whole time staring at you.

Even better, you hadn't laughed when he took you to visit his best friend after dinner; nor had you teased him for nearly tripping up an elderly lady and her gassy dog during the bus trip back to your apartment block. Instead, you were too busy glancing over and noticing the way Steven's hand scratched back and forth over his trouser leg, clawing into the material and then relaxing. From the way he was chewing his bottom lip, and trying to feign interest in a scrapped poster hiding behind the top line of one of the bus poles instead of looking at you, you could tell he was desperately trying to muster the courage to just reach over and hold your hand.

Yet with another disappointed sigh, he had hopped off the bus after you. He managed to sham together as beaming a smile as he wanted to give, yet as the two of you perched on the steps outside your front doorway, he couldn't help but feel that familiar despondency add another crack to his heart.

'Ah - alright Y/n?', Steven gulped and tried his best to get his flitting eyes to look straight at you. The best he could manage was at his feet. 'I'll, uh, I'll see you at work tomorrow 'aright? I hope- I hope you have a really nice night, 'cause I had a lovely time and although the bread at the restaurant was a bit claggy I didn't really even care yeah 'cause, like, you were amazing company and I've been waiting for this all week right because I've had a crush on you for ages now-'

His feet began to tap against the concrete with how much he was vibrating. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't quite kick the cogs in his brain into gear to get his mouth to stop talking. Instead, his eyes just widened as he realised he was making a right embarrassment of himself in front of you. It took him a moment of his lips blubbering in-between two grasping fingers to realise that you had taken him by the chin.

'Steven?', you start, but he just looks up at the sky and keeps talking. 'Steven! I was going to invite you in you numpty!'

'You... you were!?'

'Is it really that much of a surprise to find out I like you too?'

He tried to half-shrug, but you could see the sadness that clouds behind his eyes. Half-bent over now, still being held in front of your face by your pointer finger and thumb, he swore to himself as he begged his mouth to form an actual sentence. 'Well- well-'.

He didn't manage to finish his sentence, though; he's now too preoccupied trying to muffle the whimper vibrating out his throat from the feel of your lips pressed firmly, and tenderly enough to bring him to his knees in front of you. Two firm arms manage to, just in time, wrap behind his jacket and press his quivering form into a sturdy chest. Bunching the material underneath your hands, you shiver as you feel his knees scrape against yours as Steven manages to half-right himself in his desperation to feel his fingers spread across your cheeks.

He feels his eyes flutter shut like a fragile butterfly as his plump and needy lips crash continuously onto yours: again and again and again, until you're gasping for breaths between each kiss. With a flit of pure euphoria, Steven Grant begins to laugh against your top lip, feeling the joy melt into his heart and set him alight in a golden glow. If he could, he would be happy to burn out right here, right now if it meant just feeling you for the rest of his life.

[bowieandqueen11]

CONGRATSSSSS I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUU

.🛏 tommy miller, there was only one bed?!

cece you deserve ALL of this love!!! <3

RY THANK YOU I LOVE YOU TOOO YOU AMAZING HUMAN <33

One Bed? / Tommy Miller Imagine

(I do not own the Last of Us or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @tommymiller.)

Warning: a little strong language!

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

'Are you shitting me?'

Tommy drops his backpack to the floor and looks over to his brother with a disbelieving eyebrow raise. Joel just scoffs and kicks a piece of glass back towards the empty rows of grimy petrol station shelves, coughing as he raises a cloud of dust. 'It'll sure be nice and cosy for the two of you. Besides, it's only for one night and then we've only a few miles till we reach Cincinnati.' He sniffs, fiddling with the safety of his gun whilst Tommy squats down onto the floor beside the till. You wander up behind him, peering around his shoulder and past the abandoned, and very outdated magazines with an approving nod.

'The mattress doesn't look too dirty', you mutter, rolling back your tired and achy shoulders with a sigh. Tommy glances behind his shoulder at you and tries to muster a smile, even despite his own weariness. With aching feet, he reaches out a hand for you, which you gladly accept, and haul him to his feet.

You notice the way he doesn't let go.

Instead, he fiddles with the pads of your fingers intently as he frowns at his brother, who's currently untying his roll from beneath the flap of his bag and splaying it out in the air. It settles to the ground of the narrow walkway with an unceremonious bow, and it takes Joel even less time to flop down onto it himself. With a grunt, he shuffles his hips forward, places his hands behind his head, and lays down on the slightly damp material with both eyes firmly shut.

You could feel Tommy bristle next to you; it had been a hard couple of weeks, between finally escaping the clutches of the cannibalistic hunters you had stumbled upon near the outskirts of Fairfield, to losing every member of the survivor's group you had met in the nearby forest to an exceptionally large horde of clickers. Arguments and blame had flown freely between the two brothers, spat and seethed at each other as both tried to struggle to survive, and mourn their losses. You couldn't blame them: Sarah's death had broken you too, and you knew that despite how hard he tried to supress the foul feelings, Joel was still sour that the two of you still had each other.

