#the more you dig the more of this shit you find

[r0-boat]

Hii, could I request a nsfw headcanos with Leviathan, Lucifer and Beelzebub. How would these kings react when they're doing the 👉👌 with MC and suddenly, somebody interrupts them.

Asldhfkld I just really love your writing to this fandom 💖💖

Yes!! Thank you so much thank you for adopting me into your fandom I am just a lonely writer looking for a home 🥺

Whb kings

Leviathan, Lucifer, Beelzebub

Reaction to demons walking in on them and Mc

Nsfw

Leviathan

Using his cum as lube, He grabs over your legs, holding you in half. Climbing on top of you, He presses his whole body down onto yours, Your legs over his shoulders as he begins to pound hard, deeper mercifully. His whole coffin begins to creek as the sound of his balls slapping against your skin fills the room. And even then, the sound of the door opening cuts through like a hot knife through butter. He slams his cock deep inside, holding it there. His grip on your hips tightens, digging his fingers into your skin. Leviathan flips you onto your stomach pressing your head against the pillow blocking your vision the same time smothering you.

He growls at whatever idiot that decided now was the time to bother him. He didn't even get to see who it was.

"Hang!" He shouts. The door immediately shuts probably the rope taking the demon with it.

They could hang there choking till he's done for all he cares. No one gets to see you sweaty messy and filled.

Lucifer

His hips slowly grind into you. He holds you close to his body, his lips gently kissing every inch of your neck. He goes slow at first making sure his hands touch and feel every inch of your body, He wants to make sure his cock memorizes every squeeze and pulse. And he needs you to feel every vein and curve has he tries to get to know more of your insides. Trying to find every spot that makes you curl your toes, that makes you moan his name. His tongue slides into your mouth when he begins to speed up his hands lifting you with ease as he uses you like a toy, space begins to quicken when he feels you clench.

He buried his nose into your neck His teeth was just about the sink into your skin until.

The door opens, and Lucifer's eyes widen using the blankets he covers his and your body. He lets out an animalistic hiss, His eyes going black, his Little tufts of bloodied feathers ruffling. If the demon valued their life, they would leave the room.

Beelzebub

Making you scream and cry out his name, his harsh pace of his hips smacking against yours does not falter even as he hears the door open.

It was Bael, with paperwork in hand, about ready to yell at his king for yet again skipping out on work. Beel only smirked at his new audience member manhandling your body till you laid against his chest as he thrust up into you, showing his noble all that you have to offer. Bael stops in place from the scene before him. His eyes widened, his cheeks flushed, and his pants tightened.

With you still rising and whimpering his name Beel gave the demon in front of him a shit eating grin.

"as you can see I'm very busy, but I suppose I don't mind putting on a show~"

#whb beelzebub #whb mc #whb #whb x reader #what in hell is bad #whb leviathan #whb lucifer #smut #whb smut #whb headcanons #whb fanfic

[bonezone44]

but pervy roller derby coach joel and seasoned derby girl fucking in joels truck after a bout when ezra finds them with the windows all fogged up… ofc he joins in

You fucking know it!

Roller Derby Coach!Joel Miller x F!Reader x Boyfriend!Ezra

tags: unprotected p-in-v, double creampie, Ezra and Joel being spiteful towards one another. praise, degredation, use of the word "whore" but in a sexy way

--

He wanted to offer you a personal congratulations after helping your Jammer get point after point, resulting in your team's win. 157 to 163. It was a close one and your offense is what made the difference. Joel lost count of how many times you knocked the opposing Jammer off the track, running them back and killing their spirit. He's surprised you still have any energy left after all that work.

But here you are in his truck with him, bouncing on his cock like it's nothing. You got nothing on but your sports bra and youre soaked in sweat with your gear airing out in his flat bed.

Then Ezra’s wandering around the parking lot outside the rink, wondering where the hell you are because there's an after party to go to. And he already smoked a couple joints with the referees, and you still hadn't appeared. Then he sees the foggy window, the way the truck is bouncing, and he can't help but creep closer. His whole body floods with heat when he sees your gear. He looks around, sees if anybody has eyes on him before opening up the passenger door.

"Shit!" Joel curses.

You both stop in a panic. Your hands gripping his biceps to stabilize yourself.

Ezra's all smiles. "You don't think she's done enough work tonight, Coach?" He chuckles at your silent, shocked faces. He climbs inside and shuts the door behind him. "Our superstar here requires appreciation. Not more strain on her supremely effective musculature." He crawls closer.

"How 'boutchu--" Joel begins.

Ezra wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss.

Joel’s hands are still tight on your hips. Watching Ezra's tongue meet yours makes his cock twitch and pisses him off at the same time. He grunts.

Ezra's hazy eyes slide over to Joel's after he pulls away from you. "How 'bout I what, Joel?"

Joel snarls and shoves Ezra back with a broad palm to his chest. "How 'boutchu see with your eyes and not with your hands?" He turns back to you. "She's mine right now, and I ain't gonna let you touch her 'til I'm done with her."

Ezra chuckles and undoes his pants, pulling his hardening cock out. "Go ahead and fill her up good, then." He smirks and begins to stroke himself. "Patience is a virtue, and although I am far from a virtuous man, I have been known to wander briefly on the path of the principled." He breaths deeply through his nose, taking in the smell of sweat and sex. "A path more easily endured when enticed by heavenly rewards."

Joel rolls his eyes. "Does he ever shut the fuck up?"

Ezra chuckles again. "You best make haste, old man, before that little blue pill wears off and you go softer than an ice cream cone in the Fourth of July sunshine."

Joel smirks at Ezra and shakes his head. He turns back to you, his hands slide up your sides, grip your breasts through your bra. "You ever seen me take a pill?"

"No," you shake your head. You're so overwhelmed by the situation, you're surprised you were able to say anything at all. And Joel's strong fingers are working your chest, working the muscles in your hips and thighs.

"I don't need no pill," he says with a haughty grin, thrusting up into you. "I don't need her to ride me, neither," he adds for good measure. "I can make her come with my cock alone." He holds you still and you angle your hips slightly as his own hips jump in the seat. "Come on, baby. Show 'im how good this cock is. Come on, now."

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and dig your face into his neck, moaning and keening with every strong thrust. You hear Ezra moaning, too. You turn your head to the side and see him panting, biting his lips. He goes from jerking himself off to squeezing his cock at the base and shaking it, staving off his orgasm with a desperate look on his face. It's all so much, you're sent over the edge--your orgasm barely noticable amidst Joel's relentless assault. How can you come down when everything around you is still building and escalating?

"Gonna fill this pussy up, now," Joel groans. His meaty claws close and spread your asscheeks as he begins to grind into you.

You try to remind yourself to breathe as you squeeze him tighter, whimpering and panting.

"Gonna give you all this come," he groans again and you feel a rush of warmth inside of you.

