#i just want to find things i can eat is that too much to ask

[drudyslut]

Your requests are open again! Also this says rafe but you can change it to jj if you want!

Anyways...Reader and rafe are dating and reader has birth control but still gets nervous it won’t work so they use condoms and they both want to be closer together/not have a condom between them (but do not want to risk it), so reader suggests him practicing pulling out (while wearing a condom) and after a few times he is able to control himself, so reader says she does not want to use a condom if he is okay with not using one so it is kind of romantic and their first time with nothing between them and they feel closer and more intimate, but when he is about to pull out reader says it feels too good and tells him not to and so rafe is like “I’m gonna cum, I can’t hold it baby” and practically begs him to just cum inside (and he is like what? Are you sure?) and reader is like “I don’t care. Don’t pull out”

omfffffg. this is hot🤤 also, i did switch it to jj, hope that’s fr okay🥺🫶🏻 this just gives jj vibes bc rafe be fuckin’ without a condom no matter what, man does not gaf.

CW: 18+ only! strong language, fem receiving oral, protected sex, eventual unprotected sex, cream pie, praise and degrading.

“J, I’ve told you, let’s just practice your pulling out with a condom, and then I promise, once you can control yourself, we’ll go raw.”

You want to feel closer to him, feel all of him, as much as he does you. And even though you’ve been on birth control since the two of you started dating — two years — you’re too afraid it won’t be effective.

And the last thing you and JJ need is a baby. You’re not financially in a spot to support a child, so for now, you continue using the protective barrier.

JJ sighs. “You’re right, baby.”

You can’t help but frown. You understand how frustrated he is, you’re just as frustrated, but you’re just doing what you feel is best. You want to feel JJ raw, but you just cannot risk it right now.

“Wanna practice now?” You ask with a smirk on your lips.

JJ grins widely, showcasing his perfectly straight, white teeth. “Absolutely I do.”

He walks toward you, his large hands grabbing your thighs and lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, giggling when he slaps at your ass. “‘M gonna enjoy fucking you, taking out my frustration on you. Once I get my control, ‘m taking this sweet fucking pussy raw.”

The two of you reach his bedroom in the chateau, and he tosses you onto the bed, making you squeal and giggle uncontrollably. “Fuck me, JJ. Take your frustrations out on me. I can’t wait to feel all of you, so learn control fast.”

-

It’s been two weeks of you and JJ practicing his pulling out with a condom on. He’s finally ready, he finally gets pulled out perfectly, and you know he’s going to come to you soon about going raw.

“Baby, c’mon. I wanna taste you.”

You smile, taking a bite of the apple you’d grabbed out of the fruit bowl. “Mmm, I dunno baby. ‘M not really in the mood.” You joke.

JJ’s eyes narrow. He takes two long steps toward you, making you step back. Your back presses into the counter behind you, and his arms come to rest on the counter on either side of you, caging you in. He lifts his right hand, running it down the side of your face before he knocks your apple into the floor, making you gasp.

“I was eating that!”

He runs his hands down your sides, resting them on your hips. He tightly grips at your waist, lifting you and resting your ass on the countertop. “So? I wanna eat now. I’m starved baby.”

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers find your exposed thighs, running them up slowly until they disappear under the soft fabric of your dress.

His fingers find your panties, running over the soaked material. “She’s already wet for me baby. Begging for my tongue and cock.”

Your hips buck off the counter, and a moan escapes your lips. He pulls your ass to the edge of the counter, and you place your hands behind you, supporting your weight and keeping yourself from falling.

He drops to a squatting position, tossing your legs over his shoulders and pushing your panties to the side. He runs his index finger through your arousal soaked core, gathering your arousal on his finger before removing it and bringing it to his lips, humming in approval. “Hmmm. So fuckin’ sweet, always baby. Like fucking honey.”

You moan loudly at the sound of his low and raspy voice, the dirty words making your pussy wetter.

“Shit! Stop teasing, J.”

He smirks, leaning his head forward and sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, making sure to leave marks. “J, please?” You beg, the feel of his tongue running over your inner thighs, licking over the fresh teeth marks, has you squirming.

“Such a needy little slut for me.”

He runs his tongue through your slick folds, slowly licking you from your entrance to your clit. Your entire body jerks when the tip of his tongue licks over your sensitive bud.

JJ’s tongue pushes inside your entrance, teasing you as he rubs lazy circles around your clit. He flattens his tongue, his head moving up and down as he devours your pussy. He pulls his head back, shoving two fingers inside you and sucking your clit into his mouth. He licks and sucks at your clit, fingers harshly pushing in and out of you until he has your entire body shaking.

“JJ-” you breathe out. “Fuck me, please”

He slows his fingers, letting your clit fall from his mouth with a pop. He removes your legs from his shoulders, standing to his full height and popping the button on his jeans, his zipper following quickly behind.

You stare down at his hard cock through your lashes, his right hand firmly gripping the base. He strokes himself softly a few times before he teases his head at your entrance. Your heart hammers in your chest, you’re about to feel all of him for the first time, and him feel all of you.

You let out a small whimper when he pushes his head inside. “Fuck, already feels s’much better baby girl, goddamn.”

He slowly sinks more of himself inside you, pushing each inch inside little by little until he fills you to the hilt. A loud moan is ripped from your chest when his swollen tip hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

JJ doesn’t move, his eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on the feel of your warm, wet pussy wrapped around him. “Fuck, baby. This pussy feels even better than I imagined, so wet and warm, gripping my cock like she was made for me.”

He begins to slowly pull himself out, his eyes watching in awe at how tightly your pussy gripped him, a creamy ring already formed around his cock.

You whimper as he slowly pulls himself from inside you, missing the feel of his thick cock inside you once he fully pulls out. You open your mouth to beg him to put it back in, but he’s harshly slamming back into you before the words come out, making you cry out his name as his tip nudges against your g-spot.

“F-fuck.. JJ, you feel so fucking good, so b-big! Oh, my God.”

JJ’s hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your soft, plump flesh as he brutally pounds himself into you. “Such a good fucking girl, taking my dick so well, look at how she grips my cock baby. All fuckin’ mine!” he grunts out breathlessly.

Your eyes wander down to where the two of you connect, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, pussy clenching around him tightly from how good it feels to finally feel all of him.

“J-JJ! Fuck, ‘m gonna… ‘M gonna cum! Go harder, please!” you beg, your hands finding his upper arms and gripping at them so hard you feel the skin break beneath your nails.

Your pleas for him to fuck you harder spur him on, his large hands gripping the underside of your ass and lifting you from the countertop. He stills himself inside you, steadying himself and making sure his hold on you is secure before he begins fucking up into you harder, faster.

The room is filled with the lewd squelching of your pussy, skin slapping against skin, and you and JJ’s moans mixing together. Your pussy tightens around him, a sweet tightness building in your lower belly as your orgasm nears. JJ can sense you’re close, his darkened over blue eyes finding yours, “Let go f’me baby. Make a fucking mess all over my cock, wanna feel you come undone around me.”

JJ’s words mixed with his harsh thrusts send you flying off the edge. Your pussy tightens, stars exploding behind your eyes as you come hard, soaking JJ’s cock and thighs. “Fuck! JJ, don’t stop, don’t… Don’t fucking stop!”

“‘M close, princess, gotta… Gotta pull out.” JJ says breathlessly.

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face into his neck as your lips attack the skin with bites and kisses. “No! Don’t, don’t pull out, J. Just… Just keep going, shit!”

JJ’s mind goes foggy, hearing you beg him not to pull out was the hottest thing he’d ever heard, and honestly, he didn’t want to pull out, you felt too fucking good to stop. Sure, neither of you were thinking clearly, and he’d definitely have to find the money to buy you a plan B, but it was going to be worth it, to fill your pussy with his cum and watch it drip from your pussy.. Yeah, it was worth it.

His hips begin stuttering, his dick twitching as he thrusts himself up into you a few more times. He feels his dick swell inside you, twitching one final time before the hot ropes of his release spill inside you.

“Ffffuck, baby.” JJ groans, thrusting up one final time.

He sits you back onto the counter, slowly pulling himself from inside you and watching in awe as his thick, white cum leaks from your sensitive hole.

He grins, leaning forward and kissing your lips. “So beautiful when you’re dripping my cum.”

You let out a breathless giggle, your head falling forward as you whisper, “That was worth the wait.. We’re never going back to condoms, ever. ‘Kay?”

jj taglist: @ivy-34 @thelomlisrafecameron @writingjjfics @always-reading @harrys-humble-housewife @maybankspov @immyowndefender @jjmaybankswifes-blog @lizcameron @moremaybank @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @thewitchesofart @unsaidjaelinrose @itsmytimetoodream @abbybarnesstuff @r1vrsefx @rafetopia @jade-is-jaded @lexasaurs634 @drewstarkeyslut @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @superlegend216 @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @anqeliclust @ratatioulle @pradabambie @biggesthat3r @wearemadeofstardust0 @everydaydreamer @amournoir @romaescapes @tayrcse @andy-15-07 @rafescurtainbangz @joemama352

jj maybank masterlist | requests | taglist form

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

TF141 Meeting Soap’s Little Sister (a.k.a. You)

CoD ML

The task force didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. They already have to deal with Soap’s husky antics, which can already be too much to handle. Multiply that by two and no one, especially Simon, wants to deal with that.

But they certainly wouldn’t mind the company of the woman in the doorway.

Why on earth didn’t Soap warn them?

For John, it’s the sweater paws. For a second they make him selfishly want to dress you in one of his sweaters.

For Simon, it’s the way you shyly hide behind your brother, a habit you still have at your big age. Normally he loathes shows of fragility, but yours is endearing to him. For the first time in a very long while, it kindles something in him.

For Kyle, it’s your eyes. He simply can’t look away even though he’s aware it makes you uncomfortable.

“Lads, meet my sister, Y/N.” The adoration Soap has for you is plain to see in the gentle smile that plays out on his lips, proud to be your brother and amused you’ve barely changed from your younger days. Why else would you look at him, lowkey terrified of the strangers he’s brought into your home. “It’s awright, hen. They’re good men, even the big bawbag with the skull mask. Go oan an’ introduce yerself.”

Clutching your brother’s sleeve, relieved he’s home and glad for his protection, you introduce yourself. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

And in that moment, without so much as trying, you have your brother’s unit wrapped around your finger.

So much so that Simon removes his balaclava before he even crosses the threshold. Unbeknownst to you, it’s extremely rare to see the man without his mask and always leads to the unit members exchanging surprised glances.

