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can never get over him smoking

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how this summer is sounding
Hey girlll, can you maybe make an Eric smutâŚ.. maybe like dirty sex and with tons of dirty talk, IM OVULATING SO DONT MINDE ME OKAYđ
Dirty mouth (Eric Draven X Fem reader)
One shot - NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Summary: After you've been a little distant lately, Eric decides to bring you back to him.
A/N - Sorry it's taken me so long to get to this request, I deviated a little because I got caught up in the plot, but I hope this is what you asked for!! Thank you for requesting đ
Content warnings: oral (male receiving), female masturbation, some angst?, dirty talk (some degrading and praise)
Word count: 2778
âGod youâve got such a filthy mouthâ Eric exhaled âdo me a favour and put it to good useâ the whisper had a thrill going up your spine.Â
The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you.Â
*some time earlier*
The mood in the Draven household for the past few weeks had been a stressful one and it was beginning to show up in the simplest of ways. The house had become a little messy, unfolded clothes, fast food packaging bulging out of the bin and dishes taking up space in the sink and space in your mind too.Â
Working from home was supposed to be easy, but the constant miscommunications and deadlines had actually left you with more stress than youâd ever encountered. Eric had begged you relentlessly to not get a job. He wanted to take care of you and he had the means to do so.Â
But relying on a man was a stupid idea, he could dump you and leave you high and dry. Then what? Youâd be left with nothing. So for your own sake, you got a job. You didnât chip in on Bills, Eric wouldnât let you do such a thing.Â
You were beginning to regret your choice and Eric was getting fed up of seeing you this stressed. When he came home one evening it all came to a head.Â
âHey baby where are you?â The exhaustion in his voice couldnât be hidden even if he tried. When he got no answer he went to your office. And much to his annoyance there you were staring at your computer. You looked up at the sound of the door opening then looked back down straight away.Â
âI didnât hear you come in, sorryâ your mind was clouded with deadlines, you did not need Eric in your office right now.Â
âCome and eat, I got some take outâ you could see the white bag but you had no interest in eating.Â
âIâll eat later, thanks thoughâ you heard Eric sigh as he turned away.
He sat in the living room alone, eating the food he had picked up for the both of you. When the realisation dawned on him, he didnât have to take this. He walked back into your office again with determination.Â
âYouâre coming to eat, youâve probably been in here all dayâ you looked up and Eric looked exhausted, sounded it too now you bothered to pay attention. But you werenât just going to do what he told you to.Â
âNo, Eric I have to get this work doneâ you looked back down to your laptop disappointed in how much you still had left to do. Your hands came up to your temples. The work was due in less than 12 hours, every moment mattered if you wanted to keep your job. your independence.Â
âYouâre not doing this to me Y/N, go and eat, itâll still be waiting after you're done.â The laptop lid slammed shut and Ericâs hand was placed on top of it. He was sick of trying the nice way, you needed something firmer.Â
âEric I donât have time for this, please just get the fuck out!â The silence that followed was deafening. Ericâs eyes darkened and you knew youâd fucked up.
âWhat did you just say to me?â he leaned over the desk âthink twice before you say it againâ his low and menacing voice should have been a warning. You didn't take it as one. Youâd grown sick of his pushing, now it was time to push back.Â
âI said, Get the fuck out.â you spoke through gritted teeth. Standing to mirror his pose. Eric walked round and grabbed your wrist. Dragging you out of the office completely. You tried to push the soles of your feet into the floor to stop him, but your stubbornness was no match for his effortless strength.Â
âEric- Eric let go of me, Iâm not just a doll you can drag around, get the fuck off me!â you shouted at him, not thinking of the repercussions. He stayed silent. Simply walking you to the bedroom, his large hand wrapped around your wrist.Â
