#where my chronic insanity started

[bird-inacage]

1 YEAR WITH PRAPAISKY / FORTPEAT

My first post about Love in the Air was published on 1 September 2022, where I started speculating on what the Prapaisky storyline may have in store. But it was really when I shared my first meta 'Love in the Air: Sky’s Desire to be Loved' that I realised just how many others were invested in the Sky/Prapai story.

LITA was the first thai BL series that was on my radar before it aired, that I avidly followed during it's weekly release, and then far beyond. In those very early days, there were probably less than a dozen of us posting about Prapaisky here. And once LITA finally did start, it quickly dawned on us that the Prapaisky episodes wouldn't begin until the second half. The sound of crickets and the occasional sighting of tumbleweed would continue before we got some substantial content to feast over. Let me tell you, the wait was trying. Fast forward to just over a year later, and it's absolutely incredible to see how much this show and pairing has blown up since then.

I'm extremely grateful for how much joy both my mutuals and followers have brought me throughout this fandom. Even if this blog does shift to other shows or pairings, this couple will always have a particularly special place in my heart.

How did I come across LITA, was it love at first sight?

I happened upon the trailer, and these two immediately caught my attention. Sky entranced me with his big doe eyes, much like how Prapai was drawn to him that fateful night at the race track. I swiftly fell in the love and the rest is history.

What do I love about Prapaisky?

There's something I find very compelling but also comforting about the Prapaisky relationship. A story is more likely to stick with me when there is really poignant character development - something that can be found in both Sky and Prapai. Their relationship is a healthy union that makes them both better people. Prapai is humbled by Sky's love, and Sky is empowered by Prapai's.

(ABOVE: My full video edit "this is how you fall in love" is on youtube HERE)

Favourite Prapaisky scene?

I think the episodes I have rewatched the most are probably Episode 10 and Episode 13. But just to mention some of the scenes which I find most memorable: Sky holding back tears after his one night stand, Prapai coaxing a feverish Sky during a nightmare, Sky falling asleep in Prapai's arms during Last Cheer, Prapai's imaginary kiss whilst Sky is sleepy, Prapai's utter devastation when Sky breaks up with him over the phone, Sky's affectionate back hug when Prapai comes to him, Prapai begging Sky to cry, Sky wiping away Prapai's tears.

What do I love about Fortpeat?

My favourite aspect of this partnership is Fort being a hugely affectionate and clingy person, whilst Peat is smothered by his love. Peat tends to be the more quiet and measured one within the LITA foursome (probably due to being the oldest) but Fort brings out his inner child. I still can't get over the fact Fort calls him 'baby' because he acts like one when he's with him. You wouldn't have known this in the early days when Peat was considerably more reserved. Fort comes across as an unfiltered, energetic, massive softie. Peat is the grounded, silent assassin of a tease who is unapologetically himself.

The future of Fortpeat?

I desperately hope these two get a new series as a couple. LITA really put them both on the map, and I'd be incredibly shocked if they don't get cast in something new, considering their enormous popularity now. But please, please give them a decent script. We know what they're capable of and I want to see their talent given the material it deserves.

[0809sysblings]

I think us Milgrammies with very stigmatized disorders should be given extra daily voting opportunities as compensation for having to deal with the awful takes by many of the fans when discussing the cases and characters

[justabunchofdragons]

watched Eight episodes of house today yeah its kind of a problem. but also my left leg hurts and my right leg pulled a muscle when i got off the plane so im sort of limping around and i was just thinking like if i had gotten into this aged 12 i would have been So Annoying. instead of writing merlin self inserts it would have been house md self inserts. i just Know it would be 'i can fix him' ones too . can you imagine .

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[livwritesstuff]

i went on a deep dive of the Steve & Hopper ao3 tag yesterday and and it got me thinking about what would happen if Chief of Police Hopper ran into Steve and Eddie while he was on patrol after pseudo-adopting Steve, and it’s been long enough that Hopper is sort of a safe-person for Steve so Steve goes into full-fledged bitch mode when Hopper tries to pull cop stuff on them, and Eddie (who knew about none of this because Steve is a chronic under-sharer) is so totally baffled.

He’d spent years watching Steve sweet-talk his way out of trouble. Even before they started hooking up it used to drive Eddie goddamn insane, because if (when) Eddie pulled any of this shit Steve gets away with, he’d be totally screwed, but all Steve has to do is flash a sheepish grin and run a hand through his hair once or twice and say, all baleful, “I really didn’t mean any trouble,” and he’s home free.

It has its perks though, or so he's learned during his last few months of hanging around with Steve, so when Steve and Eddie’s make-out session is interrupted by the tell-tale red and blue lights of a cop car pulling up behind where Steve parked the Beemer a few hundred yards down a maintenance road, Eddie’s not all that worried. In fact, he’s got a pretty good amount of faith in Steve’s ability to spin up some story to keep them out of any real trouble, and as Chief Hopper ambles over to them, Eddie prepares himself for a whole show of, “Yes Chief, sorry Chief, it won’t happen again Chief.”

So imagine Eddie's complete and utter surprise when Hopper barks, “Hey, morons! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” and Steve only rolls his eyes and says, “What’s it to you?”

Eddie feels his jaw drop.

“Steve,” he mutters through gritted teeth. He tries to elbow Steve into shutting the hell up, but he misses because Steve has already taken several steps forward to meet Hopper, his face turned up in a kind of defiance Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him before.

“What’s it to me?” Hopper repeats, glowering at Steve, “It’s midnight. I’m on patrol. You’ve got one of the most recognizable cars in this entire damn town parked in a restricted-access zone with this idiot–” Hopper gestures at Eddie (Eddie didn’t think the pointing or the idiot were necessary, but clearly, clearly, he’s missing something here), “–who’s been dragged into my station more times than I could count.”

“The town line, Hop, is over there,” Steve says, pointing at an indiscriminate spot over Hop’s shoulder that may or may not be part of the Hawkins town line, “We’re not even in Hawkins anymore. You’re totally out of your jurisdiction.”

“You wanna know something about jurisdiction, smart-ass?” Hopper asks, “If my report says shit happened in my jurisdiction, it happened in my jurisdiction.”

“Wow,” Steve deadpans, “Way to not sound totally corrupt. Nice work, Chief.”

Hopper’s jaw twitches for a second, and he’s clearly debating if he wants to keep arguing with Steve who, to Steve’s credit, looks like he’s got debate in him for days. Ultimately though, Hopper decides against it and stalks back over to his squad car.

“If you’re not home by one there’s gonna be hell to pay. You hear me, Harrington?” Hopper yells, “One AM. Hell to pay.”

“Oh, sure,” Steve rolls his eyes, “Totally hear you. One AM. Loud and clear or whatever.”

Steve flips the cruiser both birds as it peels away, which Hopper only flashes his high beams at a couple times before he’s gone, kicking up a bunch of dirt and mulch and leaves in his wake, and Steve is wearing an exasperated expression as he turns to face Eddie again.

“God, he’s so annoying. Let’s just go to my house.”

Eddie gapes at him.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Huh?”

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie repeated, gesturing wildly towards where Hopper’s car had just been.

“Wha– you mean with Hop?”

“Uh, yeah?!?”

Steve just brushed him off, “Whatever, just ignore him. He’s basically my dad.”

���What?”

[batz]

more autism i Guess

obligatory room photo(s) of da year (also photo of the benevolent entity in my room: The Keeper Of The PS4.. )

[bad268]

Love your writingg!!

Could you write a oneshot with ollie when reader couldn't make it to a race and she got sick while at home but didnt tell ollie cuz it couldve made him shit the race and he comes back home at takes care of herr??

+hiii!! idk if ure still taking request, but maybe an ollie x reader where she gets her wisdom tooth out and the aftermath is just her being chaotic and funny while ollie just goes with everything.

but yeah, i think it’s pretty cute. thank you!

Boyfriend Of The Year (Ollie Bearman X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I just did a sick fic, so i decided to incorporate these. Hope yall don't mind <3)

Warnings: Wisdom teeth surgery and recovery

POV: Majority Second Person (You/your), some Third Person (They/them)

W.C. 2301

Summary: A routine dentist appointment turns into a secret to keep Ollie sane.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Your phone was blowing up with texts from Ollie. He was probably wondering where you were at this point since you promised to be at the qualifying session, but due to a dentist appointment scheduled between the sessions, you had to split up. Ollie and his dad drove together, and you took an uber to your appointment. Well, at that dentist appointment, you found out that your chronic jaw pain was actually your wisdom teeth getting dangerous. They were growing inwards and pressing your teeth, so your dentist strongly encouraged an emergency wisdom teeth removal for the same day. Ollie was going to be pissed and you knew it.

“Hey, CareBear,” You greeted in a fake tone. You were still at the dentist, but you stepped outside to get a little bit of privacy. “What’s up?”

“Don’t ‘Hey CareBear’ me! Where are you? You said you were gonna be here,” Ollie asked. He was finally able to let out a breath after running around the paddock trying to find where you were. When he couldn’t find you, he started asking around, but no one had seen you. Then, he started calling you, and coincidentally, the calls were during your x-rays or consultation, so you were not answering. It was driving him insane. “Are you almost here?” 

“The dentist was short-staffed, so they haven't gotten me in yet,” You came up with on the fly. You knew he would hate that you lied to him, but he would also throw his entire race weekend away for you. Yes, it was adorable and it’s part of what made you love him, but this was not the time to be a loving boyfriend. This was the time to show everyone why he deserved the Haas seat. He could be boyfriend of the year afterward. “I can text you when I’m done, but I need to see them today. You know how bad my jaw has been hurting lately.”

