#kieran culkin characters

[strang3lov3]

Sunscreen

“Because,” Roman says, maneuvering you around, “I will fucking kill you if you burn. So c’mere, because I don’t wanna deal with the hassle of murdering you…” He rubs the lotion on your shoulders and chest, massaging your skin as he works his way down your arms. “Disposing of your body…all that fuckin’ bullshit.”

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, one shot, smut, unprotected piv, oral sex (f!receiving), you have to guess what daddy draws on your pussy with his tongue or you don't get to cum, edging, orgasm denial, cum eating, stupidly sweet, baby reader/romey flashbacks, romey is sooo dad and so protective, pool day turned stormy and cozy, sunscreen shenanigans, shut up and don't look at me. A/N - listen, kittens. I know I’ve been long teasing the noncon. The shit hitting the fan. But some of you want some domestic and silly moments between stepdaddy and reader, and…well. Mommy’s fucking heartbroken over Joel’s death in tlou. As you’ve probably seen. So I hope it’s not an issue that I wanted to write and give you this fuckin sweet and stupid and sexy one off.

You smile when you dip your toe into the water. Warmth. It’s probably 90°F, thanks to Roman turning on the pool heater a few days ago. You set down your colorfully-striped towel on a lounge chair and walk on the hot concrete of the patio, humming at the warmth of the sunlight on your shoulders and the blooming flowers and succulents planted along the edges. 

You sit at the edge of the pool, on this sort of diving board made of stone, with your feet dangling into the water. You lightly kick, watching the water droplets splash and land, those pretty concentric circles expanding outward. 

The glass patio door slides open, and out comes Roman in a teal t-shirt and pink swim shorts, a bottle of sunscreen in hand with his sunglasses on. He pulls off his shirt and joins you at the edge of the pool, squirting a bit of the lotion into his hand to rub on your back. You whine his name as you wiggle, but Roman holds you. “Nuh-uh, sit still.”

“Why?” you complain. 

“Because,” Roman says, maneuvering you around, “I will fucking kill you if you burn. So c’mere, because I don’t wanna deal with the hassle of murdering you…” He rubs the lotion on your shoulders and chest, massaging your skin as he works his way down your arms. “Disposing of your body…all that fuckin’ bullshit.”

You giggle at that. It’s a quiet, intimate moment, just being taken care of by Roman. It almost makes you bashful. He’s seen every inch of your body and tasted your orgasms, but the way he paints sunscreen on your cheeks and forehead makes you feel so, so tender, so suddenly and absurdly precious - like something to be handled with care, and not just devoured. Roman used to eat you. Roman’s  choosing to protect from something as mundane as sunburn. 

You really like that. Being protected by him. 

Roman does himself next, then spins around so you can get his back. You slide your palms over the vast expanse of his skin, rubbing in the lotion, taking in every little detail on him. The way his hair climbs up the back of his neck, the random freckles and moles. Still too intimate. Before rubbing the lotion into his skin the rest of the way, you use your fingertip to draw a dick, snickering the whole time. 

Roman rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s - that’s really nice, sweetheart. Asshole.”

“I think I’m funny,” you reply, erasing your drawing. 

“Uh-huh, I’ll show you something funny.” Roman looks over his shoulder, waiting for you to finish. When you’re done and wiping the excess sunscreen off your hands onto your thighs, Roman spins around and wraps his arms beneath your knees and around your back. He grunts loudly as he stands up, smiling so big at the panic in your eyes. 

“Roman, wait - Roman–”

“Nope. Bye!” 

Roman throws you off the edge, listening to you scream and watching you splash in the water below. When you come up for air, you flip him off, an indignant little pout on your lips. He laughs at that, then cannonballs in, splashing water all over you, which doesn’t matter much when you’re already soaked. 

You spend some time swimming, not doing much talking with Roman. He does the same, and you watch his elegant body move and glide under the water, little droplets rolling down his sharp jaw when he comes up. You like his hair all slicked back and wet like this, and how bright his eyes are in the sun. He walks up the steps of the pool, grabbing two inflatable loungers. He tosses them in the water - a pink one for you, and an orange one for himself. 

On your stomach, you lie on your lounger. Roman lies on his, on his back. He holds a hand back and above his head, wiggling his fingers for you to take hold of them. You do, holding his warm, pruned hand as you just…float. The scent of the chlorine and the Hawaiian tropic sunscreen, the plastic of the pool floaties and the lycra from your bikini. There are some birds chirping in a nest they made in Roman’s gutters.

Roman likes this. Likes the water. He always did, but you - not so much. It took you some time. 

He had the pool installed when you were maybe fourteen or fifteen, somewhere around there. Roman noticed you’d kind of just wade in the shallow end on the rare occasion that you’d actually get in the pool, never going further than that or jumping off the rock into the deep end. 

“Hey, loser. What’s the deal, you scared of swimming or something?” he’d asked one day, finally. 

You shrugged in the water. “I don’t know how,” you mumbled. 

“You don’t know how?” Roman asked. “Really?”

Nope. Your mom never signed you up for lessons when you were little, which Roman thought was unacceptable. “I mean, fuck. I’ll teach you,” he offered. “Or I could, if you want. It’ll be super easy, so c’mon. And then we can play Marco Polo or some shit like that, right?” 

You shook your head and tucked your knees against your chest, waiting for him to leave you alone. “I really don’t want to.” 

“Well, you kinda have to,” Roman replied, mocking your mumbly tone. He was like that too, at that age. All curled up in himself and insecure and crabby. He grabbed your hands under the water and tugged you toward the deeper water. 

“Noooo.”

“Yeeesss,” Roman teased. “You, sweet child of mine, can learn the easy way, or you can learn the hard way.” 

“Which is which?”

“Mmm, well - easy way, you come with me and quit fuckin’ pouting, because it’s a beautiful day and we’re having fun and I love you. Hard way, I throw you into the deep end.” You planted your feet firmly on the floor of the pool, and pulled your hand from Roman’s grip. “Welp, hard way it is. It was nice knowin’ ya, kid.” 

You squealed and yelled at Roman to put you down, begging for the easy way. He wasn’t actually gonna throw you in the water, either. His own dad did that to him before he could swim and it traumatized poor Roman. 

Roman brought you to the middle of the pool, holding you close as he taught you to swim from one side of the pool to the other. He taught you to kick, to tread water, to hold your breath. He helped you float on your back, his fingers guiding you beneath your spine. 

Roman couldn’t keep you out of the pool after that day. He had the water heater installed special just for you, so he could keep his pool open a little longer in the fall. 

You’re thinking about Roman as you hold his hand, watching him bask in the sun. What a special day this is, and how it makes you feel like a kid again. All those days just like this one, you’re lucky to have another. Sometimes you wish you didn’t grow up. Or, since you had to - because everyone has to - that you could have had a redo, where it was only you and Roman. Nobody else.

Roman slides off of his lounger and swims to the end of the pool. He steps out and towels off quickly, stopping inside and returning ten minutes later with some sandwiches and snacks, fruit and whatnot. You hang out by the edge of the pool, eating and chatting with Roman as his legs dangle in the water. He peels a clementine for you and passes you the slices. 