When you got to the bedroom he flicked on the light, and practically threw you at the bed, where you sat, rage running through your veins. You saw Eric take a deep breath before he opened his mouth to speak.Â
âIâm asking as kindly as I can here Y/N, quit the damn jobâ Irritation still seeped into his words even though heâd tried to calm it.Â
âNo Eric. Iâm not quitting and you canât make meâ even while speaking to him there was a timer in your head thinking about that deadline and how much each section of work would take to write. Your eyes caught Ericâs watch and you felt the panic in your chest.Â
Eric watched as your breathing changed from anger to something else. âYou donât need the job, look Iâm not trying to control you, own you or bribe you.â he leaned down in front of you on his knees and reached for your hand. âI just canât stand to see you this stressed all the time, get a different job part time at a cafe or at the library. Just donât keep this jobâ his anger had dissipated into something softer. He would deal with the way you spoke to him later.Â
âIâm smarter than working at a cafe or a library though, they donât have a challenge behind them either, I donât want to just be Eric Draven's girlfriend.â Your eyes flickered to Ericâs wrist again, 20 minutes had been wasted so far on this nonsense.Â
Your words hit Eric, he knew you were smart, it was one of the many reasons heâd fallen in love with you. He saw you as a future wife, future mother, your mothers daughter and a determined individual. But you were driving yourself crazy and he couldnât see it continue.Â
âYouâll never just be my girlfriend, but if you keep going the way you are, you won't be anything to anyone, youâll be someone who misses events, someone who's ruled by deadlines and work. Just get a less demanding job, pleaseâÂ
Your eyes snapped to Ericâs watch again, this time he noticed. Another 5 minutes had passed. Your breathing changed again.Â
âLook at you, you canât even take your mind off the time and that stupid deadlineâ his hand left yours and moved to his wrist as he took off his watch, putting it under the bed.Â
âIâm done asking Y/N, it's my job to look after you and to love you, tomorrow you are quitting that jobâ his hand landed at the back of your neck forcing you to look at him. âYou can get another job, an easier one, you donât need to prove how smart you are by burning yourself out.âÂ
Thatâs when the dam broke, your shoulders dropped, an exhale left you as you nodded whispering a broken âokayâ as you reached for Eric. You stayed with your head on his shoulder, letting out a few tears youâd been holding onto since the deadlines started rolling in. After a few minutes you leaned back up and scanned Eric's face, the softness in his eyes, the kindness he always showed you. The apology poured out of you easily.Â
âIm sorry for speaking to you the way I did before, you were only trying to take care of meâ Eric smiled a little as your hand landed on his cheek softly.Â
âIâm gonna pretend I didnât hear that apology, since I have a better ideaâ he placed a tender kiss to the palm of your hand before leaning in to kiss you, your eyes fluttered closed as you relaxed into his touch. It had been a while since you had been in the mood to be intimate with Eric. That didnât seem to be an issue anymore, the simple kiss gave you butterflies.Â
Eric released you from the kiss and from his gentle grasp, whispering against your lips. âGod youâve got such a filthy mouthâ Eric exhaled âdo me a favour and put it to good useâ the whisper had a thrill going up your spine. Eric stood.Â
The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you. The height difference between the two of you had always been a trigger for arousal on both ends. But seeing him so clearly above you after weeks of stress made your mouth water.Â
Eric had been hard since you shouted at him in the office. It was rare you stood up to him but the moment you raised your voice he was hard. His exhaustion disappeared and he could only think of putting his cock down your throat to teach you a lesson. Hopefully one youâd both enjoy learning.
You sat patiently, hands on the tops of your thighs and eyes pleading with your mouth slightly parted as Eric took off his shirt, revealing his toned physique. He had never seen a prettier sight, until your eyes widened as he pulled his cock out of his boxers, tapping it gently against your lips. His pre-cum covered your lips, you opened your mouth without hesitation.