“Oh?” Ollie smirked as he lowered his voice, about to make a joke but his dad walked right past him.

“Don’t even start, Oliver,” You pressed as you saw your dentist gesturing for you to come back in, so they could prepare you for the surgery. “Listen, CareBear, I gotta go. I think they’re ready to take me back. I’ll text your dad to pick me up when we start wrapping up. You need to get back for debrief or start preparing for quali.”

“Yeah, I should probably eat something,” Ollie said to himself as he scratched the back of his neck. He had never had to go into qualifying without you, so he was a bit nervous. However, he totally understood that this was something you needed to do. “I’ll get on pole for you.”

“I expect you in the top 22, nothing less,” You joked as you both said goodbye and hung up the call. You headed back inside as they started giving you the rundown on how the surgery would occur. For once, you were thankful for scheduling your appointment in the morning and not eating beforehand. Just before they would put you under, you decided to call Ollie’s dad. It didn’t take long for him to answer.

“Hey, Y/n,” David greeted immediately as he walked toward the back of the garage, “Need me to pick you up? That was awfully quick.”

“Actually no,” You chuckled nervously. “Don’t tell Ollie until after quali, but I’m getting my wisdom teeth out right now. If we tell him, he’s going to freak out.”

“Was this the plan the whole time?” He asked, quieting down as Ollie walked by nonethewiser. He was finishing up before he would be getting in the car, so he had enough on his plate, in your opinion.

“No, I just found out that the jaw pain I thought was the start of TMJ was actually my wisdom teeth growing inwards,” You explained with a smile as you watched your dentist finish setting everything out. “Listen, David, I’ll need you to pick me up in like an hour. Maybe after qualifying break it to him? Or just let him figure it out when I’m loopy. I really don’t care.”

“I’ll take care of him, don’t worry,” David reassured as he saw Ollie gesturing for him to come over before he would get in the car. “Have them call me when you’re done, and we’ll pick you up.”

You thanked him before ending the call and heading into the back where the operation would take place. 

The qualifying session went by quickly for Ollie because it was basically a one-lap shot. Right after the first laps, it started pouring rain, so when Ollie was at the top of the timing page, no one was able to beat him. He tried to call you as soon as he got out of the car, but every call went straight to voicemail. It freaked him out a little, but he brushed it off, thinking you were still getting your cleaning. It wasn’t until his dad was ushering him to change and get to the car park almost as soon as he wrapped up media that he started thinking something was wrong. Ollie sat nervously in the passenger seat as his dad drove in silence, which was completely unusual for him, so he decided to try and break the tension.

“So, dad,” He dragged out as he looked over at his dad. They pulled up to a red light, and David looked at Ollie. “Where are we going?”

“The dentist,” David said simply as he moved the car into first gear when the light changed. “We need to pick Y/n up.”

“Shouldn’t they have finished up during quali?” Ollie asked before muttering to himself, “I thought they would have been in the garage by the end of media.”

“They had to get some work done,” David responded. It was light-hearted, so Ollie wasn’t too worried. When they pulled up, he parked the car but made no move to get out for a second, causing Ollie to look over confused. “They had to get their wisdom teeth out.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Ollie freaked out, immediately getting out of the car and trying to reach the front door before his dad. Unfortunately for him, his dad anticipated this and beat him to the punch by blocking the door. “Dad, let me in.”

“No, you need to understand why we didn’t tell you,” David pressed as he put a hand on Ollie's shoulder and sheered him back toward the car. “They didn’t want you to be nervous in qualifying. It’s getting to the end of your season, and next year, you’ll be in F1. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and the last thing they wanted was for you to get nervous and risk your position in the championship.”

“That makes no sense! I wouldn’t have thrown the session!” Ollie disputed as he threw his hands up.

“Oh, please,” David tsked, “You almost crashed the car when you found out they had a headache a few months ago. Of course, you wouldn’t completely compromise your qualifying session knowing they were getting surgery. That sounds totally believable to me.” 

“Maybe you have a point,” Ollie mumbled as he dripped his hands to his sides in defeat. He looked back over to his dad as he sighed, “Can we go in now?”

“Are you going to cause a scene?”

“No.”

~

POV Switch-Third POV

All the while, Y/n was just waking up. The team had wrapped up the surgery at the end of qualifying and called David, saying he didn’t need to rush since they still needed to ween Y/n off of the meds and they still needed to pass the memory tests.

Y/n didn’t remember even waking up, but they did semi-register people walking in, around, and out of their room. Most of them were dentists or nurses checking their vitals, but then two people walked in that didn’t look like a dentist or nurse. It was Ollie and David, but Y/n was still too out of it to recognize them (or what they were saying to be honest).

“So they’ll be a little loopy for a while,” one of the dentists said to David, causing him to nod. Ollie had already taken a seat beside you and was holding your hand. The dentist then took David out of the room to talk about how to help clean the wounds and give him a list of foods that Y/n could eat while recovering. Ollie wanted to say something, anything to Y/n but they ended up talking before him.

“Whoever is your significant other is lucky because damn you’re hot,” Y/n chuckled slightly as they fell back against the pillows and smiled sleepily as they looked at him. “They’re like really lucky.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that you’re my significant other,” Ollie chuckled with them as he brought their hands up to kiss their knuckles.

“No way!” Y/n said as loud as the gauze in their mouth could allow as their eyes almost fell out of their head. “You’re telling me I bagged you?!”

“You bagged me,” Ollie chuckled in disbelief. He was upset at first that Y/n didn’t tell him sooner, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at them, especially when they said something like that. “If I tell you a word, can you remember it for me?”

“Anything for you, handsome,” Y/n shamelessly flirted as they leaned in a little closer to prop their head against Ollie’s free hand that was resting by their head. 

“The word is ‘pole’,” Ollie said, and Y/n repeated it a couple of times before nodding that they understood it. “Okay, how are you feeling now?”

“I’m feeling tired. I wanna sleep. I wanna eat. I’m hungry. I want someone to tell me what place Ollie is in for the race tomorrow,” Y/n ranted before gasping toward the end, remembering the qualifying session they missed. In the haze, Y/n’s brain never connected that Ollie was sitting in front of them as they went on a rant. “Ollie Bearman is my favorite driver, and I wanna know where he placed. Do you know Ollie?”

“I know of him, yeah,” Ollie said as he bit back a laugh. There was no way he was witnessing this. “I think I know where he placed.”

“Where?” Y/n gasped as they tried to sit up in the bed, but the vitals machine started going off, causing a few personnel to walk in, but Ollie was already pushing them back.

“What was the word from earlier?”

“Pole?” Y/n said confused before it finally connected, “Wait, pole position?”

“Yup, he’s on pole for the feature race,” Ollie smiled at their enthusiasm. “Now, what’s my name?”

“What’s your name? CareBear?”

“Well, yes, but what’s my real name?” 

“Oliver,” Y/n dragged out before the fog cleared enough for them to make the connection. “Wait! Ollie, my CareBear! You’re Ollie!”

“I am,” Ollie chuckled as he leaned over to place a kiss on Y/n’s forehead while the dentists started removing wires and needles from Y/n, so they could leave. Ollie wrapped an arm around their shoulder, knowing Y/n didn’t like needles. He took to whispering reassurance in their ear until they were cleared to leave. Ollie then asked, “You still sleepy?”

Y/n didn’t respond as they were already asleep, so when all of the paperwork was signed, Ollie picked Y/n up to carry them to the car.  The entire ride to the hotel, Y/n was asleep against Ollie’s shoulder until David pulled into the parking spot. That’s when Y/n woke up, stretching their arms above their head.

“I still wanna sleep,” Y/n whined as they leaned back against Ollie. “My legs feel like jelly.”

“I can always carry you again,” Ollie commented already getting out of the car and moving around to help Y/n out. As soon as Y/n stepped out, Ollie’s arm was lifting up their legs to carry them up to their room. Thankfully, David was already leading the way and opening doors for them.

“You’re really working for that Boyfriend Of The Year award, aren't you?” Y/n teased as they plopped their head against Ollie’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know I was in the running,” Ollie joked back as he left a kiss on their nose.

“You’re always in the running,” Y/n pouted before going on another tangent, “Y’know, I’d love to kiss you, but I can’t really feel my lips so I don’t know how that would go.”

“I’ll give you a kiss when you don’t have bloody gauze in your mouth,” Ollie said as he walked up to the door. “Does that sound like a deal?”

“Add some ice cream or smoothies and you’ve got a deal.”

“You can’t drink from a straw, so no smoothies.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Not a buzzkill,” Ollie said simply as he set Y/n down on the bathroom counter, so he could change their gauze. “We’re not risking you getting dry socket.”

“Kissass.”

“How does that make me a kissass?” Ollie chuckled as he helped Y/n down from the counter and to the bed. Ollie fixed the pillows around them to make them comfortable before grabbing an icepack from the freezer. 

“You know the judge of the Boyfriend Of The Year award, and you’re kissing their ass,” Y/n chuckled as they leaned back into the pillows and took the icepacks from Ollie, immediately pressing them against their face. “Let me say, you’re winning.”

“I would hope so,” Ollie retorted, “I should be the only one in the running!”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[sicutpuella]

Twitter Incels | Simon “Ghost” Riley

That phase where you slowly start hating your girlfriend is insane.