He’s so, so fucking beautiful. The sun makes his cheeks rosy, makes his freckles pop. You love how his hair blows in the gentle breeze, tickling the tops of his ears. He scrunches his face when a butterfly lands on his perfect nose, watching its colorful wings move. “These fuckin’ things are kinda creepy, huh?” 

“How so?” 

“Mm,” he hums. “‘Cause they like, grab you.” Roman reaches for your wrist, gently pinching, mimicking the tickly little legs. “Like that.” He sniffles then, one eye shut as he wiggles his mouth and nose.

“You can’t touch it,” you remind him. “The–”

“The oils on my fingers, I know. Oh, Iiiii fuckin’ know,” Roman murmurs, waiting patiently for it to fly away. “Wouldn’t wanna fuck with the poor guy. I’m sure he’s got flowers to pollinate and whatever.”

“Yeah,” you answer. You were the one who taught him that in the first place, about the oils on his hands being harmful to butterflies. God, all those years ago. Maybe when he taught you to swim. 

Roman tilts his head back, looking at the sun. He turns his face quickly and sneezes loudly, scaring the butterfly off. 

“You’re such a dick, Roman.” 

“What?” he blinks. “Not my fault I had to sneeze. What, am I supposed to not sneeze?” 

“Correct.” 

Some time later, Roman’s cleaned up and he’s back in the pool, lounging with you. You’re napping together, pinkies interlocked as your floatie bounces against his. It’s peaceful and warm and perfect until it’s not, until the sky goes gray, and then even darker than that. A gust of wind wakes Roman up first, and he notices things are about to get a little ugly. 

“Hey, you. Wake the fuck up.” He flicks your thigh, rousing you from your nap. “Wakey, c’mon. We should get out of the pool. I don’t want you in the water when it gets nasty.” 

Roman gets off of his inflatable and pushes yours to the end of the pool, which tickles you. He gives you so much shit for never doing anything yourself, but when he’s around he does it all for you. He takes your hand and helps you out of the pool, wrapping one of his fancy, oversized towels around your shoulders. He puts the inflatables away, then sits down on a cushioned, swiveling chair that also rocks. 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, staring at Roman’s feet while you contemplate something. Whatever. He’s done worse to you, in his bed and in yours and on the kitchen table and in the shower. So you just go for it, and sit on his lap.

The corner of Roman’s lip curls up in a crooked grin. “Oh yeah? Is that how it is?”

“Mmmhmno.”

“Nope. Tell me, honey, what’s, uh–what’s all this about?” Roman smiles, gesturing to you on his lap. 

“Uhhmmm…I just fell.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Roman tugs you closer against him, wrapping his arms around you. One around your shoulder, the other draped across your hip with his hand resting on your ass. “Quite the spill ya took there. Yeah, you totally ate shit. God, look at you, with your broken nose, broken arm, dislocated…whatever the fuck. Shoulder” Roman inhales sharply, then clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “What am I gonna do with you?” He marks each syllable of the question with a squeeze on your hip. 

He looks up at you, then pushes some of your hair out of your face and behind your ear. Roman likes the way that makes you all bashful and embarrassed, how you bury your face into the cushion of his chair because you can’t look at him. He’s soft, but you are too. 

An obnoxious alert on his phone startles you both. Roman checks it and furrows his eyebrows. “Well, shit.”

“What, Rome?”

“We’re under a warning,” Roman mumbles, opening up his weather app. It takes a second for the radar to load, and then he looks at the ugly mass of red and yellow and orange on the map. “That’s not fuckin’ good. Oh well.” 

You shrug and look ahead at the approaching front. All those swirling, dark clouds. The air tinted yellow. On Roman’s lap, you watch the storm roll in, the rain dotting the pool and darkening the concrete patio. There’s a dull but changing roar of the wind, and it makes the water ripple and blows Roman’s hair back and away from his forehead. His eyes are looking closer to the color of the sky, which is something. You’ve never seen someone with eyes like his. 

Roman’s looking at you too, you know. You two are good at that, at stealing glances from each other without the other noticing, your own silly dance. Roman sees a flicker of concern on your face when lightning lights up a cloud and thunder crackles loudly. 

You used to be scared of storms. Maybe you still are, a little. Which is okay. You used to be worse, more afraid - and it wasn’t bad, and it wasn’t your fault. You were maybe twelve at the oldest, and all alone at some park your mom dropped you off at. No other kids were playing there. A horrible storm rolled in and you were all alone in this big, empty playground. There was a bathroom nearby you tried to hide in, but the women’s bathroom was dirty and filled with bugs and spiders and the men’s was locked. You ended up hiding in some cubby at the playground instead, crying as you waited out the rain all by yourself. 

Roman wasn’t around for that one. He didn’t even know. He would have picked you up if you had a phone and called him, or if your mom sent him to. But that’s not what happened, no. He came home from work and you were all damp and sniffling in your room upstairs, while downstairs your mom told Roman how dramatic you were. Something about how when she was a kid she loved playing in the rain, or some bullshit like that. And maybe it was true - but she wasn’t alone and scared at a park. It’s a lot different to play in the rain in your backyard than to be stuck in a storm out in the middle of nowhere. 

He was so fucking angry for you, and he was sad when it’d storm at any point after that because you were that fucking terrified. Inconsolable. Some dark clouds would roll in and you’d fixate on them with laser focus, brows knit in worry with a pout on your little face like those clouds were out to get you. And of course Roman understood why, but it still made him sad. Made him want to fix it. 

So he did. 

It was storming - about to storm, actually. You were standing in front of the glass, chewing on your lip as you wished so very hard those terrible clouds would go the other way. Roman unlocked the patio door you were standing in front of and slid it open. “You can’t open that,” you’d told him immediately, panicked. “It’s about to storm.” 

“Oh, is it?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Hm. Well,” Roman said, “It’s my door, and I’ll open it when I want. Punk.” 

Roman put his hand flat on the middle of your back and gently, firmly pushed you out onto the patio, ignoring your whines and your arguing. You really did squirm, too. So fucking freaked as Roman forced you into the same thing that traumatized you before. “You cant - it’s gonna rain,” you cried. “It’s - I already see the thunder. Roman, I need to go inside, let me inside.” 

“You hear thunder, genius. You see lightning.” 

The joke didn’t land, of course. “I want to go inside, Roman. Please.” 

Holy fuck, that tremble in your voice punched him in the gut, and it broke Roman’s heart to ignore you. He held the door shut despite the way you clawed at the glass, leaving your little handprints all over it. When the rain began to pour, you started to sob and buried yourself into his chest, making horrible, panicked noises that wrecked him as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. 

“Hey, hey. Look, sweetheart. Don’t - quit…oh, shit,” he’d murmured to you. “Go on and look. Look.” Roman said your name and wrestled you with an awkward, one-handed maneuver to pull you away from his body and spin you around. You backed up against him, anxiously watching the storm. It was a bad one, too. The rain came down in thick, slanted sheets. Wind howled, sirens blared. Hail pinged off the patio furniture with those sharp, hollow clinks. He held you and the door simultaneously, and it took a good seven minutes or so for you to realize the storm couldn’t hurt you, and that Roman was there and everything was okay. Your clothes were dry.

