#Kendall Wind

[spilladabalia]

The Bobby Lees - Ma Likes To Drink

[rawrampmag]

. #SamanthaFish + #JesseDayton #DeathWishBlues #Blues #Guitar #SamanthaFish @Samantha_Fish+ @jessedayton

. #SamanthaFish + #JesseDayton #DeathWishBlues #Blues #Guitar #SamanthaFish @Samantha_Fish+ @jessedayton

Death Wish Blues, SAMANTHA FISH and JESSE DAYTON‘s debut joint album, is a collection of work resulting from a common desire to push the boundaries of blues music As one of the most influential figures on the 21st century blues scene, Fish has established herself as a multi-award-winning festival headlining artist who enthrals audiences with her ferocious yet graceful guitar playing, delivering…

[strawberrystepmom]

umemiya x f!reader. reader is wearing a bathing suit. established relationship, very suggestive, mentions of marriage. | divider thanks to cafekitsune like always, wc 1k even.

The haze of summer has settled thickly over all of Makochi, the air almost heavy enough to wrap around you and wear it. A subtle sheen of humidity settles over your shoulders and face; cicadas sing their song in the distance and wind chimes tinkle when a breeze mercifully blows by to cool your heated skin. The heat can’t prevent you from being outside, though. You lie on your belly beneath the blazing sun in your stringiest bikini, legs stretched out behind you while Hajime cares for his personal garden - the one meant just for the two of you - atop his apartment building. He hums a little tune, occasionally throwing in a whistle for good measure to make you giggle at him while your cheek rests against your folded arms, watching his every move.

It didn’t feel so hot about fifteen minutes ago but now that you’re watching sweat dampen the back of his white t-shirt and cling to his body, you sigh dramatically and he’s at your side in an instant, ever in tune with whatever you need.

“What’s wrong?”

You glance up at him and smile, unfolding your arms and stretching them above your head, flipping from your belly onto your back to give him a view of the front of you, gentle grooves in your skin when you shift from how tightly your bathing suit is secured around you. He doesn’t hide his ogling, raking steel blue eyes from your throat to your belly button and to your thighs, wiping his hairline with his forearm.

“Wanna use those broad shoulders to block the sun for me for a few minutes?”

Hajime smiles and nods wordlessly at your request, taking a few big steps to the left to block the sun from getting in your eyes, casting a tall and cool shadow over your upper body. He wipes his hands together to free them of any dirt or grime from the plants, twisting his body to point them in the opposite direction of where you lie across a large old sheet, your sandals pinning down opposite corners to keep the breeze from blowing it up. Removing one of his gloves, he pops it in his pocket and reaches down to press his palm against your skin, hissing through his teeth.

“Hot even for you.” He raises a brow, wrapping up his perpetual fussing over you in humor to prevent you from insisting that he does too much. “You really do need shade, huh? Poor thing.”

��My hero.” You nod, putting a smile on his face. 

Umemiya sinks down, kneeling beside you and changing his shadow so that it covers even more of you, your thighs now cooled by the shade provided by his size. He drags his palm from your waist upward toward the triangles of your top, slipping a finger beneath the tiny string stretched across your sternum.

“Do you want to go inside?”

Glancing up at him, you bite back a smile and shake your head, his finger still gently toying with your top. You reach out to toy with him now, gently tugging at the damp collar of his shirt, dragging your palm down his chest.

“No, I wanna be out here with you. You’re hot too, we can suffer together.”

Neither of you are suffering very badly if the way each of you is glancing at the other is any indication of what's really happening here, eyes half lidded, fingers itching to explore sweat slicked skin. Hajime wants to spring into action and plan a way to grow an entire canopy over the roof to ensure you are never uncomfortable but he’s a little distracted at the moment, your hand sliding further down his torso and beneath the hemline of his shirt to rest against his warm skin and hardened muscle.

“What are you up to?” He asks with a smile. He drops from his squat position to sitting next to you, legs spread while he leans down to kiss your lips gently, as sweet as the breeze that ruffles the ends of his hair. “Besides making sure I get nothing done today.”

Giggling, you kiss him back. One set of fingers thread through his hair, brushing it back from his face in the style he prefers and the other drags down his torso toward the waistband of his shorts, playfully tickling him along the way.