His cock slipped easily into your mouth, Eric gasped at the sensation and you kept your eyes on him and let out a hum as the tip reached the back of your relaxed throat, you started to move, slow and steady, occasionally swirling your tongue around Ericâs sensitive tip drawing out a hiss from him.Â
Your hand came up to rest on his tense thigh, gripping as you began to find a rhythm that had Eric breathing heavily above you.Â
âFuck thatâs it, thought you could talk to me like that?â he breathed âmaybe next time youâll think twiceâ it spurred you on, you sped up your movements. You could feel the dull ache of your jaw but it wasnât important when Ericâs tattoos were tensing, his breath faltering and his hand tightening in your hair.Â
Eric came with a whimper, pushing his cock hard enough down your throat to almost make you gag, with your mouth so full some of his cum spilled from the side of your mouth but still you swallowed eagerly, willing to please. He reached down to your mouth after he pulled out, collecting the cum on his thumb and again you sucked happily.Â
âYou look wrecked and I haven't even touched you yetâ he tucked himself away. Then got back down to eye level with you.Â
This was the fun part for Eric, seeing how blissed out you were just from having his dick in your mouth, he knew if he tired to touch your pussy right now youâd be socked, ready and waiting for whatever he wanted to do with you, but this was supposed to be punishment wasn't it?Â
Without warning he lifted you up from the floor, his effortless strength on display again as he placed you on the middle of the bed, all the possibilities of what he could do rushed through your mind, your favourite being the idea of Eric fucking you into the mattress. Little did you know that wasnât going to happen.Â
He began to take off your clothes, peeling off your comfortable clothing until you were left with only your bra. The relief of being free from stress meant your muscles were relaxed as you waited for Eric's next move.Â
He couldnât believe how beautiful you were laid out in front of him, affected by the simplest touch, his hand ran over your thighs, he placed gentle kisses on your stomach stopping at your sternum. He inhaled the smell of your soft skin.Â
âTouch yourself for meâ the words caught you off guard.Â
âWhat?â you asked in complete disbelief.Â
âYou wanna be good for me donât you?â you nodded eagerly âso touch yourself for meâ his nose nudged yours as he captured you in a heated kiss, you gasped into it. While your hand began traveling down to circle your clit.Â
You let out a whine that Eric found incredibly sexy, your middle and index fingers collected some of your slick, you kept your movements slow, careful not to disappoint Eric in any way.Â
âYouâre not gonna cum until I say you can, you understand me?â you nodded again, speeding up slightly as your need grew. Which was made worse when Eric began kissing down your body. First your neck, that one spot under your ear that made you gasp, then your collar bone, down to the swell of your breast where your nipples were hard and waiting for attention that Eric finally gave. His hands spread under your rib cage as his tongue circled your nipple. You arched into the touch letting out breathy moans. Your hand speeding up at its own accord.Â
âGod I canât get enough of you baby, put your index finger inside yourselfâ the authority he had over you needed to be studied but you listened anyway, your finger was nowhere near as good as Ericâs but it was this or nothing so you made do. But he noticed when your breath steadied and your moans seemed to halt.Â
âWhat is it baby? Are your fingers not as good as mine?â he kissed your stomach while looking up at you. You nodded again.Â
âIâm gonna need words baby, you used them earlier, you can use them nowâ he leaned up sitting on his knees between your spread legs watching you lazily pump your index finger in and out of yourself.Â
âYours are better Eric, pleaseâ you whined again.Â
âPlease what baby?â he smirked knowing exactly what he was doing.
âPlease use your fingers on meâ you choked out.Â
Eric wanted to resist, he really did, but your juices were on your fingers and you asked so nicely. How was he meant to refuse?Â
âSince you asked so nicely, fine, but you need to keep your fingers on your clit and never speak to me like that again, got it?âÂ
You nodded âI swearâ at this point you would have agreed to anything to have his hands on you properly. You removed your finger and dragged it back up to your clit, continuing your previous movements.Â
Much to your relief Ericâs middle finger entered you, you clenched around it thankful for the welcome intrusion. His hand was so much better than yours, especially when he curled his finger, gently prodding your most sensitive areas. A second finger promptly followed driving you closer to the edge.Â
âFuck Eric I-âÂ
âI know baby I can feel it, you drive me fucking insane, Fuck you can cum when youâre ready babyâ he didnât mean to give in to you so easily but you sounded so pretty beneath him you were making him hard again.Â
Eric watched you cum undone, you hand gripping the sheets for dear life, your thighs trying to close out of sensitivity but you only ended up with your legs around his hips. Your jaw dropped and ragged breaths left you. His favourite thing though was the way you clenched around his fingers like you never wanted to let him go.Â
Your breath began to steady and you stopped clenching enough that he could slide his fingers out of you, he very happily brought his fingers to his mouth and swallowed.Â
You laid on the bed, muscled exhausted, emotionally exhausted, mentally drained but free in your own way, the bed dipped beside you as Eric laid down.Â
âAre you doing ok?â his tone now back to normal, gentle, patient and kind.
âYeah Iâm ok, I just feel a little shit about talking to you like thatâ you took a deep breath out, attempting to steady yourself.Â
âHey, look at me. You don't need to worry about it, we're all good. You're safe with me and a little outburst means nothingâ his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb gently grounding you before you could dare to spiral.
âEric, could you maybe help me finish off the work before I quit?â asking for help was the opposite of what you got a job for but maybe it was exactly what you needed.Â
âOf course I can baby, but at least 5 minutes of cuddles are mandatory after a sexual act so it can waitâ you both let out a giggle, as he pulled you to his chest, safe and sound.