“See?” Roman said. “It’s not scary, honey, it’s just some fuckin’ rain - I mean - it’s rain. Just rain,” he corrected, then cleared his throat. “I didn’t say the F word.” 

“Uh, yes you did, Roman,” you argued immediately.

Smartass fucking kid. “Yeah? What F word did I say?” Roman asked, poking you in the side. 

You giggled, then whispered, “Fuck.” 

“Ha, see? You said the F word. Who’s in trouble now?”

“You are!”  

“Nuh uh, not me,” Roman said. “You’re not even supposed to know that word. Who’d you learn that shit from, huh?”

You shrugged, “You.” 

Roman stared down at you, stunned into silence for a beat, then sighed helplessly and kissed the top of your head. “Uh huh, alright,” he conceded. “Maybe.”

It gets bad quickly. Roman pats your thigh twice, “C’mon, inside,” he says. You slide off of his lap and open the door, with Roman following closely behind you. You sit down with him on the living room floor, right in front of a large window to continue watching the storm. It’s neat how different it sounds in here, the pounding of the rain. Roman turns on the TV to check the weather and god, when’s the last time he did that, used cable? 

There’s some more lightning, followed by more thunder. Roman looks up and raises his eyebrows when the lights flicker once, then twice, before going out entirely with a quiet, dying, electronic whirr. 

There’s a beat. It should turn back on. Roman has a backup generator for a reason, after all. 

…but it never does. “Roman.”

“What-an?”

You roll your eyes. “You never got the generator fixed?”

“I never got the generator fixed,” Roman mocks in a stupid voice, sitting down next to you on the carpet. “Yeah, whatever. Fuck me, I fuckin’ forgot…dammit. Go upstairs and find your fuckin’ candles that you’re not supposed to have.” 

You giggle as you go off in search of those Bath & Body Works candles. Roman banned you - “banned you” - from burning candles forever ago, because for the life of you, you cannot fucking remember to blow them out. All the time, Roman’s walking past your dark bedroom, hearing your snores but seeing a warm, flickering glow. Sleeping with a lit fucking candle, you dumbass. 

He kinda likes it, though. When he tiptoes into your room to blow it out, he gets to kiss you on your forehead. Sometimes you make an angry face and flip over, but sometimes you sigh so sweetly, like you love him or something. He hopes.  

Back downstairs, you light the candles. Orange dreamsicle and raspberry sorbet and cupcake and mango something or other. It’s quite the combination of scents, Roman thinks, and if he’s lucky his nose will fall off by the time the power turns back on. 

And you watch the sheets of rain with him, the lightning and the hail, still wrapped up in your towel. You rest your head on his shoulder and hold his hand, his skin all dried out by the chlorine. Roman rubs his thumb over yours, not even realizing he’s doing it. 

The rain doesn’t last forever. The strongest storms seem to burn out the quickest, and all that’s left is a quiet, gentle pitter-pattering against the window, but the power’s still off. Roman uses his phone to check when it’ll be back on - the repair is not estimated until around 3:00am. It’s getting darker now, and you’re both getting a little bored. 

“Mm. Hey, you.” Roman nudges your shoulder. “Hungry? Wanna go out?”

You hum, rocking as you think. “Mmm…no. I’m not hungry yet.”

“Yeah, me neither.” 

You hate the loss of contact that comes with Roman leaving you, but you like the way his back cracks and how he groans. He’ll never admit that he’s too old to be sitting on the floor like that. 

He opens a cabinet under the TV where some board games live, and he passes them to you one at a time. There’s no guarantee that they even have all the pieces, though. Sorry! and Cards Against Humanity and Telestrations. Jenga. Twister. 

“Twister,” you giggle, tapping at the box. Roman looks behind at you and wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Oh, sure. You know me, always down to try out some new positions,” he winks, earning him a laugh from you. He goes back into the cabinet where he finds this large, old cardboard book, and he wipes off some dust. “Oh my god. No shit,” he laughs, turning through the pages. 

“Whatcha looking at, Rome?”

“Uhmmm. This is–” Roman flips the book back to the front, “Klutz’s Backseat Survival Kit,” he reads. “Oh man, I totally remember this from when I was a kid. It’s just like, I don’t know...” Roman flips through the pages, stopping at one filled with license plates from all fifty states, filled out by Roman. You scoot closer to him and try to imagine that, little Roman scribbling those numbers and letters down.

As he looks through the pages, there’s some truly bizarre images, but you like them. “What the fuck is that?” you ask, pointing to something. 

“I don’t know, it was the fuckin’ 90s,” Roman shrugs. “But yeah, the idea was that you’d play with this on a car ride where you have nothing else to do.” 

“Mm.” 

“Uh huh. Yeah, I didn’t grow up with a fuckin’ TV  in my car, unlike you. Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled.” 

“I mean, the little car TV I had didn’t work that well.” 

Roman gives you a look. “Spoiled.” 

Apart from silly little activities, there’s some games, too. Penny hoops - you flick a penny into a little cutout like you’re shooting free throws. There’s Parcheesi, but none of the pawns are there anymore. Roman flips to a new page, looks it over, and smiles. “Give me your hand.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Reading your palm,” he answers. “God, no wonder you’re so fuckin’  stunted, you never played with shit like this! You were never bored,” he explains, then whispers again, “Spoiled.”

Roman reads the instructions about palm reading, rubbing your hand to bring blood to the surface, just like the book says. He touches each fleshy mound of skin on your knuckles, reading your traits from the small text. “Hmm…yep, you’re terrible at sports. Oh, but you do have a decent memory. Yeah, fuckin’ great.” You laugh at that. “Sense of humor - no comment. Bad manners, absolutely. Raised by wolves, you were”

Roman flips to the next page, flattening out your palm before tracing the lines there. His touch is so light and tickles you, sends a shiver through your body that he smirks at. “Actually…” Roman looks at your hand a little closer, then looks back at the page. “I can’t really fuckin’ tell what kinda lines you have going on here.” 

“Oh.” 

“Whatever. My turn.” 

You switch, holding Roman’s hand in yours. Isn’t that something? You’ve held his hand before, sure. Usually when it’s above your head and he’s pounding into you. But holding it like this, feeling the weight of it and every little twitch, his knuckles and his veins…

“If I’m correct,” you begin, reading from the page. Roman smirks as he awaits his reading, whatever snarky bullshit you’re gonna spit at him. “Yeah, I think your palm says that you kinda - you kinda suck, Roman.” 

“Oh, hmm. Bummer, but I didn’t need a palm reading to tell me that,” he quips, taking his hand back. The next page is filled with more hand games - one called Morra, which isn’t super fun. Thumb war, you know that one. You play with Roman and cheat every time, and still manage to lose. 

“Did you ever do this one?” you ask, pointing to the “crack an egg” game. You follow the directions and clap your hands over his head, then drag your fingers down his head and the back of his neck. It makes him shiver and groan; he fucking hates it. You laugh. 

“Ooh, okay. We’re doing this one. Open your hand.” Roman takes your hand and lays it flat, then puts his pointer finger right on the center of your palm. He closes your fingers around his, “Now squeeze,” he tells you. “Tight as you can. And I’m gonna count to sixty.” 

You clutch his finger tightly and he begins counting, but it starts to feel strange about twenty seconds in. “Are you even squeezing?”