That damned Twitter thread. It's been haunting her for a week now. She can't stop opening it, her heart sinking further with every new addition. She reads every disheartening tweet: “I’m waiting for her to catch me cheating so she can break up with me,” “I close my eyes when we kiss because she’s so fuckin’ ugly!” And the horrible comments just keep coming…

She’s somehow semi-grateful Simon doesn’t have Twitter or any social accounts—he thinks social media is stupid; but she can’t help but have that self-doubt of paranoia and overthinking—what if Simon had thought of the same thing?

Simon, on the other hand, had a day filled with boredom and frustration.

He doesn't know what his girlfriend has been going through; instead, he's been preoccupied with his own thoughts. He's been itching to spend some quality time together, but she's been unusually distant lately. It’s been almost two days since they last hung out, and the silence is weighing heavily on him.

He's tried reaching out through text, but her responses have been short and distant. This isn't like her at all. The more he thinks about it, the more irritated he feels. He's starting to wonder what's going through her head.

So… he invites himself back into her house and sees her watching something.

He joins her on the couch, making his presence known with a heavy sigh. Crossing his arms, he turns his attention to the screen.

"Hey," he says, trying to sound neutral. "What are you watching?"

Oh—just… Breaking Bad." She looked sad.

Simon notices the hint of sadness in her voice; it catches him off guard. He turns his gaze to her, studying her expression closely.

"You alright?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and curiosity. He doesn’t understand why she seems so down.

He knew he did nothing wrong; he double-checked his calendar—he didn’t miss any birthday, any anniversary, or any other silly shenanigans she had for the week. So he wonders.

The more he sits there, the more confused and frustrated he becomes. He can't comprehend why she’s acting this way. He wracks his brain, trying to think of something he might have done or said to upset her. But he comes up empty, only increasing his irritation.

"You've been distant lately," he states bluntly, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"It's like you've been avoiding me," he continues, his irritation growing with every word. He shifts on the couch, leaning closer to her, his eyes searching her face for any hint of what’s going on in her head.

"What's going on?" he presses, his tone firm but laced with a hint of concern. He can't shake the feeling that something is off, and the silence is only making him more agitated.

“Do you hate me? Do you feel like you’re starting to hate me?” Her tone was soft and vulnerable, he realized— she was overthinking again. 

As she spoke, each question hit him like a punch to the gut. He recoiled, taken aback by the insecurities spilling from her mouth.

He gently placed his hand on her shoulder, his expression softened. “No, never.” he said firmly. “I don’t hate you, I don’t make fun of you, and I definitely don’t think you’re annoying.”

He paused, his eyes locked onto hers. “And you’re goddamn beautiful, you know that.” 

She still had a bit of a pout. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her pout, his irritation completely replaced by affection. 

He shifted on the couch, moving even closer to her. He put his arm around her, pulling her against his side. “Seriously, where’s all this coming from?” he asked again, his tone gentle.

”This…” she shows him the infamous twitter thread— to which he has no knowledge of since he is chronically offline. He scans the Twitter thread, his expression growing more dumbfounded with each new addition. He couldn’t believe that was the reason she was feeling so insecure!

“Really?” he said after finishing reading it. “This is what made you doubt me? A bunch of idiotic tweets from strangers on a screen?”

He shakes his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “You know how stupid Twitter is, right? You can’t trust anything on there. It’s just people spewing nonsense, looking for attention and validation.”

He scrolls some more, “typical boy behavior…” he clicks his tongue with annoyance.

“Look at them… they keep tweeting about how much they hate their girlfriends!” She crosses her arms.

“Yeah, and most of them are probably made by sad and bitter assholes who can’t even find someone who’d put up with them for more than five minutes.” He rolls his eyes, scanning through the thread again, his irritation growing with each tweet.

“Besides…” he glances at her with a smirk, “do I look like one of those morons?”

“No…”

“Exactly,” he said firmly, his gaze fixed on hers. “I'm not one of those dumb, shallow idiots.”

He gently placed his hand on her knee, giving it a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to listen to any of this bullshit.” He gestured towards the Twitter thread. “None of that matters, not when you have me.”

He paused for a moment, his expression softening. “You’re beautiful, intelligent, and I can’t get enough of you. I’m with you because I want to be, not because some dumbass on Twitter says I should hate you.”

“But… but look at what they’re tweeting, babe!” Her voice pitches up.

“Sounds like a bunch of incels.” He chuckles to himself while scrolling.

He chuckled without humor. “And look at all the dumbass replies. People agreeing with this crap because they’re insecure idiots who can’t appreciate what they have.” He takes her hands in his, gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “But you know who you’re dating, right? A man who adores every part of you. A man who would shoot those basement incels in the face if they spoke about you like that in front of me.”

“Yeah, but they’re like—comparing their girlfriends to… to… their first loves…” she sighs, pulling her knees to her chest. She still felt insecure. He noticed her pulling away, the insecurity still evident in her body language. He pulled her closer to his side, wrapping his arm around her.

“Seriously?” he scoffed, his annoyance evident. “Comparing their girlfriends to first loves? That’s the most shallow and idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.” He let out a frustrated groan. “And who cares about first loves anyway? They’re called ‘first’ for a reason—because they usually end for a reason.”

He gently lifted her chin, making her look at him. “I’m not thinking about my first love— fuck don’t think I even had one… or comparing you to anyone else. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“You sure?” She pouts. “No taxi-cab theory or anything?”

He rolls his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Are you serious? Who even comes up with these shithole theories?” He pauses, trying to compose himself. “First of all, that’s another dumb thing people on the internet say to make themselves feel better. Second, why do you still watch those TikToks when they just make your insecurities flare up?”

She sighs, realizing he had a big point.

He noticed the sigh, realizing she understood what he was saying.

He softened his expression, his annoyance fading into a gentle concern. “Babe, you’ve got to stop listening to random crap on the internet. Especially when it’s making you doubt yourself and us.”

He wraps his arm tighter around her, pulling her closer still. “You’re amazing, you’re beautiful, and you’re the only one I want to be with. Don’t let some dumbass TikTokers and Twitter incels make you think otherwise, alright?”

He saw the corners of her mouth lifting into a small smile, and it brought a sense of relief to him. He knew he was getting through to her, making her see that she had nothing to worry about.

“There’s that smile I love,” he said softly, his thumb caressing her cheek.

She nodded, their eyes locked. She knew he was right; he had never once made her feel unloved. He held her gaze, seeing the realization dawn in her eyes, the understanding that she had nothing to worry about.

“Good,” he said, a small smile forming on his face. “Now, can you please delete that stupid TikTok app before you start questioning the very foundation of our relationship again?”

”It’s Twitter! TikTok and Twitter are different…” She cutely huffed.

He rolled his eyes, sarcasm evident in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, I know. One is full of annoying dances and teenagers, and the other is full of annoying people and their stupid opinions. Big difference.”

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, his struggle to express himself verbally apparent.

“But seriously,” he said earnestly, his hand gently squeezing hers, “You’re the most beautiful woman in my eyes. I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. There’s no one else for me, and I’ll always be here to remind you of that, even if I’m not the best at saying it.”

[honeyydrunk]

nct are such fraternity boy college athletes fuckboys coded it's insane !! everyone i see a video of those men with the homosexual tendencies, vaping addiction, and their athletic garments, it really only cements this theory. their disography and music videos add to this too 😔✋ u know 90's love, universe (let's play ball), alley oop, bad alive eng ver.

can imagine them walking around this elite prestigious campus all loud and obnoxious. they know everyone is looking at them and want to fuck them too. they're chronic drinkers, vapers, cheaters, fuckboys. what would get most students expelled, they do on a tuesday afternoon.

nct are mostly made up of foreigners right? watch them walk around the campus as rich international students, some are here on academic or athletic scholarships they don't need. everything they own is designer. playing the 'sorry my korean isn't so good, can you help me?' card, and what they want help with is you sucking their dick.

the korean members aren't any better. they're every single horrible stereotype you hear of korean hongdae fuckboys. will come up to you all sweet and pretty, but they're horrid.

cw for under the cut: they are toxic males

can literally imagine haechan vaping on the college campus, moaning in the back of the class obnoxiously, and pulling the thing where he jokingly asks for your number ALL THE TIME. going to college parties and getting wasted after 3 drinks idk 🤷 ,,, he'd be so whiny and teasing too. bc obviously he's a rude BITCH but he's so pretty and whiny and flirtatious. he's fucking everything in sight, absolute whore!! his body count is triple his age. he'd genuinely try to suck one of his friends' dick and claim it doesn't mean anything because he has clothes on !! 😔✋ he'd be stroking his dick while you're in the room, whimpering your name. the type to get on his knees and beg for any kind of attention from you..

mark lee starting off being a cute college boy canadian transfer but becomes the NOTORIOUS korean pastor's son fuckboy in like the span of 3 months. he'll act real nice, and that's because he is real nice. being super sweet and asking if you want to get coffee with him and study. and he's so good with his words you'll think that's all it is. but then of course, since he's so good with his words he'll have you blushing and giggling as he takes you back to his apartment and gets your clothes off. talking yapping so much you don't even realise what he has you doing, that you're just another girl he's pulled. he'll still be whispering when his face is in your pussy. telling you how easily you cum. "dang girl, wait a lil' can't you?" implying you're the whore,

YUTA yuta is the entire campus crush. the star football ⚽️ player and the rockstar vocalist in a band. has sex with all the groupies that come to his concerts. he's dragging people up on stage to shotgun them while the guitar break plays. absolute heartbreaker. would definitely kick the ball to your head so that when it hits you, he has to go over check if you're alright, take you up to the nurse and wait with you. he is such a liar, it genuinely hurts. lying all the time and making up words and stories left and right. but he smells like cherries and watery perfume !! he tastes like it too. you'll be coming to all his garage concerts just to see if you'll be the one he takes backstage to fuck after. he's like a god, half the time you don't even realise he's a student like the rest of you. he's just an angel sent to have fun and fuck or smth.

jaemin nah he's horrid. he'll cheat on you, and with his cute smile you'll forgive him instantly. 😔✋ he'll spend a little cash dress you in designer, make you cum until you faint, and tell you how beautiful and perfect you are for him. he will genuinely have you thinking those girls meant nothing to him, theyre just a way to vent his stress and you're the only one he loves. and then bro will say he can't stay the night, as he needs to wake up early for training. you agree, obviously. and he left for another girl's house to fuck her too. when you met him he smelled so sweet, and it was someone else's perfume. each of his girls swear they're his favourite of his, and one day he's planning fucking them all in the same room.