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Bonnie to my Clyde (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Summary: Roman gets what he wants. Pretty much always. But around you heâs tongue-tied and he canât focus on anything else, so he pins you to a wall and holds your face and compels you to love him more than anything else in the world. And thatâs great, thatâs peachy. Until bodies start to pile up and Roman realizes your manufactured love for him has turned into something deadly.Â
Word Count: 10,160
Warnings: upir shit, canon-typical violence, vaginal fingering, oral sex m&f receiving, unprotected PiV sex, anal fingering (f!receiving), maybe some dub-con elements?
A/N: Okay, so I didnât attach this to the request because it gives the whole plot away! But this was an anon request and whew, what a fun one. Hope you like it!
MDNI, fic under the cut
There are nineteen other people in the room, but Roman can barely register their presence, let alone acknowledge anyone. And his lab partner calls him an asshole under his breath, and Roman doesnât really hear that, either. Because there are nineteen other people in the room, but every single one of his senses is trained on you. The low, melodic murmur of your voice as you work through the assignment with your lab partner. The slight hunch of your shoulders as you dip your head to examine the changing colours in the test tubes in front of you. The smell of your perfume, and the clean, slightly fruity smell of the shampoo you used this morning in the shower. Youâre close enough that when you brush your hair back over your shoulder Roman can almost taste the sweetness of it, if he focuses real hard. With the brush of your hair your neck is exposed, and Romanâs mouth actually fucking waters at the sight of your smooth skin stretched out for him like that. It would be almost too easy to knock his books off the front of the desk and crawl around, under your seat to look up your skirt and maybe brush his fingers over your bare calf accidentally. Accidentally, obviously.
But he doesnât do any of that, because suddenly itâs his momâs face in his head and isnât that a fuckin boner-killer? Never again, Roman. I will not clean up your mess twice.
So Roman bites hard on his tongue, hard enough to fill his mouth with his own blood, and itâs distracting enough to keep his ass on his seat and his cock soft until the bell rings and he can escape you. But you seem too close all day, and Roman finds himself growing increasingly feral about it because why are you in so many of his classes and why the fuck are you wearing that short fucking skirt?
The end of the day comes with white knuckles gripping the edges of his desk and a sheen of sweat on his face that Roman knows makes him look sick. But he is sick over you, and heâs going to do something really fucking stupid like talk to you if he doesnât find a distraction. So he pulls out his phone and he texts one of his favorite working girls to meet him downtown.
Itâs cathartic as hell to bury his cock in her heat whilst she bounces in his lap in the passenger seat of his car. Because she doesnât really care that he slices his thumb open with a straight razor and rubs sticky red circles on her skin. And she isnât bothered at all that he gasps your name when he cums.
Sheâs adjusting her sundress as Roman lights a cigarette and offers it to her. âA gentleman.â She winks, and Roman rolls his eyes as he plucks another stick from the packet for himself. He blows a thin plume of smoke into the air, watching the light summer breeze catch the edge of it.
âYou know, you should just talk to her.â
Roman raises an eyebrow. âWhat?â
âIf youâve got it so bad for her that youâre calling out her name when youâre with me, you should just talk to her.â Romanâs pulse is a sick thrum in his throat as he pulls a money clip from his jacket pocket and holds it out to her. âItâs all there.â
She takes it with a sigh, flicking through the fat wad of bills. âThis is⌠too muchâŚâ But she isnât trying to give it back, either.
âCall the extra an incentive to mind your goddamn business.â
But as he watches her walk away, her sundress brushing around her thighs, heâs already thinking about you and your fucking skirt, and his cock twitches in his jeans and he wonders whether the hooker has a point.
Roman hears the bright sound of your laughter in the halls a week later, and itâs like an ice-pick in his brain. Youâve got a kinda goofy laugh, like a little too loud and a little too messy, but he fucking loves it. The fact that youâve never laughed like that for him, that youâve never really offered him any more than a polite smile in passing, sets his teeth on edge as he narrows in on the guy standing beside you. A guy he knows sorta, Tommy or Tony or something like that. Roman thinks he mightâve bought pills off him at a party last year. Whatever the connection, itâs enough that the guy doesnât say no to his offer of a smoke behind the bleachers, and he puts up no resistance at all to Romanâs suggestion that he stay the fuck away from you forever. Heâs riding that high for the rest of the day, and it doesnât even hurt him to watch you paint clear gloss over your lips at your locker and smear the slick with a pucker of a kiss, though his cock strains against the front of his pants so hard he thinks the zipper might give.