“Yes!” you laugh, gripping tighter. 

“No, you’re not. C’mon, this is fucking pathetic.” 

You shake your head, giggling. “This is so uncomfortable. It feels like - like, I don’t know, weird in my wrist.”

“I don’t care, squeeze me. Like when I fuck you, huh?”

Bashful fucking girl. You smile so shy when he says that to you, and Roman just finds that interesting and so goddamn cute. 

“Okay, now open your hand just - just a little, slow. Go slow,” Roman says, wiggling his finger out. Your hand is stuck in this gripping position, muscles all tight. Roman tickles the inside of your palm and your fingers, and your fingers spread out on their own accord, and it’s such a uniquely weird and sort of horrible paralyzing sensation. 

“What the fuck,” you laugh, making a face of discomfort. “Oh, that’s so fucking weird.” 

“Right?” 

You share a smile with him, admiring his face in the low light. The beautiful glow of warm flames highlight his cheekbones and his perfect nose. “I have an idea,” you whisper. 

“Oh, great. I love when you have those.” 

You sit behind Roman, still in his bathing suit. You’re in yours too. You run your fingers down his bare back, leaving goosebumps on his skin. “Mm, sure. I could take a back massage.” 

“Nope.” You think about it for a second, something to draw. Something for him to guess. “Okay,” you say, then trace your finger on Roman’s back. A couple of zig zagging shapes is all Roman can feel. “Alright, done. What’d I draw?”

“Oooohh, okay. You drew…” Roman trails off as he thinks, and you laugh at how stumped he is. “Oh, fuck you. Do it again.” 

You draw the shape again, and Roman still can’t guess. “Lightning bolt,” you answer. 

“Ohh, topical. Nice. Daddy’s turn,” Roman says, turning you around. He’s such an asshole when he pulls the strings of your bikini, allowing the garment to drop into your lap. 

“Hey,” you mumble. 

“Hey,” Roman mocks, already drawing his picture - a smiley face, which you guess correctly. He writes words next, which you struggle with. He writes them over and over, then spells his favorite three words to sneak in. 

“That was a long one.” 

“Mhm.” 

“What was it?” 

“You tell me,” Roman says, and for a second his heart pounds. But the moment passes, and you still don’t guess them. 

“I don’t know,” you smile. 

“Well, too bad. Guess you’ll never know.”

Fucking dick. You’ll be a dick, too. You trade Roman spots and write something on his back, in nice, big, capital letters. 

Roman rolls his eyes as you spell it out. “A - N - Uh huh. Charming, sweetheart, as alw–yep, there’s the next A - aaand, there it is, L. Well, that’s very nice, honey. I’m glad one of us thinks you’re funny.” 

“I do think I’m funny,” you grin, running your hands down the expanse of Roman’s back, admiring his little freckles and moles and birthmarks in the warm candlelight. You feel brave enough to keep your hands there on his waist, and bring yourself closer to him. You kiss his shoulders and the back of his neck, and he still smells faintly of chlorine and sunscreen. 

“Ohhkay. Alright, you - fuck.” Roman sighs, melting under your touch a little - he loves the way your breasts brush against his skin. Before you can go much further he turns around and gently pushes down on the floor, back in control with a better idea in his head. 

Roman pulls the strings on either side of your bikini, and oh, how he likes that. Untying you like a gift. He tosses the bikini aside and settles between your thighs, spreading them wide. 

“What’re you doing, Rome?”

Roman kisses your inner thighs, beard tickling your skin. “Same game,” he answers. “Guess.” 

He kisses your cunt, and you’re already wet for him. Of course you are, you sensitive thing. A little of Roman’s touching gets you so bothered, often before you even realize what’s happening. 

R O M A N  is what he writes, drawing each letter over your cunt so slowly and deliberately. He’s generous enough to repeat it a few times, but he does just simply like the way this particular way of using his tongue on you makes you moan. It’s quite the edge, isn’t it? It’s not enough repeated motion to make you cum, but each letter on its own feels so lovely. 

“Roman,” you moan, sliding your fingers through his soft hair. “Roman, oh my god. Roman.”

Roman looks up, lips shiny. “Are you just moaning or is that your answer?” 

“...That’s my answer.” 

“Oh, bullshit, you didn’t fuckin’ know. Lucky guess, though.” Roman thinks for a second about what to draw next, then he smirks. “Try this one.” 

He uses his tongue to draw an oval around your slit, then two round-ish figures each on either side of your cunt. You moan and pull his hair as he draws one, then two spiral shapes. You wish he’d do those spirals forever and ever, fuck.

Roman finishes the drawing by pressing a kiss against your pussy, “Done,” he tells you. “Better figure it out or you don’t get to cum.” 

“What?” you ask, breathless.

“Yep, we’re raising the stakes, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck, Rome - that’s - it’s a…it’s a flower, right?”

Roman wipes his mouth on your inner thigh before speaking. “Ooh, so close, sweetheart. You’re getting warmer, but nope. Not a flower.”

“Fuck you, Roman, you’re lying. Yes it fucking is,” you argue. “That’s - I know you drew a flower. Make me cum.”

Roman smirks at your frustration. You tease easy, you know. No tolerance for it. He thinks you should grow some thicker skin, honestly. 

“I really didn’t,” he says softly, resting against your thigh. “What makes you think I drew a flower?”

“Because you - you…d-did the–”

“D-did the…the what, sweetheart? Petals?”

“Yeah. Petals.” 

Roman pouts mockingly. “Yeah, no. They weren’t petals, baby. Really good guess, though, honey. Fuck.” He clicks his tongue, still tasting you in his mouth. “Damn, that sucks. I really wanted to make you cum, too. God, honestly, this is harder for me than it is f–”  

“Shut the fuck up and draw it again.”

Roman smiles and dives back in, wrapping his arms around your thighs. He draws those same things - the oval, the round-ish figures, the two spiral shapes. “Done,” he mumbles, swirling his tongue around and around, just to fuck with you. Is it a little hard to concentrate, maybe, with his nose buried there? Roman licks you from bottom to top, then laps at your clit, holding your hips firmly in his hands.

“Rome, you - fuck, I don’t…”

“Still not figuring it out, huh?” he teases. “Better figure it out quick, kid ‘cause time’s running out. I got a hard, leaky cock and I’m getting very pent up over here, you know. Last chance.” 

“Pent up,” you echo, voice all breathless and angry. “Fuck you, Rom–” 

Roman does it one more time, that specific pattern. And you still don’t fucking get it. “I don’t know,” you whine. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah? Is that your final answer, hm? ‘You don’t know, fuck’ ?” he mocks.

“Fuck you.” 

“Mhm. Fuck me,” Roman says, moving up your body. He tugs his swim shorts down and pulls out his cock, then fits the head inside your entrance. He fills you in one quick, thorough thrust, bottoming out. “It was a butterfly,” Roman grunts. “Dummy. I drew it three times.” 

He fucks you nice and slow, building up to a quicker pace. He knows just how to move his hips to brush the tip of his cock against your g-spot, just to tease you. Roman knows you need more than that. 