JOHNNY SUH? he would abuse the american transfer student status. he walks around without a shirt, soaking wet, and never get pulled up. he's rich too, got bands on his wrist and multiple cars. going on holidays overseas every chance he get and hosting parties every weekend. when you get drunk at one of them, almost falling off the balcony, someone will come up and help you to a chair. he'll take real good care of you, going above and beyond. so you can't let this guy leave when he's everything you've ever wanted. so you pull yourself onto him and ride him while the party rages on inside. make sure his dick feels so good he'll ask for your number. but you don't know that you're the fifth girl who's thrown herself at him that night.

taeyongie ^-^ he's the prettiest guy you've ever seen. bros too sweet and shy to be handing out with the rest of the neo WHORES. he's the leader of a lot of clubs but he mainly sits in cute little cafes. genuinely he seemed too adorable? to be considered the 'leader' of some horrific ahh fuckboys. until you check twitter and you see someone's reposted his MANY MULTIPLE HE HAS A LOT sex tapes. he's surrounded by ridiculously hot guys and girls, and they're passing him around like a joint, and he's begging to be humiliated. they're making him cum so much he crying. he's stronger than most of them but he's letting himself be thrown around like a doll. absolutely wrecked. looking in the camera with pretty black eyes and a slurred voice before someone shoves a cock back in this throat "am i pretty?" zhong chenle is the epitome of the chinese international student stereotype. he's almost never there, never takes off his sunglasses. he has several of those douyin type baddies trailing after him. "you have nice collarbones and pretty eyes, i like. what's your instagram?" he'll be talking with his friend renjun about what yacht he should buy during class. he can buy your affection simply because he's just that rich. will shove his black card down his pants and tell you there's only one way to get it. buys rolex watches so that he can have it on while he fingers you. dresses you in diamonds and he doesn't want to be paid back in cash. qian kun is there on an academic scholarship, but he doesn't need it. he's just that good, the school begs to have him attend. he's not a fuckboy in the conventional sense but he's just as nasty. he wants to have the perfect girl for him, to bring back to his family. he'll look for the most naive but academic girl he can. he's a manipulator. he's trying to mold you into what he wants. he'll replace your entire wardrobe with designer, but he picked out all the clothes. he'll plan cute dates for you every day, but it's to stop you from hanging out with your skanky friends. he'll buy you a new phone, but he's already added software tech to spy on you. in some essences, even though he's not a fuckboy, he's much worse than one.

jisung, like taeyong, looks so sweet. but he's NASTY. he'll seem too quiet to be hanging out with the rest of the dreamie WHORES. so you don't mind sitting next to him in your lecture. but he's just a mix of all of dream. he's good with his words like mark, and he'll have you agreeing to meet at his place EASY. he's too cute to refuse like haechan and jaemin. and then the renjun part hits, silent and sneaky, he'll be doing everything to make you think you're coming on to him. once he finally has you, he'll make a mess of you like a feral animal, the way you've heard jeno fucks. and you realise he's just like the rest of the dreamies, you shouldn't have thought otherwise. he might actually be worse than all of them.

tell me if u want me to make these like a full post or add more characters IM SO CRAZY DELULU RN SORRY xx !! 💋

[slut4celebs]

Sweet Tooth

Sabrina Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 1,006 words

Trigger Warnings: a bunch of fluff, they shower together but nothing happens

Request & Synopsis: "fluffy fic with Sabrina after one of her tours" - A cute fic in which Sabrina just needs after show cuddles with her girlfriend.

Requests are: open.

(Y/n) let the security escort her backstage early due to it apparently being Sabrina's request during a quick break she had for a quick change. She followed them, waving at a few fans who were recording her. Getting used to the filming and photos was still a little strange, but she has handled it with grace. She wasn't in the industry, so initially she didn't know how to handle it, but Sabrina just told her to 'smile and wave.' This was a trick she also learned from the Penguins from Madagascar, a movie she constantly convinced Sabrina to watch with her on the tour bus or when they inhabited her apartment.

Getting to the back, she was able to watch the last few moments of Sabrina singing her song of the summer, Espresso. (Y/n) smiled proudly, nose scrunching in excitement as she watched Sabrina enter. Sabrina gently fell into her girlfriend's arms and she held her close. "You did so good," she said softly, not caring that Sabrina was sweaty. She cared more about the way her girlfriend's eyes lit up at the praise she had received. Sabrina deserved it though. She was absolutely outstanding, and (Y/n) was absolutely enthralled with her singing and her performance. She always gave it her all on stage and that was evident. (Y/n) didn't understand why Sabrina even looked her way, but she felt incredibly lucky that she did. Even more so that their feelings were mutual.

Sabrina tightened her hold on her girlfriend slightly. "Is it too much to request a shower and some cuddles?" She asked with a sweet smile. She pressed her dark-pink painted lips against her girlfriend's hoping to sweeten the deal. (Y/n) knew what she was doing, but she didn't mind. Sabrina didn't have to convince her though. She was always down to cuddle Sabrina. After she nodded, she led (Y/n) to the shower. "Can you please wash my hair for me, too? I'm too tired and I just want your touch."

The question made (Y/n) smile brighter as she agreed. She gently massaged and worked the shampoo into her girlfriend's hair, the conditioner following. Sabrina couldn't help but appreciate the intimacy of the action. After the shower, they dressed in their after show clothes that they packed. Meaning, just some 'Short n Sweet' sweatshirts and sweatpants that they had specially made. (Y/n) always adorned and promoted Sabrina's merch. Since the start of their relationship, (Y/n) became Sabrina's biggest fan. She wanted to make sure the world knew that she was Sabrina Carpenter's girlfriend, and that she was very proud over the fact. Sabrina was her favorite person, and she was so insanely into her.

Sabrina, in turn, didn't know what she would do without (Y/n). They met at a coffee shop when she was dating Joshua Bassett. After the entire thing blew up, the coffee shop became her haven away from all of the paparazzi since (Y/n) kicked out anyone trying to take pictures of her. She didn't exactly know who Sabrina was before that since she wasn't chronically online. But when she got to know Sabrina, her mind finally clicked and she realized that she was indeed Maya Hart from Girl Meets World, a show she indulged in whenever she was sick and staying home from school. Now, the two were closer than ever. (Y/n) never let the fame of Sabrina get to her. She instead, stepped back and let Sabrina get all the praise that she felt her girlfriend deserved.

Once (Y/n) graduated college, being a couple years younger than Sabrina, she was able to find a remote job in able to travel with Sabrina. This made it to where (Y/n) would do all of her work when she woke up and then would meet Sabrina before her show so she knew where to sit. It was a repetitive cycle the two got used to and loved. Normally, she would stay and finish the show, trying to beat the crowd from overwhelming her with questions as she made her way backstage, but tonight Sabrina had wanted to come back early. Whatever Sabrina wanted, she would deliver. Now, she was delivering cuddles to her girlfriend in her tour bus.

As (Y/n) held Sabrina as the two were curled in each other's arms, watching Alice in Wonderland. "You know, you kind of look like Alice." She teased, with a giant grin. The words caused Sabrina to gasp playfully, her blue eyes met (Y/n)'s and she shook her head. "How come you see any blonde cartoon character, you say I look like them. There are some distances between Alice and I. Besides, with that wide grin of yours, you look just like the Cheshire Cat, you know?" She claimed with playful defiance as her fingers tickled her girlfriend playfully.

(Y/n) didn't allow this to deter her playfulness, grinning wider, a laugh falling from her lips as she caught Sabrina's hands. "Oh, please," she said, pressing a kiss to her lips, "you're blonde, short, blue-eyed, and you have bangs. You two even wear your bangs the same, parted in the middle." She concluded, only to be ultimately silenced by her girlfriend's later. Her eyes fluttered close as she reciprocated the kiss happily. It was an obvious ploy to get her to stop talking, though the two knew it was playful.

"Okay, whatever, Cheshire, I look like Alice." She shook her head, moving back to being cuddled by her girlfriend. She enjoyed their playful banter. As the movie continued, Sabrina noted that (Y/n)'s breathing became a bit slower. This was a big giveaway that she had fallen asleep. Turning over, she saw this to be true. She kissed (Y/n)'s forehead softly before turning off the movie and nuzzling deeper into the girl's arms. Out of all the people in the world, Sabrina would be forever grateful that she met (Y/n), the girl who understood her the most.