You can feel his eyes on you again. Youâve grown accustomed to the specific brand of chill that peppers your skin when Roman Godfrey looks at you. And at first, it had felt kinda flattering. Youâd stared back, smiled even. But he never approached you. Never gave you the flirty, smug spiel he rolled out for the cheerleaders. Just kept. Fucking. Staring. And you wish you knew what it was that bothered him so much, so you could change it. You lick stray gloss from your bottom lip and Romanâs eyes follow the movement, his shoulders tensing even from across the hall. Like the unconscious gesture has offended him somehow. Blood heats your face, and you dip into the girlsâ bathroom to run your hands under the cold water to snap yourself out of it.
Itâs fucking kismet that half the football team is out with the flu and there are only twelve people in your science class. Fucking fate that the teacher pairs you with Roman Godfrey because heâs sitting just one desk behind you and itâs the easiest way to recouple the remaining students. Fucking destiny that he slides onto the stool beside you and his shoulder brushes against yours and you recoil like heâs made of something sharp.
And Roman feels the way you flinch, and he hates it. Hates that heâs never said so much as âhelloâ to you and somehow heâs already lost you. So Roman Godfrey decides to lock the fuck in.
âHey.â
You blink at him, mouth opening and closing. âUh. Hi, Roman.â
His name on your lips is perfection, and Roman has to shuffle in his seat and shove his cock down with the heel of his hand so you donât see him getting hard.
âYou think the football team really have the flu, or they all got mono from making out with each other in the locker room?â And you laugh. That bright, startled sound like a symphony of tuneless bells, and Romanâs answering chuckle is genuine as the tension eases out of your shoulders and your body angles towards him in your seat. âYou know, Iâve always thought they were a little too friendly to be just teammates. And they all share the cheerleaders⌠maybe youâre on to something.â
âWe mightâve just uncovered the scandal of the century. You wanna leak it to the school paper?â
You hum, tapping your finger against your chin in a way that just draws Romanâs attention to your mouth. âNah, lets not disturb the natural order. And besides, Sam is a terrible lab partner.â
Roman shakes his head. âNot sure Iâm much better. My report card is a modern day tragedy.â
You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, dropping your eyes to Romanâs notebook. Heâs sketched a knight with a wicked looking sword, but there are no chem notes at all. âMaybe you just need to apply yourself to it.â You say softly, tapping your pencil against the sketch. âBut this is good.â
Roman resists the urge to rip the sketch out of his book and offer it to you on bended knee. And heâs supremely grateful that you turn back to your own notes then, because if youâd nudged back just one page youâd find the sketch of you that heâd done from memory whilst boring holes into your back in class last week.
âDo you eat?â
You cock your head to the side, a smile quirking on your lips, and Roman feels his face flush.
âMost days, sure.â
âRight.â Roman clears his throat. âRight. Uh, would you wanna like, get pizza with me after school?â
Your brows knit. âI think the lab partner thing is only temporary. Wouldnât wanna waste your time working with me if weâre back to our assigned partners next week.â
Roman is already considering pushing Sam off the goddamn roof and breaking every bone in his body so he can remain your lab partner.
âNot for, uh, not for school stuff.â
The words hang between you, and your eyes widen as you realize that heâs asking you out. Roman Godfrey is asking you on a fucking date.
âOh. Yeah, okay.â
âSorry?â
âI said yes. Pizza, that would be nice.â
Romanâs brain isnât processing the words. Because it canât be this easy, can it? He canât just ask you out and then get to sit with you and eat pizza and listen to you talk and pretend he doesnât already know your dog's name and when your birthday is.
And it feels a bit like a hallucination, sitting across from you under neon lights as you fold a huge slice of pizza in half and bite into the end, cheese stringing away from the bread and sticking to your mouth.
âFuck, thatâs attractive,â you grumble as you lick tomato sauce off your lips, and even though youâre being sarcastic Roman wants to wholeheartedly agree.