"Come here, baby," you hear Ezra speak up. "Lemme feel that." And before you know it, you're in Ezra's lap. His cock slides readily into yours and he pants and moans pathetically. "Oh fuck, oh shit, oh shit, baby. That's so good." His hips are barely moving as he holds you close against him, but the squelch of your messy pussy is loud. "Mmmm-that's so good. that's that good shit right there. Oh fuck, baby. Gonna fill you up, too. Mmhmm--gonna give you that sloppy cunt, huh? You like that, baby?" His eyes go wide and you're locked in, nodding and agreeing to whatever he says. "You like bein naughty? You like being filthy?"

At this point, it doesn't matter what either of them say. You'll agree to just about anything that comes out of their mouths--and their cocks.

"Fuckin filthy," he mutters with a snarl and brings his hand down to your ass with a harsh, solid slap. "Fuckin filthy whore. Nnnngg---" He comes inside of you.

You feel dizzy. Spent. Tired. Dazed. You should probably hydrate soon. And you wonder if anyone else on the team is looking for the three of you. You hope Joel has some napkins somewhere in his car, but you're not too worried because you have a pack of wet wipes in your gear bag. You never thought you'd use them for something like this, but... so it goes.

No one suspects a single thing at the after party. You throw back a few shots with your teammates and leg wrestle on the bar floor. You dance to the salsa music someone is playing on the juke box. You consider doing those pelvic floor exercises you saw on youtube once.

------------

a/n: I love life and I love being alive.

#joel miller x f!reader x ezra #the ask task

[totallyb-tchin]

Guilty as Sin?

Kate Martin x reader

Summary: Based on Taylor Swift's new song Guilty as Sin?

Warning: nsfw

You saw her basketball sitting in her grasp as it usually was. The veins in her hands popped out as she threw the ball back to caitlin. Her long slender fingers easily captivate your attention. You can’t remember what you were doing before you saw her there in all her glory. Her labored breaths from a long day of practice igniting a fire in you. The gym that had once felt freezing suddenly had you reaching to unzip your jacket. Kate had been taking over your thoughts a lot in the last couple weeks. You can’t even go to sleep without dreaming of those icy blue eyes. She has haunted your every waking thought and to say you liked it was more than an understatement. Her basketball uniform was a gift given to the world and everyday you got to see her in it felt like a miracle. The way it highlighted her frame and her long legs had you buckling at the knees. Her signature braided ponytail swinging back and forth as she dribbled the basketball that she had been holding seconds earlier. You were mesmerized by her talent. She made everything she did seem so easy, sometimes she had you thinking that you could play basketball; not that you would ever try.

You looked up to see her ocean blue eyes looking back into yours with a smirk on her face as she made a basket. You gave a shy smile back in return, placing a piece of your hair behind your ear. A fair share of stolen glances and smiles have been shared between you two. The way she managed to plague your every thought is something that should be studied. It is a serious addiction that you can't find the strength to quit. Alone at night you swear that you could feel her fingertips grasp your thighs like the ghost of what could be. The ghost of what you wanted so badly. You would think of how her lips attacked yours with a feverish need. Her fingers bunching up in your hair pulling lightly as a moan tumbles out of your lips. The way her fingers would drag down your body leaving goosebumps in her wake claiming every inch of you as her own. Her lips kissing down your neck teasingly eliciting noises you didn't even know you could make. Her labored breath as her hands rub over your clothed breasts a whine leaving your mouth at the contact. She smirks that cocky smirk you love so much. You are nothing but putty in her hands.

Her hands. Oh God, her hands. The way she pushes you against the wall one hand holding your waist and the other pressed up against the wall holding her weight up as she leans over you. She lifts your shirt over your head and throws it behind her. Her hands cupping your breast through your black bra. Her once bright blue eyes now appear dark as she looks down at you. Her knee pressing between your legs. Her lips attaching to your neck leaving bruises on every inch she can find. She taps the back of your knees signaling you to jump up as she now carries you to your bed. Her necklace hangs down over you as she sets you down, your lips now disconnecting. Her lips start to move further south as they continue their journey, bruises littering her path leading to the top of your Levi jeans. She looks up at you with that shit eating grin still plastered on her face. You lift your bottom half off the bed as she pulls your pants down off your legs. She tosses them somewhere on the other side of the room but you can't find it in yourself to care. Your hand grip the sheets beside you as her head disappears between your thighs as her hot breath fans over your black lace underwear. The sight alone elicits a pornographic moan from you. Her nails dig into you as her lips leave bruises all across your thighs. Mine she says as she looks at the art she has created a mischievous glint in her eye. You buck your hips up into her in need, hoping, wishing, and praying to anyone that will listen to you that she will give you any amount of friction. You would take any small amount of pleasure she is willing to give. She chuckles at your action as she puts on finger on yo-

“Hey are you okay?” Your friend Natalie shakes you, knocking you out of your daydream.

You look around needing a minute to ground yourself the overwhelming feeling of your need wanting all your attention. You subtly press your thighs together as you feel the growing wetness caused by an unknowing blonde. You look over at your friend, confusion and worry threaded through her expressions. You nod your head looking back over to where Kate had been to see her on the sidelines rifling through what you assume is her bag. She stands up to look at you, sending you a smile before continuing on with her practice not knowing the damage she has caused.

“I didn’t know that you knew kate” your friends said following your gaze.

You shook your head quickly stealing one last glance at Kate before turning towards the exit for the gym “I don’t.”

#womens basketball #wnba #kate martin x reader #iowa hawkeyes #iowa wbb #kate martin #wbb

[faetreides]

cw: 18+ mdni content, painal, blood, period sex, pseudo incest, extreme dubcon, degradation but also praise, typical rafe warnings, fem labels, dead dove: DO NOT EAT

thinking about bloody anal with stepbro!rafe bc you’re on your period! he has no problems fucking the shit out of your puffy pussy, but there’s just something irresitble abour stretching your ass out while watching your cunt bleed. he likes to stare at where the two of you connect, almost treating you more like a pocket pussy than his stepsister. he’s not gentle about it whatsoever, immediately thrusting his tip past your walls and spanking you.

“c’mon, mama, let me in.” he grits out, slapping a hand over your mouth to silence your whines.

on the rare chance that the two of you have the house to ourselves, he’d love to hear you yelp and howl for his dick. but it’s 7 am on a monday morning and he couldn’t wait to pounce on you as soon as he saw the pads in the trash can of your shared bathroom. rafe held a finger to his lips when you started waking up to the sound of your bedroom door lock being played with. he knelt on your pink bed and crawled over you, his pupils blown out and his arms tensing in anticipation.

you try to plead with rafe to at least wait until everyone else is asleep. but he doesn’t seem to care about the sounds of your blended family moving through the house and his dick barges in any way. all you can do is sob against his hand and let him split you open. rafe pretends he doesn’t feel you shake your little ass back on his length, you keep up the charade that you don’t love that this is hurting you.

“shh shh, good girl. keep swallowing this dick, alright?” he whispers against your temple, tightening his grip on your face and bullying more inches into your reddening ass.

