[N]
TW: Mafia tingz 🤭 (mentions of blood and wounds and fighting)
You say sleeping peacefully as the gentle breeze of your air conditioning filled your room. Shuffling slightly in your sleep, your dark eyes swiftly opened at the sudden discomfort you felt tag its way up your back and pour over your shoulders. You knew this feeling; intuition.
You felt like something was wrong...but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was. All of a sudden, the intuitive feelings disintegrated into thin air as you heard the frantic knocks on your front door. Picking your petite body from your bed, you slipped on your robe and made your way down the hall to answer your door.
Just as you thought, one battered and bruised pair of best friends stood on the other side.
"Again?" You rasped out, still half asleep.The exhaust ridden man in the right just shrugged, beginning to half drag the other toward your couch. After throwing him down, he collapsed against the coke brown satin himself.
"Wanna explain yourselves?" You questioned sternly, rummaging through your cabinets in search of your first aid kit, Sighing as he struggled to remove his bulletproof vest.
"Well," he spoke, temporarily pausing to make a face at his friend's weak groans. "We were on mission, and we got ambushed. Fill in the gaps." He informed. You halted all movements, spinning on your heels with aid kit in hand to look at your friend with utmost confusion.
"I thought there was a ceasefire? You know, ever since those new people came and started preaching peace and hArmOnY" you inquired, tweaking your voice in mockery at that last word. Chortling, the now shirtless man sits up straight as you begin to clean his wounds.
"Yeah- AH!" He hisses. "There was supposed to be one, but that old bastard planted them." He staggered out, clenching his fist as you gently patted alcohol into the thick gash across his bulky pectoral muscle. Tsking, you finish up and send him to a hot shower to which he happily obliged.
Turning your attention to the bulkier, yet weaker tattoo ridden man, you were expecting closed eyes but were met with his pretty brown gaze burning holes into your eyes.
"Hurts doesn't it?" You sneered. At your sarcasm, he rolls his eyes playfully, chuckling softly as he begins to remove his own vest sorely. At the way his muscles move beneath his caramel skin, your eyes trail down his body, admiring every inch of his littered body - Even in such a state he was still ethereal to you.
"It hurts like a bitch." His deep voice pried its way between your racing thoughts. You chuckled, readying a cotton ball with alcohol as he leaned forward and let you clean his face first.
At first, you cleansed his body in silence, struggling to bite your tongue as he looked on in all knowing of the exact thought that was running through your head. With him, it was as if your skull was transparent and he could see right into the train that drove in circles to create your thoughts.
"You could always stop." You murmured, applying ointment to a random gash he had on his stomach. A small smile cracked on his face at your persistence. You had had this conversation with him a zillion times, and he always told you the same thing.
"I cant stop, baby, you know that."
Yet, here you were once again beginning your plea.
"I know what you're going to say." You interrupted him as he opened his mouth. "You're going to say you can't stop. But...look at you. You show up to my house more than you do your own and I have to see a different set of gashes and cuts all over your body. I've never cleaned as much blood as I have knowing you." You ranted, your head dropping in defeat before he could even respond - you knew exactly where this conversation would take you.
Silence blared and bounced off your living room walls for a solid minute - A minute that felt more like an hour - before he finally made a move. Reaching a timid arm down, his thick fingers cup your face that hang slightly between his legs and pulls you up slightly. As you rise with his arm, he pulls you swiftly toward him.
As you straddle his lap, he peers into your defeated eyes. "Make me yours." He whispers.
"W-what?" You stutter, manicured eyebrows furrowing in both disbelief and confusion.
"Make me yours and I'll stop." He blinks, eyes glancing back and forth between your dark orbs and plump lips.
You couldn't bring yourself to say anything. Of all the times he's flirted with you, played with your thoughts, and made up excuses as to why he can't abandon this lifestyle, he has never said anything so..blatant.
"Y-you..and me?" You questioned, timidly pointing yourself. Chuckling, Roman takes your hand and flips it over gently, pressing his soft lips against the back of your palm.
"You and me." He rasped, eyes still glancing from your lips to your eyes and back to your lips. Peering into your eyes with unto most despair - despair that Roman hardly would ever be caught dead displaying - he begins to share his feelings little by little.
"We can do whatever it takes, even if it means leaving this place completely. But I don't want to die for nothing. I'd rather die because I chose you."