You kiss him as he fucks you, wrapping your legs around his waist, holding him close. It’s nice to smell the day you shared with him, to still be able to taste the fruit he ate and smell the sun on his body. And his skin against your skin, so warm and soft. That’s one of your favorite parts about this whole thing, whatever the fuck it is. Just feeling him. Feeling all of him. 

When you try to touch your clit to get yourself off, Roman pulls your hand away and pins your wrists above your head. “Nnnope,” he smiles, rolling his hips into yours. “You didn’t win the game.” 

“Rome, c’mon. Please–”

He remains steadfast in fucking you, building quickly to his orgasm. You want to cry when you feel that telltale swelling of his cock, his thrusts turning a little sloppy. “Rome, please. Roman–”

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, spilling into you and fucking his spend deeper into your cunt, until his breathing starts to even and his dick begins to soften. When he pulls out of you, he gets a glimpse at your face and dear god, if looks could fucking kill Roman Roy would be a dead man. “What?” he asks, out of breath. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Ouch. You a sore loser, maybe?” Roman asks, sliding back between your legs. “Yeah. I think you are a ore–” Roman kisses one of your thighs, “fucking–” then the other, “loser,” he finishes, pressing his lips against your cunt. 

No drawings this time, no writing words over and over - though he does move his tongue in new ways using what he learned from his little game. Roman nips at your skin a little, licks the shared mess that drips between your thighs. 

He rounds your clit a few times, or rather, draws those swirls you loved so much. Roman’s licking you slower now, from the bottom of your cunt all the way to the very top. Just how you want it, right? 

He knows what you want too, is his fingers inside you, curling against that special place he teased with his cock. Roman slides two fingers into your soaked pussy, then curls them repeatedly as he eats you. And you rock your hips against his face, chasing sweet fucking release while you hold his head against your cunt. You tug at his hair, looping the strands around your fingers so tightly it starts to hurt him. 

And it finally happens, thank god. You cum so fucking hard on his tongue, and Roman finger fucks you through the whole thing, until your legs shake a little too hard and you’re pushing him back, shivering and twitching. 

Roman kisses up your body, then sits you up. “See? You are so fucking spoiled,” he says dramatically. “And I can only blame myself. Oh, how I’ve failed you.” 

Idiot. What a fucking idiot, who’s now having you help him bring the candles upstairs into his bathroom. Who’s got you in his bathtub next, and is washing the sunscreen off of your back.  

-

my writing buddy :) he makes the process take a long time. blame him.

a reblog or an ask is always nice, so come say hi :) i missed you guys! nice and dirty thots would be kindly welcomed.

romey tags :)

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[sideysvault]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ Drunkenly observing the city horizon with Roman ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Pairing: Roman Roy x friend!reader

Summary: Drunken conversations are always held at balconies. 507wc

Warnings: Foul language

────────

The city always held some kind of adventurous and allusive energy, even at night. And especially when you had too many glasses of wine.

Roman and you had decided to stay in and have a drink on his apartment’s balcony. It was the only spot on the property that you actually liked, probably because it was the only place where the liveliness of the outside world couldn’t be tucked far away. The town’s imperfections seeped into the sterile environment of the apartment, and the beautiful night sky was usually accompanied by a nice, cold breeze.

Both of you were drunkenly laying on the fancy railing of the balcony. You’ve been observing the city horizon for some time now. The conversation had quieted down, and a comfortable silence lingered between the two of you.

You turned to your friend and inquired in a whisper “Do you believe in anything, Romey?”

The man snorted. Taken aback by the sudden earnestness in your voice. He felt way too dizzy for this.

“Oh, you know. Just the usual: Death, and tax evasion, and that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. After Marcia, of course.”

She smiled. All teeth.

“I see. You are drunk drunk”.

He whined. “Come on, you are such a fucking bitch. You know that?”

“And you are a sappy type of drunk. Good to know”.

“Baby, I can practically snort my body weight”

“Yeah. Maybe in your twenties you could”.

Laughter emerged from the duo. She loved to taunt him, on the other hand, he liked the way she would bump her shoulder with his when she did it. And she particularly enjoyed the way his cocky smile looked.

Laughter was always a constant when you shared a space together. It was nice. More than nice.

However, from time to time, you would also enjoy moments of serene stillness. This had become one of them. You slowly enjoyed a cigarette with him. Waves of wind drew your hair away from your face and towards the air, your dress was also lifted just the slightest up your ass. Roman thought you looked perfect. But then, he immediately noticed the increasingly reddening cheeks and nose. He knew that you were starting to feel a bit cold.

“Do you believe in anything?” Roman had his arms closed, and you could sense some solemness behind the humorous remark.

But a stupid smile appeared on your face as you turned to face him again. “Oh, that you look like a matador and anyone would die to fuck you”

The woman gave him a playful theatrical kiss on the cheek. As she always did.

“Yeah, yeah, quoting me. Very nice. Now, let’s get inside before I actually start being into you”

Roman took off his suit jacket and put it on your shoulders. You looked at him with nothing but softness. Then, he hugged by the side as he gently kissed your temple. He wasn’t as bad as people said. Your hand laid on his chest. And he did not let go of you even as you two stumbled back to the apartment.

────────

[cthaehart]

I miss my ugly fucking dog so much

[irlplasticlamb]

home from school.

prints + merch + dm for comm info

[dinner-partys]

these type of characters >>>>>>>>>>>>>

[f1nalgirlz]

Valentineseve | Jack Thurlow

[ This one is porn w/o plot so if you want fluff it is NOT here ]

˗ˏˋwarnings´ˎ˗ fem pronouns, fem anatomy, implied cheating, unprotected sex, sex with a stranger, Y/n is morally gray, Jack is basically an asshole lmao, slight age gap but it's only mentioned once i think?

˗ˏˋcontent´ˎ˗ car sex, creampie, Y/n is sad, Jack is married, a **LITTLE** angst because ofc there is

1 hour ago, Tuesday, February 13th

Y/n jammed her hands into her jacket pockets, a sigh leaving her lips as she cut down the Valentines aisle. She wasn't exactly looking forward to the holiday, and her mood was not helped by the many other visitors that were crowding the aisle, looking for the perfect gift for their lover. Y/n had nobody to shop for, and didn't intend to change that anytime soon. She only came here because she needed some chocolate to drown her sorrows.

As people filed out of the aisle, she worked her way further into it, chewing her lower lip as her eyes examined the tall shelf in front of her. The shelves were all stocked full, and Y/n had the pick of the litter. There was a wide variety from the different brands, but they all had the same effect on her, memories of her last relationship flooding her mind with bitter feelings. She had no intention of ever getting into a relationship again, but she liked chocolate too much to let an opportunity like this pass.

Y/n scanned over the many chocolates as her mood grew more somber. What did she really have to look forward to anymore? She let out another long sigh, and tried to focus on the task at hand. She scanned over the shelf again, and tried to pick one at random, but the variety was honestly overwhelming. Her sadness slowly faded away and was replaced with annoyance as the realization finally set in. She had no clue what to pick.

With a sigh, Y/N took a step back, hoping to get a better look at the contents on the top shelf, but she was met with something sturdy hitting her back. She quickly turned her head to look behind her, where she was met with icy blue eyes staring back at her. She'd just bumped into someone. Heat rose to her cheeks and her stomach twisted in embarrassment. "i'm so sorry." she said to the man.