“this’ll help with the cramps, i’m doin’ my little slut a favor, honey.”

he’s not letting you go so you can clean up for a reason.

he bottoms out with a silent groan, mouthing ‘FUCK!’ into your pillow. you squeal, too tired and overwhelmed to register anything but your stepbrother’s huge cock inside you. this wasn’t how you imagined fucking him again, though you’re ashamed to say you imagined it all. listening to the soft rain pelt your window as rafe caresses your ass, he’s at least giving you enough grace to get yourself together and adjust.

he bites his lip when some of your blood trickles down to touch where your ass is stretched around his dick. more blood follows suit as he starts at a rough pace, and the sight of your matted pubic hair combined with your wide teary eyes could make him cum in the spot.

“it’s okay, it’s okay. just be a good girl, your big brother’s already claimed this tight fucking ass hole. all you have to do is take it.” he says and tugs your face to his so he can spit on his hand, he can’t exactly take his hand off so he can spit in your mouth but he can imagine it. “just me and not that limp dick boy that’s been following you around.”

after thrusting for a bit, rafe looks down to see that your blood has frothed around his cock. mixing with your slick (because of course you’re so fucking wet) and the cum he left inside you last night to form a pink ring around the base.

“aw, look sweetie,” he coos, pushing your head down to gaze at his cock pistoning in and out of your soaked pussy. “it’s your favorite color!”

you whimper into his fingers and do your best to nod, wishing that you could reach down and rub your clit. but rafe’s got your wrists in his other hand behind your back, and he’s probably the type that would be all territorial about you touching yourself. you were both so drunk last night off whatever you could find in ward’s cabinet, it was your first time trying alcohol and you went a little overboard. but you both were too fucked up to put a name or expectations to what you have.

rafe surprises you and lets go of your wrists. he digs his now free digits into your clit, flicking the swollen bud in time with his thrusts in your ass. he unintentionally edges you because he keeps bring his hand up to his mouth so he suck the blood off of his fingers.

“hmm, you taste good, sis. sometimes i wish i could bite all over this slutty body and really leave my mark, but this’ll be enough for now, right?”

you don’t care about your family making their presence known downstairs, or about the bloody mess rafe is making of you anymore. you always wanted his attention and approval, so you lick the fingers covering your mouth and wiggle your ass back on his dick again. the earth shattering orgasm you later have around him was so intense that he’s almost sad that it wasn’t on camera.

the ridiculous hot pink heart shaped plug he shoves inside your abused hole makes for the perfect lockscreen on his phone though.

#the fem stuff is bc i’m trying to see something #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe smut #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey smut #tw pseudocest #⚰️.deaddove #outer banks #outer banks x you #outer banks x reader #outer banks smut #obx x you #obx x reader #obx smut #outerbanks x reader #tw blood #tw dubcon #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe obx #drew starkey x y/n

[maenecoon]

tw (mostly mild) depictions of violence and blood, bc it's involves vampires, also major spoilers for a fic im working on rn

so

i may or may not have a vampire kimchay fic idea

except the execution of it is going to have me combusting into flames??

anyways, thoughts about kim finding an annoying baby bat in the forest. he wants to ignore it, but he can't. so fine, he takes it in.

except...

kim definitely doesn't know how to care for a feral bat.

anyways! cue sweet/fluffy/bat-and-vampire shenanigans! like babybat so sated with blood that he becomes a little drunk, or at least the bat-version of drunk. babybat who flies into the window trying to escape because he's not good at echolocatio. babybat who sneaks into kim's closets to bite holes in every single one of his silk shirts.

vampire!kim somehow being whipped af for this cute but annoying little shit that he's somehow adopted. feeds him blood pudding and gives him many head scritches. shows him his red string murder board and rambles about his murder plans and all. vampire!kim who started off detesting or tolerating this pest at best but unable to imagine starting a day without the weight of babybat curled up on his chest.

then the murder plan happens. kim wants korn (his father/sire) dead, bc who doesn't, and he sneaks in to "kill" him.

he's gone in, wooden stake and holy water and all.

he goes bat-shit crazy. bodies of full-sized vampires drop to the floor around them as kim works with ruthless efficiency. he's memorised the techniques of his father's men and their weaknesses. he's dreamed about this for centuries. and it's pays off.

and then enters korn.

korn was always going to be the issue.

kim had no plans of returning alive - he knows to end lorn by all means necessary even if it means his own life - but korn has gotten more powerful. sire bonds are difficult to break, and even if kim has been diluting the bond and doing his absolute best to weaken their link, korn still has kim in an iron grip.

(if you'd read my phayurain vampire fic, there's this thing about sires being able to control their fledglings because of a bond they share when a vampire (sire) turns someone into a vampire (their fledgling). )

anyways.

when suddenly a weight in his pocket starts to stir. it's the little shit, the bat. and kim's all panicked because little shit is small and harmless and now barely the size of half his palm? like, kim's on his knees and has his hands shaking with effort not to plunge the stake into his own chest, by the command of korn.

it takes just a second, but bat flutters out of kim's pocket. bat, with all the rage that a bat can muster, swings himself right on korn's face and digs his fangs into korn's eyes. the eyes are part of what maintains the sire-control that korn has over kim, and kim is able to use that split second to drive the stake into korn's heart.

the moment that korn falters, falling to the ground with a thud, is the moment that the bat drops to the floor.

kim thinks like yeah, fuck, that must've taken a lot out of this poor baby bat, and god that fall looked bad, when all of a sudden the bat is expanding. almost like his bones are breaking (and kim winces because that sounds anguishing) and reforming and he keeps growing bigger and bigger and bigger until kim realised that this was no bat.

this was a vampire, trapped in the form of a bat.

this is his fledgling, his fledgling who was supposed to have died.

chay.

yeah anyways!! fun little story that i'm working on rn!! lmk what you think/want to see, if you got to the end of this! !

#i am not great at writing murder revolution or planning ngl #so this is going to be a challenge #but also i want to shake things up a little and stop falling back on the fluffy #yk? #it's about time my stories had a little bit of Murder #i say that #but i also planned this #so i could write fluffy little batchay vampirekim scenes #so uhm #yes #kimchay au #kimchay #mae's kimchay vampire au #kinnporsche the series #kpts fic #kimchay fic #oops #vampire #vampire au #i just #fucking love vampires #and bats #anyways if anyone would like to read something like this do scream at me #i definitely need a sound board #or 5

[midnightsxblue]

BIRTHDAY

carl grimes x reader

tags: fluff fluff fluff

masterlist here! (i fixed it btw)

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

You could never keep a secret from Carl, no matter how serious or how stupid he could always manage to get it out of you. All he had to do was ask repeatedly or when you got really stubborn he’d tickle it out of you. He’s just that kind of guy, he likes to know everything going on in that brain of yours. But more importantly he hates secrets.

That’s why when his birthday rolled around you had no idea what to get him or how you would even keep it from him. You’d done the classic comic gift maybe two times before already. Last year you had gotten him a vinyl for his record player and he was happy with it.

Carl didn’t care for gifts at all, he believed your presence was enough but gifts sort of just gave him something to enjoy with you. Every time you’d gotten him a comic, you read it with him. When you got him that vinyl, he listened to it with you. He was happy, so you knew whatever you got him this year was something you should enjoy too.