[aurae-rori]

DR RATIO ANALYSIS PT 3 BUT IT'S JUST GAY

Now, you might be saying - "Aurae, you've done part one, and part two, so why do we need a part three?" The answer is because of two things - one. I made a deal with the Tumblr Peoples that if one of my posts hit more than 50 likes I would do this analysis. Two. Mihoyo is making this shit canon. I CAN'T MAKE THIS UP. So, let's delve into my usual disclaimer, as we might have some new people joining us for the first time with my insanity.

I have been researching psychology personally for about six years, so although I am not a professional (crawling my way there through the education system. I will be one, one day.) I do have some experience with analyzing homosexuals. Psychology hours, my children. They don't call me "chronically cooking" for nothing. Maybe I should change my url to that...

NOW THAT MY LONG AHH DISCLAIMER IS OVER, LET'S GET INTO THIS! It's time to deconstruct these homosexuals like a modern airplane, because they might as well be taking off with how canon they are.

"It can't be canon," they say, but then Mihoyo DOES PAID SPONSORSHIPS WITH THESE FUCKERS BEING GAY. We've all seen the paid partnership edit. We've all seen the video where Aventurine has the audio of "nice rack" as he talks to Dr. Ratio. PAID SPONSORSHIPS. Now, if that piece of evidence isn't enough for you - let's dive into their actual relationship, which is just a HOMOSEXUAL MESS. I will be focusing more on how Dr. Ratio sees this guy as this is a Dr. Ratio analysis™, but hey, the crumbs.. we eat 'em all. Amen.

Let's start off (I say as I write this part three days later) about how people are like, 'Aven is Ratio's favourite idiot' WRONG. Ratio does NOT consider Aventurine to be an idiot and knows that he is smart and capable in his own right. While Ratio is book smart, Aven is extremely street smart and holds his own very well. Ratio does not consider Aventurine to be an idiot as he takes off his plaster head around him and actually indulges in his whims around him. This is a blatant showcase of fondness because although he is emotionally constipated and can't be affectionate through words without sounding semi-backhanded because he's never had true affection in his life, he showcases his love through actions rather than words. He's just bad at showing love, okay? But he does love Aven. Or like him, to some extent, if you don't want to see them as romantic, which is fine. However, no matter what you label their bond as, it's obvious that they care for one another.

Also, the fucking ZEST FEST that was 'keeping up with Star Rail'. He says, "wait a minute - MUTUAL?" which indicates that he has respect for Aventurine in the first place. He LITERALLY TOLD US that he respects Aventurine and he was commenting on Aventurine's playstyle & everything.. also, at the end, he was here because 'I appreciate this show's dedication to knowledge' - his TONE. Kudos to the VA because that was not convincing at all. Bro was NOT here for the knowledge, bro was here to be GAY!!! Also his little own bathtub couch. We all know Aven bought it for him. Trust, I am John Hoyoverse.

"The Charming Audacity" HUH? BRO? Okay this is hilarious to me because this is the first time that we ever really see them interact with one another, and we get absolutely bitchslapped in the fact that Dr. Ratio calls this guy's audacity 'charming'. That's GAY. That's HOMOSEXUAL.

Also, comparing him to a peacock.. a very beautiful bird.... Must I say more?

Now, the part that I really want to focus on is the part where he gives the Doctor's Note to Aventurine. This shit is important. And I agree with the people who are like - Acheron helped him. Because she did. She was a big part of it and she helped Aventurine get back on his feet in the void. Dr. Ratio is not his only reason to live, but the note, showing that someone will stay by his side? Showing that someone truly cares for him? Someone who's waiting for him when he get back? This bond that he has with Dr. Ratio isn't fake. He already has a starting point to get back to - an anchor to return to. Dr. Ratio is his anchor. Whenever he goes off to do crazy shit, Veritas Ratio will be there when he returns. Because Ratio is loyal. Ratio cares. He cared enough to almost jeopardize their plan to make sure that Aventurine was going to be okay. He cares so damn much about Aventurine that he decided that this man's emotional state after the fake betrayal was more important than all of fucking Penacony.

If you want an example of "I would let the world burn for you," it's Ratio. He's a romantic not in the traditional sense, but he cares and loves Aventurine so damn much it makes my heart hurt. "Do stay alive," he says, knowing that Aventurine struggles with living. Those three words mean the whole fucking world to someone who struggles with suicidal ideation and suicidal thoughts. Someone wants you to live. Someone wants you to stay. Someone wants you by their side.

Dr. Ratio cares. Let me say that again - he cares. He banters with Aventurine, tries to create an environment where Aventurine can feel a little bit more comfortable with the two of them, even in a place as dangerous as Penacony. He will put his own life on the line for Aventurine.

He cares. He cares so damn much. I hate gay people. They make me VIOLENTLY homophobic.

Dr. Ratio after expressing his care indirectly and complimenting Aventurine indirectly: Did I do it?

Aventurine, who has caught none of the hints:

Anyway, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[eepy-evie]

Twisted Wonderland Senior Headcanons

A/N: i am very tired as i write this, BIBI is saving my life force. I just got screamed at by my mom but the fans (no one) can’t wait 😎. Im sorry Lilia’s is kind of short, im pretty high and have been pushing this off for days.

Contents: Various non romantic headcanons for the seniors in TWST

Trigger warnings (if any): Religion mentions (Trey’s + Leona’s + Vil’s + Rook’s + Idia’s part), eating disorders (Vil’s part), stalking mentions (Rook’s part… no surprise), minor adult themes (idia’s part)

Trey Clover

I might have this feeling only because i also bake but he has beef with multiple people about bread.

Like i mean people spreading misinformation (NO YOU DO NOT NEED TO ADD SUGAR INTO BREAD, IT DOESN’T DO MUCH)

Besides my personal beef with ig bakers…

He doesn’t listen to music, lofi background stuff at best.

He’d listen to anything someone put on with no complaint but he doesn’t feel the need for music for mundane things

With his obsession with brushing teeth i feel like he loves mint

Like i mean spearmint gum constantly, mint chocolate chip ice cream, idk mint leaves in drinks?

Bro can not understand if someone else doesn’t like mint

I believe he is an Atheist living in a Christian household

Its probably brought up rarely but he just doesn’t really believe that saying grace before dinner does anything

I think he’s way too empathetic for his own good, i mean like excusing lots of harmful things due to how someone was raised

(Totally didn’t mean to refer to Riddle but whatevs)

Cater Diamond

Get this man into kpop NOW

I feel he is rivaling Idia with his, honestly abusive, amount of slang

I dont think anyone who isn’t chronically online could stand to hear his thoughts

Or who isn’t insanely mentally unstable

But he pulls shit like “she=onika ate=burgers” every single chance he gets

Which i wont blame him for that, i pull medieval slang every second i can too

He loves brittany broski with his whole heart and soul

Not only is she funny as hell but she can also be very serious in a blink of an eye

On the low he enjoys those insider videos

He likes watching them and pausing them to argue the point to no one

Going back to kpop briefly…

He loves Aespa

Do i know any of the members of Aespa to tell you my assumed bias? No.

Also loves Zerobaseone

Ricky bias

Although i may be biased (oh my a silly pun, you scoundrel)

I do believe that he is a funny person but he is very repressed

I dont mean to make this a whole angst post but he genuinely doesn’t understand how he can express it

He is very sensitive to rejection so i think that leads him to extreme lengths to be liked

And I’m not just talking about how he acts a certain way to please others

I mean a deep rooted guilt for not being what someone wanted

Leona Kingscholar

…all my headcanons for him are purely how I’d personally treat him

Someone get this man a mukbang video and a comfy bed

He barely listens to music but when he does its some rnb stuff

He doesnt care for stuff thats too loud but he does like soft music even if he isnt open about it

I need to make him see nekomimi switch, twitter.gov, and anything else that has catgirls/boys so i can see his reaction

I dont think he holds many physical attributes to lions besides the ears, tail, and teeth but he most definitely holds many reactions and other stuff

Like he is literally sleeping in a garden most the time

He has long(er) nails and hates cutting them

Erm… idk man

I think he had a big Religious breakdown in his childhood

I dont really know what Religion he’d be to start with(due to my lack of knowledge of Religion in Africa) but he’d have the whole moment of betrayal

And then he’s completely Atheist for the rest of his life

Vil Schoenheit

He has a side account where he responds to all his hate comments

For music taste… hear me out…

He likes, on the low, vkei

But no metal like kaneto juusei or gulu gulu I mean malice mizer

He enjoys the instrumental along with the twists they take on classical

Moi meme motie x Vil Schoenheit collab when???

He 100% doesn’t express it though, he tells the public he likes whatever’s popular

I feel like, this may or may not be me projecting, he’s a hellenist

Obviously worshipping Aphrodite and has an altar for her which he never publicly speaks of but is not hiding

heres a bit of TW for eds + that type of stuff

I feel like he has an extremely bad relationship with food

He doesnt see it as something to nourish your body but instead a sort of numbers game

Like with a limit of however much someone says and the whole game is to stay under that number in calories

Besides that i feel he’s very orthorexic to the point he’d refuse to eat something if it looked too “bad” to him

(End of tw)

I know he has a very argued gender identity but i dont think he’s too confused by it

He’s very firm that he is who he is and he never seemed to have much of an inside problem with it

Maybe he got poked fun at a few times but thats all his problems with it

Rook Hunt

Get this man away from me

He is in many fandoms and somehow knows everything going on all the time

Bro personally took down Nayeon’s stalker by himself

But seriously i dont think his intentions are bad, i think he is just trying to be on top of everything in the worst was possible

He doesn’t really think its creepy himself but most the time he is

He is also a Hellenist who worships Aphrodite but also Artemis

He is so very open about his Religion

He makes those hopecore videos on tiktok and has amassed 10k followers but no one knows its him

Yearns to be in the south/midwest for the scenery

Just yearns in general

Bro is single handedly bringing back male yearning and being chalant

Saw bridgerton as a normal tuesday for him

1000 hours on c.ai

I will not, and should not, elaborate.