The man she had bumped into was tall, his long messy brown hair framing his pale face. He was attractive, and seemed to be a few years older than her. He had a sharp look in his eyes, like he was trying to determine her state of mind. Yet, there wasn't any hint of anger on his face. His eyebrows relaxed and a small smile worked its way onto his lips. "it's fine, accidents happen." he said warmly. All remnants of embarrassment melted away and she smiled.

Present, Tuesday, February 13th

Y/n's chest heaved against the seats of the dark haired man's car, the man whose name she came to find out was Jack. Lewd sounds filled the car, the sound of skin slapping skin as well as the wet sounds coming from her cunt. A choked moan escaped her throat as Jack pounded into her, his hand gripping her hair. After a few more thrusts, a gasp slipped her lips at the feeling of his cock being pulled slowly out. She felt strong hands grasping her skin and moving her body, flipping her over. As her back hit the seats, she was staring up at Jack, whose blue eyes were trained on her red face. He looked more disheveled now, brown strands sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead. Without a word his hands were lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders, once they were firmly in place, he used his index finger to tug her wet panties to the side once again. He smirked down at her, wet doe eyes staring back up at him, before thrusting his cock back inside without warning, punching a moan out of her. A husky moan filled her ears.

She heard a few expletives escaping Jack's lips in mumbles as he started pumping in and out of her already soaked hole. Y/n's head tipped back, falling against the seat, her hair bunching up under her. She only glanced down when she felt hands gripping her hips, fingers digging into the soft skin of them as he hammered into her with fervor. Her eyes actively avoided the gold band that Jack sported on his left hand, instead choosing to focus on the way he was currently hitting every right spot inside her, sending chills down her spine. Lithe fingers found their way into Jacks messy hair, tugging slightly as he continued his eager thrusts, leaning forward to catch her lips in an aggressive kiss. Teeth nipped her lip before being soothed over by his tongue, it felt like he wanted to devour her whole, and she'd let him.

Jack pulled apart after a few moments, a string of spit connecting the two. Y/n's body felt hot, a familiar tug in her lower stomach as her cunt clenched uncontrollably around the taller man's throbbing length. She sucked in a shaky breath, eyes growing watery as she looked up at Jack hovering over her. "you gonna cum?" he asks, almost teasingly with a smirk, before a grunt leaves him. Y/n nodded quickly, head falling back against the seats once again, a guttural moan being forced out of her as Jack kept his pace, fingers finding her clit with ease. Tears pooled her eyes Jack pounded her cunt, using his left hand to abuse the sensitive bundle of nerves. She forced her eyes open, looking up at Jack through blurry eyes. "Gonna cum..." she choked out, hips rolling into his movements lasciviously, earning a chuckle from him.

"Yeah? Cum for me." he whispered into her ear with a smirk, that's what sent her over the edge. Y/n's body shook at the intensity of the orgasm, Jack never stopping his pace, letting her fully ride out her orgasm. A few low moans left him at the way her cunt pulsed around him. That's all it took to send him over the edge, one last sloppy thrust and he was releasing into her, teeth sinking into her collar bone making her roll her hips against him. He groaned, throwing his head back as his hips slowly came to a still. Y/n was still coming down from her high, chest heaving with each breath as she laid there with her eyes closed. Soon, she felt fingers pulling her panties back into the correct placement, opening her eyes she looked up at Jack who was already cleaning himself back up. Y/n took the hint and sat up. She began slipping her pants on and pulling her shirt back into place. "I have to go... but i'd really like to see you another time." Jack's voice pulled her from her autopilot. She nodded at him, allowing him to help her out of the car, stealing one last glance at the inside, not being able to stop the way her eyes caught the bag of Valentines gifts in his passenger seat.

Jack pecked her cheek one last time before climbing into the drivers side seat and starting the car. Y/n walked away, a sick feeling pooling in her stomach.

this is not proof read yet, it's probably ass but😰 i'm keeping my word and doing BOTH since that was the result of the poll.

i don't own the two dividers used creds to: @gigittamic

[greenxgloss]

First Date - Scott Bartlett

little unedited blurb, no warnings, Fluff ofc Word Count: 1.2k

Taglist: @nevvdrinksteaa @romanroyapoligist @wildathevrt @urmomsucksfrogs @hxllhxund @xxbl00d-cl0txx @junkshopblog @teamokirkhammett @kappasbbgirl @blackdollette @p1nkprincess444 @iheartblueberries @hisemoslut @strwawberrymilk

Scott finally got his license and wanted to take you out on a proper date. You'd been dating for a little less than a month and he knew you weren't really the fancy restaurant type, neither was he but he wanted to do something special so here you are, finishing up your makeup and smoothing out your dress and waiting for him to pick you up in his used sedan that he had by now driven to school a handful of times.

your phone rang in your hand and you let out a quiet squeal. "hey you ready?" he asked and you could hear the smile on his lips. "all ready." you returned as you stood in your room when you heard a knock on your door. you practically sprinted, nearly tripping down the stairs to open the door. he stood in a suit maybe a size and a half too big with a single rose. you giggled as you took it from his hand, inhaled its scent and placed it on the table cluttered with keys and trinket bowls next to the front door.

"hi." you smiled as you held your hand out for him. he blushed a deep red. it was sweet that you still made him nervous, the two of you still in somewhat of a honeymoon stage. "hi. you look beautiful." he sighed sweetly as he raked his eyes over your dress. "ready to go?" he smiled as he inched you closer and gave you a soft peck. you nodded and you locked the door behind you as you pranced out to his car.

he opened the passenger door for you. "like a proper gentleman." you spoke, giddy, hands clammy and took a seat. he shut the door and scampered to the driver's seat before starting the car and driving off to the restaurant. "I really hope you like this place. my mom told me about it a few days ago and thought you'd really like it since she and jimmys girlfriends liked it." he rambled, causing you to giggle. "I'm sure ill love it don't worry, scotty." you reached over for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. he smiled and looked at you momentarily before snapping his gaze back to the road. "your mom always knows best anyway." you teased, earning a nervous chuckle from your boyfriend.

-

now sat at the table you both nervously played footsy under the table and relaxed against the fancy chairs. he watched you scan the room. the chandeliers sprinkled with champagne-colored lights and soft red walls. "this place is really pretty." you whispered in awe as he smiled at you. all he could do was smile, happy that you liked his choice of restaurant.

once the both of you were eating you were humming in delight. "this is so fucking good." you whispered, earning a chuckle. "i know thats usually my favourite." he blushed. "i think i'd actually like to come here more often." an uncontrollable giggle that only warmed scotts heart emerged. "yeah? and here i thought you didnt like fancy restaurants." he chewed as he spoke, reminding you scott is still your sweet awkward boyfriend no matter how confident he was tonight. "well.. i like this place." you smiled.

of course scott was still nervous though he was comfortable with you in other ways; not afraid to make a fool of himself. The inherent nervs still caused him to spill a drink, drop a fork full of fancy tortalini on the ground and at one point, accidentally spit sauce while he spoke. you found it sweet and endearing of course.