“What’s this, LT?” your brother asks, badly faking disbelief.

“Proper etiquette. Plus, I can’t eat with the thing on.”

“Oh, so you do eat. I thought ghosts didn’t have ta.”

“Johnny…”

“Just messing with ye, Ghost.”

“Ghost?” you ask.

“It’s my callsign, miss. I- I mean, Y/N.” He keeps his distance, but tries to make himself as small as possible to seem less intimidating. “We ain’t on duty now, so’s just Simon.”

“I see.”

Throughout the night, your brother’s comrades try to win your favour. Kyle offers to help set the table, teaming up with John who beats him to it by lifting the stack of plates in your hands. “Can’t have the lady of the house do everything, can we?”

“But-“

“Please, Y/N, allow me.” His features soften, though there’s a strange glint in his eyes you can’t name. Nevertheless, it sharpens further into sterness as John turns around and starts speaking like you’d imagine he does out in the field. “Gaz, get over here. We have to help our hostess out.”

“You… you really don’t…”

“It’s the least we can do,” Kyle reassures you, shown up at your side at the first word of the captain. “We’ll try to do it neatly.”

“Oi, Gaz, stop being cheeky and get moving.”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle sighs. “He makes it sound like we’re on a battlefield. Fortunately, this is less severe, innit?”

“It might be if there aren’t glasses between now and ten seconds,” John mutters, circling around you two to put the last plates down and move on to cutlery.

“Ever the perfectionist. Where do you keep them?” Kyle asks.

You point at a cupboard. “Right there.”

“Okay. Y/N, we’ll do a proper job. Promise.” And with that, he’s off to help set the table.

While cooking, you observe Simon dawdling around the kitchen. Or, rather, as you discover when you lift your head to check what’s going on, he’s forced to thanks to Johnny.

“Och, just offer yer help. Ah dinnae ken, chop some veggies. Also, she’s into video games- Y/N!” Johnny slaps Simon on the shoulder, feigning ignorance. “Can this wee bawbag help ye with anything?”

“Stop calling me that,” Simon grumbles through gritted teeth.

“Do you cook?”

“He-“ Soap opens his mouth to answer for his friend yet finds himself cut short.

“Haud yer wheest, John. I was nae asking you, I was asking Simon.” Holding out your spatula as a threat to your brother, you turn to the gentle giant.

Simon looks at you through his lashes, but quickly averts his gaze when your eyes meet. “I dabble. Try to put proper grub on the table sometimes.”

“Help me do the same?”

“Uh… sure.”

“Lovely!”

“Have fun, LT.” Johnny offers you both a cheeky grin, then turns on his heel to return to the others.

And so Simon finds himself cooking alongside you. Truth be told, you partially did it to save him from his brothers in arms. Regardless of how well he knows them and the amount of time he’s spent with them, their extroverted personalities still wear him out. His silence is telling, different from the intimidating version he dropped the moment you opened the door. You’ve seen how his eyes glaze over, occupied with dreams you can only guess at. Occasionally he’ll nod and make a noise to make the others think he’s listening.

Nevertheless, it’s still surprising Simon tries to start a conversation.

A conversation that goes in all sorts of, mostly nerdy, directions. So soon you find yourself listening to elaborate explanations of the lore of various FromSoftware games, a topic Simon passionately enlightens you on.

He stops mid-sentence when you chuckle. “What?”

“You have a nice voice.”

“Oh… uh… thanks.”

“Jesus, Y/N, you’re some kind of miracle worker.” Gaz walks into the kitchen to grab another beer from the fridge. “How’d you get Ghost to talk?”

Simon glowers at his companion, but stands down when you gesture for him to remain calm. “Sometimes you simply need the right person, a genuine heart that listens. Now, boys, let’s eat.”

“Food?” Johnny calls from the couch.

“My days, what are ye? A husky?” you call, only partially truly annoyed.

Dinner is an amiable affair. The men (yes, even Soap) censor themselves, finding it inappropriate to start effin and blindin in your company. All the same, they include you in the conversation however possible and fall silent when they notice you want to chime in. Unbeknownst to you all, Johnny is especially vigilant none of the other men makes an advance towards you. Sure, you’re a grown woman. Nonetheless, to him, you’ll always be the wee bairn he held as a four-year-old boy, the barely grown girl who couldn’t stop crying when he was deployed for the first time.

You’re his little sister, the only girl he’d gift the moon if he could.

That being said, though, should you end up with any member of the unit, he dearly hopes it’s Simon. So it’s actually quite reassuring for him to see you two get along as well as you do.

“Two peas in a pod,” Soap mumbles, the words muffled by beer and the clinking of cutlery.

The lads gesture for you to remain seated while they clear the table and do the dishes.

“‘S alright, Y/N. Leave it to us,” John says when you try to get up from your chair.

“You really don’t-“

“No, no. Please.” The bear-like hand on your shoulder is gentle though strong, persuasive in its conviction for you to remain seated. “A small favour, really, to repay your kindness.”

The table cleared, John and Simon excuse themselves for a quick smoke. In the meanwhile, Johnny and Kyle wash the dishes.

For dessert, you sit the men down with coffee and tea to enjoy with a scone.

Kyle falls a little more for you when you show you’re full of contrasts. Shy on the surface yet so fierce when defying your brother. “I was doing fine, crocheting my time away without puppy antics.”

“I’m nae like a dog.” Your brother stops mid-bite to protest.

“Johnny, yer a bloody husky.”

“Well, at least I’m one that did nae get shot.”

“Oh, haud yer wheesht, like you ever will. Just enjoy yer scone and tea. Wait!” You hasten to the fridge to retrieve a jar of orange marmelade. “Here, have this.”

“Homemade?”

“‘Course. It’s not like I’ve forgotten how you dislike store bought.”

“Thanks, sis.”

“Thank you for coming back in one piece, bro.” You turn to the men, who all sit up, alert. “And thank you for bringing my brother home.”

John has to restrain himself and not give into the urge to plop you in his lap. To make sure he won’t, he tucks his hands between his legs when you brush past him to retake your seat across the table.

Simon is good at hiding his emotions, but definitely wouldn’t mind it if you leaned on him and talked some more about video gaming. He loves the way your whole expression brightens when you do and would like nothing better than for you to be his player number two.

Stories and small talk, with the occasional silence to appreciate being alive and well, fills the kitchen as the arms of the clock creep closer to midnight.

At some point you stifle a yawn. Unfortunately, not before your brother catches you doing so. Johnny looks at the clock then back at you. “Alright, lads, it’s been great. However, despite her stubborn arse refusing to admit it, Y/N’s getting tired. Now being the great big brother I am,” the harsh slap on the upper arm does little to make him pipe down, “I think it’s time I show all of you the door.”

John, Kyle, and Simon get up without so much as a word of protest. After all, it’s bad etiquette to wear your hostess out nor does it help your chances with her.

You expected only a handshake as a farewell. Nevertheless, it’s hard to refuse the open invitation for a hug John gives you. His embrace is warm and gentle, testing out the waters to see what you will and won’t allow. His chest rises and falls with a satisfied sigh when you let him rest his head on top of yours. To be honest, it’s nice and comforting, the way he rubs some heat into your arms. “Goodnight, love. Thank you for the splendid evening.”

Kyle’s hug is more casual, like you’re a dear friend he’ll see again in the short run.

“Can I get a hug from you too?” you ask the man standing by the door, who has his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. For a moment Simon seems about to step forward. Yet, for whatever reason, he remains where he stands.

“I don’t think-“

“Please?”

How can he say no now? His mind short-circuits when you wrap your arms around his waist. His hands hover in the air for a moment before he places them lightly on your shoulders. “Thanks for tonight, Y/N.”

“Had fun?”

“I did.”

“Glad to hear it. Also,” you lean back to look at him, “keep the mask off. You’re not a lieutenant here, not Ghost.”

An amused hum escapes Simon, though later in the car he’d have to keep denying Kyle’s allegations he saw him smile. “Copy.”

“Go oan, I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

You watch the men clamber into John’s car. They’re all staying the night at his place before heading off home.

“You like him, don’t ye?”

“Who?”

“Ghost.”

“I don’t know him.” Johnny gives you a quizzical look. “Simon, though, perhaps. He’s a good man.”

“He is.”

The only man who has his blessing to court you.

Who he hopes will truly be family one day.

His future brother-in-law.

[hawkinsquarry]

all things must pass (steve x reader)

summary: steve makes you leave him at the end of the world.

contains: steve x reader; gender unspecified reader; no pronouns used for reader; post-st4; unresolved angst; probably too much swearing :/

i miss this guy and i’m feeling insane over him so have some angst with an ambiguous ending 🫶🏻

Steve’s feet feel particularly heavy when we steps across your foyer. And the packet he has in his hands feels even heavier. He brushes off a few specs of ashes before slamming them down on the table in front of you, lazily eating cereal.

“What the hell is this?” you ask after a moment, grabbing the ledger on top. You know immediately it’s an airline ticket. It makes you feel sick and you push your Cheerios away as your eyes scan the details.

FROM-TO

IND > LA

You want to fucking kill him but you don’t have a chance as he breezes past, grabbing your suitcase out of your walk in closet.

“You depart in twelve hours,” he starts. He recited it in his head the entire way over to make the conversation easier, but the words are hard to get out. “Only take your essentials. When you’re there, a chauffeur will pick you up and take you to the - the - the location.”

“Steve, I’m not fucking going -“

“Yes, you are.” He says sternly. Like you’re a child.

“I’m not going anywhere without you!”

And he know this was coming - this cyclical argument you’ve been having for the last three weeks, your tears, the lump in his throat, uncertainly fogging both of your vision. But it doesn’t make it any easier, any less frustrating.

He says your name low and quiet. A plea. “This is safe. This is where the - the - the people I know told me to send you. That it’s the safest place.”

“And we’re trusting those people now?”

“No. W-well, yes! It - it’s - just - trust me, not them. Okay?” He settles your suitcase on the couch and starts moving around your living room for things he knows you’ll need. A blanket. Medicine. “Anywhere away from here is better, anyway.”

“So you admit it isn’t safe?”

Steve sniffles. “I never said it was.”

You follow him to your bedroom where he begins ripping clothes from your closet. He doesn’t miss the hoodie he leant you a few months ago. It’s laid on top of your suitcase with more shirts and pants.

You grab his arm and try to force it to fall back to his side, but he’s too strong, god damn him. “Steve, quit!” you beg, digging your heels into the ground and tugging on him. “I’m not leaving, Steve. I’m not going unless you go with me.”

“We talked about this.”