Tommy can't bite his tongue. 'That's not what I'm talking about, dumbass. How come you get the whole shop floor to yourself, and me and poor Y/n are shoved in behind the counter? Especially since we've been the ones carrying most of the cans.' You let go of his hand and turn back to your new makeshift bed, trying to hide away from the upcoming fight you can feel brewing between the two stubborn brothers.

Joel tries his best to half-shrug from where he's lying, not even bothering to open his eyes. 'I told you to leave those behind. No one even likes canned peaches.'

'I do!' you chip in from where you're rustling in your satchel to try and find your musty rolled up blanket. 'And this will do no problem. It'll be nice not to have to sleep on dirt for a change.' With a celebratory 'aha!', you manage to shuffle your own blanket out and lay it down on the dipping springs. You peer behind you, noticing the way Tommy's back is twitching and his breath is coming out in furious gasps: a sure-fire sign that he wants to say something bitter and unfair. Yet, Tommy Miller isn't a callous man, and so he turns back towards you with a fond smile despite the sadness and weariness in his eyes. Uncrossing his arms, he places both of them on his hips and comes strolling towards you.

'I know you're right', he breathes out as he comes to sit on the mattress beside you, flopping his head back until he hits the side of yours. His eyes are wide and apologetic, shining with affection as he feels his lips widen into a grin at the set of you cross legged next to him. 'You're always right, you know that? How did you get to be so damn smart, hanging around two idiots like us?'. You huff out a laugh and shake your head, bumping your own head tenderly against his side in return. He doesn't complain when you reach out and grab his hand, unfurling his fingers so you can lay the back of them on your lap and draw circles on his palm. He immediately calms down, his tense shoulders falling back down with an air of contentedness beginning to radiate out from his soggy body.

'And with that, goodnight', Joel mutters out, turning onto his side until he's facing away from the two of you. Even though you can hear his breath evening out, you know from the endless nights of waking up to Joel gasping in the iron grips of nightmares, or to find Joel sitting bleary eyed on his makeshift lookout perch, he wasn't going to sleep much tonight.

It didn't take very long for the two of you to settle down either: Tommy decides the best course of action is to lie on his side, tucking his knees slightly behind him so you can curl as comfortably as you can around his body. It took you even less time to realise how cramped this made you, and so you managed to manoeuvre yourself so your back was against Tommy's stomach, and he was spooning you.

'Budge your butt over a little bit so I can snuggle against you properly' you whisper into the thin wave of moonlight, too busy yawning to notice the way Tommy's hand gingerly rises up. It settles against your arm, and he swallows thickly in the painful silence at the way his so usually stoic fingers are trembling against your shirt.

'Did you just use the word snuggle. What are you, five years old?', he tries to joke back in a whisper that jolts against the back of your ear and makes you groan inwardly in delight.

'You say that, but I don't see you complaining.' His heart thumps painfully against his chest as he chuckles and ducks his head against the back of your neck. He slides his hand down your bicep, choking back an inhale as they slowly slide around the side of your waist until he's holding you tightly. 'You're right', he says, 'I'm not complaining at all.'

'I always knew you were a big sap.'

'Well, only for you.'

A comfortable affinity settles over the two of you as the pockets of starlight continue to burst out between the thick blackness of the night: a strain of hope rising out above the sound of tinkering rain against the tin can roof of the run-down station, and the distant scream of infected from behind the boundaries of the encroaching woodland.

Tommy feels you shiver against his stomach. Not knowing what else to do, he tries to swallow his fear, and his smitten heart, to become using his thumb to rub against your bellybutton. 'Sleep now, Y/n. I'll be here to keep you safe. I promise.' By the amount of emotion in his voice as he chokes on the last part of the sentence, you know he's telling the truth. His vice like grip on you tightens, but you decide not to teasingly mock him in return for how desperately he buried the back of his head in between your shoulder blades; how his leg jarringly, fearfully, infinitely gradually came up rest against your own. You can feel his eyebrows blink hurridly against your the nape of your neck, as if he were thinking furiously, before he takes the chance to lift one of his jeaned thighs and places it timidly over your own. Bless his heart, it must have taken some exertion to hold it the way he did, making sure not to place his full weight on you, but just enough that the contact was physically there.

With a shy smile to yourself, you tuck your chin down against the blanket and happily settle yourself down against the man you love. With a victorious, bashful grin, Tommy listlessly scratches his hand over your stomach, and gets ready to spend a night he's only experienced in his dreams, with the person he's been in love with his whole life.

Before you let sleep cloud your mind and settle you into the sweet embrace of dreams, you just about manage to make out, from behind the shroud, the feel of Tommy Miller's lips press lingeringly against the back of your head.