You decided to go out to scavenge with Glenn to see if you could find anything. You went out to a shopping center nearby and looked around there. You thought maybe you could get him a new flannel but you weren’t sure if he’d like it. You found a red flannel and realized he’d hate it.

“Hey, is this ugly?” You asked Glenn who was also digging through racks to find something for Maggie since her birthday was coming soon too. He looked over and cringed at the sight of it. “Yeah that’s- that’s pretty bad..” He looked back to the racks to dig through. “Fair.”

You were so stumped, what could he possibly want? You walk through the store some more, looking around the aisles when you hear something behind you. A small meow. You stop in your tracks and just pause. You loved cats probably as much as you loved Carl. You turn around and look to the floor to be met with the cutest little siamese kitten.

You crouch to the floor and let him walk to you. You melt at how adorable he is before gently picking him up. You need to show Glenn. When you find Glenn, his eyes are locked on the racks of clothes still. “Glenn.” You try to get his attention but his eyes wouldn’t pry away. You stick the cat out in his direction. “Glenn look.” He rolls his eyes and turns to you to be face to face with a cat and he almost jumps a little.

“Oh- jesus christ. Where…” His voice trails off when he realizes what you’re asking. “No. Nope. That thing probably has fleas.” He replies backing away. “But he doesn’t I already checked and even if he does we can treat it, can’t we? Cmonnn for Carl’s birthday.” You smile pleadingly. Glenn sighs and agrees. “Fine but if I get in trouble with Rick or Michonne, you’re dead.”

You smile and thank him. You look around the store for some more stuff you might need like the cats food or maybe a collar or something. You find everything and a couple a toys before you guys leave back to Alexandria. You knew getting back home would be tough, Carl’s birthday isn’t till tomorrow so you needed a way to hide the cat.

When you approached the gates you knew you’d have to be quick to hide him. You couldn’t ask Glenn since he’s already at risk of being scolded because Rick would usually never agree to letting you bring an animal home. So you thought of someone Rick can’t get mad at.

“That ain’t happenin.” Daryl says as you’re standing at his doorstep practically begging him to let you keep the cat there for the night. “Daryl it’s just for tonight? Please? It’s the perfect gift for him and I can’t keep it at our house he’ll find out and I don’t want it to be spoiled.” You pout. It kinda worked.

“If it shits in here you’re cleanin it up.” He grumbles, taking the cat from your hands and your bag of supplies. You thank him and praise him for doing you the favor. Now it’s just a matter of keeping it from Carl until the morning.

You and Glenn had come back from the run quite late so it shouldn’t be that hard. Maybe an hour and you can spend half of it in the shower. You walk into the house and Carl was feeding Judith dinner. “Hey how was the run?” He asks, trying to get Judith to eat the food off the spoon. “Fine.” You muster up. He’s confused as to why you’re being so short with him. “Find anything interesting?” He adds. “No. Not at all, I think i’m gonna go shower.” You make your way over to the stairs and he chose not to push it. He knew something was up, maybe you actually hadn’t found anything and you were upset about it. Or you were up to something else.

You had to wake up early the next morning in order to surprise him properly. You walked downstairs to see Carol cooking his breakfast and she flashes you a smile before going back to work. You head back over next door to collect the cat. You walk in and Daryl’s looking down in the box he had kept him in. He notices you and looks at you for a moment before speaking. “He shit in the kitchen.” He tells you before walking past you and out the door. “What the fuck, Daryl?” You giggle.

You handle it of course due to your guys’ agreement. You gather everything and head back over to finally surprise Carl. Rick and Michonne didn’t even realize you’d gotten him a cat so they found out when Carl did. They didn’t care, however, they knew the both of you would parent that thing like it was your damn newborn. You walk into your guys’ room and see he’s still soundly asleep. You gently place the cat on him as he sleeps and you poke him to wake up.

“Wh- woah what-“ Rick and Michonne giggle at how delirious he was. “Happy birthday.” You smile, waiting for him to process. He sits there for a moment to do so. “Wait we can keep it?” He croaks out. You look to Rick and Michonne and they look to each other. They look back to the both of you and nod, finally giving in. “Thank you.” He smiles as you lean down to kiss his forehead.

The rest of the day went perfectly, you guys spent the whole day together and got to do whatever it was you wanted, like going out to the woods with your new cat. Carl had his birthday dinner and afterwards you both went upstairs to rest from your eventful day.

His birthday ended perfectly. Laying in bed with his favorite person and his new kitten.

It couldn’t get any better than that.

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

a/n: i hope you likedddd ittttt this one’s one of my favorites now UHHH i didn’t give the cat a specific name bc i wanna leave that to you guys to name him muehehehe lowkey reply with a name you’d give the cat :P THIS REQUEST WAS ADOOORABLE THANK YOU ♠️

#carl grimes #the walking dead #twd #carl grimes twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes angst #carl grimes the walking dead #the walking dead carl #twd carl #twd fanfiction #fanfic

[i-guess-im-into-this-now]

The Apothecary Diaries

S1E15 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

To start at the beginning:

Episode 1

My character/locations cheat sheet

Suiren - Jinshi's attendant

Lakan - mysterious officer

Lihaku - the military officer who took Maomao out of the Rear Palace

Basan - an officer who works in the palace

Xiaolan - Maomao's servant girl friend

Palace gossip! Lihaku has done a good job handling the fire investigation. But he had help from Jinshi's personal assistant! Didn't Jinshi just buy a beautiful courtesan from Verdigris House?

This shit is worth sitting up for. Master Lakan, who's peaceful nap was interrupted by gossipy military bitches, would like to hear more about Maomao. Should I be worried about this guy's interest in Maomao?

Gaoshun would like Maomao to look into an old case. If you want to close a cold case, then Maomao is certainly the one to ask.

Side note: Gaoshun just offered to take Maomao to a restaurant to eat raw pufferfish. Is Gaoshun going to get a date with Maomao before Jinshi does? Bwahahaha!

So Gaoshun was asked to investigate this case years ago. Which makes me wonder what his position is/was. I thought it was mentioned that he has been with Jinshi since the day he was born, but that can't be right either, or he would have noticed the baby swap. Unless, I mean he is not always around Jinshi, so maybe the swap happened when he was out investigating a case? Also, can people not recognize one baby from another? Or did the swap happen so quickly after the births that people really didn't know what their child looked like. Whatever, the details probably aren't that important.

So after hearing about Jinshi's new servant/concubine who can solve mysteries, Lakan approached Jinshi's man, Gaoshun, to ask for help solving a case. Uh yeah, that dude knows a thing or two about strategy and maneuvering others. Is this guy dangerous?

A similar case has arisen, a bureaucrat has fallen into a coma after eating raw pufferfish.

Maomao: Master Gaoshun. Forgive me, but is it appropriate for you to be discussing this with me? Gaoshun: It won't be an issue. Unlike certain individuals, you understand your position.

What a loaded response from Gaoshun.