“You just make the best umbrella.” You crane your neck to kiss him again, hand settling around the back of his neck to keep him close to you. “Maybe that should be your new name, Hajime Umbrella.” He chuckles and moves closer to you, lowering himself until his arms cage either side of you, his body twisted to hover slightly above yours.

“Then you’d just be Mrs. Umbrella someday but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You wiggle beneath him at the insinuation that you’ll be carrying his last name, something even warmer than today’s temperature pooling beneath your skin. Umemiya laughs and leans in to kiss you again, foregoing any sense of decorum to slowly slide his body over the top of yours. His thighs join his arms in caging you in, pinned to the sheet beneath your back, the sound of distant wind chimes carrying across the cloudless sky to mingle with your giggles.

“Come on Mrs. Umbrella,” he jokes again, sliding his hand up your side. “Let’s work out here a little longer and then we can go inside, alright?”

Your back arches in response to his touch. He takes advantage of the position, reaching into the small space between your back and the sheet to untie your top. He doesn’t immediately move it to expose you, allowing you to make that decision for yourself. 

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

You grin up at him until he envelops you in a sultry kiss, one that truly matches this summer heat, helping him remove his sweaty shirt an arm at a time and tossing it aside. 

[jhsharman]

"Storm Cloud"

Obvious difference with Archie working to meet Veronica's demand and Betty cheerfully drops on by. Move into the narrative stories, and they drop implied somethings.

Veronica won't stand that!

[lifesizejosuke]

wild that people hate sansa when robb is literally right there

[shivroy]

I personally see kendall's kids as not biologically being his, especially with roman's comments in the last ep. but also, could be interesting if Iverson were biologically his, especially because of how logan treats iverson being autistic(?) and too sensitive/ weak and how (to him) that would reflect badly on his "bloodline." cus he's that kinda guy. much to think about...

I KNOW that's why it's so hard for me to decide aggghhhh... i personally view kendall as autistic and like obviously iverson could be as well without being bio related to him but if ive was biologically related the way logan views the both of them is more interesting to me

[myplasticadversary]

Ok so the thing with Shiv and Kendall and Roman for me is it is essential that no matter what there must be represented the three genders of Butchy Femme Dom, Stone Service Top and Bratty Pillow Princess all in balance

[starikune]

Tag Dump Part 2.

[baodurs]

i agree that jesse "confirming" kendall's name was underlined in the will is silly but i love to be delusional about kendall so i had a lot of fun personally. also it's funny that it made some guy on the subreddit break out the roland barthes

[obeetlebeetle]

big ep for roman lovers (he said something real) and shiv lovers (tom under her thumb again) . kendall idc

[spilladabalia]

The Bobby Lees - Bellevue

[lesbiancosimaniehaus]

Juliana Canfield and Jeremy O. Harris were “besties” in grad school. The theater world is truly so small….

[strawberrystepmom]

umemiya and tv meteorologist f!reader are both in their mid to late twenties. cw food mentions. divider by cafekitsune, wc 2.2k

“And today’s skies are going to be sunny as ever, a little bit warmer than we usually see seasonally…”

Hajime raises his eyebrows at the TV, the sound of your voice gradually fading into nothing more than background static mixing with the sounds of cicadas indicating one hot summer is due to make its arrival sooner rather than later. He sighs and presses the back of his hand against his forehead, droplets of sweat soaked up by his gardening glove.

“A bit warmer?” He mutters to an audience of himself and his carefully cultivated plants he has spent years growing, most of the current crop shoots off of prior plants he painstakingly tended rather than from seeds.

It takes a long, long time and a lot of effort to build a community garden this elaborate but it has been time well spent as far as Umemiya is concerned. Tomatoes that are available for anyone who needs them will be abundant in approximately a month and so will cucumbers.

His official title in Makochi is Community Organizer though almost everyone knows the truth at this point - he’s still the man in charge of Bofurin. The young men who didn’t leave the town as soon as they graduated continued to follow Hajime’s lead to become upstanding members of the community, even if the means they keep themselves upstanding are a little questionable at times.