As nauseam, in fact. Until the ache in Steve’s throat was excruciating. Until your voice was hoarse and you were heaving. He’s not leaving, and you are.

You tug on him again. “I’ll keep talking about it until you listen to me!”

He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps moving back and forth between your closet and the suitcase. You cry, as hard as you try not to. You really are like a petulant child, stomping your foot, throwing a tantrum. You feel like it’s the only way he’ll listen, but you know the reality is that he still won’t.

“What about me?” you cry. You’re so angry at him, want to say something that’ll make him hurt. That’ll change the expression on his stoic face. You find it in you to refrain. “What about us, Steve?”

Keeps packing. Head down. Jaw clenched tight. He was ready for this fight when he walked in.

“Steve, let the goddamn military handle it. Do - do you honestly think you’re going to save the world?”

“No,” he snaps.

“Then what?”

He doesn’t answer because you already know why. Because he can’t leave Dustin, and Dustin can’t leave El, because apparently she can save the world. And Robin won’t leave Steve who won’t leave Dustin who won’t leave El. And Nancy fucking Wheeler won’t leave Mike who won’t leave El.

It makes you feel insane. Your blood boils and spills over, and over, and over, and it never just depletes. You keep going, keep arguing, trying to talk him out of it until your voice is hoarse. It’s hoarse now, in fact. Last night Steve held you until you shut up, until you cried yourself to sleep, and you had no idea he had already got you a plane ticket out of here. You feel so betrayed it makes your stomach twist and chest ache.

“I can’t live without you,” you try. It’s the third time you’ve pulled this and it seems to get him the most. “Steve, I don’t know what I’d do if - if….”

Steve bites his cheek, stilling, his hands clutching one of your sweaters.

“Why don’t you care?” you push.

He sniffles again, pinches his nose. You’d prefer it if he’d just let himself cry. He’d give in, then, if he let his emotions take over.

“Don’t you love me?”

“Jesus, yes,” he grits, finally looking at you. His eyes are red. “Why do you think I’m makin’ you leave, huh? Why do you think I’m staying?”

“Because you think you’re something you’re not!”

He runs a big hand through his hair so harshly you fear it’ll get tugged out. He walks towards you, holding his arms out, murmuring, “honey,” and as much as it pains you, you back away.

“Don’t,” you say sharply. Your throat aches. “Don’t do that, Steve.”

“I love you.” He sounds exhausted. “I love you, please believe me.”

“If you love me, then come with me.”

“There won’t be a world for us to live in unless we stop this.”

“You aren’t going to save the world.” You’re so desperate for him to listen to you. “The chances are so slim, Steve. Why can’t we love each other while we have time?”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “I won’t let you die without doing something about it first.”

You stare at each other. It’s suddenly dawning on you that nothing you’ll do will ever change his mind. That his chances of living through the next few days are slim. That this is the last time you’ll get to see him. While he’s packing for you and forcing you to take a plane to California.

There’s nothing romantic about it. It’s not like what you’ve seen in the movies you rented from Family Video when Steve had a shift. Before he was yours. When you went because the forest green vest looked so good on him, and he always had some goofy recommendation, and he let his hands touch yours when giving you your change for a moment too long.

You’ve hardly even had him.

“So that’s it?” You can hardly hear yourself.

“I’m doing this for you. I’m doing everything for you. And - and i-if it works, I swear I’ll make it up to you. I swear, angel.”

You shake your head, hot tears making their way down your jaw. “No.”

He stills. Looks a little like a deer in headlights. Caught off guard, shocked. Mouth parting slightly before closing again, like he wants to argue but can’t.

What is there to say?

“If you make me get on that plane, Steve….” You shake your head again, swallowing the ache in your throat down.

You stare at each other again. His eyes are one of your favorite things about him. Those saccharine, chestnut and moss colored irises. They scrunch up when he laughs. You used to think about leaving Hawkins and moving somewhere nice, so far away from all of this that Steve grows up to have crows feet around his eyes. That you’d be the one who put them there. And this is the last time you’ll see them.

“You have to go,” he eventually sniffles.

“Please,” you try, for the final time.

He blinks slowly, frowning, chest rising and falling slowly. “I love you,” he whispers. “Please believe me.”

You’re not sure if you can.

[kyupidos]

04/28/24’s delivery 🏹✉️ twisted wonderland

and, here’s to you!ヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ_θ彡☆Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ,ヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ_θ彡☆Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ ;; summary. ‘a date, for a kind thing they did for you.”

characters. savanaclaw , octavinelle : ruggie bucchi , jade leech ( separate ) ;; romantic . 🖇️ tags. reader is gender neutral ( you/your ), reader may or may not be yuu ( up to the reader ), pre-relationship, romantic fluff

📡 _a/n. well, this is a little short..sorry for the late-ish update y’all, was busy praising my sebek nesoberi that i finally got 🙏🙏

r. bucchi

— oh wow, how ruggie would appreciate a buffet styled dinner date.. and to think he was getting it because he helped you out on some important assignments you missed out on because you were rotting sick in bed!! to have been able to have racked up this kind of debt for you to get this sort of pay…wait hey, did you think he liked you? oh, he doesn’t, not like the food he eats somehow tastes better when he’s eating with you, and it’s not like he’s oddly nervous whenever you near him. ..on obvious lie on his end—he knows full well he likes you, but he’s not sure he’d be able to provide for you, so he lays a little low until he can assess.

— so to know you invited him on this kind of dinner date, to a buffet? safe to say he’s stoked if nothing else. he’s just about ready to eat whatever comes his way, but at the very least he’d like to cater to you. this is a date after all, and he’d hate to ruin the chance you gave him. so take a seat at your table, he’ll bring him and yourself whatever foods may suit your fancy, and do his best to impress you since you’re the one paying for this. he wouldn’t want to disappoint, or take advantage of this in an unsavory manner ( obviously he’s still gonna eat as much as he can, what’d ya expect? ).

— once you get back to your dorms, nearing the dead of night around a little around when one would usually eat their dinner, expect him to invite you over to savanaclaw for said dinner, something he was ready to prep just for you. after all, while a buffet is nice, a homemade dinner is equally so, if not better given it was made from the heart of people you know.

j. leech

— after scaring some delinquent classmates off your tail with his scary ( not yet ) boyfriend attitude, you took it upon yourself to ask jade on a date to go mountain hiking—and who was he to refuse? after all he’s head over heels for you, and he’s been looking for a well enough opportunity to go on an outing for you; he would never decline a chance like this. if you hear his little giggles as he comes to find you didn’t stand him up, don’t point it out. not like he’s hiding it, but he might end up a little shy over it. give him a bit to settle into his usual confident mereel self.

— he wouldn’t want you to trip and fall on your hiking date, so he requests you hold onto his hand ( he knows full well you can handle yourself, he just wants an excuse ). either way he does his best to care for you, especially if you only asked to go mountain hiking because you knew it was something that’d make him happy. he might scold you a bit if he found out, not to mention if you happen to be inexperienced. but he won’t chew you out too harshly, because he’s enjoying the time he’s got to spend with you, and he’s hoping you feel the same.

— once the sun is set, finally the two of you go back, visiting jade’s room, which is surprisingly empty, leaving the two of you to bask in each others silence. just lay there for a little with him, and rejuvenate as you settle down into some light conversation after a nice afternoon mountain hiking date.

[celestialwhoree]

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝟔

You're not sure whether asking Nikto how he worked out what your favourite foods are is a good idea. Realistically, you know that men in his field are required to be perceptive, to pick out the smallest of details which may be useful later. He's been in your house so many times, in your fridge for a left over slice of pie, or the less that you can barely consider a garage to grab whatever tool he'd needed to fix your wobbly fencepost. On the one hand, his awareness of you, what you like and dislike, is comforting. It feels safe to have someone so constantly tuned in on your frequency. Safe. On the other? Having someone so impossibly attentive to your needs is unsettling. It's been far too long since you've had someone shadowing your day-to-day life - and Nikto is, undeniably, like a shadow.

The picnic is - it's really sweet. Well intentioned. The execution, admittedly is rudimentary, but you're just splitting hairs. A guy set you up a picnic after you practically sucked off his face in your kitchen. You're pretty sure most would've run had they felt the sheer reverence, the need in your kiss. He fixed your fence.

Now you're sat rather awkwardly beside one another, picking at a strange assortment of cheeses and fruits, making stilted conversation as you watch a herd of cows graze a couple of fields down.

"How did you know my fence was broken?" You hum in an absent, obvious attempt to keep the conversation going. Tough considering you barely know anything about Nikto, and yet he seems to know everything about you. Your weak endeavour towards filling the stillness between the two of you obviously doesn't go unnoticed - nor does the way your make an effort to dig deeper and see just how much of you Nikto actually catches.

"You hit it with your car a few weeks ago." He states bluntly, leaving you flushing a beet red. Foolishly, you'd always believed that your sub-par driving skills were just imagined, that no one saw you the way you saw yourself. Clearly, you've been wrong all along.

"You do have your drivers license, yes?" Nikto continues to chide, unable to help the way his blood rushes south when you blush, fluttering your lashes as you avert your gaze to the strawberry you'd been just about to eat. "Mhm." You mumble, trying to feign an indignant look - futile, seeing as he's already caught you in the act of your embarrassment.

"I can help you if you would like." Nikto utters, before he too turns his burning face towards the gingham blanket he'd found whilst trawling the grocery store in the small hours of this morning, trying to be as prepared as possible for your date. He's far too quickly become accustomed to your little quirks and reactions, the way you flinch like a frightened bunny from loud noises, or worry at your lip when you're nervous but still trying to seem nonchalant. You're hardly ever nonchalant about anything. He sees that too. "Is it the car that you struggle with?" He tries, so desperately, to claw himself from the hole he's seemingly fallen into, painfully aware that he's probably coming off as some condescending, patronising prick. He knows you can drive. Kind of. However, the thought of helping you, spending time with you, taking all of the menial tasks of daily life out of your hands, he can't help but to yearn for it. Or maybe it's just you. You're the one thing he finds himself wanting for after a life of solitude. You, your silly little shoes, and strawberry flavoured lips, your bows and pearls. You with a smile so bright it's blinding, and a laugh that could bring the cruelest of men to his knees. You are what he yearns for. The silver lining to the rainclouds which have so long darkened his days. You, you, you.