Is that projecting? Yes. Do i care? No.

He has the longest and some how most effective body/skincare routine ever

I mean like he’d do some shit like “once in a blue moon bath in pure hyaluronic acid for 2.5 hours on the dot”

He loves absolutely everything on everyone and its to a detriment to me personally

Hooked nose? Loved. Chubby? Love. Literally anything unconventional? Consider yourself yearned for.

He listens to anything and everything

Although he cant stand songs about break ups or anything to do with hate

Put this man on “doughnut” by TWICE now.

Idia Shroud

Yes… give me this nerdy man…

He 100% (mostly canon) loves jpop idols

Prolly an akb48 stan

I cant even get started on everything he likes

But i can tell y’all 100% that he is not overly flirty or overly easy to fluster

Istg all i see is either big dom idia or uwu shy boy idia

And both are wrong (in my opinion ig)

He starts arguments about anything and everything in game chats

Because he’s grown up in this big company family he was forced to appear better that how he truly acts so i believe that would also entail with being a die hard hellenist

But without any spotlights he does care, he just likes his games and anime

Speaking of anime…

He loves shoujo, he’s in hiding though

He literally wants to be sawako from “from me to you” but will never say it

Somebody come get this man

If anyone asks he just loves Naruto and One Piece

But we know the truth…

Istg he plays an absurd amount of eroges for the plot

He’s depraved on twitter

Two accounts, one for public image and the other for the unspeakable

Do NOT let him find any dating advice on there cause he will take it and act like a fool

He loves breakcore music and anime intros and thats about it

Besides his jpop idols

I dont think he like kpop, for some reason he just has a grudge against some fans

A little self insert but he 100% has autism (as we all know…) but he also has arfid

For those who dont know… arfid is “avoidant restrictive food intake disorder” which is like you are a very picky eater

He aint struggling with it, he succeeding (LYING)

Malleus Draconia

Get this man a cat or some shit like that

Can someone please make him watch all of aphmau Minecraft diaries and then twilight back to back

This strange individual has that man from the notebook shaking in fear

Bros a hopeful romantic

Randomly says inspiration quotes that you cant find anywhere online

It just came from his heart

He only listens to classical songs he knows how to play

Though i’d doubt if you showed him something he’d dislike it

Bros the yearner

I showed up to the yearning contest and went into anaphylactic shock at the sight of him there

He has honestly researched every single religion for fun

Highlight god damn bible verses for no reason

He needs to make an iceberg of every single religion and why they are good/bad

I just know he has an insane knowledge of lore in any book he’s ever read

Please make him watch smiling friends

You’d have to pause every 5 seconds so he can process it

You could make him do anything tbh, just be like “you should come watch *whatever it is* with me” and bro is outside your door

For shame with the amazing attention towards practically anyone who shows anything besides fear or hatred comes the fact he is unaware of most modern things

He has a tamagotchi and thats it man, get him a 3ds at least

He cant use a phone, cant use a computer, and barely understands the concept of social media

But at least he has the spirit to learn

Lilia Vanrouge

Do i even put him as a senior?

Bro is pushing some mystical number that no one knows

He’s like one of those grandmas that never mention their age and whenever its brought up all they say is “never ask a woman her age”

… perchance a bit controversial but i think he’s bad at cooking on purpose

Ain’t no way someone fucks up cooking THAT bad

I think he really likes horror games

And i dont mean those shitty mascot horrors like poppys playtime

I mean fatal frame, faith, and visage type shit

He listens to breakcore too

I dont make the rules

Hes a gamer grandpa so he either has to have pretty good taste in games/music or the absolute worst

HE’D LOVE GULU GULU AND VKEI

Hes practically already mana sama

Hes got all the moi meme motie dresses

Get grandpa off taobao NOW

I want my nyanya madoka dress, and i will not be stopped by some twinkish old man.

[acalfinthemuseum]

nightingale

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No???”

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

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

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

“Aw, thanks.”

“What do you want?”

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

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

“Are we?”

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

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

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

“Can I come in? Please?”

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

“Y-yeah, come on….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take this.”

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

“You better not be trying to roofie me.”

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

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

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

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

“Yousaiditfirst.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

He was right. 

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

“Roman! Roman, wait! Rom—”

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

“Come on, let’s go.”

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

“Where the fuck are you even going?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You look nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm.” A skeptical sound from your cousin.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re sorry ?” You’re gutting him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, okay. . . I’ll shut up now.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deep breath.”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It does actually, yeah.”

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

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

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

“Open up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, I see you all the time.”

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

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

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

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

“You’d get sick of it. Sick of me.” 

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

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

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

“I’ll kiss it better later.”

“You really are a bitch.”

“Sure am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ew.” He says it softly, teasing.

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

“I am being serious. 

“Are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you asking for something to look at?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

[slyvieselkie]

Sweet As Bonbon - Aizawa Shouta

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Bonbon is an adorable nickname, everyone can agree, not many believe it should be associated with a man like him. When everyone ask who 'Bonbon' is, you show them your favourite photo with a bright grin. They expect the most charming, handsome, young man that has the sweetest smile...only to find Aizawa Shouta.

Smiles freeze as they take in the man on the tiny screen. A man that seems much older than you, with long messy hair, exhausted dull eyes, and an unkempt stubble. Well, that was definitely a surprise. Especially since the photo you show is one of his insane smiles, psycho adjacent. But no one has the heart to wipe the giddiness you show, so they smile respectfully.

You can tell he's not what they expected, nothing about this man is sugar and chocolate. Even his colleagues laugh at the nickname thinking you were just teasing Shouta, until they stop because the two of you aren't. Everyone grows seriously concerned that you're actually serious. The blonde man, Hizashi, glances between you and a pissed Shouta, "...You're definitely getting cat-fished, run girl-". Hizashi gets cut off by the cloths wrapping around his throat and everybody panics. Later that night you ask Shouta, what was that about? The black haired man waves your worries away, "Nothing, he's just chronically stupid."

But even the man himself can't help but wonder, all the time. He thinks about it a few times a day. Like when he decides to sneak into the shower with you, you'll squeal "Bonbon~!" at him before making room for his surprisingly large form. Or when you bring his forgotten lunch to U.A. He'll finish a class and return to the teachers' office to find everyone passing your sweet note with cute bonbon faces. Shouta despises how the word haunts his life and mind. He hates how everyone makes a big deal out of it and wishes the word never existed. But the man would also hate it if you stop calling him that, because you say it with so much love and affection. The day he stops being "Bonbon"...is the day you stop loving him.

He finally gets his wish on a random Sunday when he returns from his morning run. After stopping by the fridge for some cold water, Shouta makes his way for the bedroom when he hears your voice and someone else on the phone.

"Bonbon, whose that?"

Seated at your dressing table, you gasp and pause your makeup, "Oh my gosh girl, have I not told you about Bonbon?!", "No!", "Shit where do I start?".

Your friend on the other side snort, "Uhh maybe on how Bonbon came about?", you give a dreamy sigh and turn to look at the beautiful weather, "Well..."

Bonbon is a small chocolate confection, with a hollow inside where fillings can be hidden. These include sweet alcoholic ingredients, creamy ganache, fruit purees, and so much more. The sky is truly the limit when it comes to Bonbon and their combinations. And the best part of it, is the surprise. From a simple chocolatey treat to a galaxy of flavours. That is the best way to describe Aizawa Shouta.

....

At first, he reminded me of the marshmallow bonbon my patisserie used to sell.

You and Shouta met during your part-time employment at a patisserie near U.A. From the moment he first walked in, the man had caught your eye. The lanky customer stumbled in like he had just returned from war, or stepped out of the trash. All of the other customers also noticed him and their discomfort showed through how they cleared the pathway like he was Moses.

Your coworkers also eyed the man, wondering what a man like him was doing here. You also had your questions, like why on earth would he buy a liquorice loaf out of everything here? The disgusting thing was an item your boss had put on to please a niche audience consisting of herself. The patisserie would literally make one loaf a week because no one would buy it.

"This one please", he spoke in a gruff voice and you chirped, "Of course, that'll be $7.50 for today."

After returning his change, you placed the item in a small paper bag and smiled, "Thank you so much, have a good day!"

He nodded and left. As the door slowly shut, you felt the atmosphere lighten up and heard the whispers. Regardless of how you felt, it wasn't your place to step in so you just left to clean up. He was just a customer, and most likely a one time buyer.

Until he kept coming in and in. The man had a routine now, and it somehow always lines up with the days you would be working at the front. Monday afternoons, Wednesday mornings, and Fridays just before closing. And he would always walk around the whole store, tricking you to believe he'd buy something new, before picking the liquorice loaf. You two would repeat the same dialogue, no small talk or extra fluff. At some point, he became a part of you. A thing you had to check off the list to ensure that your day was complete.

Until he didn't come for the whole week, and it made you...different. You weren't right, weren't thinking straight or doing anything properly. It made you so distracted that you burnt yourself while melting sugar. The injury was small but you had to immediately leave for the hospital and was told to rest for two or three days. With that, you missed the black haired man another week. During that time, the ache in your chest grew unbearable.

