I'd like to think nigel's cycle goes like this, usually.
Meets a new person, usually a person seen as ''brave'' or other strong, confident traits
Makes it so the person does not feel brave or confident around him, usually by erratic behaviour and mood swings that make them wonder if he's mentally well or not.
Have the person trust him. Finally act normal. The person will slowly forget of Nigel's previous actions. (This is evidenced in the way that Alex seems to have an overall tolerance of Nigel, despite the fact he literally pushed his friend off a train and killed the girl Alex was planning to go on a date with.)
Show the person what he really believes in, aka giving his trust back to the person. When Nigel and Alex go into the crawl space together, it is clear that Nigel believes he has finally made Alex comfortable enough around him. Nigel starts letting his guard down, getting close to him even though Alex could easily whip out a weapon at any moment. (The scene where they are sitting together and Nigel says ''an implement for killing'' while giving Alex literal heart eyes??)
Decides they should execute his plan, starts calling the person by their role instead of name. (like when he calls Alex ''Jack'' or any of the sort.
I want to think that Nigel finds it hard to find people who fit his mold of the ''Jack'' or things like that, which is likely why he let his guard down so easily with Alex.
takes place when Napoleon was made emperor of france. Slight angst.
Not my usual type of post lol
WC: about 260
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The day had barely begun when the news reached far from just france. Did you hear? Napoleon is emperor of France. They say he shall be a good leader. Even great. The day had near started when it reached a deeply hurt Beethoven. He sat, in his study. Bonaparte had always been a good friend, perhaps more to Ludwig. Ink dripped onto the paper, his hand trembling over the word 'more.' He thought of that night in Napoleon's country home out in Toulouse, how the expensive french wine dripping from his chin had made him far too tipsy to think properly. Far too tipsy to be concerned of why he was kissing Bonaparte, or even why Napoleon had reciprocated. He knew of the laws against homosexuality. But laws did not seem to apply when nobody was looking, and it was simply the two laughing and getting increasingly more intimate in the observatory of that old french cottage. The thought of Napoleon being some haughty and noble frenchman greatly angered him. That wasn't him, and he should have said something, but he couldn't. Nobody could know they were as close as they truly were. And so, Ludwig ordered for his symphony, the symphony three, to no longer be dedicated to Bonaparte. As he talked to locals about his decision, he would likely describe the change as one that was made purely out of losing a friend. But, in the privacy of his own chaotic mind, he knew, and maybe Bonaparte did think this too, they were far from just friends. But lovers was too strong of a word.
faithful are the wounds of a friend; profuse are the kisses of an enemy
a stranger along the way forces you both into decisions you can’t turn back from.
tags: 2hollisxfem!reader, suspense, roadtrip, smut (p in v)
⚠️cw: graphic depiction of violence, mentions of death, gun violence, potentially distressing material, implied predatory behavior(nothing happens, the guy's just very creepy, but i think it's worth the warning)
a/n: this chapter works as a turning point for the two of them and it deals with slightly darker themes, please read the content warning and tags, if you're not comfortable with any of that, DO NOT READ IT!!!<3
It's not that you got used to the idea of robbing or harming someone, but eventually it started to make sense. And sometimes, some people had it coming. Like the old man who offered help when Hollis's car died.
You were in the middle of nowhere, somewhere along the interstate in between Colorado and Utah. The nearest light you'd seen had been a gas station sign about forty minutes back, and before that, nothing — just the highway cutting through dark flatland, the kind of empty that makes you aware of how small you are. You'd been sleeping until you heard Hollis cursing and felt the car slowly pulling to a stop.
You woke to Hollis stepping out and lifting the hood to check the engine. You stepped out after him.
"Get back to the car," he said.
"No," you answered simply, and he sighed. You reached his side, looking down at the engine as if you understood any of it. "What's wrong?"
"It's probably the water — it overheated." You nodded, still with no clue. "I didn't check back in the last city."
"And what are we gonna do?" You raised your eyes to him.
"I don't know," He looked back at you with a tired stare — he'd been driving the whole night. "I'm calling a tow truck."
Half an hour went by with Hollis trying to get through to a tow truck. You honestly didn't even know how far you were from the nearest town, but judging by the landscape — stretches of grass and the odd solitary property sitting dark and still in the distance — you figured it was far. It was also the first time in quite a while that you'd seen Hollis using his phone; most of the time it stayed off, and he made you keep yours off too.
"Fuck," he roared at the screen, about to dial again when you stepped closer.
"We can sleep in the car tonight and look for help tomorrow." You reached for his face, both hands cupping it gently, fingers brushing his cheekbones. His gaze softened as soon as he met your eyes, and he smiled — softly.
"Sounds good," he said, and you smiled back.
He left the backseat for you. You didn't want to sleep in comfort without him, but he insisted he was too big for the backseat anyway — though truthfully, he was too big for the front seat too. Even reclining back, he had to curl into his own frame just to lay properly.
You watched him from the back, his cap pulled low, arms folded across his chest in the pale moonlight, while you searched for your own sleep. It never came. You listened to an owl somewhere far off, the wind shaking the tall grass and bending the trees, the occasional car passing down the road — none of it pulled you under. You were already resigning yourself to staying awake the whole night when the knocks came.
You heard them before you fully understood what they were. Three slow knocks, evenly spaced, like someone who'd been standing there a while before deciding to announce themselves. It immediately startled you but Hollis didn't so much as stir. You looked out the window before waking him.
The man was standing too close to the car. Not the polite distance of someone passing by who'd noticed trouble — he was right up against the glass, and he'd positioned himself so that the shadows fell across most of his face. Middle-aged, greasy, and odd-looking, to say the least. Something about the stillness of him, the way he wasn't shifting his weight or looking around the way a normal person would, sat wrong in your stomach even before he smiled.
"Holli," you called, poking him through the gap in the seats.
It took a moment, but Hollis woke. He looked for you first, then for the man knocking at his window. He reached into the glove box for his gun and kept it hidden at his hip. Only then did he lower the window — about a quarter of the way, just enough for the man to hear him.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Good night, son," the man said, a strange smile revealing rotten teeth. "Something wrong with the car?"
"Yeah — it just died, but I'm calling a tow truck first thing in the morning," Hollis answered, dry and suspicious.
"I see." The man looked a moment longer, then somehow found you in the backseat, past Hollis. Hollis frowned and shifted his body to block you from the man's line of sight. "My house isn't far from here. It's not safe to sleep out in the middle of nowhere."
"That's real nice of you, but we're fine," Hollis said quickly.
"I'm saying it on account of the lady — people from all over pass this road. It really isn't far, my house. And come morning I can tow your car with my own truck."