He's clearly taking a dig at Jinshi. Gaoshun was frustrated when Jinshi was assigned to care for the Rear Palace, and thinks that using his appearance as a test against the concubines is beneath him. But he also has been witnessing Jinshi spiral further and further away from propriety with Maomao, and can't approve of it. I thought Gaoshun had decided to support Jinshi and Maomao when he intervened to get Jinshi to Verdigris House and rescue Maomao. But, perhaps his motives weren't to support a romantic relationship between the two, rather to bring Maomao back to the palace where she would be under their protection and within their control. The second half of his statement to Maomao, "you understand your position," is also a bit of a reminder or perhaps a warning to her. He's also saying don't try to exceed your station. Gaoshun is delusional if he thinks the situation between Maomao and Jinshi can be maintained as it is.

Gaoshun lays out two similar poisoning cases. Maomao's keen mind is already rolling through the possibilities and she asks for some more information.

Jinshi scares the living shit out of Maomao when he startles her by asking what she was talking about with Gaoshun. I find it interesting that this request came directly through Gaoshun via Lakan, and that Jinshi was not aware of it. Why not inform Jinshi? I had wondered before about Lakan, if he might be some kind of rival of Jinshi's, since he seemed to take such an interest in the gossip about him. That Gaoshun, avoided informing Jinshi about this, makes me think there is something between those two gentleman, that isn't friendly. This scene also shows us that Gaoshun does sometimes operate outside of Jinshi's domain. We saw that in the past he was an investigator, and that now he sometimes does tasks that aren't given by Jinshi. Also, Jinshi is in casual robes, with wet hair. He clearly just got out of the bath. Was Gaoshun trying to have this conversation with Maomao while Jinshi was busy. Was he trying to hide this from Jinshi?

Jinshi: You seemed to be listening quite intently to Master Gaoshun's story.

Jinshi has become a bit possessive where it comes to Maomao. We saw that when he brought her back from Verdigris House, and again when Gaoshun gave Maomao a cloak last episode. Here it is again, with her having an intense conversation with Gaoshun. I wonder what Jinshi's actual thoughts are on his possessive actions. I mean I can see that his emotions for her are making him jealous and he's not bothering to try and hide that, but in his mind, does he think he has a claim on Maomao? He may actually have a legal claim since he did buy out her contract at the brothel, but in what way does he intend to exert that claim? Does Jinshi see Maomao as something he owns? Is his jealousy connected to that? Is he frustrated that he just bought a concubine and she wants nothing to do with him romantically? Or are the feelings of jealousy that we're seeing simply from his attraction to her? Does he simply wish her to return his feelings, and want to keep other guys away from her, so they won't get a chance to pull her attention away from him?

Maomao: People tend to pay attention to stories they actually find interesting. Jinshi: Now hold on. Is that why you frequently cut me off midsentence- Maomao: Oh dear. It's getting late. I suppose I'd better take my leave.

So the ambiguity of the relationship between Maomao and Jinshi has not affected their ability banter. Maomao is still teasing Jinshi, even if the conversation may indicate that Maomao has been avoiding Jinshi. Is she afraid they may have to talk about what it means that she's had her contract purchased and is living in Jinshi's house? Is she afraid her feelings may tip over into something that is even more difficult to hide from? Is she afraid she'll have to confront Jinshi's true identity and all the repercussions that come with it? All of the above? This situation feels so untenable.

Jinshi: Come back here. I'm not done talking with you- Suiren: And I have not finished drying your hair. Hold still

Suiren really controls everything that happens in this house doesn't she? What are this lady's goals? What does she think about Jinshi and Maomao?

Jinshi watches Maomao walk away and rumbles in frustration. He's ever trying to get closer, while Maomao keeps her distance. What will it take to change this?

Gaoshun returns with the details Maomao requested.

Maomao: I knew you would deliver.

There is a real trust and comradery developing between Gaoshun and Maomao. She doesn't have the same reservations she has with Jinshi and she isn't nearly as critical of Gaoshun. Indeed, she routinely views Gaoshun with glowing praise. In many ways he's the ideal man in Maomao's eyes, even if she doesn't see him as a match for her personally. I wonder how she would accept knowing Gaoshun's true identity.

Jinshi is delighted to come upon Maomao and Gaoshun discussing the poisoning mystery. He can't resist teasing Maomao for getting stuck on this case. It's rare that she doesn't figure out the solution right away, which means she probably hasn't had all the clues presented to her yet. Not only is she very good at solving mysteries, she's very perceptive and good at recognizing clues. So far everything she's been presented are clues gathered by other people. I have no doubt she could solve this if she were able to investigate herself.

Suiren: Careful, or you'll ruin your appetite. Jinshi: I'm a grown man. Maomao: Highly debatable from what I've seen.

Okay, I'm going to side with Jinshi on this one. Like, let the man eat if he's hungry. Also, isn't this his house? Why does everyone get to have an opinion on when and what he eats? Or how he behaves. Jinshi already lives in a fishbowl with eyes on him and every action he takes. It would be nice if he could have a little slack in his own home. But that is not his fate. He's destine to be slowly driven insane by endless demands and expectations.

Finally, Maomao will be able to see the kitchen where the poisonous meal was prepared. No doubt she'll be able to solve this now.

Maomao meets up with Basen. And it took me a moment to remember where I heard that name before, but this was the officer Jinshi was sparing with (shirtless!) way back in episode 5. He was kind of a hot-headed fighter, but was humble enough after Jinshi kicked his ass. He's being a dick to Maomao here. Now I just want to see Jinshi beat his ass again. Maomao says she's never seen Basen before but that he looks a bit familiar. What the hell? Like, is he related to someone she knows? You know what, I'm already working on trying to figure out Maomao and Jinshi's parentage, I'm not going to waste thoughts for fricking Basen.

I lied. This is actually going to bother me.

The only thing I can think of off the top of my head is that he has crazy hair just like Lakan, but Maomao hasn't met him, so how can he look familiar. Fuck it.

So Maomao and Basen take one step into the kitchen and a dude runs up and demands they leave. It's not at all suspicious.

Damn it Basen does look familiar doesn't he? But like who?

Maomao finds the seaweed that is out of season and steals some on her way out. Thievery is becoming a habit for Maomao. She explains that the seaweed was improperly prepared before being shipped to this region, so it was never detoxified. She implies that it may have been intentional and the others know what to do from there.

We see a humous scene of Maomao explaining that the seaweed is toxic and proceeds to eat it. Jinshi is about at horrified as he can be. To be clear, he has the appropriate reaction for when someone consumes something poisonous. Jinshi forces her to take an emetic agent and vomit it back up before she can allow her experiment to begin. Once again we see her disregard her own wellbeing to pursue her study of poisons. It's reckless behavior. I understand that she doesn't have an ethical way to run these experiments, but one doesn't risk their own life or health for the pursuit of knowledge without having a pretty messed up sense of the value of their own life. She could have done this experiment in private and tried to hide it, but instead chose to do it in front of Jinshi and Gaoshun. I wonder if she was curious to see their reactions, or if she was even hoping they would respond this way. That they prevent her from hurting herself is a sign of their care for her. Will she be able to understand that and internalize it? I'm not hopeful.