You feared that you fell in a love with a stranger. A much older man who you know nothing about and speak a total of twenty words to him. However, there was something that drew you to him. Something that forced your eyes to follow him and every movement of his. A curiosity to discover what he contained inside that plain shell. A wonder to what other flavours he held.

It was nearly three weeks later on Friday when you met him again. You had finally gotten used to not seeing him...almost. That was until the bell rang signalling a customer and turned around to greet them, only to find him. Freezing for a moment, you stutter a welcome before scurrying off to the kitchen. You hid your face in your palms, your resolve to ignore the tightness in your chest had vanished. A sweetness rushed in, just from seeing him. What hell was wrong with you? Before you knew it, he was already at the register with his item. Why was he so fast today?

After taking a deep breath, you walked down and went through the steps on the routine. Say the amount, take his money, return the change, place his item in the bag, say your farewells, and wait for the next time.

"Welcome back, I missed you", your mind with blank hearing those words.

It wasn't in his usual grunt. It was a deep voice coated in sugar chocolatey richness, with an airy tone. And you felt your soul shatter into pieces. Oh gosh, everything was bursting out. Rushing out like a flood.

"Y-You can't say that", your voice and body trembled while he raised an eyebrow, "I can't, why?"

Opening your tightly shut eyes, you finally looked up at him and whisper terrified, "Because now I can't hide that I like you."

And his eyes widened while you escaped to the kitchen. But of course you couldn't hide from him forever, couldn't hide from his rejection. You knew what he'd say, that you were a foolish young girl who fell in love with a fantasy. Juvenile emotions, he'd scoff and walk away leaving your broken feelings to seep into the cracks of the ground. At some point you wished that he'd just walk off never to be seen again, so that you can remember him with a bitter sweetness. But you had a feeling he wasn't that type of guy.

You were right. When the lights were turned off, doors locked, and everyone walking seperate ways...he was waiting there for you with a blank face. Say it, you begged him in your mind. That you were a happy-go-lucky girl, that someone like you wouldn't know what love was. Because maybe he was right, maybe he wasn't, you were fine with that.

Except he only approached you, one step at a time at a slow pace. And you allowed him into your space, to stand in front and tower over. For his hand to land on your cheek and caress it so sweetly with a light touch. You gulped and bit your lip to void yourself, in case he woke up from whatever spell had been casted and ran off.

Until the black haired man gave a small smile, "Are you okay?", and you squeak out, "Aren't you supposed to reject me now?"

He blinked before chuckling, and you felt yourself drown in a sea of cocoa, "Is that how confessions go these days, I have to reject you?", "W-Well, I just assumed that would happen! I mean, you probably just see me as a kid!"

The twinkle in his eyes grow even more vibrant and he answered, so softly you thought it would be carried away by the wind, "Only assholes would think that. Regardless of age, your feelings are real and I should respect that."

You were thankful to the breeze for cooling your cheeks, because without it you might faint of overheating. Amused he leaned down and asked if you really wanted him to reject you.

"G-Give me a moment", you turn to the side and hold up your arms to block his sight.

Then you squeak feeling a bounce against your inner wrist, you pull them away only for the man to find your nose as a replacement. You whine again and he fits you against his body, breathy laughter tickling your ear like a cloudy marshmallow.

"Alright, we can take it slow."

....

But of course, Shouta had other flavours to him...possessive like lemon cheesecake.

Many people view Shouta as a tired man who couldn't be bothered to lift a hand outside of work. And all of his friends, family, and colleagues would agree. But you disagree with that. Whenever it came to you, Shouta was always 100. Including his mission to keep the 'wolves in sheep clothing' away from you. AKA the guys at your university.

You always assured Shouta that he was the one you wanted and the guys don't really chase after you, but your boyfriends begs to differ. During his intel collecting mission, stalking you, the pro-hero lost count of how many eyes followed you. He grew sour as a lemon seeing some think about approaching you. All the while, you innocently skipped along thinking about your classes. Unforgivable, death to all of them.

That day when your classes were finished, he texted you that he'll be there to pick you up. Confused, you sent a heart anyways and forgot about it for the rest of the day.

"Damn, what's with the crowd of girls?", your male classmate noticed as the two of you walked down to the gates.

You watched as groups of giggling girls with hearts in their eyes running past with their phones out. Thinking it was some kind of idol, you shrugged it off. That was until you reached the mess and your jaws dropped. Because in the eye of the cyclone was your man. Your man who wore a black button up, rolled up to his thick biceps, with matching dress pants and shoes. Not only that, he had cleaned up his appearance.

You huffed seeing girls ask if they could touch his ponytail.

"No, My girlfriend will be here soon so you should leave", the girls pouted, "Come on, it's just a touch~ Is she that possessive she won't let you have any girlfriends?"

After a few seconds he smirked down at them, "Is that really what you think?", one of them scooted up to him until their hips bumped, "What else~?"

Instantly Shouta cringed up like he just ate something tart, "It's more that I don't find you that attractive. You should see how much better she is than you, especially with the way she respects people's space and relationships."

Everyone froze including you at his response.

Then Shouta found you and his face softened, "There she is...with a guy", and Mr Lemon was back.

He flashed in front of you, enveloping you into a tight hug greeting you so sweetly. All the while glaring down the fool who dared to compete with him. The poor boy shrunk away and didn't bother to say goodbye before running off.

You didn't even care, nuzzling into his chest with the brightest grin. Only you could bring out the sugar within this man, the cake like richness that he saved only for you. Noticing this, he smiled and pecked your temple. What a terrible duo.

It only got worse from there, for everyone else. Shouta upgraded his wardrobe and tried his best to pick you up from university as much as possible. Regardless of his new status as the campus eye candy, whether those wolves still lusted after you, all of it would vanish when you stepped through those gates. Because Shouta's sour barrier kept them away while you ate up all that he had to give.

....

And very rarely does he become as bitter as dark chocolate and cherry liqueur.

It's a side that Shouta rarely shows to you. A cold, blunt, and apathetic version of himself that is only reserved for everyone else but you. The version called Eraserhead. Shouta tries to keep Eraserhead and you seperate, but the overlap is inevitable.

Like the time he forgot some paperwork at home so you had to bring it to U.A, only to find him grilling a student with fury radiating out in purple waves. Or when you get to see him in action, rescuing civilians and arresting villains. He's aggressive, dangerous, and icy. And the most memorable was the night you two were invited to a hero celebration party hosted by the government.

Shouta never attends those, he finds it boring and meaningless. However, his mind was changed when he was sent an series of photo from Nemuri. It was of you, dolled up the prettiest gowns with the cutest grin on your face. He sent back a message 'Buy all of them' with his card details, and accepted the invite. All the while unaware that he had started humming, and terrifying the rest of the office.

The night itself started off better than ever. You were bursting with excitement and greeting his colleagues so brightly, there wasn't a single person who wasn't charmed. But of course there will always be some bad apples, even amongst heroes.

As Shouta spoke to the few assemblymen, you had been whisked away by a few female proheroes.

You smiled shyly at their compliments, "Oh aren't you just the most cutest~?", "No wonder Eraserhead immediately snatched you up!", "I mean, who wouldn't want a young and sweet girl! Look, she doesn't even have a callous or bruise on her hand!"

Your smile faltered at the odd...compliment? Was it one?

"Wow, I bet you've never been in a fight before huh?", they giggled to themselves, "Come on, her?! I doubt she would even raise her voice at someone!", "Maybe that's why he likes her, easier to you know!"

The air suddenly felt hostile and you laughed uncomfortably, eyes scanning the room to hopefully find Shouta. After a few seconds, you found him with a few teachers from U.A and sighed in relief, time to escape.

That was until, "Look it's Ms Joke!", and you watched as a woman with sea green hair approach the group.

As you watched her lean in towards him with a teasing smile, whispers from behind echoed in your mind, "Have you met her yet? The two of them are quite close", "Yeah, everyone used to think they were dating!", "It's hard not to when she constantly jokes about it~"

"Joke about what?", a gruff voice spoke up and all of you turn around to find the black haired prohero.

The ominous and bitter look in his eyes made the women around you tense up, "I asked, joke about what?"

No one said a thing and his eyes flickered over to yours, softening but still brewing with abyssal darkness like the liqueur, "Tell me."

You choked up, feeling a child before him about to tattletale. It was so painful, how they were absolutely right. You'll always be a child compared to him, hiding behind his money and authority with a deep well of immature thoughts and feelings. It becomes stuffy in your chest, realising that everything you are and have now is an extension of him.

The hurt on your face was enough to tell him everything, but someone else joins in, "What happened? You all looked so happy humiliating her before?"

Eraserhead turns to the woman beside him, "M-Mirko, what are you saying?", the prohero laughed casually, "What, you thought no one else heard you? Joking that Eraserhead chose her because she's young and docile so he could control her better?"

Your eyes fell to the ground in order to avoid his, shame slowly seeped out through the stinging in your irises.

"Or distort his relationship with Ms Joke, implying something more than friendship?", your body curled noticing the increasing attention.

As the voices grew louder and harsher, you begged the heavens to just vanish into thin air. Suddenly, there were hands covering your ears. You look up to find Eraserhead, mouth shaped into an acrid scowl as his eyes narrow similar to the feeling of sharp alcohol.

He was saying so much, you assume it was very acerbic through everyone else's expression. None of it could you hear, was it someone's quirk? Maybe it was a good thing because in seconds, the situation grows physical. It looked like a bar fight with the way Mirko flies through the air, not a government party filled with proheroes.