The proposal wasn't bad, and maybe you were only judging by appearances. You knew Hollis would refuse — out of pride, out of caution — but you reached for his shoulder and touched it lightly, just enough to suggest what you had in mind.
"Give us a sec," he said before closing the window in the man's face. "You're not actually thinking of saying yes, are you?"
"It's just for the night, and he said he'd help with the car," you whispered.
"He's weird," Hollis said plainly — and he was right.
"It's just that we don't even know if there's a tow service anywhere nearby." You pouted, and Hollis held your gaze for a moment. You knew that look — he was weighing it, and you were tipping the scale just by staring back.
"Fine," he said, and you kissed his cheek quickly.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The stranger's truck smelled like an old house and something dairy you couldn't quite name. It was a three-seat cabin, and Hollis positioned himself in the middle, between you and the man — when you'd moved to climb in first, he'd caught you by the waist and put you by the window instead.
You were nearly asleep again before long, head resting on Hollis's shoulder while the stranger talked at him. You paid no attention to the conversation, only to Hollis's hand resting on your leg and yours settled over his.
Until you heard it.
"Is she your sister? Or girlfriend? No offense," the man said.
"My wife," Hollis said, and you pressed back the smile, squeezing his hand instead.
"Wife? Aren't you a little young for that?"
"Not really — we met in college a few years back and married as soon as we graduated." He was flat-out lying, just for the fun of it.
"And where are you headed?"
"Arizona. Small town called Bisbee — visiting her family." You had to fight not to laugh.
"City folk meets a small-town girl and ties the knot quick — I can see why, honestly." The man laughed. Hollis didn't.
"She's a good girl." His hand tightened around your leg — possessive and protective in equal measure.
The man went quiet for a moment, eyes back on the road, and then almost to himself: "Yeah, the good ones you gotta hold onto. Things have a way of — disappearing, if you're not careful."
Something about the way he said it made you open your eyes. But his expression in the rearview was unreadable, and Hollis's thumb had started moving slow circles on your knee, and you told yourself it was nothing.
The house wasn't far, no more than a twenty-minute drive down a side road — a wooden house, nothing unusual for the region. But it was surprisingly cozy and neat inside. The man showed you to the guest room, and you felt the tension leave your shoulders the moment the door closed. There was a key in the lock. Hollis turned it.
"See? We're fine," you said, watching him shrug off his jacket. When his shirt lifted at the hem, you caught the gun still holstered at his hip.
"We're really not — that guy's weird." He sounded genuinely irritated. He lay down, and you followed.
"He's gonna help us and we'll be out of here first thing in the morning." You crawled toward him. "You sleeping with that?"
You poked at the holster, meeting his eyes. He reached for the gun, lifted it, turned it over in his hand. You couldn't deny what the sight did to you — you felt it everywhere, across your skin, down your spine, and unmistakably elsewhere. When he set it on the nightstand you moved over him, one knee on either side of his hips.
"Am I your wife?" you asked, and he grinned.
"Yeah, my beautiful wife." His hand found your nape, then slid into your hair, gripping it to pull you closer.
"Just for tonight, though," you said, a pout on your lips.
"We’ll see about that" His gaze dropped to your mouth and you bit your lower lip as the grip in your hair tightened. You liked when he was rougher. You liked when he handled you like that.
He kissed you with that same roughness — relentless, his lips fitting yours with ease, his tongue taking over in a way that had you surrendered to him completely. You rested your hands on his chest, then slid them down to his abdomen, fingers grazing lightly across it.
It took no time before you were moving on top of him, grinding on his lap. The mere friction of your panties against his jeans had you whimpering against his mouth.
"Hey," he said, seriously. His other hand came to your hip, trying to steady you, but you kept moving, rolling your hips back and forth. "We can't fuck here."
"Why not?" Your voice came out frail, almost pleading.
You dug your nails into his skin as you kept moving on top of him, your pussy twitching, getting soaked by the minute.
"Fuck it," he said, his voice coming out hoarse, and you smiled at your small victory.
Hollis's grip slid up your thigh until it reached your ass, helping you move, pressing you down over his crotch. You bit your lip to keep from moaning when you felt his growing length beneath you. It felt so good against your cunt that your whole body burned with it. But it wasn't enough. Your hands rushed to unbutton his jeans and drag the zipper down. You raised your hips just enough to push his pants out of the way.
"So fucking greedy," he said, and you glanced up at him briefly. He wore that same devilish look you'd first noticed when you met him — the one you'd grown so fond of — and it made your heart skip and your cheeks flush all at once.
You went on, pulling down his underwear until his cock was finally within reach. You wrapped your hand around the base and began to stroke him slowly. You bent forward just enough to spit on his tip, wetting him so it was easier to work him with both hands. You loved how he throbbed under your touch, loved the sound of his sharp breaths, the way his chest rose and fell, the way his gaze gleamed down at you. You loved it so much.
As he watched you, you stopped and raised your hips. First you slipped out of your summer dress, then your panties, until you were completely naked in front of him. It still made your cheeks warm, mostly when he looked at you with that much attention, his heavy-lidded eyes moving over every detail of you. When you lowered yourself onto him again, you took hold of his cock once more, this time to line him up at your entrance. You said nothing, just bit into your lip to stay quiet as you sank down on top of him, his cock filling you inch by inch. It still caught you off guard — how good it felt to have him stretching you open like that.
You struggled to find your rhythm, but Hollis made it easier by taking hold of your hips and guiding you into it. Slow at first, then the two of you settled into a pace that made staying quiet feel like torture. Desperately, he grabbed you by the neck and pulled you close, kissing you so hard it drew a whimper out of you.
If you'd struggled to hold back when you were leading, the moment Hollis began thrusting up into you, you had no choice but to bury your face against his neck to muffle the sounds escaping your mouth. He wasn't faring much better — between the heaviness of his breathing and the low, hoarse sounds he made from time to time, it was clear how much it was getting to him too. His hands gripped your hips and waist so tight it ached, fingers digging into your skin without restraint, his body slamming up into yours again and again.
When the first spasm tore through you, you bit down on his shoulder — not caring whether it hurt him, just needing to keep your mouth shut somehow. Even so, you cried out and clenched tight around him. It drew a moan from Hollis, but he kept thrusting, relentless. He grew faster, his movements turning sloppy, and you knew. He tried to lift you off him, but you leaned back and sat up straight on top of him, rolling your hips as you held his gaze.
"Baby, I'm gonna—" he said, his voice wrecked, fighting his edge.
"I know," you said, low.
And you kept moving anyway — faster, grinding down on him as you felt him throbbing inside you. You pressed both hands to his chest for leverage and rode him properly.