Oh, that not at all suspicious younger brother was the culprit who bought the foreign seaweed? You don't say. Okay so he felt he wasn't treated well as the younger brother. Is this the same dude from the end of the last episode when someone was whining about being "worthy too?" So the mysterious guy who happened to be around the night Sir Kounen died, was also around to suggest to this murderous little brother, that he import toxic seaweed from the south. What is that serial killer up to? Does he have a larger goal? Is he part of a conspiracy?

Maomao, I think is tidying up Jinshi's bedroom, and is in a terrific mood, dreaming about how to use her caterpillar fungus. She accidentally is overly welcoming to Jinshi, and it is too much like a scene from one of his fondest dreams, so he smashes his face against the wall. These two cannot keep going on like this. Jinshi is desperate to move things forward with Maomao, even if he is holding back for now. And Maomao cannot pretend to be oblivious to his feelings forever.

Jinshi is exhausted. He has a lot of work to do, and Lakan has been making his life harder than usual.

Finally we get more information about Lakan. He's past forty, a high ranking military office, and a weirdo. I'm always looking for long lost parents, and this guy is a prime suspect. And he could work for Maomoa, Jinshi, or Basen. The fact that he's a "weirdo" makes me lean towards Maomao. Also, his strategic mind. Though I suppose that could be descriptive of Maomao or Jinshi, I think it fits Maomao better.

Jinshi says he thinks Lakan has it out for him, because he keeps causing trouble, plus the man has been in his office for the last few days. Probably ever since he heard about Maomao.

Jinshi is opening up and sharing his frustration about something going on in his life, and Maomao decides it's not her problem, so she doesn't need to care.

On the one hand I get it, she's trying to stay out of things that aren't her business. We see that consistently with how she avoids gossip. She may also feel that since she is merely a servant, that her opinions wouldn't be welcome here. But either way, Jinshi has decided to open up and share something, and she just disregards that. Frankly, it's rude.

If a friend wants to share something with you, you should make some effort to listen, it's how you build and nurture relationships. Of course that is likely the heart of the problem here. Maomao is terrified of intimacy, and this is a lot like actually being friends. She can't allow it. At least not with Jinshi.

We have seen Maomao sit and listen to Xiaolan, chatting about all kinds of different things, and I'm trying to remember specific examples but I think she would be willing to listen to the ladies of the Jade Pavilion or Verdigris House. I at least don't remember her ever straight up bailing on a conversation like this. It's really only Jinshi that gets this kind of treatment, and it's because he's the biggest threat.

She could be friends with just about anyone else, but with Jinshi, it's a slippery slope. If she allows a deeper friendship to grow, what's to stop her from continuing to tumble, until she fall completely in love?

Foreshadowing:

Maomao: Enough of that. It's not like it affects me, right?

Right.

And for as much as Maomao would love to check out of what Jinshi was saying, in truth she's bothered by it. The skies are cloudy, and Maomao's got a bad feeling about Lakan. She's worried about Jinshi. I wish Maomao had a therapist.

So we finally get a scene between Jinshi and Lakan. And what a scene it is!

Lakan arrives with fake smiles and words with hidden meanings. Jinshi is on guard from the start.

Lakan wants to talk about Verdigris House. He had a connection with a courtesan there who was a master at Go. Lakan lost his chance to buy her when her price went up during a bidding war. The courtesan he's talking about was an interesting one, who sold her skills but not herself, and wore a haughty expression. Jinshi unwillingly relates to Lakan when he describes the joy of being glared at.

Jinshi can't help himself and keeps asking questions even though he is aware that Lakan is luring him deeper into this conversation. Does Jinshi have an interest in this conversation? What Lakan's goals are here, Jinshi doesn't know, and I don't either, but Jinshi and I are both pretty sure it has to do with Maomao.

Lakan did something to the courtesan to lower her value, but doesn't want to reveal his misdeeds without a favor. Lakan asks to meet Maomao, and refers to her as Jinshi's servant rather than his concubine, which is interesting, following the conversation that preceded this ask. There is a mystery that Lakan wants to get to the bottom of, and he wants Maomao to take a look. Jinshi allows it. Maybe trying to find some peace from the endless trouble that Lakan has been causing him, or maybe he is agreeing to something, something mysterious that was being discussed in this conversation, that wasn't said aloud.

So time for a wild theory. I'm wondering if Lakan is Maomao's father and if the courtesan might be Maomao's mother. The thing he did to lower her value may be to impregnate the woman. Was he able to purchase the woman? Did he move her into the annex? Is Lakan a rotten piece of shit, and Maomao's mother faked Maomao's death and asked Luomen to help get her away from Lakan? If so, and Lakan suspects who Maomao may be, then his conversation with Jinshi may be a chance to see what Jinshi knows. Lay out some pieces of the story and see if Jinshi reacts.

And now I wonder, just how much does Jinshi know?! Does he know about Maomao's parentage? Is that why he couldn't help asking more questions? Is that why he agreed to allow Lakan to see Maomao. Is this some kind of tacit agreement, like fine you can see her, but don't tell her any of this shit?

In the final scene the rains have come. Trouble has arrived.

To start from the beginning:

Episode 1

Next Episode:

Episode 16

#the apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries #maomao #jinshi #jinmao #jinshi x maomao

[ohanny]

my least delusional take on how kim and kenta might happen in season 2

so call me delusional but i don’t think the prison trio works for tony. first of all, kenta pretty much murdered him and i don’t think tony is the kind of man to forgive that? one could argue he could use it to guilt kenta but like… there are way more risk-free options not inside a prison for stabbing you. winner was a henchman of opportunity and selfish benefit and just looks like the sort to hold a bitter grudge forever. and dean? dean was caught up in the mess at his weakest point and going through the consequences of his own actions. also i want all three of them to move forward and not back.

but obviously they are working for someone - i see them as being rather reluctantly allied with the common goal of getting and, most importantly, staying out of prison. and this is where i want kim to stumble in on their little operation and actually agree with their mission which leads to him teaming up with them. like maybe the trio is trying to figure out what's going on with tony or way or the rest of the child/organ trafficking ring and maybe it's something the x-hunter team has dismissed or doesn't want to dig into but please. since when has st. kimberly of justice have been able to walk away once he catches the scent of something rotten in the state of denmark? never.

winner and dean have a thing against kenta - winner because he's a bitch and dean because kenta ruined his life - and kim sure as shit isn't going to be on winner’s side: so the circumstances make him partner up with kenta by default. together they get shit done and keep the rest of their little gang of misfits in check.

kenta is a bit feral and unstable and kim is very no nonsense about his “you want to figure out who you are and how to be a better person? fucking act like it” opinions. like give me kim being bossy and righteous and kenta wanting to strangle him because he can't deal with someone trying to control and micromanage his every move again. give me kenta lashing out and kim looking at him all “with all due respect - which is none - you can't pull this shit in a civilized society.” give me kenta trying his best to function, having his own rituals and behaviours - some of them very maladjusted and plain sad - and kim, witnessing it from close range, thinking “holy shit that's messed up.”

