𝒞𝓎𝓃

You heard footsteps. Closer, and closer.

The cosmic brownie paused between your teeth. Staring at the arched doorway with your heart thumping against your ribcage, your shoulders stiffened beneath the straps of your tank top. You slowly sank your teeth into the overly sweet dessert, chewing slowly.

“Baby?” Roman’s voice cut through the absolute silence. Oh. His eyes found yours in the kitchen’s warm, mellow lighting. A brow raised before his lips twitched into an amused smile. “What’re you doin’?”

He approached the island counter, standing between your dangling legs. “Don’t you see the time?” he asked, placing his hands on your bare thighs to warm your skin. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, reading the green-glowing digits on the stove. Looking back at you, “It’s two in the mornin’.”

You pouted and swallowed the chocolate. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Roman clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “You can never sleep,” he scoffed, and raised a finger to tap the tip of your nose. “Your parents ain’t home yet?” he asked, watching you shake your head. Then his eyes fell on the brownie you held between soft-pink, manicured fingers. “Baby… you know these are for your lil’ sister, right? You know she gon’ throw a fit if she don’t got them tomorrow.”

“I don’t care; I’m hungry,” you huffed, rolling your eyes and taking another bite. “Plus, you’ll just buy more tomorrow morning.”

Your boyfriend barked out a laugh at that, nodding. “I’ll get her some more tomorrow.”

At his easy agreement, you kissed him and murmured a soft thank you against his lips. “Honestly, I don’t know how my parents do it. I love her, but I’m literally never babysitting her again.”

Roman chuckled. “You know damn well they gon’ make you babysit next week, baby,” he pointed out, to which you groaned. “You just gon’ drag me down with you again, ain’t you?”

Giggling, you didn’t protest when he brought your hand to his mouth. However, when he took a big-ass bite of the brownie, you instantly whined. “Hey, get your own!” you groaned with a scowl, tugging your wrist out of his grasp. That earned you a glare from him, his moving lips beaded with crumbs: “Stingy ass.”

Sitting in a comfortable quietude, Roman rested his forehead on your shoulder. Then, he buried his nose into your top and sniffed a few times—deeply. He lifted his head with furrowed brows. “Baby, you smoked?”

“Yeah,” you replied easily, dusting the bits of brownie off your hands. “I’m not that high, though.”

Roman’s lips parted in disbelief, and he stared at you like he’d been betrayed. “And you ain’t care to tell me?”

Pausing, he would swat your thigh next. “Share, girl. The fuck’s wrong with you?”

༉‧₊˚.

The kitchen reeked of weed — cloudy, slightly humid. You gawked at your boyfriend as he spoke while popping mini cookies into his mouth, something he happily found in the pantry. Leaning against the opposite counter, one of his big hands flapped around, trying to make a point despite slurring his words.

You held his hand and dragged his ass to cloud nine in a matter of minutes.

“Déjà vu is literally a look into another universe. Like, a timeline in which we already did something, and our present is just following the same footsteps,” you stated surely. “That’s why there’s destiny, Ro, ‘cause the future already happened!”

“Baby, that doesn’t make sense. There’s some, like, psychological shit behind déjà vu,” he said, watching you shake your head furiously. “What do you mean? We don’t know nothin’ ‘bout them other universes. That’s some sci-fi shit—and we don’t know ‘bout destiny for sure, either.”

You lifted an index finger, quickly swallowing the chips you were devouring. “No, that doesn’t make any sense,” you countered. “Think about it. Like, how am I getting flashbacks doing something I’ve never done before? That’s weird!” you protested, watching his red-tinted, hooded eyes blink. “So you’re saying our memory is just playing tricks on us? I don’t think it works like that.”

“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’—philosophical shit is just mental, baby,” Roman dismissed softly, setting the empty packet down on the counter. “Matter of fact, where’s my phone? I’mma show you that I’m right.”

Fishing his phone out of his sweats, he first struggled to unlock it, then his thumbs hovered awkwardly over the keyboard. Soft, pink lips pursed, he cleared his throat.

“… Wait, what was I gon’ search?”

Your lips twitched into a growing grin. Then, his eyes flickered up to yours.

Two blinks.

You both burst into laughter—a sound loud and rash. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the noise so as not to wake your little brother down the hall. You lowered your head, shoulders trembling violently. Roman followed suit, snorting into his wide palm. He’d set his phone on the counter face down, like he was too embarrassed to even look at it.

“Stop, I’m crying!” you drawled, wiping a tear. “It’s the way you looked up!”

“Nah, ‘cause why’d you leave me hangin’ like that?” he whined through a laugh.

“I wanted to see if you could prove your point!” you defended, a toothy, loose grin hanging on your lips. You’d press your thumbs to the wet corners of your eyes, drying them with a soft sniffle.

He’d chuckle and push off the counter, hands reaching for exposed thighs. “You ain’t hear me just now? I can’t even remember my damn point,” he huffed, face nestled into your neck. Your hand lifted to cup the back of his head and gently scratched, eliciting a moan from him.

Roman’s lips connected with your neck, open-mouthed and hot. “That’s why we shouldn’t be arguin’ over bullshit,” he said and lifted a hand to cup your jaw. The pads of his fingers dug softly into your cheeks, your lips puckered for him to kiss. “You don’t wanna argue with me, right, baby?” he asked lowly, his eyes boring into yours until you shook your head.