Hollis fell back against the pillow, lips parted, hands gripping you tight, and you rode him until you felt the first of him spill inside you — just a moment, just enough to make you gasp — before he grabbed your hips and lifted you off him, finishing across your stomach with a rough, wrecked sound. The warmth of it spread across your skin and you stayed still, catching your breath, watching his chest heave.
"You're insane," he said finally, spent.
"I'm not." You leaned down and rested your head on his shoulder. Both of you panting and slick with sweat. "It just felt so good."
He hummed and pulled you close. His kiss pressed to the top of your head was the last thing you felt before sleep pulled you under, still wrapped in his arms.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The next morning, Hollis woke you early. You were a light sleeper, so you got up without much trouble.
"Get dressed," he said.
You nodded and did as he said, moving slowly and groggy. You cleaned yourself up, put on your dress, fixed your hair as best you could, then just waited for him.
The two of you went downstairs, his hand in yours the whole way. The man was in his living room, watering plants or something like it. He greeted you both with a wide smile, his eyes sliding over you in a way that turned your stomach, and you shifted slightly closer to Hollis.
That morning he went with Hollis to tow the car. You stayed behind and looked around — scattered the whole place, really.
You started with the basement. The staircase creaked under every step and the smell hit you before you reached the bottom — something damp and organic, like soil and something older beneath it. The space was crammed: old furniture stacked against the walls, a workbench covered in taxidermy tools and unlabeled chemicals, the kind of setup that would have made sense for a hunter if it hadn't felt so deliberate. The stuffed animals were everywhere — squirrels, rabbits, a fox with glass eyes that caught the light wrong. Along the far wall, lined up with a neatness that contrasted with everything else in the room, were women's shoes. All different styles, different sizes. You counted twelve pairs before you stopped counting. Your breathing had gone shallow without you noticing, and you stood there for a moment just listening to the silence above you before you made yourself keep moving. Beside the shoes, a wardrobe. You pulled it open and found women's clothes — a lot of them, folded or hung with care, different sizes too, as if collected over time rather than belonging to any one person. You closed it carefully, like you hadn't been there at all.
On your way back up you noticed the rocking chair positioned directly beneath the single hanging bulb — its armrests worn completely smooth, almost polished, like something had spent a long time sitting there. You didn't linger.
The living room and kitchen were just as neat and unremarkable as the night before, which almost made it worse — the contrast. You moved quickly through them, opening drawers without finding much, until you pulled open the one beside the kitchen sink. You hesitated before you looked inside, some part of you already sensing you wouldn't like what you found. A stack of Polaroids rubber-banded together. Candid shots. Women at gas stations, women walking through parking lots, one taken through what was clearly a window. None of them looking at the camera. None of them knowing. You put them back exactly as you found them and shut the drawer, and then you stood very still for a moment with your hand still resting on it, staring at nothing.
Upstairs, past the guest room, his bedroom sat at the end of the corridor. You pushed the door open slowly and the smell reached you before anything else — stale sweat and something sweet beneath it, something wrong. You breathed through your mouth and stepped in.
The walls were dense with photographs — family portraits, him alongside a woman, two children, a dog. Ordinary enough on the surface, except the woman looked hollow in almost every one of them. Not sad exactly. Hollow. Like something behind her eyes had quietly gone out. You told yourself you were projecting.
There was a vanity table against one wall that stopped you cold. Women's perfume bottles arranged in a careful row, a hairbrush with long dark hair still wound through the bristles. Unmistakably a woman's things — but nothing else in the room suggested a woman had ever lived here. You picked up one of the bottles without meaning to, turned it over in your hand, set it back down.
Beside the bed, a stack of letters tied with twine. All from the same return address, all in the same handwriting — a woman's. All unopened. The most recent postmark was only a few months old. You thought about the clothes downstairs. The shoes lined up too neatly. You thought about what he'd said in the truck — the good ones you gotta hold onto, things have a way of disappearing — and your mouth went dry.
You crouched and looked under the bed. The corner of a suitcase was just visible, fitted with a heavy padlock. You were working out how to get it open, fingers already reaching for it, when you heard the engine outside.
You ran.
You heard the truck before you saw it. You were at the front door before it had even fully stopped, and the moment Hollis stepped out you crossed the porch and walked straight into him, arms wrapping tight around him, face pressed to his chest. He said nothing — just closed his arms around you and brought one hand up to your hair, fingers moving through it slowly.
You wanted to tell him. The shoes lined up along the wall. The Polaroids in the kitchen drawer. The vanity with someone else's hairbrush. The letters, all unopened. The suitcase. The words sat right at the back of your throat — and then the man was already stepping onto the porch behind Hollis, wiping his hands on a rag, filling the silence before you had the chance.
"Got her hooked up no problem, I figure it's an easy fix, few hours at most, maybe less. Just gonna call the mechanic, he’ll be here in no time" he said, moving past you both toward the door. "You two hungry? I can make something before you head out."
"Sure," Hollis said, and you felt the word vibrate in his chest against your cheek. His fingers hadn't stopped moving through your hair.
You tilted your head just enough to look up at him. He was watching the man's back, expression neutral, but his eyes cut down to yours for just a second — brief and quiet, reading you — or trying to. You gave him nothing back. You couldn't, not yet. So you pressed closer and he let you, his arm tightening slightly at your waist.
"I remember being your age," the man said, you did not turn to look at him. "Right about your age when I met my wife."
"Is that so?" Hollis said, his tone easy, unbothered.
"Yeah. Course she was younger than your lady." You felt your jaw tighten against Hollis's chest. His fingers grazed your scalp, unhurried, and the steadiness of it kept you still. "Different time. You get me?"
"Sure," Hollis said.
"Enjoy it while it lasts is all I'm saying." He laughed — wet and nasal, an awful sound. "Soon she won't be this clingy. Won't even look at your face. I'll tell you that much."
Hollis's hand paused for just a fraction of a second in your hair. So small you almost missed it.
"My Nancy?" He used a random name as a disguise, you figured. "Doubt it. She's just soft like that."
"They're all like that at first, all over you, then running like the plague." His tone had shifted, the lightness gone from it entirely. "But what do I know? Maybe you two are the lovebird type."
You thought about the shoes. The one detail that kept coming back, quiet and insistent — twelve pairs, all different sizes, lined up like they were waiting for someone to come back for them. You pressed your face a little further into Hollis's chest and said nothing.
Hollis only hummed in response, and the air between them thickened. He kept brushing your hair back with his fingers, slow and deliberate, and you understood that he knew something was wrong — you could feel it in the way he held you, slightly closer than usual, slightly more careful — but he didn't push. He just stayed there with you, solid and warm, while the man kept talking like the silence was something that needed filling.