âSo,â you say as you take a sip of soda, âwhyâd you ask me out?â
Roman blinks at you. âWhy not?â
âWell, no, okay, sure.â You roll your eyes. âI mean why now?â
And he means to say that youâre pretty, and that youâre smart and he enjoyed hanging out with you in class so why not? But heâs terrified that youâll laugh at him or that heâll come on too strong. So what comes out of his mouth is âeverybody else is out with the fuckin flu.â
And he sees the tiny flinch as you register this, and the rounding in of your shoulders as you put your pizza slice down. And Roman knows heâs fucked it up.
âI didnât mean it like that.â
You shake your head, forcing a smile, the polite smile you reserve for strangers. âNo, right.â But there isnât any other way that he could have meant it, really. And suddenly you donât feel like eating pizza or drinking soda or sitting across from the pretty, nasty boy with the unfairly hot mouth. âIâm, uh, you know. I just remembered I have like, a tonne of homework.â You push up from your seat and sidestep out of the booth.
Romanâs stomach is churning. âI didnât mean it like that.â He keeps his tone soft and his voice low, trying his best to diffuse the awkwardness and willing you to sit back down.
âNo, itâs fine.â You offer him that tight, polite smile again, and Romanâs hand shoots out to grab your wrist. âIts fine, Roman. I just have to go.â
And you pull your hand out of his grip, pushing down the flutter in your stomach at the touch of his fingers against your skin.
It turns out that humiliation is a powerful fucking motivator. Youâre not going to go home and wallow about being Roman Godfreyâs pity date. You are not. Thereâs a bar around the corner from the pizza place, and you suck in a shaking breath before approaching. The bouncer looks you up and down, knowing very fucking well that youâre not 21, but his eyes scan over the cut of your shirt and the flash of your exposed thighs in your skirt and he waves you inside.
âYouâre too young to be in here.â The man slips up beside you, leaning against the bar where youâre perched on a too-high stool nursing a vodka and cranberry juice that the bartender had poured with a frown on his face. But he hadnât carded you, and youâd ordered like you knew what you were doing.
âWho says?â You ask, plastering a smirk on your face as you look him up at down. Leather jacket, artfully styled stubble on his jaw meant to make him look rougher than he is. Handsome, really. Handsome enough to flirt with at least.
âIâm not a cop.â He drops you a wink.
âNeither am I.â You look him up and down very deliberately, and he swallows like heâs intimidated by you. It feels kinda good actually, after Roman made you feel so small and unwanted.
âCan I buy your next drink?â
Roman means to go home. He waits until heâs sure youâre gone, and then he drags your plate and your glass across the table and he eats your pizza instead of his own and he doesnât like cherry soda so he licks the rim of the glass where your mouth had been and he feels bad about all of it, obviously.
But youâre not at home. Your bedroom light is off, and Roman sits in his car outside waiting for what feels like hours before he canât take it anymore and he knocks on your front door. And his heart is hammering in his chest as he drives back to town, eyes scanning the streets and window down. Because your mom says you never made it back home, and if youâre dead in an alley somewhere Roman will kill himself.
He catches the edge of a scent on the breeze, and he stops the car in the middle of the street and gets out despite the line of traffic queuing up behind him and the insistent, angry honking of horns from the waiting drivers. Roman doesnât care. He canât even hear them, over the thumping of your heartbeat in his head and the breathy sounds of your little moans. He kinda knows what heâs going to see before he steps into the alley, but it still punches the air from his lungs to see you pinned up against the wall with some fucking guy pressing into you. His mouth is on your neck, your perfect, soft neck, and Roman doesnât really think at all as he fists the back of the manâs fake-ass leather jacket and drags him off you.
âHey what the fuck is-â
âGet out of here. Forget you ever met her, or me. Go home.â
Itâs as easy as that, and the useless piece of shit doesnât even look back at you as he wanders out of the alleyway, no doubt confused about how hard his cock is as he trudges towards home with blue balls and the taste of you in his mouth.
And Roman feels better, until âhow did you do that?â
Your voice is quiet and it shakes, and Roman doesnât want to see the look on your face. âRoman. How did you do that?â
Roman sighs, turning to you. âDo what? I just suggested he leave you alone. Smart of him to agree.â
You shake your head. âNo, you made him. I donât know how youâŚâ You swallow, and Romanâs eyes hone in on the bob of your throat and the swollen bruise forming on the side of your neck from that randos mouth, and heâs stepping towards you and pinning you to the wall himself, snatching your hands up to press them to the wall above your head as he suctions his mouth over the bruise and sinks his teeth into your flesh.