-

at the end of the night the two of you went on a walk through the shining damp streets of the town to allow your food to settle. Scott purposley parked a little up the street to give you a moment to debrief the date together before driving you home.

"im glad you had a good time tonight even though restaurant dates arent your thing." he smiled over at you, swinging your unterlocked hands between the two of you. "i think i'll just enjoy anything i get to do with you. even if you spit sauce at me." you giggled as you teased him. "hey!" he scolded, attempting and failing to fight off the very visible flush consumming his face. he sighed. "i was still nervous. i wanted it to be perfect for you." he stopped walking and covered his face. "scott im only teasing you, it was perfect. you're perfect." you whispered as you gently peeled his hands away from his face.

the both of you looked at eachother for a moment, you wondered if he was thinking the same as you which was how much you really loved him already. "i cant wait for so many more awkward dates. i think those are the most important to me." you added, cupping his face and gently rubbing your thumb across his still pink cheek. "you sure you had a good time tonight? even though i made a mess of myself?" he asked, his voice in a whisper as if to soften the embarrassment he felt. "its okay to be nervous, scotty. those things only happen when youre nervous and its sweet." you nodded, pressing a soft peck to his lips. you smiled and began leading him back to the car.

"you really do look beautiful tonight." he smiled, swinging your hands again. "thank you scotty." you giggled. "you look handsome. though i do think we need to get that suit tailored, just a little." you tugged at the baggy blazer with your free hand as you approached the car. "ugh it was jimmys. it was what we had." he smiled sheepisly, rubbing his clammy hand over his face and back up through his hair. "he wont need it right? we can get it tailored next weekend." you suggested as he opened the passenger door for you once again and held your hand as you climbed in.

"does that mean you'd like to do more restaurant dates?" he asked as he closed the door and you nodded. "i told you, anything i get to do with you is fine by me." your smile turning into a giggle as you watched him rush around the car for the driver seat.

"why are you laughing?" he asked, catchiing his breath and zipping on his seatbelt. "because you keep running around the car." you quickly caught the tear the threatened to roll down your cheek and melt your makeup. he sighed again. "stop laughing at me." he began laughing as well.

scott drove you home and again walked you to the door. he squeezed your hand and couldn't help but smile as you turned to face him. "I had a great time." you smiled, clasping both his hands. "Ill call you."

"ill call you." he chuckled, kissing your hands and letting them drop to pull her closer and kissing your lips soft and slow. you hummed in response. "mm scott?" you called, your eyes still closed. "yeah, baby?" he whispered. "its time to go." you giggled, holding him by his shoulders. "okay." he pecked your lips a few more times. "okay, okay. have a good night baby." he smiled but still held you close. scott loved you too and neither of you really had to say it. the way he kissed you and let his touch simmer on yours was enough and screamed louder than your measly little voices.

You chose to say it regardless. "scott?" you whispered again through the kisses. "yes, baby." he smiled again, maybe laced with a hit of frustration from the second interruption. "I love you." you giggled. "he returned the giggle. "I love you too."

--

A/N: sorry if this is shit i honestly just wanted to feed the rory community even just a little. please remember this is unedited and rushed. also where the fuck did you guys go? please keep in mind that requests are always open and if you want to see more rory character content you'll have to request it since I've moved on from him if you've changed your username since the last time you've filled out the taglist please let me know or fill the taglist form again please be kind and reblog my fics ALSO!! one last question: would you guys like if I made a separate masterlist for all my rory fics just like I'm doing for my Yoongi fics which ill link HERE just so you guys can get an understanding of what that could look like

➽ Taglist Form ➽ Master List

[evild3ad]

Thinking about "category fraud" and A Real Pain:

Kieran Culkin is 100% the supporting performance. Jesse Eisenberg plays the character who goes through an actual personal character arc. Everyone who isn't Kieran Culkin goes on an individual personal character arc. Benji is that mysteriously bright, endearing person that only exists in your life for a moment. He's the kind of person that everyone kinda wants to encounter...but maybe just once. Either way, you'll remember that dude and he'll be a part of your travel stories when you get back home.

Jesse Eisenberg plays a character who has spent his life trying to figure Benji out because he's spent his entire life with him. He can't just experience him in a small amount of time. It's all or nothing. And he's spent so much time away that he gets to almost experience the same level of Benji as everyone else...except he knows Benji and his baggage. He still can't figure him out. His character is reserved but that does not mean his arc isn't happening.

Literally every character is impacted by Benji in that movie, but Benji never speaks about himself. The audience hears a pretty impactful story about him from David but Benji never says anything about it.

For all we know, David could have been misinterpreting something about Benji. We'll never know.

Benji is unreadable but completely transparent at the same time. He impacts everyone he comes in contact with. He's an open and honest person while somehow not revealing anything about himself with words. He's the kind of person you want to meet when you're going through it. He supports everyone around him and puts them all on their own arcs.

David is the one who we understand and relate to and Benji is something we know or want to know.

Measurable screentime ratios be damned, this was a supporting Performance of all time!

[xxhypersomnia]

Welp.

Hollywood made that pretty clear didn't they....

[strang3lov3]

under the cut: cousin!benji, shotgunning, little bit of dry humping, unprotected piv, creampie, incest, stupid and soft and sweet

You’re in that tiny, old bathroom upstairs, and there’s hardly enough space for one person, let alone two. The wallpaper is yellowing and peeling at the corners, and the ceramic tile floor is cracked and chipping. The scent of Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium perfume still lingers, and the same almond-scented soaps sit on the shower shelves, untouched and exactly where they’ve always been.

Benji’s sitting on the lidded toilet, high and giggling at the mauve, plush toilet cover. You’re giggling with him, straddling his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck as your noses brush. He smells like him, all sweat and musk and woodsy. He’s man through and through, with his veiny forearms and rough, calloused palms as he pushes hair out of your eyes. He feels so broad and so sturdy, so fucking warm as the cold air from outside blows in. 

“I like this sweatshirt on you, Benji,” you smile, pinching the fabric above his shoulders, brushing your thumb along the seam. “It’s nice.” 

“Mm, yeah. Grandma got it for me,” Benji mumbles, looking down at his hoodie. “Bought it with her Kohl’s cash.” 

“Kohl’s cash,” you echo, giggling. You watch Benji puff on the joint, and admire his beautiful profile when he blows the smoke out of the window. His beard has filled in so nicely, and even overgrown and untrimmed it looks nice. Those grays coming in, the lines by his eyes when he smiles, his freckles, god. “Grandma doesn’t buy me shit with her Kohl’s cash, you know.” 

“That’s because–” Benji coughs a bit, then turns back to you and pulls you closer against him. “You are not her favorite,” he whispers, wearing that stupid fucking lopsided smirk.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh. 

“It’s true,” he shrugs, unbothered. “But you are mine, though. Favorite, that is.” 

Your heart pounds when he says that. You roll your eyes, then flick him on that perfect nose of his. “Hey, ouch, you fuckin’ dick.” Benji scrunches his face and wiggles his nose, then puffs on the joint. He holds his breath when he slides a hand to the back of your neck, then pulls you close and presses his lips against yours, forcing a large lungful of smoke down your throat, his facial hair tickling your skin. It burns you inside in the most pleasant way, and makes you cough and sputter Benji’s name. 