Tankfully, the man excused himself, said he was making breakfast, and when it was ready he called you both in. You looked to Hollis for some kind of out — you didn't even want to touch the man's food — but you sat down at the table anyway and pretended to be occupied with your plate while he talked without pause. Until knocks came at the door.
"Must be the guy," he said, pushing back his chair. "Come on."
He waved at Hollis, who stood. You moved to follow when he stopped you. "Finish eating — we'll be back soon."
So you stayed. The two of them disappeared through the door and you sat there, poking at your food, glancing around the room. You were genuinely starving, but you couldn't bring yourself to eat the scrambled eggs. You wondered if you were being unfair — maybe he was just a sad, strange loner and not the villain of some horror film. You felt a little mean for thinking it. Then you thought about the Polaroids and stopped feeling mean.
"Aren't you hungry?"
You looked up. The man was standing in the kitchen doorway.
"Woke up feeling a bit off, actually — no offense," you said, keeping your voice low and polite.
"None taken." He smiled. You hated that smile. "I think this is the first time I've actually heard you speak. That man of yours talks for you every time."
"Does he?" You laughed nervously. "I'm just shy. He knows me well."
"Yeah? He ain't the controlling type, is he? Not keeping you hostage or anything?" He burst out laughing at his own joke. It wasn't funny, and the laugh was repulsive — that same wet, nasal sound. You forced a smile so as not to be rude. You didn't feel like you had the upper hand here.
"No, he's very sweet, actually," you said.
"I'm sure he is. But with a girl like you, you can never be too careful — you know what I mean?" He was still smiling, still staring in that way that made everything in you recoil.
"I don't, actually," you said, and rose to your feet.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He waved a hand. "Just playing around."
Even so, you stayed standing, your eyes flicking to the doorway behind him. If you wanted to leave, you'd have to walk past him.
"Where's my husband?" you asked. "I'm really not feeling well."
"He's outside with the guy checking the car." He leaned against the doorframe. "No need to worry — I'll keep you company."
Your gaze moved restlessly around the room, your mind already mapping exits, weighing options. The back door through the kitchen. The window above the sink. How fast you could get past him if you ran.
"Relax — the man's not gonna leave you here." He stepped forward, and your stomach turned over. "He ain't that dumb."
He kept coming toward you and you stepped back behind the table, keeping something between the two of you. You thought about the knife in your boot, still out in the car. You thought about how the table would only hold him off so long.
"Playing all shy now, but I heard you last night." That smile didn't move. "Bit of a freak, aren't you?"
Your eyes went wide. He kept closing the distance and you had already made the decision — the window, you'd go through the window if you had to — when a sound split through the room.
A gunshot.
A fraction of a second, and the man was on the floor, clutching his leg. You looked to the doorway. Hollis was standing there, gun in hand.
No thought crossed your mind except to run to him — and you did. But just as you neared the door, something locked around your ankle.
"You little slut!" The man groaned from the floor, one hand soaked red, now smearing blood up your leg as he grabbed higher — your thigh.
You yanked against his grip and screamed. You were twisting toward Hollis when the second shot came. This time you didn't look down. You kept your eyes on Hollis, your whole body locking up, and then you felt the grip on your thigh go slack and fall away. You weren't just startled — you were stunned, shaking, and just when you thought you couldn't move, Hollis's arms came around you. He pulled you into his chest.
"I got you. You're okay," he whispered. "Let's get out of here."
Too dazed to speak, you followed him, but at the front door you stopped. "Upstairs, under his bed, there's a suitcase with a lock on it. We could... check it."
Hollis looked at you and smiled. A proud smile. He rubbed your chin with his thumb. "Good girl."
You stood rooted at the door while he took the stairs two at a time. He was back in moments, the suitcase in hand, the lock broken open. Neither of you said anything when you saw what was inside — a bundle of women's driver's licenses held together with a rubber band, different names, different states, different faces. Beneath them, a thick fold of cash. A lock of dark hair sealed in a plastic bag. You felt your throat close. You didn't cry, didn't speak — your hand just found Hollis's arm and held it, and he let you. He took the money and left the rest. Neither of you looked inside again. You got back on the road, out of there.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Shock wasn't even the right word for what you were. Mostly you were scared — and not for the right reasons. Every time you glanced at Hollis beside you, all you felt was dread on his behalf. A man could be dead, and all you could think about was the trouble he'd just walked into — because of you. It was all pressing in too hard, your head buzzing, the sharp smell of blood rising from your stained dress and leg, and if you'd eaten anything earlier you probably would have been sick.
"I need a shower," you said, out of nowhere. The first words you'd spoken in over an hour.
"We're almost at the next city, baby. Hang in there," Hollis said. Calm as anything. How was he so calm?
When you finally pulled into a motel your whole body loosened with relief at the thought of washing it all off. The blood, at least. Your dress was another matter — it had set too long; the stain wasn't going anywhere.
You found Hollis on the edge of the bed doing something with his gun when you came back into the room. You were toweling your hair dry, wearing nothing but one of his shirts — you always liked sleeping in them.
"What are you doing?" you asked.
"Just checking," he said, glancing up at you with an obvious look that had nothing to do with the gun. "You okay?"
"Are you okay?" you asked back.
"Me? I'm fine." He shrugged.
"How are you so calm?" You crossed the room toward him. "You just — that man could be dead."
"Probably," he said, just as plainly. "He had it coming though."
You thought about the driver's licenses. All those faces, all those names and the unopened letters and you thought — yes, he did. You knew that. And still something about the easiness of it, the way Hollis said it the same way he'd say anything, made the ground feel slightly unsteady beneath you.
"Hollis, what if—" Your voice cut out. Your throat felt dry. "What if someone comes after you?"
"I don't think anyone's going to notice that man missing anytime soon." He almost sounded amused, setting the gun aside. "He was a complete loner; told me himself when we went to get the car. No family, no kids, no friends to speak of. The mechanic said nobody in town really talked to him. They only knew him because he came in for groceries."
He said it with something close to amusement, like it was almost funny, while you'd spent the last two hours feeling like your insides had been rearranged. You exhaled slowly and stepped closer. His hands came up to meet you — your thighs, your hips, your waist. You looked down at him where he sat on the edge of the bed.
"We're fine," he said, softer now. "You're fine. That's all that matters to me."
You pouted at that and nodded. He pulled you in until you folded into his lap. He held you tight enough that you finally felt the tension begin to leave your body — and you let it, even knowing what you knew, even with the contradiction of it sitting somewhere quiet and unspoken in your chest. The man who was holding you together was the same man who hadn't flinched. You didn't know what to do with that yet. So you just held on.
"I was so scared," you said — and only then did you realize you were crying. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there."