He doesn't even realise you'd been talking until you stop. Only, of course, to take the next best course of action towards capturing his attention, shuffling towards him until you're sat flush against his side, blinking up at him with a look that clearly suggests that you're asking for permission. The fact that he doesn't get hard right then and there is a miracle - though he's not sure if it's one that'll last. At least, not when you finally work up the guts to crawl up into his lap like a needy cat, searching for attention by any means possible. Last week he was barely refraining from tearing your clothes off and taking you on the counter in your kitchen. This is far more intimate. This is what he wants.

He wants to see the way your cheeks flush pink when his hands slide up your skirt, just enough to brush the calloused pad of his thumb over the delicate lace of your underwear. With bated breath, he wants to watch the way the late afternoon sun turns your hair into a halo of molten metal, cascading from the crown of your head in some glorious inferno.

The little sound of your breath hitching as he noses at your jaw is only the first nail in the cruelest of coffins, burying him alive under the crushing weight of his adoration for you. This, he thinks, this is what he's waited for. This is both his reward, and his punishment for the toil of his career, of his life. His reward, you, so sweet and soft in his lap, pliable as gold, glittering as the brightest of precious stones. Breaking you, breaking your pretty, trusting heart, is entirely out of the question. He'd rather shoot himself in the kneecaps. Walk headfirst into enemy territory and beg to be tortured. Step on a landmine. Any and all of it would be better than seeing you hurt.

Whilst he can't find the words for the way he adored you, he can most definitely find the actions.

Nothing, no man, has ever made you feel the way you do as Nikto eases you to lie back on the picnic blanket, hooking your knees over his shoulders. A kiss to your inner thigh. "I hope you don't mind people hearing, Princess. I intend to make you scream."

[holly-opal]

Prompt: Some random kid (Reader) finds Mr Puzzles' head and repairs it, pretty much causing him to become their adoptive dad (since their og dad left)

(This is platonic, of course)

You pulled the red wagon carrying the broken TV to your little cabin. It was just a regular day for you, walking around seeing if you can find something useful like food, tools, some baby wipes for showering, and maybe even some lost toys or technology that could use some fixing. Looks like today day is your lucky day. Just kidding, that day will be when you actually get parents. Since your real ones abandoned you and left you to die in the slums. You carried the TV to the table and let out a hefty sigh. Goddamn that TV was heavy. You examined the TV carefully, it looks like there are no internal damages, only the screen needs fixing. Thankfully, you had just the fix! With a little bit of glass and super glue, you can fix it. You carefully put the shards of glass in, put in a nice dash of glue, and- "OUCH!" You yelled out as you felt harsh stinging in your palm. You cut yourself. Tears weld up in your eyes as you went to get the bandages, you quickly put one on you and went back to work. And you were done! Sure you got a few cuts and put a little too much super glue, but at least it works! You picked up the TV and put it down onto the floor, you sat down and started flipping through the channels. You found a nice kids channel and began watching it. You were smiling and laughing all the way, it made you forget how miserable you were, living scrap by scrap, going to bed hungry every night, anf always worrying someone will try to steal your things or hurt you.

As you were watching tho, the TV suddenly turned into static, you groaned and tried to hit the TV to get it to work. It didn't really work. You almost got up to fetch your tools, but then you heard... Crunching noises. Squishy, gooey, crunching noises. You looked at the TV and saw that it was sprouting arms, legs, a torso, an entire body. It was tall as hell, taller than any adult you have seen. The TV stopped playing static and was replaced with a face, a wide colorful smile and crazy eyes. You screamed and ran out of the room. You went into the small bedroom and went into your cot, you hid under your blanket and hugged your teddy bear tightly. You were shaking and whimpering, you shut your eyes, hoping that it won't see you and will go away. Suddenly, you were picked up by someone and you screamed, you kicked and wiggled, but it was no use. The TV man was looking at you, his eye brow raised.

"Now now, is that any way to treat your guest? Running and screaming?" He asked you. You gulped and shook your head, he laughed and set you down onto the ground. You backed away from him in fear. The TV man put his hands on his hips and looked around. "Where is the engineer that fixed me? I want to thank them!" He asked. You called down a bit, maybe if you tell him that you were the one who fixed him, he'll be grateful and not eat you alive. You pointed at yourself. "U-Um... I fixed you actually..." You said timidly. He frowned, he cocked his head at you in confusion, you internally prayed you didn't make him mad. He scoffed and walked out of your room, you followed him out. He was looking around the cabin, it was very small, and it didn't have many things in it. He seemed disgusted at the sight of your house. "Where are your parents? There is no way a child could fix a TV by themselves. And this place is awful! This is no place for a little kid!" He asked. You rubbed your arm in silence, looked away from him, remembering how your parents left you in the dumpster when you were only three years old. You had someone to take care of you, but they left you too. Nobody seemed to like being around you. They always seemed to leave you behind like a discarded doll. Something clicked in him, and he understood everything. You were an orphan.

"I.... I see..." He said with a sad tone. You went up to him and hugged his legs, you didn't mean to make him sad. He patted your head and smiled, and crouched down to your level and gave you a big, wide smile. "My name is Mr. Puzzles. And you, my dear?" He asked. You smiled back, you shrugged. That seemed to strike a nerve with Mr. Puzzles. They didn't even bother to name you? He pinched your cheek in a loving manner and picked you up, he cradled you in his long ass arms. "Well you simply must have a name! Hmmm... Which name, which name... Oh! How about Y/N?" He asked you. You nodded your head and clapped in excitement, you always wanted a name, but you could never think of one. He laughed and spun you around in a circle. He put your down and crossed his arms. "You could come with me to my studio! You wouldn't have to live here much longer, because no offense, but this place is very dirty and broken." He said. You nodded in agreement. The house was very bad. You only stayed because it gave you shelter from the rain. You grabbed your bag and started putting your stuff in it. Your tools, teddy bear, clothes, trinkets you made, etc. Once you were done packing, he picked you up and put you on his shoulders. You giggled and held his head for stability. You got a new home! And a new parental figure! This really IS your lucky day!

[acalfinthemuseum]

nightingale

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No???”

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

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

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

“Aw, thanks.”

“What do you want?”

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

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

“Are we?”

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

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

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

“Can I come in? Please?”

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

“Y-yeah, come on….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take this.”

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

“You better not be trying to roofie me.”

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

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

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

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

“Yousaiditfirst.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

He was right. 

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

“Roman! Roman, wait! Rom—”

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

“Come on, let’s go.”

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

“Where the fuck are you even going?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You look nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm.” A skeptical sound from your cousin.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re sorry ?” You’re gutting him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, okay. . . I’ll shut up now.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deep breath.”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It does actually, yeah.”

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

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

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

“Open up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, I see you all the time.”

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

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

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

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

“You’d get sick of it. Sick of me.” 

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

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

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

“I’ll kiss it better later.”

“You really are a bitch.”

“Sure am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ew.” He says it softly, teasing.

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

“I am being serious. 

“Are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you asking for something to look at?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

[xoxoavenger]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! 🎁🎈🎂🎉🎊 I loved Try Me (Matt Murdock x Reader), I was wondering if maybe you could write a sequel? I could see an intimate moment where she’s feeding him the soup she made and taking care of him, potentially with the hilarity of Foggy finding out he’s got two super powered friends

thanks! hopefully this is what you were looking for, I had fun writing it!

Ask Me

pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

word count: 1099

warnings: none

part 1

birthday masterlist main masterlist

"I can't believe you're Daredevil." She mutters as she ladles the soup into a bowl. She made a broth more than a soup because she didn't have time to cut the vegetables, but it'll do the trick. She also didn't know the extent of Matt's injures, and she didn't want him to have trouble eating anything. "Does Foggy know?" She asks as she brings the bowl over to the couch.

"Yes," Matt chuckles, but his teeth are clenched in pain. She kneels next to the couch and she is still shocked by his injuries, even though she's already seen them. He has a large cut across his chest, and resists the urge to touch it.

She watches Matt try to sit up, but he's clearly in too much pain. She puts the soup on the ground in favor of helping him up. She tries not to let her pulse rush as she touches his bare back and bicep, pulling him up gently until he is sitting up enough to eat.

"Here, let's get you some food." She tells him, spooning some broth and then carefully helping him eat some. It's so quiet in the apartment that she swears she can feel her own heart race as she feeds Matt. They're close, and her brain is reeling with the thought of how Matt, and blind man, can be a vigilante.

"I think that's good." Matt groans when they're about three fourths of the way though the bowl. She gets up to put the bowl away and grab a warm, wet cloth.

"How are you Daredevil?" She asks, sinking down to her knees again and beginning to wipe off the blood around his wounds.

"Are you asking if I'm actually blind?" He questions, but he's smiling, so she can tell he's joking. 

"I know you're blind, Matt." She says with a small sigh. She's seen his unfocused eyes too many times to think he was just preteneding. 

"All my other senses are heightened." He tells her, tensing as she begins to wipe a big, deep cut. She hopes that soon her healing food will kick in; she's never seen it help on this level, and she's worried it won't work as well as Matt is hoping it will.

"So, you can hear really good?" She asks, wondering what exactly that means. He shrugs, smiling a little bit.

"And smell, and taste. And feel. I have to have specific sheets because of how sensitive my skin is." He's feeling better, she can tell, and it makes her smile.

"How did figure it out?" She asks quietly. She's had these powers ever since she can remember, but she'd never told anyone and no one ever figured it out either. This is a first, sharing a gift, and she can't help but feel a little scared.

"That your food could heal people?" He clarifies. She almost nods, but then catches herself.

"Yeah," She confirms.

"You asked me what happened again the day after you first gave me the croissant, as if you knew it should have gone away. And I usually have accelerated healing anyway, but not that fast. You wouldn't have known that." He's starting to relax more, and she knows he needs to get some sleep soon.

"You wanna move to the bed?" She asks, putting the cloth down and preparing to move him. Before he can answer, Foggy comes stomping back in.

"So both of my best friends are super heroes?" He yells, throwing the drugstore bag in their general direction. Y/N's eyes widen as Foggy walks to them.

"I am not a super hero." Y/N clarifies.

"I wouldn't classify myself as one either." Matt interjects, a hand out to stop Foggy's rant. It does nothing, and Foggy soldiers on.

"You can feel, hear, and smell things no human should be able to feel, hear, and smell." He points at Matt, who raises an eyebrow. "And you can heal people with your food, that you've been feeding me for months!" Foggy moves to Y/N, and she just shakes her head.

"Have you ever wondered why you haven't gotten sick in months?" She asks, and he just scoffs.

"That proves my point!" He screams. Y/N and Matt shake their heads, Matt smirking.

"Foggy, neither of us are superheroes. You don't need to freak out." Matt tries to calm him down, but Foggy just gets more worked up.

