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Your name is Eridan Ampora.
You are hopelessly attracted to the worst man imaginable: Sollux Captor.
You need him. You hate that you need him.
Ever since the two of you officially became housemates (ugh) you've been unable to make your stupid brain stop thinking about him every chance it gets. The two of you really dislike eachother, and you think if you both sat down and talked it out it could be called something pitch, but right now it's simply this thick tension that never fails to get you all riled up in the worst ways possible. Every insult he delivers makes you want to grab his wrists and slam your lips to his. You'd be sure to bite. Every crude joke he makes at your expense gets you thinking far too deeply about your possibilities with him and what they would be like. What they would feel like. Oh, you hate that man!
But still, you think. While laid on your bed and failing to do anything productive, you opt to think and fantasise about the man you live with and and how, just maybe, you could have something more with him.
Maybe if you made him too mad, acted too bratty, he'd grab you by your hair and shove you down on the nearest counter, tearing your pants off and giving your ass a harsh slap. You wouldn't protest, which he would call you a slut for, then chuckle as you feel yourself grow flushed for the insults and degradation while he pulls his bulges out and is sure to be as fast and rough as possible while fucking you as punishment.
Maybe he'd walk in on you trying on that outfit you only ever wear in private. He'd take in your tiny skirt, your hair done up and your face all decorated and let out some snide remark as he snaps a photo before you have the time to react. He'd be sure to show you the unflattering picture, dangling his phone above you with psionics to be sure you can't reach it, then let reveal his ultimatum: act liike the 2lut youre dre22ed two be or iill make 2ure everyone get2 a good look at thii2. You at least have the decency to pretend it's a difficult choice to make as you sink to your knees and unzip his pants. You would flinch when he slaps his bulges on your face, but you'd still open your mouth and take him like a good little whore. You think his bulges would be big enough to choke you as they're forced down your throat, and he'd smirk as he takes another picture, this time of your face mid-gag, with your makeup streaming down your face from the tears forcibly brought up, your lips picking up a yellow tint.
Maybe you wouldn't even be around to see it happen. You'd be peacefully drinking a coffee he prepared for you, then everything would grow fuzzy and numb as your eyelids get heavier and you slump to the side; the last thing you see being him stepping closer. You would wake up on the same couch you passed out on, with your clothes put back on wrong and a strange slimy feeling between your legs and a noticably salty taste in your mouth. When you'd put your glassed back on, there would be a slight yellow tint on them.
Maybe he'd been planning your disappearance for months. He'd knock you over the head one night, keep you tied up and gagged while naked in his closet until the cops come and ask if he'd seen you, when of course he'd lie and say he'd seen you leave to go on a date, which would throw them wildly off track. For the first few weeks he wouldn't even speak to you, just come into the closet to fuck you and feed you once every few days. Once you grow tired of writhing around and letting out muffled yells, he would finally drag you out of the closet to debrief you on your new life, tell you that youre gonna be my well behaved fucktoy, becau2e that2 the only thiing youre good at iin thii2 world. He'd slap you for shaking your head then hold you still with psionics while he unties most of your ropes, only leaving your wrists and ankles bound, then he'd shove a ring gag into your mouth to keep it nice and open for him at all times. Eventually the police would stop looking for you, and everyone would move on from you, but not Sollux. He would keep you around, keep using you for your only purpose, you would grow addicted to the feeling of him violating you.
Or maybe, you remind yourself, you could ask him out like a normal fucking troll, and you could have normal sex and live a normal life.
Ugh.
Maybe there's something wrong with you fundamentally.
"ed! hurry up youre gonna make u2 late!"
"givve me a second, asshole!"
Yeah. You need to get a fucking grip.