(kim snaps and gets into kenta’s face and kenta flinches before shaking it off and striking back. kenta is possessive and stupid aggressive about the most mundane things - like his cigarettes, clothes or food - and kim finds it infuriating until he realizes they're the first and only things kenta’s been allowed to actually own. kenta gets banged up in the process of them doing something and kim barks at him to “sit the hell down and let me look at it” and kenta responds with a blank-faced “why?”)

kim might not start out liking kenta, that'll come later and almost by accident, but he pities the man and doesn't think anyone deserves to like that way. and they don't even need to explicitly end up together but give me and ending where it's hinted at as the natural next step now that they've grown genuinely fond of each other.

-

bonus:

kim: hey, i don't like the guy either but we’re on the same side this time

alan: you sure about that?

kim: yeah, he wants nothing to do with tony.

alan: not what i meant but good to know

#pit babe the series #kentakim #kimkenta #pit babe season 2

[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 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, even things he 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. 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 brow furrows as if in confusion 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 , 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 un comfortable 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 is enough for you to already know how he feels. 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 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 and smile.

“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 dis like 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 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. He’s finding 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. Roman’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. 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. Ah yes, very serious.

“I am being serious. 

“Are you?

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

“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.” Y ou 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 drags 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 pouty 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 sound amused. 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.

“I like you too.” You share a smile, and he rests his head over 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 and his brows dips with confusion but he stays still. He’s made you his bed to lie in and his arms wrap around your waist snugly. 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 him 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. . . 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.

#roman roy #succession #roman roy x reader #roman roy succession #roman roy smut #succession hbo #succession x reader #succession fanfic #succession smut #dogmotif! roman my beloved

[twistedappletree]

Arranged marriage zhuiling AU where instead of being arranged to marry each other, Jiang Cheng keeps trying to set Jin Ling up with random girls from other clans after Jin Ling mentions he’s interested in marrying ‘someone’ because he doesn’t know Jin Ling meant Lan Sizhui, so Jin Ling keeps doing the most ridiculously annoying and unappealing things to scare off every girl who comes to Koi Tower and Jiang Cheng is ripping his hair out because you little brat, you said you wanted to get married???

Eventually, both of them are so exhausted from the miscommunication that Jiang Cheng investigates and finally finds out what’s wrong, then tells Jin Ling he has one more potential spouse for him to meet. Jin Ling is a pouting lackluster mess over it until his entire world stops when the doors to Koi Tower open and Lan Sizhui walks through.

#zhuiling #lingzhui #fic ideas #will probably actually write this soon ngl ahahaHAHAHA #poor JC not know wtf is going on #i feel like it’s more IC of him to actually think he’s helping instead of trying to force JL to marry anyone #bc he does love him and wants him to be happy #but both of them are so shit at communicating and JL is never gonna admit he likes LSZ to his uncle #so JC has to do his own digging to find out 😭 #zhuiling musings #ok but what if JC finds out JL and LSZ love each other through Jingyi #lmfAOOOOO #Jingyi’s just like ‘your stupid moody niece is in love with my best friend you dumb purple slut’ #ffffuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUCCCCKKKK AHAHAHAHA #apple babble 🍎 #mdzs au #arranged marriage au #married aspec ZhuiLing would be so cute tho I think about it a lotttttt 😭✨🌸

[xbraveheartx]

Just full of ✨ Thoughts ✨ over the development and progress from when you start the game to when you finish on how P/Carlo just evolves, and kinda just thinking on some internal stuff on how I would like to write him.

How you start and he's just P, he doesn't know his purpose, he just knows he's being called somewhere. Lost, alone, faced with peril and made to fight when he hasn't even stepped out of his "birth place". He wakes up and he's just handed a sword. And he fights. At the start he's very much this empty slate; A newborn stumbling through Krat, and despite the man who calls himself himself father saying stuff like "Krat isn't how you remember it--" He really doesn't 'remember' anything at all. What is there to 'remember', he wonders?

And then he starts to get the memories-- they're not his but also... they are? They feel so close and yet so far away; Foreign and yet familiar. And then he hears a name whispered: Carlo-- and his whole world shifts right from under him. He feels sick, the name makes his head spin. The voice to have said it makes his head spin all the more. And bit by bit. He remembers. Not all of it, but... he remembers enough.

And he's hurt by what he remembers.

But by the end of it, after he claims his own freedom, after everything is resolved, and he returns to the hotel, he doesn't feel fully like Carlo-- doesn't feel at all like "P", either. He woke up not too long ago, and suddenly his life is flipped in its entirety. He's neither, and yet he's both. He doesn't know who he is anymore, but the name sticks. It's all he has left, even if a part of him feels some strange form of imposter syndrome, somewhere deep down... But he doesn't like being referred to as Geppetto's Puppet, either. He's not a puppet, not anymore. He's human, albeit, a different kind of human.

So just Carlo, is fine with him, even if he's changed far beyond of who-- and what-- Carlo was.

'--an Ergo puppet can have a second life and become another kind of human--' He just needed now to decide just what that second life meant for him, now.

#Lies of P #Lies of P Spoilers #Just digging deep while dumping all my thoughts into a word document but also kinda #thinking on how... I want to portray him? How I saw him through my playthroughs of the game. #Sophia in her letter at the end specifically mentions: #“The fact that an Ergo puppet can have a second life and become another kind of human requires more time for people to find out about it.” #And while she's probably referring to herself? Aren't we too referred to as such by Giangio/Paracelsus? #So by extension... yeah. Second life. But by this point Carlo doesn't even feel like 'Carlo' #It's like waking up one morning as one person and then suddenly getting slammed with memories of your past life #and going 'well shit now who am I' because literally just this morning you were 500% convinced you were someone else #Hurray for identity crisis!! Even if lowkey! He just goes on and does his best c':

[tateratots]

sometimes watching/reading something that sucks is just as if not more valuable that watching/reading something great and that's awesome.

#i feel like stuff inspired by things that suck often has more thought and heart put into it that stuff inspired by things that are great #for one if it sucks and you know it sucks then to be inspired by it you have to dig thru the shit to find those nuggets of potential #if it's great then it's easy to fall into pale imitation #something something idk something something homestuck probably

[every-eye-evermore]

I’m trying to get the lord huron tag system sorted because honestly what the hell were we doing here? NINE? There’s no consistency. There’s a tag for She Lit a Fire. There’s a tag for Vide Noir the album. There’s a tag for Strange Trails the album AND SEVERAL OF THE SONGS WITHIN IT. There is no unified Lord Huronverse tag. We gotta do better, guys.

This is my full dissertation to the support staff :sob:

It’s incredibly difficult to find fics for the Lord Huron fandom because they’re scattered between 9 different fandom labels- each with only a handful of different fics in them.

It’s a band that writes songs from the pov of an invented universe, so every song follows the same “canon”, but they’re still separated into individual song labels rather than just one for the whole canon. Some songs even describe the same event, yet they’d appear as two different fandoms.