"Are you kidding me? You could be Avengers for all I know!" Foggy grabs the bag that he had thrown and begins to get some of the bandages and Neosporin out to help Matt.

"Oh my God," Y/N groans, rolling her eyes and putting her head in her hands. Honestly, Foggy freaking out was kinda funny, but she isn't sure if he's being serious now or not.

"We're not Avengers, Foggy." Matt chuckles, and Y/N begins to put bandages over Matt's injuries.

"Well I just don't know that, do I?" Foggy looks over at the pot on the stove, walking over there quickly. "What did you make?"

"Just a quick broth. I wanted to get Matt something quick." She tells Foggy as she begins to focus on the task at hand.

"Is this why I haven't gotten paper cuts?" Foggy asks as he ladles a little soup out for himself.

"It doesn't make you skin extra strong, Fog." Matt tells him as she continues bandaging him up. Her hands brushing his skin make Matt want to crawl out of his skin in a good way, which didn't make sense until this very moment.

"Did I hurt you?" Y/N asks softly when he tenses.

"No," He mutters, putting a hand on her wrist to stop her. "It's okay, I think the big ones are taken care of." He just wants to lay down and sleep it off now, but he wants to ask her one more thing.

"Let me help you to your room." She offers, and together, with him leaning on her, they make it to Matt's room.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asks as they sit down. He can feel the heat begin to flush her cheeks, her heart beginning to race. He's worried still that maybe she feels uncomfortable until she responds.

"Working." She thinks she's funny, and Matt chuckles.

"Do you want to go to Josie's with me tomorrow night?" He asks, and she ducks her head and smiles.

"As long as my boss lets me off on time." She says, nudging him with her shoulder.

"I'll talk to him." He tells her, both of them smiling hard enough that their cheeks hurt.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace  @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

[athenagranted]

idk if you're still writing the post-cemetry scene fic with pining eddie (idk if i'm describing it right) but i would love to hear more about it/see a snippet or too if you feel so inclined 👀

someone asking about angsty pining fic in the month of our lord april 2024? this was such a lovely surprise 😭 i'm gonna be honest with u anon i'm likely not going to publish 911 fic again BUT because you asked so nicely i'll give you a few older snippets from my draft:

Eddie sighs, breaking the stare. “You have a key, you know,” he says finally. “Feel free to come join me whenever you want.” He turns on his heel and walks back inside to finish his goddamn brownies, leaving Buck standing in the doorway.  It’s silent for a few minutes. He’s in the middle of measuring a tablespoon of espresso powder when Buck steps into the kitchen and shuts the door behind him. Eddie feels the weight of Buck’s gaze on him as he folds the powder into his brownie mixture, but he doesn’t turn to meet his eye until Buck speaks.  “Is that…” Buck falters. He clears his throat. “Is that my recipe?”  “Yeah,” Eddie says gruffly. “Chris asked me to make it. Said he wanted to share it with his friends when they come over tomorrow for their playdate.”  Buck snorts. “Man, you can’t call it that. Chris nearly bit my head off last time I tried. Kept reminding me that ‘playdates are for kids, Buck,’ and that he’s not a kid anymore.”  Buck emphasizes that last bit with air quotes, and Eddie can’t help but grin at that. But his smile fades instantly, remembering the somber look on Buck’s face when he’d opened the door. He highly doubts that Buck came over just to commiserate about the trials and tribulations of watching Christopher grow up.  Eddie bites the bullet. “Why are you here, Buck?”  Buck shifts nervously. He shrugs and looks away from Eddie. “I — I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to answer that. You’ve never asked me that before.”  Eddie scrubs at his face. “I've never had to ask you that, Buck. Things are different now. You’ve been busy.” 

+

“Wow,” Buck says acidly, all traces of heartbreak gone. “I’ve never heard that one before.”  Eddie frowns. “What?”  “Really, Eddie?” Buck’s voice cracks on the last syllable. He shakes his head. “Unbelievable. Just — unbelievable.” “Buck — what are you talking about?”  “We were just trying to protect you, Evan," Buck mocks. "You were never supposed to find out. We kept it from you because we love you. Any of that sound familiar to you?” Eddie’s breath hitches on the word love, because he doesn’t know, he can’t know, but then —  Oh.  Fuck.

+

Buck: We’ll get through this just like everything else. I promise. It’ll be okay.  Buck: Eddie, did you eat enough today? Should I come by and bring you some food? Buck: You know you’re still my best friend, right? That’s never going to change, Eddie. Never.  He reacts with a thumbs up or a tap-back heart on most of the messages, too exhausted to do anything else. He replies with a thumbs down to the message about food, certain that he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing Buck so soon. He knows he’ll have to face him in person eventually, but his tired, broken heart just wants to postpone it as much as he can.  The last one, though, is a balm that both soothes and agitates Eddie’s burning, aching heart, and he taps out a brief, Thank you, you too. Always, in response. It feels like too much and not enough all at once, and Eddie wishes once again that he was a little better at resisting Buck, that he didn’t feel that need to reply to his every message lest Buck worry even more about him. The only one he actually acknowledges is a message that comes in at 2:43 AM on Sunday. As he opens the message, Eddie absentmindedly wonders if Buck’s having a hard time falling asleep for the same reason as him. Probably.  It’s a link to a new exhibit at the Griffith Observatory, accompanied by a text that reads: Can I take Christopher here next weekend? Eddie squeezes back tears as he replies with a brief, Of course, and puts his phone down, letting the darkness swallow him again. 

+

Hen beats him to it. “What happened, Buck? I thought you really liked her. Weren’t you planning to introduce her to Maddie and Chimney next week?”  “Not anymore,” Buck mutters. “I broke up with her.”  “What?” Eddie snaps head snaps up. “Why?”  Buck doesn’t meet his gaze, his lip quivering. The rest of their team is watching them, eyes darting back and forth, and Buck blinks hesitantly before swallowing down a sip of coffee. He wipes the cream off of his upper lip and looks Eddie in the eye.  “You know why,” Buck whispers. 

[remuswriting]

MEET ME IN THE POURING RAIN; MIYA ATSUMU

Y/N decides to walk home, even though it's pouring. Atsumu and his truck save the day.

WORD COUNT: 1,950 words

TAGS: Feelings Realization; Friends to Lovers; Fluff; Post-Time Skip

NOTES: Do I write too much of Atsumu? I don't know and I don't care! Also, not beta-read. It's 2 AM as I post this so hopefully the amount of typos is not overwhelming

Read on AO3

The rain is relentless against the pavement and soaks Y/N down to the bone. The nice jacket his mother bought him for his birthday two years ago does nothing to keep him dry. It’s actually just weighing him down as the rest of his clothes stick to his body. He should find somewhere dry and wait for the rain to lighten up, but he just wants to be home already.

Y/N usually enjoys his walks home from his calculus lecture. Some days he listens to an audiobook or calls Atsumu to hear about what crazy things the MSBY Black Jackals have been up to. Although Atsumu may be annoying at times, he’s a phenomenal storyteller when he wants to be, and Y/N likes listening to stories after suffering through his three-hour calculus lecture. Atsumu also loves talking, so it works out well.

His phone buzzes inside his bag, signaling he’s gotten a text, but he refuses to pull it out. The rain will just ruin it, and he doesn’t have enough money to replace it. He imagines it’s Atsumu asking if Y/N is home yet or if he’s sound shelter to wait out the storm. Atsumu prefers calling over texting, says it’s easier to say what he needs to than type it out, but he waits until Y/N calls him because Y/N likes texting more.

His phone buzzes again in his bag—several more times, actually. There’s the possibility that it may not be Atsumu texting him. It could be Osamu, asking the same questions as Atsumu while also probably questioning him if he still has enough to eat since he meal preps for Y/N.

“It amazes me ya’ve survived this long,” Osamu said one day when staring into Y/N’s bare fridge. Two days later, he brought a myriad of containers of food, all labeled of what they were and smiley faces next to the messy kanji.

Y/N has always been thankful for the meals Osamu makes him, because he knows it does take time out of Osamu’s day, (also Osamu will not let him pay him for the food—was actually insulted when Y/N mentioned it) but he’s really thankful for those meals right now. All he wants to do is shower, put on some warm clothes, and heat up some food before watching the newest J-Drama he’s found on Netflix. The rain hasn’t put him in a cozy mood, but a mood that requires a cozy atmosphere to fix.

Lightning strikes across the sky, and Y/N really should find somewhere dry, but he’s so close to his apartment. There’s no point in stopping now. In roughly five minutes, he’ll be walking up the most likely flooded steps to his apartment. That’s what he tells himself when thunder shakes the ground beneath his feet.

For the first time in 10 minutes, a truck drives by him. Well, the truck actually slows down and matches his pace. It’s really his luck that he’s going to be killed in the pouring rain. It’s probably karma from not stopping. It’d really help if he could make out what the truck looks like, but it’s raining too hard to get a clear look. However, he faintly hears the truck window roll down slightly.

“What the hell do ya think you’re doin’?” Atsumu’s familiar voice yells over the rain. Relief crashes over Y/N because that means he’s not going to be kidnapped or killed.

“Walking home,” Y/N yells back so Atsumu can hear him, and he wonders how Atsumu knew it was him. The rain is coming down too hard for Y/N to make out the faded red truck Atsumu refuses to give up. It doesn’t matter that it’s quickly becoming a piece of shit with how terrible of a driver he is, he’s attached to the damn thing. “What are you doing?”

“Lookin’ for ya, obviously,” Atsumu says, and Y/N’s heart races a little. It must be because lightning makes an appearance once again, lighting up the gray sky. “Ya’ve not been answerin’ anyone’s texts or calls.”

Y/N rolls his eyes, even though he doubts Atsumu can see him. “I’m being rained on. Why would I get my phone out?”

“Why are ya lettin’ yerself get rained on?” Atsumu asks, as if that’s the real question. “I would’ve come and gotten ya if ya just texted me.”

It’s not a confession of anything, because Atsumu tells him that all the time. He tells Y/N how he doesn’t need to be so independent and can rely on him whenever he needs to. Atsumu is just like that, though. He’s so dedicated to the people and things he cares about, and really, Y/N is amazed he’s part of the small list of people Atsumu likes enough to consider his friends.

“It’s not that far of a walk,” Y/N says, and it thunders again. A sense of reality washes over him because if he stays out in the rain much longer, he’s going to end up sick. Being sick will make Atsumu fret over him by trying to take care of him while insulting him at the same time. It wouldn’t be such a terrible thought if Atsumu wasn’t so terrible at taking care of sick people. “Or at least not far enough that I thought to bother you.”