The bite is too fucking hard and it feels so good that your legs almost give out underneath you. This isnât the gentle sucking pressure of a love bite. This is a claiming, and your clit throbs intensely at the feeling as Romanâs teeth grind the little chunk of flesh into a swollen ruin and you moan out loud. Embarrassingly loud. And Romanâs used to girls whimpering and whining when he does this. Heâs used to them wincing and shaking and pretending like it doesnât hurt, in an effort to please him or in order to earn his money. But that moan was genuine, Roman can smell the slick of your arousal pooling in your underwear as you lift your leg to bracket around the back of his thigh and drag his stiff cock against the heat of you. And all he can think is how he fucking knew it. Knew you were like him, knew it on instinct. His hand drops to the hem of your skirt, already ruched up around your hips, and he slips two fingers into your panties and brushes through your soaked folds.
He pulls his mouth reluctantly from the pulsing injury of your neck to watch your face as he pushes two fingers into your heat, and your eyes flutter shut as you jerk your hips against his hand. You squeeze around his fingers so hard he can barely move them, and Roman groans at the feeling as his cock twitches and leaks insistently inside his boxers. He wants to keep listening to the moans spilling from your lips, but heâs so desperately hungry to taste your tongue that he pushes his mouth to yours and forces your lips open to lick against your teeth. You moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating on Romanâs lips, and he curls his fingers back towards himself inside you, massaging the most sensitive spot inside you with gentle brushes as his thumb works over your clit. The thigh wrapped around his waist shakes with exertion, and Roman uses his free arm to press your sternum back against the wall and keep you upright as your arousal drips down his wrist and soaks into the sleeve of his shirt.
âIâm gunna cum,â you whisper, and Roman keeps fucking you open with his fingers, keeps rubbing over your clit with his thumb, keeps pressing his lips to yours and grazing your tongue with his. He keeps everything exactly as it is as your orgasm crests and you cry against him, your cunt pulsing in rhythmic clenches around his fingers as Roman swallows every single sound you make and he licks the drool from the corner of your mouth.
You let him drive you home after. The bite on your neck stings in the open air, and you wonder whether heâs broken the skin but you donât want to reach up and check because what are you supposed to do if he has? He rests his hand on your thigh as he drives, navigating the quiet streets with practiced ease. His window is down, and the slightly chilly night air ruffles through his hair as he hums along to a song on the radio. Something old, something you hadnât expected him to know.
He pulls up outside of your house, clicking the key in the ignition and turning in his seat. âYou okay?â
Itâs weird, the words coming out of his mouth. Because you kinda know that he doesnât really care to know the answer. Heâs asking because thatâs the normal thing to do, but nothing about the past hour has been normal. It isnât normal for your maybe-date to crash your drunken after-date hookup and fingerfuck you in an alleyway.
But he expects an answer, so you force a smile. âSure. Just tired, I guess.â
Roman nods, licking his lips as he glances at your mouth. âYou should get inside. Get some sleep.â
You nod, reaching for the door handle, but Romanâs fingers find your jaw and turn your face back to his as he leans across the central console and presses his mouth against yours. His fingers are featherlight against your skin as he caresses your jaw and dips lower, dragging over the bite mark on your neck, and he moans quietly. You pull away first, partly because his fingers hurt against your tender flesh and partly because your clit is starting to throb again and you arenât going to do anything sexual parked outside your house where your parents or a neighbour could look out of the window at any time and see.
âIâll see you tomorrow,â he murmurs, lifting his head to press a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead before he releases his hold on you and lets you out of the car.
Roman Godfrey feels like heâs king of the fucking world as he strolls into school the next day. He has a finely woven leather bracelet dangling from his fingertips, a companion piece to the one around his own wrist, and he canât wait to see it on you. It doesnât occur to him, not even in the most insecure parts of his brain, that you might not be happy to see him. Youâd cum on his fingers and youâd kissed him like you were his girl. It had turned into one of the best nights of his life, even if heâd had to jerk off in the car outside your house just to be able to focus enough to drive home.
So heâs actually fucking blindsided when you brush him off at your locker. He slips the bracelet into his pocket, leaning towards you to kiss your mouth, and you step back. âNo, Roman.â
Romanâs stomach drops out and he swallows. âWhy not?â If youâre embarrassed about the PDA, he can work on that. Youâd let him finger blast you in an alley not five feet from a busy street last night, but whatever.