Your weather forecast ends and he flips the TV off, trimming the last of the small leaves sprouting off of the stem of his largest tomato plant and gently misting them to ward off this heat.

He’s still stuck on how you said it’s only slightly hotter than what tends to be seasonally normal, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. It clings to his body when he stands, emblazoned with the slogan of some bar he went to years ago in another prefecture, and looks around the garden with a smile. Inspecting each plant with careful precision, he notices the heat already scorching a few of his smaller plants and he simply cannot stand for it.

You say it’s warm when it’s hot, it’s gonna drizzle when it showers. It’s down right deceptive and for someone who takes his role as Community Organizer very seriously, he can’t stand for it.

When he gets home, he’ll send a letter to the local news station declaring his distaste with the inaccurate weather report.

—-

“You got another one.”

Fumi, one of the producers for the morning show, tosses an envelope on the corner of the newsroom that belongs to you. You have various charts and schedules you’re reviewing, glasses propped on your nose. You give the envelope a scant glance out of the corner of your eye until realizing that you recognize the tidy handwriting on the front of the letter.

“This is like the fourth one he’s sent,” you mumble to no one in particular and Fumi hums, pursing her lips.

The weather girl, as they’ve dubbed you despite your official title of a meteorologist, receives enough fan mail no one really fights for the job of delivering it. Sometimes it’s professions of love or letters expressing thankfulness for predicting good weather on an important day in someone’s life, other times the letters are less wholesome but you take it all surprisingly well.

This is just the fourth letter you’ve received from Hajime Umemiya and part of you is concerned it’s somewhere between love confession and threat of violence. You know nothing about the sender, a man you’ve never met before and likely never will, but his letters don’t carry the vaguely threatening aura some of the others you’ve received have. You simply haven’t had a chance to open them yet, the other three stuffed inside of your desk drawer.

“If we need to tell security, let someone know.”

Fumi’s words are half hearted in tone but you know she means them, walking off with a half wave and toward the producers booth. You glance at the letter again, plucking it off of your desk and slapping it against the palm of your opposite hand to make sure nothing is inside of it besides the letter itself.

When you’re satisfied that there is no mysterious, worrying rattle inside the envelope you slide your fingernail beneath the seal, loosening the paper. The letter inside is folded a little haphazardly, the edges lopsided instead of folded neatly and exact which makes you smile to yourself. Unfolding the paper, you scan over the opening.

“Dearest Weather Woman,

I hope that this letter finds you in good health.”

The formality makes you snort to yourself and you glance around the newsroom to make sure no one overheard you, uninterested in drawing a crowd, and you wonder if this guy read a book or searched for an article about writing formal letters before doing this. It’s so formal you’d be concerned where it came from if it weren’t from the slight smudges of ink dotting the paper in various locations.

“I am writing as a concerned member of the Makochi community who does not always find your reporting of the weather conditions to be accurate.”

Sighing, you drop the letter down on your desk and open the drawer beneath it to pull out the other three letters this concerned citizen has sent, following the same steps and smacking them against your palm to ensure nothing is inside of them. You unfold them quickly and far less carefully than the first one and smile when scanning and realizing they all say the same thing.

“My tomatoes are scorching this early in the season. This may gravely affect our output which may prevent our community from enjoying our garden.”

If the letters seemed less earnest, you’d laugh them off and scoff at the fact a stranger wants you to control the weather. That isn’t what he’s asking you to do but if it were, it’d be far from the first time someone has sent you psychobabble about the sun. There’s something distinctly responsible in the wording of these complaints despite their formality and you sigh, digging your own pen and paper out to respond.

What can you even say? “Sorry the planet is heating up” seems snarkier than you’d like to be so you twist back and forth in your chair, tapping the pen against your lower lip. An idea washes over you and you lean forward in your chair, bending over your desk and scribbling as quickly as you can to offer the stranger your solution.

If he wants to know more about how weather works, you’ll be glad to tell him more yourself if he can catch you at Café Pothos next week when you get one of your pre-show coffees. Scribbling down the date and time, you wonder for a moment if you are taking a risk by offering your time and location to a man you’ve never met but your gut tells you it’s okay. You’ve always trusted it and you stuff your response into an envelope, licking the seal and closing it while dashing off toward the mailroom to have it sent today.