Atsumu stops the truck, and Y/N stops as well. He could just keep walking, but he doesn’t know how Atsumu will respond to that. Maybe driving up on the sidewalk to actually stop Y/N from walking away.

“You’re such an idiot,” Atsumu snaps, and Y/N flinches a little. “Get in the damn truck so I can take ya home.”

“My clothes are soaked,” Y/N says, and he wishes he could see Atsumu. It’s hard to fully know what Atsumu is thinking when he can’t see him.

“And?  Get in the truck.”

“I’m going to get your truck all wet if I get in,” Y/N says, but he’s walking up to the door now.

“It’s already gettin’ all wet with the window bein’ down, so hurry your ass up,” Atsumu says, and Y/N grabs the door handle. His grip on it isn’t great because of how wet his hands are, but he manages to open it without issue.

Atsumu is soaked as well, which explains why he doesn’t care about Y/N’s clothes being wet. He really looks like he was nearly drowned, as if he was out in the rain for a while, but Y/N doubts he looks any better.

“Why are you soaked?” Y/N asks as the door closes. Atsumu’s hair is plastered against his head, but he still runs his fingers through it, and excess water runs down his wrist.

“I had to get out to my truck somehow,” Atsumu says, and the rain comes down harder, making the truck shake a little. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself, cause if ya get sick, I ain’t takin’ care of ya.”

It’s unsaid, but they both know Atsumu will take care of him as he always does. Y/N does the same when Atsumu isn’t feeling well—physically and emotionally. They’re just there for each other in a way that doesn’t translate across the board. Because Osamu may meal prep for Y/N and Y/N may help him out in the restaurant sometimes, but they wouldn’t do the things Y/N and Atsumu do for each other. Y/N wouldn’t go over to Osamu’s house when he’s sick to take care of him, sleeping in the living room so he’s not alone for too long.

(Although, Atsumu does have Osamu. He doesn’t really need Y/N, but that’s never been talked about. Osamu just lets Y/N in and says he has to go check on his restaurant before leaving Y/N to care for Atsumu. Really, it’s a strange thing, but it’s somehow understood without saying anything.)

“Worry about yourself,” Y/N says as he rolls his eyes. “You’re more likely to get sick out of the two of us.”

“Am not!” Atsumu says as he starts driving toward Y/N’s apartment. “I’m an athlete, which means I have the strongest immune system ever.”

Y/N chuckles because Atsumu is the one who gets sick more often out of the two of them. “I’m pretty sure Sakusa-kun is the one with the strongest immune system.”

“We ain’t talkin’ bout Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, and his accent is coming out just a little more. It always does when they have these small, meaningless arguments. He’s always been one to get worked up over small things, even when he says he’s not. “We’re talkin’ bout ya and how you’re terrible when you’re sick.”

“I think you’re getting me confused with you,” Y/N says as he presses the back of his head against the headrest. A shiver runs up his spine, and he realizes Atsumu has the air on. “Why the fuck do you have the air on?  Do you want us to get a cold?

Atsumu glares at him as he turns the air off. “Is it to yer likin’ now?”

Y/N hums. “Yes, thank you.”

His apartment appears in the window, and excitement rushes through him. All he can think about are the things that motivated him to even walk in the rain, and Atsumu is an added bonus. Atsumu can take a shower too since he has clothes at Y/N’s apartment, and they’ll watch that J-Drama and eat some food together.

Atsumu’s sudden silence has Y/N look over at him, and Atsumu’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly it’s concerning. Y/N just stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out what’s suddenly brought on this behavior. Atsumu has always been someone who just says what he’s thinking or feeling, and when he doesn’t, it still shows. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve; he wears it proudly on his chest for everyone to see. Y/N just catches on better than most.

“Do you want to come in?  I still have meals Osamu-kun made,” Y/N says, and Atsumu’s grip on the steering wheel loosens.

“Really?” Atsumu asks, and he sounds like an excited child.

Y/N chuckles. “Yes, really.”

Atsumu’s smile is bright and warm as they pull into the parking lot. Y/N smiles with him, and the familiar warmth he associates with Atsumu blooms in his chest. When Atsumu looks at him, it only grows to burn a little. It’s when Atsumu unbuckles his seatbelt Y/N realizes that part of him would’ve been crushed if Atsumu had said no. He would’ve understood, but having Atsumu with him will improve his mood better than any J-Drama will.

They look each other in the eyes, and Y/N gently tilts his head a little. “You didn’t get soaked just running out to your truck, did you?”

Atsumu’s smile falters slightly, as if he’s been caught, and his cheeks turn a gentle pink. Y/N nearly laughs, but he holds it in, just like he holds in the urge to run his fingers through Atsumu’s soaked hair. The brassiness in it has Y/N making a mental note to buy Atsumu more purple shampoo. After a moment, Atsumu chuckles a little.

“No, I didn’t,” Atsumu confesses before unbuckling his seat belt. “I didn’t realize the math buildin’ was so big.”

Y/N actually laughs this time. “Yeah, but next time I’ll make it easier to find me.”

Atsumu’s blush only grows to cover his entire face. “Ya better.”

[yanderederee]

I love your work and your whole blog is just so amazing! I would like to request letter A for Baji from Tokyo revengers. Thank you, have a nice day dear! :)

This one’s going to be longer than normal— sue me. Read more cause it’s long

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Baji Keisuke is a very intense person. When he feels strongly about a person, it’s hard not to notice. He goes out of his way to give Pah’s dog extra attention when he’s away, carries Mikey to and from places when he falls asleep randomly— everyone feels at ease when they’re with Baji because he is a safe person that they know they can trust.

So for his significant other; of course he’ll show his affections openly. Though it may look like less like romantic affection than it would a doting mother (does that make sense?)

Baji will wholeheartedly take care of you.

You have a stomach ache in public? He rubs your back and finds a place for you to sit, or takes you home immediately if you want. Even if he’s not entirely sure how to fix your issues, he’s dutiful in the way he cares for you.

Order something you don’t like at a restaurant? You got two options, you two can swap meals (because he doesn’t care what he eats as long as you’re happy), or he’ll order a safer option for you.

Can’t sleep? He’ll be half delirious, but he’ll stay on the phone with you and let you chat while he mumbles back replies to make you feel better. Battery might be shot tomorrow but he only uses it to stay in touch with you anyway.

Leaning into romantic affection: not so much into the casual stuff like hand holding (he’s a little squirrelly and gets frustrated if his arm is locked down for too long), but loves looping his arm over your shoulder and holding you close to him at all times. It’s more than showing people you belong to him, it’s also the comfort having you near brings him.

If he’s sitting and getting stir crazy, he’ll play with your fingers. It eventually becomes a fidget of his so he doesn’t realize he does it, but everyone else does.

Likes cuddles, specially holding you. He loves feeling you wrapped up in his arms and pressed into his neck. He could get lost in thought and lay there for hours thinking of all the things he adores about you.

If you fall asleep, he’ll stare at your face; gently pat your hair or trace your features… he’s star stuck thinking about you.

Also shows his affection in protecting you. Can not stand when other people waste your time. If you’re enjoying the conversation then sure, he’ll endure. But if you show any sign of fatigue or annoyance, he’s quick to swoop in and come up with an excuse to get yall going.

That goes for his own friends too. If anyone so much as gives a backhanded comment about you, (I.e: she’s leeching all of your time Baji/Cant you go anywhere without her?/she’s fine but I don’t like having her around/etc), he goes off. There was nothing fucking wrong with you and if you were content being by his side, then he would happily keep you there.

“Fuck you say? Ain’t no one ask you, so keep your shit shut.” He can get really aggressive with his language and dialect, don’t try fighting him further than that, it will end in fists and blood.

Speaking of, is happy to beat the shit out of anyone for you. There’s not a lot that is beneath him. (More on this @/Blood) He doesn’t hit girls, but he will pull their hair and scream in their face for a long time until they get the picture to not mess with you.

Overall: Baji only becomes an intense yandere if other people get involved. If it’s just the two of you, he’s extremely doting and careful with you, but does his best not to stir you into complex feelings that might cause you to leave him.

[annie-creates]

Life without you

Pairing: Abby Anderson x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1000

Note: This is a cute little comfort fluffy fic.

With a heavy sigh you close the door of your small apartment in the Firefly base, shrugging your jacket off and placing your shoes by the door. The living room is quiet and dark, not even the kitchenette light left on. No wonder the place is vacant, it must be long past midnight at this point. Not having the energy to even eat you quickly brush your teeth changing into the pajamas you left in the bathroom this morning. You’re trying to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb the night peace of the place. Carefully you open the bedroom door, your girlfriends form steadily breathing on her side of bed.

You whine in pain as you sit on your side of the bed trying to relieve your tensed up muscles, the mattress dipping under your weight. With the many people who kept arriving at your camp, a lot of them needed your help as a doctor. Count in your regular patients and those who got hurt during patrols and hunting and you were overwhelmed with work. Sleep was a foreign concept to you at this point, your body running solely on caffeine and cold showers. The rare nights when you could take the time to actually go home and sleep you returned deep into the night and left before sunrise, hardy even having the time for a conversation with your girlfriend.

“Hi.” Comes from behind you and you feel the duvets shifting.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up.” You apologize in a tender voice.

“You didn’t.” But it’s clearly not true. “A lot of work?”

“A crazy lot of work.” You admit crawling into bed, Abby offering her strong embrace to you. “I wouldn’t even wish upon anyone to see it.”

“That bad?” She chuckles amused.

“Nah, even worse.” Is all you say because the last thing you want to talk about when finally coming home is your never-ending work again.

Your mind goes back to a year ago when Abby joined the fireflies, needing your medical help herself. She was a much different person back then, hurt and skinny, but also guarded and insecure. She came out of her shell a lot over the time, being an amazing companion, endlessly supportive and caring. She always understood when you had too much work or needed her to reassure you in your skills. Her hair had grown out to a shot bob now and she built her muscles into a strong frame.

“When was the last time you slept?” She asks watching the dark bags under your beautiful eyes.

“Um, Monday? What day is it?” You answer unsure, your mind and eyes already too heavy to hold a meaningful conversation.

“Thursday.” From her vice it’s clear Abby doesn’t approve of this, but all she does is tighten her hold on you.

She carefully caresses your back and you play with her short hair. You told her how beautiful she’d look with it longer, but she’s adamant on not letting it grow longer than her collar bones. It’s practical, won’t get in her way in a fight, she always says, but you can see she has deeper reasons not to want long hair she’s not yet ready to share with you. As you’re falling into slumber, a harsh knock on the front door startles you awake.