You feel so fuzzy and happy, sharing this quiet moment with Benji. You wiggle closer to him, smirking and gasping when your cunt presses against his bulge. He doesn’t blush or bother hiding it, not embarrassed by his attraction to you at all. No, he’s fucking shameless. And why shouldn’t he be? You’re beautiful, after all. So goddamn beautiful. 

“You’re hard,” you whisper. 

Benji smiles. “Oh, that? That’s nothing,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss. He kisses you softly, tasting of himself and sweet and smokey like the pot. You’d kiss him like this forever, if you could. “Mm. Hold this.” Benji passes you the joint, which you take another quick hit off of before he steals another kiss. 

His long fingers find their way under your sweater, tickling your soft tummy and your sides. Benji’s hands slide up, up your waist and your back, and then he’s palming your tits in his hands. Cupping them, squeezing them, feeling them like they’re just for him. All that soft, generous flesh. He flicks his thumbs over your nipples, smiling against the kiss at the way it takes your breath away. You’re so fucking sensitive. 

He pinches your nipples gently, and you arch your back into it. Benji twists them, circles them with his fingertips, then lets a hand slide back down your body, where he cups your pussy over your leggings. You’re all wet, and oh, how Benji fucking smirks at that. “Mmm, look at that,” he murmurs, “You are wet. You’re like - you’re so fuckin’ wet, dude.”

“I am not,” you lie, rocking your hips into his palm. Benji rubs your clit through your clothes, making you moan and whimper. You press your forehead against his, enjoying the sensation.

“Mhm, yeah. Totally.” You whine at the loss of his hand when Benji pushes up your sweater so he can kiss your tits. He holds you carefully, one hand splayed between your shoulder blades and the other holding the fabric out of the way. You moan his name when he licks your nipples, circling his tongue around those sensitive, beautiful pieces of you. 

You’re so high, feeling so good. You stretch and lean back, offering more of yourself to Benji - too much of yourself. Your stomach drops when you almost fall back, but Benji catches you. Of course he catches you. He’s used to that, you know. He was always spotting you as you made your way across the monkey bars at the playground when you were little, catching you without a moment’s notice when your palms slipped.

“Okay, well don’t fuckin’ fall, numbnuts,” Benji laughs, smiling at your clumsiness and your own giggles. “Gonna crack your fuckin' skull open, c’mere. Riiiiight here, yep. And actually, take these off—” He tugs at the elastic of your leggings. 

You undress quickly, taking every garment off of your body and leaving it crumpled on the floor. Benji does the same, then sits back while he pumps his thick cock, grinning at your naked form. All those curves, all that beauty. You straddle him again, then take his cock in your hand and guide it to your entrance. You sink down on him, letting his length fill you in one swift go. “Oh fuck, Benji,” you sigh. 

Benji thrusts up, bottoming out. He gives you a second to get used to him, whispering nothing of importance. His hazel eyes, that much more beautiful rimmed in red. "Hi," he smiles.

You smile too. "Hi."

You both laugh when the position turns out to be awkward and…not good at all. You can’t properly ride him, he can’t properly fuck you. But that’s one of the best parts about fucking Benji, honestly. All those silly, stupid, awkward moments and the soft giggles that come with them. He’s serious when he needs to be, sure. Like when he fucked you for the very first time, took your virginity all those years ago. He was so soft and gentle and tender. But he likes to laugh and likes to smile when he’s fucking you. He makes stupid jokes on occasion, jokes that earn him an eye roll or a scoff-turned-moan when he hits that spot inside you juuuust right. 

“Hold tight,” Benji grunts, sitting up straighter. You hold him tightly and squeal quietly when he lifts you up and rests you on the sink, then continues thrusting into you. Your body is so beautiful as he fucks you, that writhing, arching body. Your tits bounce, nipples hardened by the cold breeze that blows into the bathroom. 

You love this angle. His cock hits you just right, rubbing repeatedly against your g-spot. Lost in it all, you can’t control your moans. Quietness is long forgotten when Benji fucks you like this. 

“Shh—shut the fuck up,” Benji hushes you, laughing as he turns on the bathroom fan to muffle your noises. “Oh my god, I love you and I’m sorry, but you have to be quiet, man.” 

“Benj—“ 

“Shhh.” Benji kisses you to keep you quiet, and brings your hand to your center. “You’re gonna make yourself cum for me, alright?” 

You nod quickly. “I love you, too,” you whisper, rubbing your clit as you move your hips to match the way Benji rolls his. He kisses you as he fucks you, swallowing your moans, tickling your tongue with his own. 

Circling your wet, swollen clit inches you closer and closer to the edge, and in seconds you’re cumming on Benji’s thick cock, walls squeezing and pulsing around his length. “Oh fuck, dude. Fuck,” Benji half-moans under his breath, grunting as your orgasm brings on his own. He spills into you, fucking both himself and you through to the end of your climaxes. He really needs to stop doing that, but fuck - you’re so warm and so wet, and you’re fucking his. His fucking girl. 

Benji helps you down when it’s all said and done, and puts his pants on when you pee. He grabs his hoodie, then pauses. “You think anyone would notice if we like, switched?”

You shrug. “Probably not,” you answer, chuckling at his odd idea. You love all of Benji's odd ideas.

Benji tosses you his hoodie, then wears your sweater. It doesn’t fit him right at all, but he doesn’t give a shit. He likes how you look in his hoodie anyway. And he knows you do too. You’re probably gonna sleep in it tonight, he thinks. He imagines the picture, you all snuggled up in bed while you text him late at night. 

You go downstairs with him, and nobody notices the switched shirts. Nobody noticed you were gone, either. Benji winks at you. 

[wretchedgirlyboy]

my

my bff

[enigmaticvariation]

I am going to be chasing the high I felt watching succession week to week for the rest of my life I miss it so fucking much. I miss her so much my beautiful television wife......

[its-fucking-tangerine]

I bet on losing dogs: Mitski

characters

kendall roy

gregory house

james wilson

roman roy

geralt of rivia

bruce wayne / batman

anakin skywalker

obi wan kenobi

[irlplasticlamb]

i’m not a violent dog.

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[senandikadini]

"I understood this guy right away when I was reading it, I understood who Benji and David were and I felt like I got their history, (then) on page 15, I would find myself laughing out loud later, because I'm like, "that's not what he supposed to do why is he coming in hot", why is he angry, and he just has a different response you (just) don't expect.

So, that sort of thing, when it came to the approach of the character and you're (Jesse) saying being spontaneous, the character is that way, he's very surprising and you don't really know what's going to come out of him.

But to me, for me doing it, it's at its best when it's like instinctual as opposed to intellectual. I've had to do jobs in the past where sometimes you have to really got inside the character's head and you have to analyze him, you take things from the script and connect it to things with your life, and understand the character more than the character understand himself, and you have to show up on the day, forget all that, and try to be present.

And for me, and it's very rare thing when that happens, I didn't have to do any of that because this man (Jesse) did all the work for me by putting it in the script. It was all, it was full. And because the character is spontaneous, I could just show up on the day, I'm prepared and go "I'm going to bounce it of this guy (Jesse)" and see what happens."

Kieran Culkin on Benji's character and Jesse's writing