——

Wednesday, 5:45 AM.

Hajime sits boredly at one of the small booths in the cafe, idly tearing bits of his straw wrapper into smaller bits and even smaller ones still.

“What if she’s lying to you and you’re going to get caught on camera being weird or something?” Kotoha shouts from behind the bar and the man sucks his teeth in response, blowing out air in a hiss. “I hope not. That wouldn’t be very nice after personally inviting me to meet.”

His words don’t belay his anxiety but he feels it, concerned his well meaning letters crossed a line though your response was kind and similar in tone to his own. Your letter is in his pocket, he likes your handwriting and has to fight the urge to keep from pulling it out to admire it.

“Good morning!”

He recognizes your voice from your broadcasts and his ears perk up, posture straightening as he looks over the back of the booth, surprised by how put together you look despite not being quite TV ready. Your face looks fresh and mostly makeup free, hair pulled off of your face with a clip. Kotoha looks up from the bar and smiles at you, clearly familiar.

“Morning. Your usual?”

Very familiar, obviously. Hajime raises a brow and looks at his own mug, filled to the brim with coffee he knew he wouldn’t drink when it was poured. He watches you and Kotoha exchange pleasantries, your cat shaped coin purse open as you fish out the last few needed to pay for your drink. Maybe he should have offered to do that for you? It’s too early in the morning for him to feel sure of himself so his eyes flit from your back to the table in front of him.

He isn’t much of a black coffee guy but it seemed right preparing for some kind of strange business meeting to have it. At least that's what he thought until you approached him, cup clanging against the plate beneath it and the brim of it overflowing with whipped cream. Shaking his head, Hajime picks up his own cup half heartedly and sips from it to make it seem like he is doing anything besides waiting.

You stop in your tracks just short of the booth and tilt your head, a smile far bigger than the one you wear on TV crossing your face.

“Oh, I didn’t recognize your name but now that I see your face I remember you. My colleague Jin interviewed you last year about the improvements to the school.”

Umemiya completes your sentence for you and smiles easily back at you, sitting back against the booth. You smile nervously all of a sudden, crowding into the side opposite him and bowing your head respectfully, the mountain of whipped cream on top of your coffee drooping when you set the cup down.

“Umemiya, right?”

The man nods, sipping the bitter coffee from the mug in his hand with a slight grimace that you politely do not mention.

“Hajime is my first name and you’re welcome to use it if you’d like.”

Giggling, you nod and reach for your own cup, delicately lifting it to your mouth and humming your approval as the taste officially starts your morning. He chuckles in response, blue eyes glancing across the table at you with a look you can’t quite name but you think it may be good old fashioned curiosity.

Truthfully, he’s just a little taken aback by how pretty you are up close but he sips his coffee again instead of opening his mouth. You finish your sip and clasp your fingers together on the table in front of you with a grin, easy and natural.

“Well, Hajime, before we begin I just want to let you know that while I am sorry about your tomato plants, I am not a witch and cannot control the weather.”

The sweet smile on your face lets him know you’re joking and he raises his brows, sighing and shaking his head. The corners of his mouth are upturned in a clever smile matching his own and he glances up at you through thick and long lashes, one of his brows remaining raised.

“With all due respect, tell that to my tomatoes.”

Snorting before bursting into laughter, you don’t bother to hide your face in your shoulder when he laughs along with you. You didn’t notice it when you first sat down but he’s extraordinarily handsome even for the predawn hour, white hair flopping over his eyes far more boyishly than it should be allowed to. His eyes are blue and lively, not unlike the skies you love to report on so much, smile big and bright.

“Anyway,” you finish laughing and clear your throat, still smiling. “Now that we have that out of the way, it’s really nice to meet you and I’m here for any questions you may have. We have thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes hardly seems like enough time to ask everything he wants to but he sits back, gently turning his wrist and making the coffee in his mug slosh gently. You giggle again, a very sweet sound that almost throws him off of his coffee twirling flow, lifting your own mug to your mouth.

“Why does it rain?”

Despite yourself, you laugh and rush to swallow your mouthful of coffee, wiping the corners of your lips free of any potentially embarrassing dribbles.