It makes a lot of sense for them to be consolidated into the same fandom (as there isn’t a general lord huron-verse category yet)

I would even understand categorizing the songs and the movie based on them as different fandoms, but separating albums and songs- especially for such a small fandom- makes it impossible to navigate. It’s like making a new label for each episode or season of a tv show.

I’d love it if this could get resolved, as I think if the Lord Huron fics were easier to find it could encourage more readers and writers to find us.

The full list of tags I’ve found is

Strange Trails - Lord Huron (Album)

Meet Me in the Woods - Lord Huron (Song)

Vide Noir - Lord Huron (Album)

The Yawning Grave - Lord Huron (Song)

The Night We Met - Lord Huron (Song)

Fool For Love - Lord Huron (Song)

Frozen Pines - Lord Huron (Song)

She Lit a Fire - Lord Huron (Song)

Vide Noir (2022)

#mine #lord huron #posting it to the main tag because I need to make a psa to the fanfic writers #1. #I love you so very much you are doing so well I love what you make please make more #2. #WHAT ARE YOU DOING #I CANT FIND SHIT #i guarantee there would be at least a few more readers and fics if this made more sense #it’s so hard to find a lord huron fic you gotta dig deep

[queer-ragnelle]

Some people wouldn’t know good taste if it was spat into their mouths.

#feeling salty tonight about some stupid fucking people #stop presenting your opinion as fact when you seem to deliberately misinterpret texts for your own ends #you project wildly it’s a bad look cut that shit out #learn to appreciate nuance #you’ll enjoy things so much more instead of constantly digging your heels in about the first inclination you ever had #learn to challenge yourself and grow and you’ll probably open up more #everything is subjective but sometimes someone’s rotten brain mangles a story beyond recognition and then yeah they’re just wrong #shoving every story and character and author into a box is dumb and you’re limiting yourself #remove the boundaries and expand your mind and you might find you enjoy things much more #constantly ​hating on things is exhausting. wouldn’t you like to rest? #take a deep breath and let it fucking go man this is stupid hill to die on #nothing is as black and white as you say and your extreme views are unfairly coloring the text in a negative light #it’s not that bad in fact I think it’s great and you’re a moron to write it off so flippantly bc you clearly don’t get it #death of the author but holy shit the blatant bad faith readings feels like deliberate misunderstanding #your criticisms don’t make sense they don’t even align with what’s on page you’re just rationalizing your negativity #if you find it so unappealing then fuck off #bc I do find it appealing and your rancid viewpoint is vomit inducing #from an enthusiast standpoint you sound stupid from an academic standpoint you’re just wrong #if this literature is so depraved and unpalatable for your modern tastes #go lick a tiktok and leave medieval literature out of it mkay? #end rant

[moki-dokie]

oddball facts about edo-period japan i have learned while writing ed’s story: (tw for mention of underaged sex)

lube for sex was made either from boiled red seaweed(more common in china and korea but not unusual in japan) or grated yams. for anal sex, men preferred clove oil for the pain-killing properties it has. also the seaweed agent is still used today in some lubes AND interestingly the seaweed lube has an anti-viral agent especially effective against HPV

average prostitutes had a pisspoor diet consisting mainly of rice gruel and fermented pickles. sometimes they went days without eating

low-ranking prostitutes commonly got into fights. like. actual fist fights. brawls, even

those giant ass kimonos you always see in woodblock erotic art that covers up the lovers isn’t actually a kimono, but a bedspread designed to look like one. also tayuu and oiran would be gifted these by wealthy patrons and were expected to use them when that patron visited. (makes me wonder how many of those a single oiran might own)

apparently some male prostitutes earned more than even the most prestigious oiran

samurai warriors weren’t supposed to visit brothels but they said lol you can’t stop me if i put a basket on my head

shogunate didn’t like how horny and rowdy samurai got during kabuki theatre because they always ended up fucking like everything in sight so they were like “no more women and young boys allowed as actors >:(” and then actors said fuck you and recruited young boys as apprentices where they whored around anyway

monks couldn’t take wives but they sure could take their boy apprentices

samurai warrior’s boy apprentices were also banged

basically if you were young, pretty, a boy, and in service to literally anyone you were gonna get dicked down. rip.

poor girls were usually sold to the brothels, but a good deal of them never went on to be prostitutes. mainly cleaning, running errands and messages, attending the prostitutes as needed, helping in the kitchen, ect.

every pleasure district had a different hierarchy for prostitutes. most of the ones we know are from edo/tokyo.

sex never had negative connotations attached to it until, you guessed it, christianity came in full force when japan opened to westerners in the meiji era. good sex was seen as good health. the very concept of sexuality did not exist until then, either.

there were 3 recognized genders. can you guess why the third gender disappeared

there were SO many dildos. like, hella intricate dildos. textured dildos. RIBBED dildos. generally made from polished wood or stone or sometimes tortoiseshell. strap-ons too!!

not really surprising since almost all humans did this at some point but condoms were pretty common and made of animal intestine

i’ve yet to find sources on what a brothel’s hours were like, but from what i’ve gathered between diary entries and woodblock prints, it was very likely they might have been open from sunrise until midnight or later. oof.

having sex with an oiran could cost a man up to $13k. holy fuck dude. AND it required a minimum of 3 “dates” of which HE was expected to entertain HER. that amuses me greatly for some reason.

samurai was a class, not just warriors (although warriors did make up a large portion of it). there were professions within the class. you could be a samurai doctor, for example. where are my novels and movies about samurai physicians and herbalists and inventors

speaking of samurai warriors though, just because you were samurai didn’t mean you were wealthier than those in a lower caste than you. some samurai were poor as all fuck and struggled to get by on their meager earnings. this lead to many of them becoming mercenaries. by late edo-period very few samurai warriors still followed their code of conduct and honor and were basically government thugs

merchants were considered the lowest of the low in the caste system UNTIL japan made the official currency coin instead of rice and suddenly these motherfuckers were some of the wealthiest people in the country and everyone wanted their own merchant. their caste level never changed but everyone just sort of ignored that

#neat facts #the sort of things you only learn about #when you're writing about it tbh #some of this shit is hard as fuck to find more info on #and yet i keep digging

[theelvishcowgirl]

RCTA

Found out that transracials are a thing....

One thing I noticed, is the poor kids are being HATED on... Like, what the fuck?? At this point, I don't care what your opinions are, that is BULLYING!! I can't tell you how much I ABHOR bullying!

It's evil and the bullies who find everything thing they do justifiable with no remorse, are people I don't think will ever change and I just want to save the kids.

Bullying isn't cool.

Do I agree with the whole thing of transracialism? No. I very much do not.

That doesn't mean BULLYING them is EVER okay!

#The more I dig into this shit the more I find bullies than I do mentally disturbed people #At this point I'd say the transracials are more mentally stable at this point And I'll bet eight or nine times out of ten it's a teenager #Teenagers that don't want to face reality that is #How is that any different from the... *masses* of teenagers going through transgenderism? #I don't hate the trans groups transracials INCLUDED #But I think y'all really need to take a deep look at yourselves #if you find this #rcta #trans #transracial #Transgender #You guys need to seriously stop hating on each other... It's so fucking ugly to see