"But I was there," he said, rubbing slow circles into your back. "And I'm here. No one's going to hurt you while I'm right here."
You held him tighter. In that moment you believed him more than you'd ever believed anything — more than any passage from the Bible your mother had made you memorize as a child. And maybe that should have frightened you too. But it didn't. It just felt like the truest thing you knew.
Also im so so so sorry for whats boutta happen i kept you waiting for nothing 😬
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you can see his cheeks get red. hot, he's flushed. it's weird, you figured he'd be the last person to not know what to do in this kind of situation. your faces are so close-too close. This isn't normal, at all. you can feel his breath over your mouth for a second, like he's about to kiss you. but he doesn't. he doesn't even try.
''sorry...that was my bad.'' he chuckles awkwardly, pushing himself a fair distance from you. It's stupid. you're stupid. you let yourself out of the bathtub with soaked clothes, taking off your shirt in the process. His eyes trail over your waistband, before averting his gaze when you look back at him. Eventually, he ends up getting out of the bathtub, soap suds still partially in his hair as he attempts to fling them out. The whole bathroom still smells of his citrus body wash, a hint of cinnamon from his shampoo. you get into the bath, letting the water consume you and hopefully your thoughts. bad thoughts. obviously, you must get out at some point. 15 minutes later, you rise from the water dripping wet, wrapping a towel around your waist as you step out of the bathroom.
t i m e s k i p (after diagon alley, near dinner time.)
''what bloody card is that?'' you snicker as the twins both try to decipher a fake card you had brought into the game. It's the type of game you usually wouldn't know, if not for the fact Fred had told you of it at Hogwarts last year. you remember the exact day, actually. He had stopped cutting his hair for a while then, and you awoke to the sound of the twins practically screaming as another boy chased them with scissors. he had sure grown quite a lot since then.
''it's a fake, i made it!'' you say, suddenly bursting into laughter as their confusion quickly becomes comical disbelief.
''c'mere, that's not fair!'' Fred suddenly jumps at you, effectively locking you beneath him as he tackles you to the ground. you could certainly fight back, but you weren't quite complaining when he was on top of you. he panted, hair falling in graceful yet messy strands over his face. you couldn't decide where to look-did he even know you were staring at his lips? you hope not.
''okay you cavemen...quit fighting.'' george suddenly speaks up, breaking the very awkward situation in which you were in.
''sorry, your brother was being a caveman. not me!''' Fred looks at you as he topples off of your chest, a look of 'wow, i really appreciate that.'.
''come on, let's finish the game...'' you say, just once more letting your gaze flash over his face, counting each individual freckle. 32. one just on the tip of his nose.
''Fred! George! Tell your friend supper's ready!'' They both look at you, brows raised. You smile, quickly getting up. The quickness of your actions almost startles you. As you make your way down the stairs, Fred runs just behind you, his tall stature lingering behind you like your shadow.
The food at their house was no doubt delicious. But the only thing you wanted to taste as of now were his lips. You were barely hiding it, and you were very sure if given the opportunity, you would kiss him. This wasn’t the feeling you were used to. One where you felt like you had a chance of actually being with him, being his….well, boyfriend. You tap George, who is sitting next to you, on the shoulder. he cocks a brow at you, mouth full of spaghetti.
“I might need to…talk to Fred. After dinner.” You whisper to him, careful for the man himself to not hear. spitting out mouthfuls of spaghetti, George smirks at you.
“Go right ahead, mate.” gosh. The way he worded it, it sounded like he knew of your little crush on his twin. He probably did. George had always been too observant, for a pair of mischievous rule breakers. Of course, you sometimes helped on their…tricks. You were way too well behaved, though. Then, you turned to Fred. Right, this was the first time you two had looked right at each other since…then. With the playing card.
“Fred. Can we talk? After supper.” You tried not to look into his piercing blue eyes, or at his grin that he plastered like a full time job. Because now, you didn’t quite find them scary.
“At your service, my lord” sometimes his stupid nicknames did things. Made butterflies form in your stomach. made you feel warm, like you were getting hugged.
—————
you nearly cornered him in the doorway of their room.
“my, my? I thought I was rough..” his smile softens, one hand reaching out to caress you on instinct that he never knew he had.
“what…what was that? this morning. in the bathtub.” the words come out strangled, likely not what you wanted to talk about-yet still needed. the cynical expression he wears almost dies down as you says this.
“what do you mean…?” he chuckles, eyes darting around-merlin, he’s also nervous.
“we both know what I mean.” and suddenly, that feeling from this morning comes back, stronger than ever as your nose presses to his. you can feel yourself blushing again, only this time you hope he sees it. want him to see it, even.
“y/n, I-“ you've had enough. you press your lips to his, indulging in the taste of him. to your surprise, he kisses back. you hadn't prepared to get this far.
—————-
stopped offering taglist 🫰🤣
it’s like 1am where I am and unfortunately I have a SLEEP SCHEDULE!!
hi about this it may be extremely delayed as i've been getting more of a...social life...recently, and i no longer spend all my free time writing fanfic
guys im so so so excited for this you better be too i put my heart and soul into this
i feel like y/n is being personally attacked by his own mind...
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The night was long and eventful. at one point, fred had dared you to go down and scream at the troll they had there. You refused, yet promised him something better. What that was, not even you knew. it was now morning and sunlight was shedding through the thin curtains that went over the windows in their bedroom. you decided to sleep on the floor. admittedly uncomfortable, yes, but it was hard sharing a bed with a boy who was extremely tall...when you were small.
''fred! george! get up, you mischevious boys!'' Mrs. Weasley called from down stairs. you could smell freshly cooked bacon and the sizzling of fried eggs cooking on the pan.
''fred! get up!'' you whisper-screamed, shaking him vigorously by the shoulders. he flashed awake, looking as if he had seen unspeakable horrors.
''what, what? has my entire stash of chocolate frogs disappeared? has my family died?'' you chuckled. you shook your head. now, you felt quite bad for waking him up. he did look peaceful when he slept. maybe you liked how he softly smiled-even in his sleep.
''no...but breakfast is downstairs!'' you rolled-yes, quite literally rolled-out of bed, landing on the hardwood floor beneath before getting back up on your feet to run downstairs.
''wait for me-bloody hell-you're fast!'' george roared from behind you two, getting out of his own bed. downstairs, everyone except you three and percy sat at the table, greedily gulping at their breakfast.
''we're going to diagon alley for school shopping. fred, school.'' Mrs. Weasley gives him this glare, which he returns. he slides in next to you, grabbing a piece of toast from your plate.
''hey! that's not...'' at the sight of him munching on it happily, you decide for once you'll let him win. perhaps more than once.