“Really?” You complain under your breath getting up to open the door before your girlfriend can stop you.

You open the door to find the west group’s captain on the other side, tapping his foot impatiently. You can already guess where this is going, waving your sleep a goodbye in your head for another night. Sometimes it felt like the planet would stop turning and freeze over if you took just thirty minutes to have a break. You contemplate shutting the door in his face but you’re just not that kind of person, besides there could be an actual emergency needing your attention.

“What can I do for you?” You offer instead.

“I need you to come look at one of our guys, he got an arrow to his knee and…” He keeps rumbling.

“Do you know what time it is!?” shutting him up your girlfriend inserts herself into the door frame, her arms already folded over her broad chest in anger. “You have like ten other doctors to look after him, let this one have a night of sleep, Jesus Christ.”

“But he’s…” He tries to argue with her, not knowing it’s equivalent to signing your own death certificate.

“He’s not going to die till morning. For fucks sake.” Not letting him continue she shuts the door with a harsh swing. “You really need to learn how to say no sometimes.” She admonishes you being in a rage.

“Thank you, my knight in a shining armor.” It’s only half joke because you know deep down she’s right and people need to stop using you so much. “What would I do without you.”

“Die of sleep deprivation.” The look on her face is serious but you see it in her eyes she’s not actually mad at you.

Hugging her neck you give her a loving kiss, content you might actually get some sleep in tonight now. She picks you up forcing you to hang your lets around her waist and carries you back to bed, wrapping herself around you like a snake to stop you from getting up again and also because she loves your affection and scent. It wasn’t hard to get sleepy again in her warm embrace full of love and care.

“Now sleep.” She commands you and you have no intention to disobey her.

Sometimes you really didn’t know what you’d do without her, but she felt equally lost in the world without you. She couldn’t let you get yourself hurt one way or another, partly because she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if you weren’t by her side. At this point she couldn’t imagine her life without you.

[seramilla]

If / whenever Odette proposes to Verosika— it’s not something big or grand. Instead it’s intimate and quiet when Odette shows the ring to verosika, it’s a beautiful ring— it had probably cost Odette a pretty penny. No one had seen it coming, not even Carmilla—who knows her girls like the palm of her hand.

Odette and Verosika have talked about marriage before. It's to be expected after watching, and participating in, Carmilla and Sera's wedding. Theirs had been an extravagant, social affair, thanks to Zestial and Lucifer, with every blue-blood in Hell who was on good terms with them present. But to the girls, neither really finds those kinds of huge public expressions of love appealing.

Verosika has to put on a show every day, so she'd told Odette, if and when it happens for her, she wants it to be more real. Not during one of her shows, and certainly not on stage; just something small between herself and her beloved. Odette can't say she disagrees. In fact, that's exactly what she'd hoped Verosika would say. Because that's exactly what she'd been planning.

Verosika already has everything a demon could want, and then some. So does Odette, honestly, and while both demons can afford to give each other the world, that's not really what Verosika wants, or what Odette wants, either. She desires to make it special, but also not too over-the-top. She decides to get Ozzy's advice on the right way to approach this. He is, of course, very helpful...but mostly about the honeymoon, and all the fun things that can come after.

He does know the name of a jewelsmith in Greed, though, and after some conversations with them back and forth over the phone, Odette orders a personalized pink diamond in a gold band, fit exactly to Odette's specifications. Not a big one...it's honestly rather small, but still worth a small fortune, she comes to find out. She still thinks it's more than enough to make Verosika happy. Odette hopes so, anyway.

Odette chooses to ask her on a night after Verosika gets back from a tour. They'd already had a date at Ozzy's planned. The king of Lust didn't have any other shows planned, and just reserved a small corner of the showroom for the two of them, allowing the musical stylings of Fizzarolli to complement their dinner of something Odette is too nervous to eat at the moment.

Verosika seems to notice Odette's not eating. Her girlfriend does have a hard time remembering to feed herself sometimes, and she brings it up to Odette, who is quickly shocked out of her state of internalized anxiety.

"Babydoll, you going to eat anything? You look pale."

"Oh! Yes! Sorry! Umm...shit. I was just thinking."

Verosika takes a sip of her wine. They'd only ordered one bottle; Odette wanted to be sober for the events yet to come.

"Thinking about what?"

Verosika reaches across the cozy table to touch Odette's hand. Odette's other hand is fumbling with the small box tucked safely into her pants pocket. Fizz has finished his last musical number, and walks off-stage to take a break. If there's any moment to act, Odette thinks, it's now. Taking a breath, she stands, and moves toward Verosika, before kneeling on one knee at her feet.

"Verosika Mayday...!" Odette starts, pausing more out of anxiety than dramatic effect. She hopes it makes her look cool, and not anxious, at any rate. "Ever since I met you, here, after what seems like a lifetime ago...my world has never been the same. I never imagined a literal pop star would ever look my way, let alone talk to me. You've taught me so much about actually living, and loving...and to never take anything for granted."

Odette pauses again, getting the box ready in her pocket.

"You've also taught me patience, and to love myself, and to never judge a book by its cover. You're my best friend. My confidant. My north star. I want to spend the rest of eternity with you, for however long that lasts. So, um, will you do me the honor of, uh...hold on..."

After a few fumbling attempts and only a little blushing, Odette manages to take the box out of her pocket, and opens in it front of Verosika. The succubus is wide-eyed, the pink of the diamond shining back at Odette through her eyes. Odette finishes her question with only a little bit of a flush on her face. She hopes Verosika will forgive her awkwardness.

"Will you marry me, Verosika?"

Odette doesn't even have to wait for an answer. One minute, she's kneeling at Verosika's feet, and the next, Verosika is lifting her off the ground, and placing her on the table on her back. The rest of their food and drink be damned. It gets everywhere. Odette's glad she's not wearing one of her lab coats, because it's soaking into the black pants suit she wore for the occassion. She puts the ring down on the table, before she drops it.

Verosika kisses her, full and flagrant, forcefully on the lips, and pulls away with a smack! She only lifts from Odette long enough to screech into the room, "Yes! Fuck, Odette, yes! I will!" before she's kissing her again, pushing Odette even more into the table. Odette worries they might be causing a scene. Unfortunately, her fears are confirmed, because Fizzarolli's already making obscene hand gestures behind the stage, grinning with his tongue out the side of his mouth.

So much for being discrete.

Fuck it, Odette thinks. Let him watch. She brings Verosika down further on top of her, and really starts sucking face with her girlfriend -- no, her fiancé -- right there on the table. Ozzie and Fizz give them two pairs of thumbs up, but neither of them notice. They're too busy celebrating, in their own little world, ignoring the captive audience behind them.

[onismdaydream]

HIIII!!!!! it's me again, the most obsessed and horniest yuji lover!♡🎀

Didn't have anything to do today so I have been on tumbler looking for any yuji content I can get my hands on :p! And I am just OBSESSED with headcanons, specifically yuji as your boyfriend! AHH!!!

Like, how would he first tell you he likes you? How long would it take? Ugh, now me personally, I can only imagine having a movie night alone, megumi and nobara canceled ofc because they don't want to watch whatever bs movie yuji picks :(. And then so there you are, Both cuddled up on the couch, a little to close together, and he is just.. so flustered! But why? It's not like he likes you or anything! Well, turns out he does and he JUST realized. So when the two protagonists in the romantic comedy yall are watching suddenly confess, he can't hold it back! It just blurts out of his mouth..which would be a bad thing, until you reveal you like him back!♡

Idk, I just find it soo cute, and honestly totally something he would do. 🤷‍♀️. But then like, first date? Would he take you to eat, the movies, or maybe to the mall?

Now this one, I'm not too sure, to many options and I love them all, but he would DEFINITELY make it romantic and cute ><!

Okay, but now like one of the MILLION dollar questions is.... how would he act on your period!

I'm sorry, but every single small headcanon, or fic of how ANYBODY would treat you while ur on your period is straight up Crack to me. I NEED IT. I love the wholesome headcanons. 😔🎀!

I think.. he would notice that your acting different, he cares about you after all so he notices every little thing. So when he sees you look uncomfy or maybe rubbing you hand on your thigh, trying to relieve some pain.. he asks you what's wrong! And when you tell him, I feel like he would IMMEDIATELY do whatever you want to make you feel better. LITERALLY.

"Oh. Really? Is there anything I can do?"

Chocolate? In ur hands the second you ask. Meds for the pain, he's got them? Blanket? YES! cuddles? Okay, is that even a question? OBVI!!!

Second million dollar question is how/what he would do yalls first time. Last headcanon i said was crack, but this one is like all drugs COMBINED. I like to think it would be a makeout session gone to far..

That movie you played has a sex scene, which, really doesn't bother you or him.. or it usually doesn't. Today though, a small thought forms in his brain. How would you look? Sound? Smell? Taste? Feel..? And then it's akward, because you're so close, and his hand just starts massaging your thigh, and he has to kiss you! Which at this point in the relationship isn't like super surprising, I'm sure yuji loves to kiss you. But this one feels different, yujis face is just soo pink, and he almost can't keep his hands off of you! Cupping one cheek while pushing you down on the couch with the other, so he's on top.. then one of his knees pushes your thighs apart.. 🧎‍♀️

You know the rest.

But I also like to think maybe yall are making out, you on top of his lap, but you can't stop squirming! And it really isn't on purpose, you swear.. but yuji can only take so much, And eventually he can't hide his moans anymore!

Yeah idk I feel like humping n shit, maybe cummin in his pants is SO hot. UGH

I don't think it would really be planned..😋🎀

Also, I feel like he would be super flustered and kinda embarrassed with oral. In the sense that, he could spend hours between your thighs (we all know he's a munch), but the first time you ask to suck him off, he probably turns into a whiny mess.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO THIS. Like- I'm sorry, but no matter how dominant or kinky people make yuji, which I won't lie I love, you CANNOT tell me this man doesn't whine or moan your name. You simply can't. LOOK AT HIM.!!! 🧎‍♀️🙏

I just, have so many thoughts and headcanons.. l can't control myself yuji headcanons are literally my drug. I love the subby ones, the Dom ones, fluff ones, smut ones... I DONT CARE. If a yuji headcanon exists, I WILL read it.

Omg, I have so much more but I have already made this soo long. I honestly just wanted to ask if you would ever make your own yuji head canons? Maybe you already have and I can't find it.. BUT LET ME KNOW!

I just HAVE to know what headcanons are floating around in that wonderful brain of yours!♡

Also so glad to see you liked my past rant♡♡!!!