“Mm, that’s right. Now get your lil’ ass up and bend over this counter.”

Oh? You stared at him dumbly, features twisting into confusion. “Huh?” you breathed out, peeking at the stove once. “Roman, we can’t… do it here. My parents are coming home in, like, an hour,” you reminded, lips dipped into a frown. “Plus, hypothetically, if we did, we’d have to be very, very quiet.”

Roman, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to care less.

“Yeah, an hour. That’s plenty.” He shrugged and patted your thigh firmly. “And I guess you’re just gon’ have to be very, very quiet.”

Narrowing your eyes, you groaned and jumped off the counter, two hands on your waist offering support. You turned around with a slight wobble, bending over. Then, you deliberately pushed your ass against the thick outline in his sweats.

“M’kay, I’m ready.”

Roman stifled a snort and shook his head. “Well, shit, don’t you seem excited for somebody who was talkin’ ‘bout some ‘we can’t do it here’?” he scoffed, hooking two digits on your silky night shorts, tugging them down. He’d swallow thickly at the sight he’d been met with—denuded, glistening pussy on full display. He’d lower his sweats and boxers to beneath his heavy balls, hard length springing free.

You rolled your eyes, head turning to toss a glare over your shoulder. “Just put it in.”

“Who you bossin’ around?” he asked and slapped your ass. Fueled by your startled gasp, his hand wrapped around his length and gave it a few tugs. The tip probed at your pudgy, sticky folds, dragging through them. Then, it slapped against your puffy clit, leaking pre-cum on the bud.

Roman’s lips twitched at the whine you released.

Without warning, he pushed in. Six inches, flared head kissing your cervix.

One hand pushed down on the nape of your neck, forcing your cheek to meet the counter’s icy marble. “This is what you wanted, ain’t it, baby? Answer me,” he plunged into your pussy, ignoring the cries seeping past your lips. “Fuckin’ slut. You like bein’ fucked in your parents’ kitchen, huh? You want them comin’ up in here, seein’ their daughter high outta her mind, takin’ dick, huh?”

You didn’t respond—couldn’t—but that didn’t slide with Roman.

He slapped your ass again, the sound echoing in the kitchen. “I said answer me.”

“Yes!” you gasp sharply, teeth biting into your bottom lip. You didn’t know what the fuck you were answering to because, god, the dick was just that good. “Yes, Roman! Yes, yes, yes—”

Your hair was wrapped around a fist, and your head jerked back roughly. “I heard you. Shut your ass up ‘fore you wake up your damn sister,” he grumbled lowly in your ear. His tongue fished the lobe into his mouth, sucking and nipping. Your lips curled into your mouth in an attempt to muffle the noises in your throat. In praise, “Yeah, there you go—atta girl. Just take it for me.”

Roman’s hips pistoled into you, the pace lost because he was pounding. Wet, lewd sounds blended with skin-on-skin contact. Ten more minutes of it, and then his movements began to slacken. Hissing, a sweaty forehead dropped onto your shoulder.

“Pussy’s so damn good… gon’ suck the fuckin’ nut outta me.”

You whimpered, a knot forming in your belly. Softly, “Ro, ‘m gonna cum,” you mumbled, blurry eyes screwing shut. “Then come for me, baby. Give it to me,” he said, and you did just that. Your walls tightened around him, lips in an ‘o’ shape. You came on him hard, dousing his dick in cream.

“S-Shit!” Roman rasped, managing to force out three stable, measured strokes. Hair released and head dropping forward, his hands flew to your waist. “I’m gon’ come, baby—fuck,” he drawled, hastily pulling out and stroking his member.

Hips stuttering into his hand, his balls drew up. Thick, white ropes covered your ass, filling those back dimples and stretching across your spine. Spent, he collapsed over your arched back, breathing heavily against your neck — and he stayed like that until you complained about struggling to breathe and your back hurting.

“I’m bouta pass out,” he said in jest and pulled his sweats back up, then proceeded to tell you to ‘stop being so damn worried’ after you gasped dramatically.

As if the tables had turned, he pouted at the swat given to his chest, a hand rubbing the muscled pec solemnly before the other reached for the box of Cheez-Its you were munching on. Quietly, “Damn, these bitches are stale as hell.”

Glaring at him, you haphazardly peeled a sheet of paper towel, using it to wipe the mess he left on your backside. “You’re so useless,” you sighed, rounding the counter and tossing it in the garbage can. Then, you moved around the kitchen to open the windows ajar, a desperate attempt to air out the pungent scent of weed and sex.

Roman took offence to your comment, frowning around a tiny cracker. “How am I useless? I just finished fuckin’ you,” he pointed out, a brow quirking up at your deadpan glare and folded arms. Pointing a long finger at you, “And I did most of the babysittin’ today. So, y’know what? Complain again, and I’ll tell your parents that their daughter’s a fuckin’ fraud.”

Now you were pouting, walking toward him with your shoulders slumped.

You lifted one of his hunky arms over your shoulders, cheek against his chest. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry.” At that, your boyfriend laughed and gently shoved a Cheez-It into your mouth.

“You really holdin’ onto them five dollars, huh?”