''fred, george-please take a bath. you two smell funny!'' Mrs. Weasley continued, serving their eggs to them. maybe some of the smell was rotten eggs, but you could confirm most of it was them.
you had finished your breakfast quite quickly. looking to your side, it seemed ron was attempting to see how many pieces of toast he could fit in one bite. you turned away, now looking at the twins.
''how do you let your hair stay greasy for that long?'' you asked fred, picking at a strand of his ginger hair.
''because i'm too busy spending time with you?'' he answered without looking up. this answer somehow made you both flustered and disgusted. you'd never addressed the fact that fred's signature charm worked maybe a bit too well on you, as you had by now developed a crush on him. but who were you to even try? it wasn't a secret-every girl at hogwarts liked him. maybe some of the other boys did too.
''y/n? we need to go and take a bath. Mum said you should too.'' fred waved his hand in your face, snapping you out of deep thought. oh gosh, were you going to see him naked? panic may have struck you for a second, but confidence washed over. for now, you were a straight boy. just like them. or not. you'd never really seen fred asking anybody out. you let the two guide you up towards the bathroom, which happened to be very small.
''coming through!'' fred pushed past george who had already begun to close the door, knocking him out of the bathroom in the process. he had the bad habit of not realizing how strong he was. and now you wondered how it would feel to run your hands against his naked bo-shit. You had better stop having such thoughts. it was completely filthy, to think like this about your own best friend. when the door closed in your face, locking quickly, you barely noticed. you didn't pay attention to george who was fiddling with the waist band of his boxers, exclaiming loudly, ''hey, look here!''. you didn't pay attention to the bustle of downstairs that, actually, seemed quite nice. you were incredibly lost in thought about a certain boy.
the door creaked open ever so slightly. you could see fred pop his sopping wet head of ginger hair out. ''you can come in, y/n! im almost done.'' he gave you a smile that seemed a bit too soft for someone like himself, but you thought nothing of it. you slid in the small crack left in the door, sadly not getting a glimpse of him before he went into the bath. sadly-no not sadly! this was not good. you mentally screamed as you slowly undressed, unbuttoning your pajama shirt.
''y/n? could you help me with the shampoo?'' you looked over to see he had made a beard with bubbles, and you fought back the urge to burst out laughing as you leapt over to get the back of his head. it was strangely intimate, what you were doing. you had never seen him like this-apart from once when you were both 12 years old-and even then you felt completely nervous. now, your cheeks were burning up and you could only hope it didn't show. you ran a wet hand through his hair softly, watching as he let out a barely audible moan. this was complete torture-you were sure he probably knew of your feelings for him, and he was just teasing you. the foamy soap beard still stood on his face until you wiped it off, swiping a hand over his mouth suddenly.
''oi! i worked hard for that!'' he suddenly pulled you towards him, accidentally letting you fall into the bathtub. for a moment, you both just looked at each other. you could swear you saw him look at your lips.
''i can taste you on my lips, and feel you on my clothes.''
i would literally beg on my knees with a maid dress and cat ears on just for one singular chance with either one of the twins
contents areeee : soft dom fred weasley, fluff , comfort (?), slight angst, very weirdly intimate hair washing, jealoussyyyyyy
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harry was sadly not going to be with the weasleys this summer. which, actually, was more happy for you. fred and george had been begging to their mother for you to see the burrow, to stay over the summer. now the time had finally come. you knocked on their door, standing in the very shabby lawn.
''Morning!'' Fred opens the door, and for a split second you could see percy being punched off to the side. you laugh, looking him up and down with a smile before coming in.
''Someone's been expecting you...'' Percy huffs, finally getting up and rubbing his head. The twins turn to him with this annoyed expression, likely meant solely for him. the burrow was loud, constantly buzzing with life, like the house had almost absorbed the warmth the family carried. you turned to george, smiling wide.
''I brung some very special gifts!'' You reach into the bag you're carrying for the heap of gifts you had brought for the family, intentionally reaching for the firecrackers before mrs. weasley stepped in.
''please, no firecrackers in the house!'' She snatched them from you before you could even say 'surprise!', and you watched as the smile on george's face faded into a snarl as he rolled his eyes. fred wasn't smiling in the first place-a rare occurrence. this made your heart twinge, like you wanted to make sure he was smiling.
''fine...'' you sighed. You reached back into your large knitted bag, now finding the gift you had for ginny, and even one for ron. you saw the smile on their faces as you handed them out, especially as you handed the last to ron, a very new broomstick.
''Y/n's the best, Mum!'' ginny showed her toothy grin at the stylish purple shirt you gave her, one with flowers embroidered on it.
''Merlin, how much did this cost?'' ron was left nearly speechless, taking in the shiny, varnished wood before him.
''mm? and for the ones who had to beg mum to let you stay here?'' fred and george blinked prettily, fred now sporting a sarcastic grin. you motioned for them to come outside, just to try some of the joke gifts you had got.
‿‿‿‿ l a t e r , n e a r t h e f o r e s t‿‿‿‿
''honestly, I don't know how you do it!'' you chuckle between mouthfuls of every flavor beans, just now realizing you got a spinach one. yuck. fred quirks a brow, looking straight at you.
''what? eat every flavor?'' his gaze roams on you as he waits your answer, filling you with a newfound feeling that made you...nervous. yeah, nervous. you open your mouth to finally spit something back-then close it again. what's gotten into you these days?
''..yes. sorry-I just ate a bad one..'' You spit it out on the wet grass in front of you, nearly hitting fred.
''don't get it on me!'' he laughs, pulling his legs away. his cheeks are rosy, beads of sweat running down his neck after you three-george, now climbing a tree-chased each other around the forest near the burrow. by now, it was mid day and mrs. weasley was calling you for lunch. you could hear her from here. ('george! tell your brother it's time to come back!')
''come on, fred.'' you finally said, getting up. he immediately came after you, catching up just to talk. when you got back, the rest of them were already crowded onto the table, leaving just enough space for the three of you. you sat down and watched as they both sat next to each other. did they ever realize they had syncronized movements? you let out a small chuckle while chewing on a carrot.
''mum? we were wondering if we could go to diagon alley with y/n...'' fred stares at his mum with these puppy eyes that george mimicks, the two of them now begging.
''...oh alright! i'll let you two go. but please, be careful on your own...'' mrs. weasley is fussing over the safety of two boys who, frankly, are a safety hazard themselves.
‿‿‿‿ a f t e r d i a g o n a l l e y‿‿‿‿
''ah, so that's where you buy ginny's gifts...'' george nodded, acting like he was so interested in what you had bought.
''fred, catch!'' you threw him a big pink bow, one that you intended on putting on your cat later. he just caught it and was a tad bit confused.