“I’ll need a lot longer than 30 minutes to explain that to you, Hajime.”

He wrinkles his nose, looking around the empty coffee shop.

“Then tell me what you can today and maybe we can meet again tomorrow?”

Mentally, you go over tomorrow’s schedule which coincidentally is the same as today and every day’s, and you nod at him with a loud exhale through your nose.

“Sure. Then maybe you can relay the info to your tomatoes so they can prepare?”

He grins at you, laughing from his chest. The depth of his laughter makes his shoulders gently shake, the long sleeved he wears shirt buckling over his chest.

“Yeah, I think they’d enjoy that.”

[leghorned]

HE FROM ON HIGH RAVING EVERYMAN

STRANGER-IN-BATHROOM STAIRMASTER

disco elysium-inspired portraits, thoughts below

kendall — the boy prince with a crown of thorns, imprisoned at the top. he overlooks the city, painfully distant from it all. a reflection in broken glass haunts him; his father, the waiter, himself. shattered and bloodied and dripping onto him still. so high and so blue, a puzzle barely together. his gaze tells you he knows how pathetic he is.

connor — the relatable uber-rich. the eldest son, forgotten, overtaken by the background. his political ambitions are yet another hobby to fill a void; his ranch, his wine, his presidency. he is pastel, faded, swathed in republican red that even then is all vanity. sees himself in screens. he is blowing away in the wind.

roman — doing the dirty work in the dirty room. he's ready to sling over offers and quick wit but there is a childishness about him, like he's scrawled in crayon. something's off, something's wrong with him and you can't figure out what exactly. he lives within it, then: slimy and blood-hot and close. his eyes dart around. the trained dog that might just bite when he's nervous.

shiv — all that effort to go nowhere. a girl with a pearl earring: wealthy, intriguing, unknowable. can't be bothered to face you fully, but baring her back in the process. bathed in the lines of light that her father gives her in inches. she is doomed to be pushed, and to be helped back up, which might be worse than the falling. exuding something sharp, startling, hot pink: forever pinky.

and if you got here... THANKS 4 reading & looking

[senselessviolets]

being roman roy’s personal assistant (and his obsession) would include…

Rating M

WARNINGS:

Language, sexual tension, degradation, power imbalance, Roman being Roman weird.

Author's Notes:

Pretty self-explanatory. No uses of Y/N. Some brief RomanGerri. Very much inspired by @nanabrainrot's fic series with Pervert!Roman because it's divineeee. Highly recommend it!!

Roman never saw himself as the type to have an assistant. In fact, he was the only one of the Roy siblings to not have one. Kendall, of course, had Jess, Shiv had Sarah, and even though Connor never liked to bring it up out of fear of making him seem less earnest and hardworking to his supporters, he too had a “yes man” managing his personal affairs for him. 

It was following the Hungary company retreat that Gerri offered to set Roman up with an assistant. She knew of a trusted agency that would be able to help him narrow down candidates and find a person best suited for his needs. 

That person just so happened to be you. 

Roman absolutely wolf-whistled at the picture attached to your portfolio when thumbing through the candidates he was matched with through the agency. Gerri made him promise not to make any untoward or inappropriate comments to you during your interview for the job. Roman saw it as a ‘woman thing’ but Gerri being legal counsel saw it as a nightmare waiting to happen.

Upon meeting with you and the hiring manager, Roman scoured the internet for any information on you. Even though all of the important need-to-know info could be found on your resume or your fucking LinkedIn profile—that wasn’t enough for him. 

He tore through all of your public social media accounts, saving any particularly flattering images of you (swimsuit pictures, nightclub outings, etc.) and examining them throughout the day.

Suffice it to say, you got the job.

At first, Roman doesn’t know what to make of you. He sits you at a small desk on the opposite side of his own in his office.

Personality and demeanor-wise you’re in line with what he had wanted. Physically, he was already well-acquainted with your curves and the way certain types of clothes clung to your body. 

In the long stretches of silence of you two working in the same room, he imagined briefly what you looked like underneath your clothes. 

At home when it was just him and his right hand, he imagined what it’d be like to tear them off and leave them in tatters on the floor.

The better you get to know each other, the bigger his private album devoted to images of you grows.