I really hope you have a good day/night!!!! Make sure ur taking care of urself babes bc I can't survive without you><! 🎀

(Also sorry for any typos or whatever, this was 100% rushed because my fingers physically cannot keep up with all the thoughts I have of yuji.)

With a heart full of love, and a brain full of yuji,

-your horniest yuji lover!♡🎀

hi lovely <333

gonna put this under a read more so it doesn't take up too much space!

oooh headcanons are fun!! i don't post a ton, not for any particular reason, i just seem to gravitate towards snippets in established relationships.

omg yuji just blurting it out :(( what a sweetheart! he is mortified but i feel like he would try his best to play it cool, though his face feels like it's on fire from how flushed it is!! but then you tell him that you also like him and he visibly relaxes SO much and has the biggest smile on his face and he immediately wants to hug you and hold you close <3

i think for first dates, he would lean towards movies/mall, this way it's still semi-public. it's not that he doesn't want to spend time with you alone (he wants to soooo badly), but i think he thinks he has to take it slow and be sweet and gentlemanly. like he was definitely taught the "proper way" to court a girl by his grandfather, so he holds doors open for you and pulls out your chair and brings you flowers and stuff and its just so sweet of him idk. he might hesitate a bit for pda stuff, but once you give him the okay, he is constantly holding your hand or wrapping an arm around you!! maybe even asking for a kiss!! (side note: i think yuji gets all pouty when you forget to give him a goodbye kiss later in the relationship)

yes!! yuji would ABSOLUTELY be doing anything and everything for you as soon as he notices any symptoms or side effects. he's also the type to track your period on his phone lol just so he can prepare and give you some chocolate or whatever else might help! he is just like. the nicest and most caring boyfriend ever <3333

OOOH i love love love both of those for first time ughhh!! i have a fic i've been meaning to work on more but i'm just a little too fried to write much of anything, anyway its a dry humping fic with yuji because i just know he loves the feeling of it ! he can't even get embarrassed from cumming in his pants because it feels so good and he likes how dirty it is (he's a bit of a perv :3). BUT i also love the idea that he just can't help himself and he's so wrapped up in the moment that he doesn't even notice that his knee is pressing against your core... like he's licking into your mouth and grinding against you and you have to pull away because holy shit this feels great and you want more!! and it's kinda rushed and messy, barely taking clothes off but you both need each other so bad!!! (he makes up for it by taking his time with you for round 2 lol)

oh what i would GIVE to suck his dick... yuji is 100% super vocal in my opinion, like he cannot be quiet, which is why his mouth is always on you when he's fucking you! he's always kissing or biting or talking, so when you're sucking him off, he is left to just talk and make so much noise. whining and praising you because it feels so good to have your mouth wrapped around him <3 like imagine sitting between his strong thighs, looking up at him, and his eyes are half lidded, mouth open as he breaths heavily, tongue darting out to lick at his lips, muscles flexing as he tries not to force your head further down or buck his hips up.... ugh he's so hot...

i'd love to write more headcanons and other things for yuji!! its just a matter of me getting inspired or having the energy right now. work has been super draining for me so its been a little difficult to get my brain working lol but im hoping it'll pass in a few weeks

thank you for sharing these with me!!! i love hearing other people's thoughts and headcanons like its just so fun to see what's similar and whatnot :3

[sageistrii]

So like I said if nothing has changed with Jimin's next album, then I'll have to accept that certain members which includes him are happy with where they are and with one member being favoured. And if that's the case then I don't see why I should be be bothered about something he isn't bothered about.

I think one thing we have to remember now more that ever is that whether Jimin (or any of the others) is bothered or not by these things or has even tried to address them, there is likely very little he could do about it. Regardless of whatever influence or power people expect the members to have within the company, we are now very clear on the extent HYBE can go to to attack a person if they don’t do as asked.

While we have to accept that the truth of this situation lies somewhere between Min Heejin’s and Hybe’s statements, I do think that Min Heejin gave us a LOT of info about the dynamics at Hybe. All of this is happening to her because of a history of disagreements (whether justified or not). She didn’t act the way they wanted her to, she complained about unfair requests of theirs and they wanted to put her in her place. This was just the moment for them to find actual ammunition against her because she decided to poke around and mess with ILLIT (and bruise Bang PD’s ego).

So if they can do this much damage to a top executive/creative who spearheads one of the company’s most successful groups because of disagreements (and big egos), why would they not do this to one of their idols? Again, I do not think that BTS members have even a fraction of the influence everyone expects them to have within that company which, just like this Min Heejin situation, sets a very concerning precedent.

You're right and that is exactly my point. If the members themselves can't make a change probably because they don't feel too strongly enough about it to make that change then why should I care?. If Jimin and the others feel like their situation was unbearable then they would cry out right? Or at least push hybe to give them something better. But while their current situation might not be the best, they seem to not care enough to change it so why should I be worried on Jimin's behalf?

The support will always be there, but like i said I will not be advocating for anything if we have a repeat of face era. I will enjoy the music and ignore every other thing. No essays, no screaming at hybe, nothing. There's a lot of mental and emotional energy being invested into doing these things and running a blog like this. During face and especially set me free pt2's release I was at the forefront telling everyone it's going to be ok and Jimin's debut will be one for the books, regardless of how weird things seemed at the time, and it was but I was actually affected by the whole thing. I always felt anxious and I couldn't eat (I'm not joking), because it seemed like as much as I tried to remain optimistic everything seemed to be going wrong at every turn. Sorry but I don't ever want to go through that again. I will just have to accept everything as is... for now at least, because I know if Jimin doesn't get what he deserves this year he would still get it eventually, his solo career isn't coming to an end and he is destined to be known as more than just "Jimin from BTS".

But this time, I don't think I have it in me to be as emotionally invested as I was with face. I will be here but I don't know how many more "Hybe hates Jimin" and "he's being sabotaged" posts I have left in me.

But regardless of hybe not doing their job,he is still going to do extremely well, that's for sure. But the thing is face also did well, that didn't stop the chaos.

[strangerthingslover69]

Popsicle

just some povs of how Walking Dead characters would react to you sucking on a popsicle 👅

Daryl:

Set during prison era.

The sun is hot today and shining beautifully. You find a stash of ice lollies in the kitchen freezers and hand them out to everyone. Everyone enjoys the sweet fruity taste. You plonk yourself on the bench sitting next to Carol opposite Daryl. You start to lick the fruity treat from the bottom to the top. Making mmm sounds as you taste it. A bit trickles down your chin onto your neck leading down to your cleavage, you fail to notice. But Daryl definitely does notice. You don’t feel his eyes on you but they are focused solely on what your mouth is doing to the ice lolly as now you have taken to sucking it, hell sucking the whole thing. Daryl can feel his trousers getting tight as he grows hard imagining you sucking his dick and moaning around it. He imagines how you would hallow your cheeks to take more of his dick in your mouth. How you would tease him. How he would struggle not to blow of load into your mouth straight away. How his fingers would intwine in your hair moving you back and forth, making you take all of him in at once. His piercing blue eyes stuck on you as you finish the lolly. You sigh happily as you lick the finally juices off your fingers. Looking up and seeing Daryl looking at you a way you’ve never seen before, his cheeks quickly turn a shade of pink not from the sun. He quickly looks away and leaves the table, walking away awkwardly and fast. Your eyes follow him confused. You turn to Carol whose just smirking to herself and gently chuckling. ‘What?’ You ask feeling confused. She turns to you? ‘Y/N did you not realise what you just did to the man?’ You shake your head. ‘Well let’s just say if I was a man and saw you eating the popsicle like that. I would of wanted to be the dang thing.’ She says wriggling her eyebrows in a suggestive way. Daryl didn’t even eat his. It was now a puddle on the table.

Eugene/Abraham:

Set during Alexandria era before savouries.

Yourself, Eugene, Abraham and Rosita share a lovely house in Alexandria. You’ve all settled in nicely and just finished a lovely home cooked meal made by yours truly. For desert you have managed to found some popsicles, Rosita didn’t want one she had not long come back from a day of hunting and was exhausted so decided to go to bed. You pass one to Abe and Eugene as you sit down on the sofa in between the pair. As you suck on the refreshing treat you start to talk about your day and what you had done. Not realising the men both watching your mouth very closely. Yes Rosita was Abraham’s girlfriend however he could not help but watch your lips around the ice treat. He noticed it made you get goosebumps all over your skin causing your nipples to get hard under your tank top, braless as usual. ‘Right well it’s getting late. I’m gonna head up to bed.’ Abraham left before either of you could reply. You turn to Eugene, ‘Wonder why he left so quickly. He didn’t even have his ice pop’ you say as you lean over the sofa to reach it causing your skirt to lift up and expose your knickers to Eugene. ‘Oh well. More for us’ you say turning to him with a smile. You notice Eugene is looking a bit hot and red in the face. You lean closer and being your hand to his forehead, he visibly gulps as he feels your gentle touch. As you open your mouth to talk a noise from upstairs stops you. You move back and smile awkwardly. ‘Well I guess why we know he went upstairs’ you say laughing as you hear Rosita’s moans above. Eugene was getting even harder now. The noises from above did not help, your lips sucking the treat, your hard nipples he also noticed, the exposed panties he saw. He was gonna explode. ‘You okay?’ You ask Eugene as you start to suck Abraham’s ice pop. ‘In all honest Y/N I also need to go. This situation is too much for me. Thank you for the ice popsicle but I will have to decline it.’ He stands up as your eyes flicker, you notice his hands covering the front of his shorts. You make a O shape with your mouth as you realise. ‘Don’t feel uncomfortable Eugene. It’s normal, especially since she’s so fricken loud and beautiful.’ You say with a reassuring smile as you stand. ‘You have miscalculated the situation in hand. Well in my hand to be exact. As you are correct about Rosita. She did not do this to me.’ Eugene says matter of factly. Just like Abraham he’s gone quicken before you can reply. You stood there confused by this whole evening so you decided to go after Eugene and ask what the hell he was talking about. You marched up towards his room and was about to knock on the door when you heard an unfamiliar sound. You pressed you ear to the door. ‘Y/N’ you heard Eugene moan your name. You heard fast movements along with moaning and groaning. Fuck. He was wanking. To you. Not Rosita. You couldn’t help get turned on by the sounds from Eugenes room. You left quietly and quickly to your room, as you walked towards your bedroom door the bathroom door opened and a topless Abraham stood in front of you. He gave you a quick wink before returning to his shared room.

Would you like to see me do this for any other characters? x