''...what's it for?'' this may have been one of the first times he wasn't laughing at what you had got for him. you walked toward him, positioning the bow in his hair.
''how adorable!'' you cooed, chuckling as his face heated up involuntarily. the two pushed past you, running up to their room.
''last one there likes the dark lord!'' you ran so fast the bag you had nearly fell off your arm. you came in second, fred moaning 'not fair!' as you passed him.
''you caught me, i am his loyal servant!'' he said in this scratchy tone, dramatically waving his hands as if doing wandless magic. you and george laughed, continuing into their room. it was so cluttered, you weren't quite sure where to look first.
''i'm terribly exhausted...'' you flopped onto fred's bed, leaving space for him to sit next to you. you felt his weight press on the bed, right next to you.
''oh don't be boring...'' he pleaded, pulling you back up to sit next to him.
''it's only your first day here...'' george joined in, eyes flickering over to you as he lay in his bed, reading an issue of some silly comic book.
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this is part 1, part 2 is a lot more eventful i swear 😬
yo yo yo the plot demon has arrived!!!!! wc is heavy, the smut isnt...
the amount of em dash used will NOT be discussed.
it sucks cause lowkey i wrote every single segment of this at 2 am
btw if you find written stutters annoying don't even try to read it
────────────·࣪ ִֶָ☾.࣪ ִֶ────────────
you sat in the back of class, nearly falling asleep until the professor yelled your name from the front of the lecture hall. you were taking a film class, vowing to your mom that you would pursue a career as a film director.
''Y/n! are you asleep again?'' The professor's voice echoed throughout the hall. you snapped back into your usual position, shaking your head frantically.
''nope, wide awake.'' The professor just sighed, continuing to talk about...well, whatever the subject of todays class was. you didn't pay attention. the person in the row below you, who before you presumed was a girl, turned towards you.
''uh, w-why do you even go to this class...?'' he asked. his tone clearly showed his disdain for people like you, despite him being so quiet. he was wearing glasses, ones that perfectly framed his face. his hair was in a small ponytail. You rolled your eyes at him, curling your lip in disgust as he turned back around. the class ended not long after, and eventually you were almost alone and making your way out. key word, almost. The boy from earlier sits near the doorway, arms crossed.
''y-you might fail this class if you don't...pay attention.'' It's clear he wants you to talk to him. and you kind of find it cute. shit-not cute.
''oh really? and do you expect me to just start paying attention like magic?'' you spit back. You won't just forget what he said earlier because he's cute, that'd be low of you. his eyes widen at your words, likely not expecting such an answer.
''no...i mean, t-that would be...'' he stops talking, hesitating before mumbling something in a language you don't quite understand.
''whatever.'' you push past him, walking out with the conversation left unfinished. seriously, he was staring at your ass that entire conversation. rain settles in, and eventually a storm as you make it back to your dorm room. dark weather is not making you feel any better.
it's late when you make it back to your dorm. according to your notifications, your best friend has called 17 times and your mom texted to ask how college was going. you would reply saying its good, but you never lie to her, so you leave the message on seen. you decide to change into some pijamas, picking out a set of loose fitting black silk ones that hug your body in all the ways they should. the dorm room is quiet. your roommate isn't here, likely with his girlfriend going out somewhere. something comes to your mind-the boy from earlier. why can't you get him out of your mind? maybe it's a sign. you want to search him up on instagram, but you didn't even get his name. it's hopeless. you put your phone down next to you, only hoping a good night's rest will bless him out of your mind.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
spoiler alert, it doesn't. in fact, seeing him in class the next day only makes your thoughts worse. why is his face so ridiculously perfect? It drives you insane. his hair is silky, and you can bet he barely showers. i mean, he's wearing a dirty old hoodie and merch of a game you haven’t heard of.
‘’quit staring.’’ right, he sits right next to you in art history. of course he can see you staring. the professor, in the front of the class, states that everyone must make a clay sculpture adjacent to what the romans and greeks sculpted. how the hell were you going to do that? well, maybe there was a tutorial for it on youtube...
‘’y/n?’’ he asks softly, snapping your attention back to him. He flushes deeply as you lock eyes, and quickly breaks his gaze.
‘’uh, I was wondering if you’d want to…’’ he looks away as he speaks, and the mumbling doesn’t help.
‘’speak up, I can’t hear you.’’ not taking anymore of this, you grab his face and turn it towards you, fully forcing him to look at you. In all honesty, he looks like he might cry because of what you just did.
‘’I-i…uh, I forgot w-what I was going to…say…’’ he manages, pulling his face out of your grip, loose strands of hair now falling over his face.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The professor calls you back into the class after it ends, mostly to discuss your ‘’future’’. Luckily, he gets it over with quickly. ‘’quick question, what’s the name of that guy with the long black hair? like, one with glasses?’’ you ask the teacher. his face immediately lights up as you mention him. ‘’oh, that’s roman, roman leal. he’s in his last year here, so really he’s just taking the class for fun.’’ somehow, this info seems to sit well with you. okay, guy you've basically been obsessing over doesn't even go to this class. He doesn't need help. how the fuck were you to get to know him better? maybe you shouldn't. yeah, you shouldn't.
-i n y o u r d o r m r o o m-
You scroll for what seems like hours on end. when did your instagram feed get so boring? suddenly, you stumble upon a video by what seems to be an artist. they're showing off their art, and even showing the process. it's good art. but, something catches your eye. you recognize his long, dark hair a little too well. his eyes are just as dead, glasses not needed. and god, those lips. apparently, roman is an artist. a good one, at that. you watch a few more of his videos, then give him a quick follow. he won't notice, he has almost a thousand. his look is much different than in class, but you wont comment on that. eventually, it gets late and you fall asleep, phone still in hand.
-n e x t d a y i n a r t h i s t o r y c l a s s-
''your clay pieces are due in 2 weeks. please bring them in fully finished.'' the professor drones on. You've been covering ancient statues recently, mostly greek. at the mention of the upcoming project, you see roman put his head down on the table, likely in despair. you sort of feel bad, but you're unsure on how to help. it's not like you can really give him tips, considering you also struggled to finish the project. in fact, your sculpture basically mimicked a famous roman statue.
''y/n? can I talk to you after this class?'' you hear roman's strained voice from beside you. you want to say yes, but you're not sure what he wants.
''yeah...but why...?'' you whisper back to him, confusion painting your features.
''p-please, do i need to explain? just...'' hes looking at you with these eyes and, oh god. how can someone even refuse? yes, yes, yes.
''okay, fine.'' you roll your eyes, trying hard to ignore how that made you feel. well, at least you have an excuse to talk to him.
not long after, the lesson comes to an end, and you walk over to him as he's packing up.