The two of you escape the mess and into one of the chauffer cars. It's silent as the two of you collect your thoughts, you could see the driver pray a fight wouldn't start in the car. Then a force pushes your head onto the man's shoulder and your eyes well up again.

"I...I feel so stupid, so n-naive!", your voice cracks and lips lean down to catch your tears.

You feel him return, feel Shouta next to you, the dimensional change from Eraserhead to your sweet man. Sweet like the subtle, fruity, aftertaste of the cherry liqueur. And you cry even harder.

As much as he is proud of his heroism and work ethics, this makes Shouta hope that you and Eraserhead stay in different worlds. Because its a sign, that if Eraserhead is close...then you are in pain.

....

Your smile softens as you continue.

"He treats me as a normal person, always capable of learning more, but not hopeless and defenseless. He teaches me things I don't know patiently, let me figure things out on my own, allow me to be emotional. Because in his words, You should spend your youth free and limitless, reach the skies and if it gets too high...I'll be there to bring you back down".

On the other side of the door, Shouta has the brightest grin on his face. He's giddy, wondering how he should celebrate hearing this. Take you to a nice restaurant? Holiday across Europe? Ideas flood his mind as he walks away, humming softly.

"That's why I call him Bonbon, my Bonbon."

Hi Lovelies, long time no see!

Soz if Aizawa was a bit ooc for you, but that's the beauty of a tsundere! This one was actually very difficult to write because the initial word I had in mind was butterscotch but there wasn't much to write about and everything I could write sounded weird. So yeah, tough time for me.

Anyways, I hoped you guys enjoyed this one and I'll see you another time ✮⋆˙💋ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶💋⋆｡° ✮

[zivazivc]

Sorry if this has already been asked before but why did the band break up? And did they break up on decent terms? Do they still talk to each other sometime?

It has been asked before, I just never answered jshfbdjcbh I'm still piecing everything together and stuff is changing or getting tweaked all the time, so I'm always super hesitant about answering these types of questions, afraid that people will take whatever I say as the final answer. So basically what I'm going to answer now will already contradict what I told some people already. And maybe in the future the story might go a little differently too (although I'm pretty satisfied with the current events)

Uhhh, get ready for a long info dump. I didn't expect I'd write this much...

Floyd basically stayed with the band for 8 years (from 14 till 22) and got pretty messed up in the process. The rest of the guys are all quite older than him so I guess I could say they were more responsible, or at least had a better understanding of their own limits (also they grew up in this kind of environment or grew up aware of it, while Floyd was oblivious and naive about all of it) and while they do get drunk and do drugs often, none of them are really dependent on them. They are also pretty good judges of character and know how to avoid trouble. Floyd on the other hand drove in with no breaks and constantly got himself in trouble that the rest (mostly Les) had to drag him out of. He also developed bipolar during this time (in my story Floyd constantly fluctuates between being saturated and being desaturated because of this) and his manic and depressive episodes started getting out of hand after his teenage years. (None of them are aware it's a mental disorder that's making him act so out of character.)

Floyd was becoming miserable because of this and all of his problems pilling up, and started blaming Les for the way he was. Les never argued this which only fueled Floyd to blame him more. In the end he was getting so frustrated and irritable that Floyd constantly tried starting arguments with him, even putting him down and getting aggressive at times because Les gets very unresponsive and closed off during personal conversations (guy is a giant onion of suppressed trauma that Floyd is hellbent on peeling open).

Eventually there was one fight too many, terrible things were said, some objects flew through the air, and Floyd walked out (or Hed kicked him out, I haven't decided yet) with the promise of going home and never seeing them again.

So, yeah, it was very messy and Floyd was the primary asshole, even though he's not really to blame either...

But Floyd didn't make it home (was too scared to sneak through Bergen Town to get to the tree (i don't think i can judge him for that either)) and he just returned to the reckless lifestyle, this time without anyone being there to keep him safe. So if he was messed up before, this is the time period where he got absolutely fucked up. This is also when he got heavily addicted to sour worms. And when he chronically slept around (half the time just to get offered free worms or have somewhere to sleep, other times because he was having manic episodes and was feeling hypersexual). (This is also potentially the period when he had the two eggs with that techno troll, but I'm still thinking if I want that to be canon to the story or not.) During this time he also grew to become very anxious and his self-confidence went to shit when he was being himself.

Then after about three years of that, he bumped into Les at some party. He wanted to dodge him out of shame but Les grabbed his arm and manhandled him outside to talk. Floyd felt like shit about the way they had split up and tried apologizing for all the stuff he had said and done to Les, but Les wasn't having any of that because he wasn't angry at Floyd, he was just worried about him. Les is also insanely empathetic like Floyd, and he knew that Floyd never really meant any of it, and that he was just looking for an outlet when he was hurting. Also he does think he is to blame for the way Floyd ended up.

Les wanted to know why he didn't go home like he had said (because that was the only reason Les had even let him walk out in the first place). A few exchanged words later and Floyd broke down telling him all the awful things he'd done, and Les promised to help him, feeling insanely guilty. Floyd wondered if he was allowed back in the band but Les made it clear that the band wasn't good for him and that he was never taking him back. Instead Les helped him go though rehab. I don't think trolls have those institutions (or at least not many are aware of them or how they work (I'm sorry but I refuse to believe the Trolls world has internet and cellphones, Mountrageons can keep that for themselves lol)), so it was more or less just Les finding Floyd a job and his own place to stay in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where he had no option but to detox, and constantly checking up on him to make sure he was doing okay. During this time they grew pretty close again. Or maybe the better term would be that Les slowly started putting his walls down again.

Hed needed a while to warm up to Floyd again. He's almost as protective of Les as Les is of him, and he resented Floyd for the way he had treated him.

Flea is pretty phlegmatic when it comes to any sort of arguing or drama. He was casual about seeing Floyd again, they were never super close anyway.

And Liv, she left the band when she and Hed broke up (haven't decided if that happened before or after Floyd left), so Floyd didn't get to see her again after bumping into Les at the party. And I haven't thought yet if they'd ever meet again somewhere later in life. But if they did, I think they'd both be happy to see each other.

Anyway...

Floyd managed to detox and successfully kept the job for about a year, but then he became manic again and messed it all up. After that he returned to his nomadic lifestyle, but he never fell as hard as those three years again. In my story Floyd's life is a constant cycle of getting his life together and fucking it up and booking to the next place. And he and Les are trapped in a never-ending cat and mouse game where they're both trying to fix each other.

So, uh, Les and Floyd are still very close and see each other somewhat often...

(sometimes monthly, sometimes yearly)

Yeah...

I am so fucking obsessed with them I'm gonna hurl. Please take this song before I combust:

[pseudophan]

Hi! I am very very new to the Dan and Phil world. A friend of a friend had a spare ticket to their Oslo show and I went along. This was my very first Dan and Phil experience. I had heard their names, but went in completely blind after all who doesn't love a theatre trip to a foreign country. I had a wonderful time, even if I didn't really understand a lot of the backstory it was so much fun, and i thought i sort of had it worked out. I have come home and binged their content now, but the more I watch, the more confused I am. I watched the Anthony Padilla Dan interview tonight and that was the point where I thought I need help. I was advised head here, pick someone nice and avoid twitter so here I am. When I was watching the show in Oslo, it seemed to me that it was the most married unmarried couple ever, having fun together on stage, poking fun at all the crazy that they had faced together over the years, however the more I indulge in their content the more I am confused as to what is real or not. Is the whole stage couple thing just an act? Were they together but now not? Have I misunderstood the whole show? That Anthony interview Dan seemed to be saying he was very single and ready to find a man, so I am very very lost. Google was no help. I don't want to over step but after watching them perform on stage, they seemed completely infatuated and in love with each other and in recent videos i watched. It is all very confusing. Whatever they are, they know how to put on a show. They have a new fan in me, albeit a slightly confused one. Hope you don't think I am overstepping.

first of all, that's an insane introduction to dan and phil and i love it. i was also at the oslo show! it was a good one

as for your question, well you see the thing is dan howell is chronically full of shit. that time period was a bit weird and he was a bit annoying and he had this "single and ready to mingle" bit going, god knows why cause it wasn't very believable, but.. idk, i think perhaps it was a mix of just that fitting his brand of "comedian" better and him desperately wanting to get away from the Dan And Phil label, but because he couldn't ever fully commit to it it just fell flat imo. like you can't be on youtube and on stage claiming you're single and wanna fuck around while also appearing in your boyfriend's videos acting married as fuck, it just doesn't work. and please no one start up that godforsaken open relationship debate again cause it's just not relevant, he wasn't selling open relationship he was selling single lol, at least in that anthony interview

but like all that said i don't really think he was trying to sell it to the phannies or any of his most hardcore fans, and i think that's exactly why he was willing to appear in phil's videos still showing a completely different, much more real, side of himself. the whole Single Dan On The Prowl thing was for himself and for random people who happened to be watching, more casual members of the audience

there's a looot more to be said about dan and the way he wants to be viewed, he talks about it himself a bit in the new show but you probably don't remember it that well if you saw it as an outsider like it's hardly the most memorable part of.. all of that haha, but basically to answer your question: dan's just kinda like that sometimes. you get used to it. or maybe you won't have to since he seems ready to finally maybe potentially possibly drop some of the pretence and just.... be. or he'll change his mind again and be back to bullshitting in a few months you honestly never know with that guy

but yeah dan in that era... grain of salt is all. it's just a persona and a desperate plea to be viewed as something, anything other than Dan From Dan And Phil. it's just kind of hard to get away from that when the other half of your double act is also your life partner, you know?