Roman starts to pry into your personal life, asking if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Then he makes random passes at you throughout the day. Having worked with a wide array of smarmy, gross men in the past—you were hardly phased. Because a part of you sees through the facade. You know he just wants to rile you up—to get a reaction out of you.

You realize after a while that he wants you to be repulsed by him. 

This incites something within you.

Roman starts dragging you to one-on-ones with investors and having you sit in on board meetings, much to the annoyance of many.

Shiv tells you (jokingly) to run before you wind up being chased down the hallways with a chainsaw. 

While waiting together outside of a rather important meeting with many high-level executives, Greg informs you of a rumor that Roman has a dick pic circulating the office. But that in particular—he had meant to send it to you. 

You don’t know how to feel.  

These forced attendances at random meetings turn into becoming his designated armpiece for public events and parties. 

At one of them, Stewy taunts Roman, saying you’re not the only woman he pays to touch him. 

You laugh loudly at this joke which surprises them both. You crack a few of your own at Roman’s expense. Some are based on fiction, the others in fact. The shame floods his cheeks but the way he grips tighter at your waist tells you to keep going. To get meaner. So you do. You get a lot meaner.

Roman’s jaw clenches for a moment. Then his lips part. You convince yourself it's just a buzz from the drinks you’ve just had; that you did not just shit-talk your boss into arousal. 

But the clumsy way Roman adjusts his stance, the subtle outline of something forming at the front of his pants, and how he excuses himself to the bathroom says otherwise.

The text you receive moments later from his number confirms this; “You know what you did, you fucking bitch.”.

It’s your direct reply to that message though that makes his breath hitch; 

“Show me then, you sick fuck.”

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

<3

[spxllcxstxr]

Fair Winds and Following Seas • R.R

(Gif not mine)

Request: That Roman soulmate fic was sooo good 😭😭😭 argfhh biting my pillow rn. May I request a scene rewrite of your choice of them already in an established relationship? They’d have cute bickering and lots of casual physical contact all the time. Maybe theyre on a yacht together like that one episode and theyre just so intertwined all the time that its hard to tell where roman ends and reader starts 😣-- anon

Summary: Roman seems to like casual intimacy, even in front of his family

Warnings: fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), based on 2x10 “this is not for tears,” established relationship, alcohol, ken suicide joke (one line, nbd), roman jokingly calls something 'domestic abuse' it certainly is NOT that, normal Roman shenanigans

Word Count: 1.1k

A.N: guys, I usually write fantasy so this dialogue may just suck ass im SORRY LMAO, lemme know what you think!!! Hope you guys enjoy! Roman is so bbg

•

The Mediterranean sun warms your exposed skin while the sea breeze keeps you from getting uncomfortably hot. The Roy's certainly knew how to take a vacation.

Roman lazily drapes his arm over your shoulders, the small act of casual intimacy in front of his siblings something you still can't really get used to just yet. The family, you learned pretty quickly, was not a clingy one, so Roman's constant need to be touching you in some way in front of them was unexpected.

You sigh happily at his side, ignoring the boring work talk the siblings had already immersed themselves in.

The weather was just too divine for you to focus on anything other than the free vacation and your boyfriend.

Shiv's piercing blue eyes peer curiously over her dark sunglasses. Her gaze causes you to straighten your back and shift ever so slightly away from Roman. You've noticed that her and Tom were never exactly touchy, but then again her and Tom were barely a loving couple.

The harsh scrutiny of her stare doesn't go unnoticed by Roman, who immediately pulls you back closer to him. Your cheeks flush at his blatant display of affection.

"Something the matter, Siobhan?" Roman asks, his voice slightly higher than usual with a British twang to it. His fingers absentmindedly trace odd shapes across your back. He sips at his cocktail, eyebrows raised waiting for her retort.

Shiv’s intense gaze slowly slides over to Kendall. Their older brother offers your group a half-assed shrug.

"Nothing at all, Roman." She offers you both a tight-lipped smile, swirling her white wine in front of her.

Awkwardly you lean back into him as he sarcastically grumbles something under his breath, unconvinced. Roman’s body in tense beside you, but stays firmly pressed next to your own.