''hey. you wanted to talk?'' he looks up just as he zips up his bag, eyes darting around the room until he eventually settles on you.
''o-oh. yeah. uh, this is kind of a...big ask. b-but, you know the art project we're working on?'' he stammers and over explains as if he's unsure you'll like what he's going to say. you hold in a little giggle.
''w-well, uh, I-i...was wondering if you'd be willing to like, be a reference...? for my piece?'' You're not sure if you hear him correctly. actually, you do-but, you're not sure how to respond. you're his...muse, that's way intimate.
''roman, doesn't that require..like, being nude?'' you now realize your cheeks are heating up, and you're suddenly extremely aware of how fast you're breathing. he also seems a bit flustered by your question.
''yes. i won't be weird about it, just plea-'' he looks like he's gonna beg on his hands and knees any moment now.
''yeah, i will. where do you live? I can stop by when I'm ready.'' You were confident with your body. and besides, it's not like this was that crazy. He told you. Just for the art project.
''really? I-thanks...uh, the address is XXXXXXX. Apartment 301.'' damn. you knew that street. had he really been under your nose this whole time?
-a t h i s p l a c e-
you reach his apartment door, and at first you're hesitant to knock. what if he's not there? though, the prospect of him being there is scarier once you actually begin to think of it. you knock, twice. a loud clatter comes, then rushing footsteps. well-oh wow. his hair is in a ponytail as usual, yet his glasses are off and-his hands are covered in clay. you can just nearly see the outline of his abs beneath the thin tank top he's wearing, though you try to ignore his body. it's an art project, not some kind of...date.
''uh, hello. just...undress wherever, i-im ready to start...'' he doesn't even look at you as he says it. likely, he's already undressing you in his mind. not that it's a bad thing. You walk into his large art studio-his apartment is surprisingly big, and you start wondering how the hell he affords it. nonetheless you begin to take off your shirt. then your pants, then underwear. somehow, this feels a bit wrong. but no, you're supposed to be here. you're supposed to be nude right now. and you should be going over to roman's art studio. once you make your way over to roman, you see a small stool and a couch near a lump of clay, supposedly the one he's using.
''sit d-down on one of them. or... stand, a-actually.'' his crude attempt at friendliness doesn't exactly make you less uncomfortable. you decide to sit on the stool. he hums in approval, finding your position easy to start sculpting. as he sculpts the clay, taking bits and pieces off, he slowly, unconciously, starts tracing an outline of your body with his eyes.
his face was flushed, and it was clear he was trying to pay attention to the clay rather than you. you felt a bit exposed, and although normally being nude with someone you liked was good, it felt awkward. you looked down at your body.
''look here, im trying to get your face done...'' he moved with a precision that was unusual for what you had seen of him by now. everytime you looked back at him, it felt like he was silently studying you.
''u-uh, actually...why don't y-you look down..'' He swallowed hard, not even trying to focus on the sculpture anymore. in fact, he was staring straight at your tits. how thoughtful.
''you know, when i agreed to do this, i figured you would be concentrating on the sculpture.'' you say, slightly teasing him. he covered his face, presumably to hide the worsening blush forming on his cheeks.
''p-please st-stop that...'' he groaned. it was pathetic, yet somehow that was more attractive. figuring he wasn't working anymore, you got up and went over to him. what did it actually look like, the statue?
''...this is like, really good. roman, you're good at this.'' you praised, looking at it with a smirk-yeah, that was you. ''you would know already, y/n.'' the comment caught you off guard. what does he mean?
''what? how?'' you looked genuinely confused.
''i-i have profile views on, on instagram, y-you should've known.'' shit. he had seen you looking at his account-of course he had seen you follow him.
''uh, is this a bad time to say you would look better like...this..?'' you pointed out his appearance as of now, and he looked up, eyes all big and black like black holes. you could definitely get sucked into them.
''yes..'' the answer comes out more of a sad sigh than how he normally talks. you decide that ultimately, this has turned into much more than an art project.
you casually sat on his lap, ignoring the obvious bulge in his jeans. He flinched, looking up at you, eyes like a pleading little puppy.
''y/n, w-what are you doing...'' his hands reach out for your waist, steadying you. for a few seconds after, everything is quiet, filled only by the sounds of roman's rapid breathing. you swipe his bangs away from his face, smiling as you do. he looks pretty like this. eventually, you come to the realization that this is so not appropriate.
''i should've asked. sorry about that.'' you begin to pull yourself off of him before his hand-surprisingly strong-pulls you back.
''no, wait..'' and you're back there. already wet at the sounds he as making. jesus, he was driving you crazy. you let him grip your waist again-it seems to be grounding him. it's hard to look at his eyes when his lips are right there, practically yelling kiss me! and-you decide you might as well, since he clearly wants it.
''y/n? a-are you-'' you kiss him, hesitant at first-but then he reciprocates, making those same sounds that drove you insane. a breathy whimper escapes as you break the kiss, his mouth slightly agape. he was catching his breath when he looked at you, hair in messy strands over his face, eyes fixed on your lips like some feral dog.
''p-please...i-i want more.'' you very well didn't know what to say. at least he was telling you what to do. again so, you kissed him. things had gotten heated fast. you peppered kisses all around his neck and chest. and the speed at which this is going is making you two stumble into his bedroom, still kissing each other, his cheeks turning bright and flaming red.
''w-wait!'' he pauses when you begin to undress him. oh god, were you going too fast?
''i...i want to make..you, feel good...'' Something hits you-you've been the one acting first, all these times.
t i m e s k i p (the fic was getting too long)
he leans inward between your thighs, hesitantly pushing one finger inside you. you supress a moan, just how bad did you need this? despite being quite inexperienced, somehow he's hitting spots you never even knew felt good.
''r-roman, please...'' and now you're the one begging and pleading.
he nods frantically, leaning his head down towards your pussy. at first, it starts off with slow, testing licks to see if you even wanted it. eventually his licks get faster, deeper. he's eating you out like a man starved. you get closer, closer until-
''roman...i-i think i'm going to...'' you clamp a hand over your mouth as you squirt. for a moment, he stops, looking at your throbbing pussy like its a work of art. has anyone ever looked at you like that?
''c-can you go just once more...? he asks, yet its more of a statement.
''...wh..why..?'' he wastes no time in showing you why. he's already to work again, this time only doing it deep and slow. you're not sure if you can take this, but fuck does it feel good. You begin to squirm, yet he clamps a hand to your hip, making sure you stay in place.
''I-i dont t-think i can...!'' you make a crude attempt to pull him away, to no avail.
you squirt a second time, and he finally decides its enough. his eyes are glazed over with a sort of satisfaction you figured you'd never see on his face.