Sounds of waves crashing against the yacht and distant conversations almost lure you to sleep though the three sibling’s chatter keeps you just conscious enough that you don’t completely drift off.

You hear Kendall get up from his seat, his joints popping.

"I'm gunna go check on dad," He says, voice low though he knows you're not actually asleep. "I'll catch you guys later."

"Just don't jump off the boat, Ken. We're not turning the ship around just for your old-ass." Roman jokes before yelping at Shiv's slap to the shoulder.

You hide your tiny grin with a fake yawn.

"Very funny, Rome," Ken mutters before leaving the three of you.

It's awkward, just the three of you alone; the tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife. Shiv clears her throat and you can only imagine the patronizing look she has on her face. Roman shifts, and most likely flips her off, but otherwise he's silent.

Moments later you hear the thud of expensive yet tacky yachting shoes against the floorboards, which could only mean Tom.

"Shiv, uh," The man stutters, obviously distracted by something. Slowly you open an eye, peering over at the man. "Why don't we go and uh, discuss that thing from before, huh?"

Tom's eyes can barely settle on one thing, he looks between you and Roman before only briefly settling on his wife. His cheeks are a little red, but with a man that pasty, it's sure to be a light sunburn.

"Oh yeah?" She asks, almost seductively, blue eyes twinkling with some hidden secret.

Tom's lips tilt down into a frown, now no longer even looking in your direction. He's jealous, you figure, you've never seen him and Shiv cuddled up like this, at least not comfortably so. Someone is always tense and irritated.

After sparing her husband a glance, you see her eyes narrow and her lips drawing into a tight line.

You offer them a smile while Roman once again gives a rude gesture.

Swiftly, Shiv rises from her seat, empty wine glass in hand. She barely gestures a simple goodbye before walking away with Tom. You watch as she says something to him, which makes him recoil from her.

You could only imagine what that was about, but you figure it was you and Roman.

You press your cheek even harder against Roman's chest, almost like you're trying to burrow your way under his skin. The fresh white linen shirt he's wearing is soft underneath you. His uncalloused fingertips continue to dance across your exposed arm.

He's no longer tense, you notice; his muscles are more relaxed now that his siblings are nowhere to be seen. Logan wasn't around either, which eased the thick and looming tension that usually hung around the family.

Roman chuckles, tangling his feet around yours.

"What's got you all giggly today?" You ask, closing your eyes as you soak in more of the warmth.

"I'm not giggly, thank you very much. Giggling is for school girls and wine drunk single moms."

"Yeah, ok," You snort, smiling.

"You're just all over me like a fucking uh--"

"Koala?"

"Nah, more like one of those bigass fucking boa constrictors, y'know the ones I'm talking about?"

"A boa constrictor?" You gasp, jokingly offended at his words. Shifting from your position you eye your boyfriend. "You asshole!" Grabbing a small pillow from beside you, you hit him square in the chest repeatedly.

You're hovering over him, knees on either side of his hips, pinning him to the couch below him.

"Hey, hey!" He laughs, attempting to grab your wrists. "This is domestic abuse! ABUSE! ABUSE! Greg call the cops, she's beating me!"

Somewhere in the distance you can only faintly hear Greg stutter something, but your laughter is too loud to actually make it out.

Roman finally grabs the decorative pillow out of your hands and flings it somewhere.

His brown hair is messy, strands dangle in front of his eyes, no longer slicked back and proper. The laughter dies down but his bright smile remains, melting your heart.

"You're an absolute prick, Roman Roy, y'know that?" You whisper, lips lingering right over his.

"Oh I know," He smirks, irritatingly handsome like usual, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. "And you fucking love it."

Surging up, his lips connect with yours, traces of coconut and pineapple left on his tongue. The sweetness of rum mingles with the fruity aftertaste.

Humming in satisfaction, you close your eyes and place your hands on either side of his face, leaning into the kiss. Roman's light scruff rubs against your palms.

Eventually you pull back in order to breathe in the salty Mediterranean air. Roman's lips chase after your own, hoping to continue and subsequently never stop again.

"Yeah, I do." You sigh, gazing at his eyes as they turn into a molten shimmering gold hue in the afternoon sun.

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