âIâm not⌠weâre not like a couple or anything. Iâm not a conquest for you to⌠parade around until something better comes along.â
Roman frowns, because he doesnât know what the fuck youâre talking about. There isnât anything better than you. Heâs forgotten all about his shitty throwaway comment at the pizza place, and you must have too because youâd cum on his fucking fingers.
âI thought last night, we-â âLast night was a mistake.â You hiss, a blush staining your cheeks. âShould never have happened. Iâm not even sure how it happened, or whether you like, pressured me into it or whatever, but-â
âOh fuck you.â Roman spits, taking a step back. âYou wanted it. Moaned like a fucking whore the whole time.â
Your blush deepens, blood flushing attractively under your skin, and Romanâs eyes drop to the lurid purple mark on your neck, the pulse of your vein so close to the surface. And even though heâs pissed off and heâs hurt, his cock twitches to life at the memory of sinking his teeth against your flesh.
âWell, it was a mistake all the same. I wonât⌠do it again.â
âFine by me.â He scoffs, forcing a smirk onto his face. âPlenty of girls willing to do whatever I want.â
And he walks away, keeping his shoulders squared and his chin high even as his stomach churns bile and he feels the absurd urge to cry. A mistake? A fucking mistake?
If you asked him afterwards, Roman would say it had been impulse. But there isnât anything impulsive about the way he waits in his car until you leave school. Or the way he trails behind your bus, idling in the street a few houses down until you shut your front door. Your parents wonât be home until six, and he knocks on the door with a false smile on his face and repentance in his big green eyes.
You open the door half way, holding the edge tightly like you might have to slam it in his face, but Romanâs lovely face is soft and sweet as he looks at you, and you loosen your grip just a little.
âIâm sorry about earlier.â
âOkay.â You say carefully. âMe too.â
Romanâs smile widens, lighting his eyes, and your breath catches in your throat at just how disarmingly pretty he is. âI came on too strong. I do that.â
âYeah.â You swallow. âBut I⌠shoulda had more control too. Iâd been drinking. Not an excuse, but yeah.â
Roman sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. âCan I come in? Just to talk.â
And you push the door wide, letting him step into your house. He has to duck a little to get through the door because heâs so goddamn tall, and you swallow hard against an inappropriate pang of arousal as he passes you.
He follows you down the hall to the kitchen, and you turn your back to get him a soda from the fridge. The hairs on the back of your neck rise before he touches you, and then his arm wraps around your waist and he spins you, slamming you back against the kitchen wall hard enough to push the air from your lungs. âRoman, what the-â
âShut up.â He cups your chin, forcing your face to his, and his eyes are so big and so wide and so fucking intense on your own that the tension drops out of your spine as you drown in them. âI tried to be nice. I tried to do it the right way.â His voice is low and soft, and his words curl around you and fill your head with hazy smoke. âSometimes you gotta skip a few steps to get where you wanna be. Where we both wanna be.â
âI donât-â
âShh,â he whispers, dipping his head closer to brush his mouth against yours before pulling back and fixing you with his stare again. Has he blinked at all since he got here? You donât know. âYou want me. You want me more than youâve ever wanted anyone.â
âI want you,â you repeat, your own voice an octave lower than usual as the words sink into your skin.
Roman hums. âYou love me. You love me more than anything else in the world.â
And he doesnât fucking know that heâs not supposed to do that, because nobody ever told him. But as you repeat the words back to him, your pupils expanding with lust as you wrap your lips around the declaration, Roman thinks itâs maybe the best mistake heâs ever made.
Roman Godfrey feels like heâs king of the fucking world as he strokes his thumbs carefully over your knee and you pepper kisses across his jaw. Because heâs having the best week of his life, with you kissing him in the halls and riding in his car and sucking his cock any time he gets you alone for more than two minutes. Thatâs been an unexpected side-effect, just how fucking horny you are when you love him.
âRoman.â You purr into his ear, and Roman hums as his thumb turns inward to caress the soft skin of your thigh. âWe have ten minutes until classes start.â
Roman knows what youâre suggesting, and his cock stirs to life under your ass. You wriggle in his lap, grinding lightly against him until he makes a choked little sound in the back of his throat and lifts you to your feet, stumbling after you and out of the cafeteria.
Heâd paid the janitor a hundred bucks at the start of the year for a key to one of the supply closets, and heâd never been more grateful for it than he is right now, with you fumbling at his belt as he leans back against the shelves.
âShit,â he hisses as you drop to your knees, mouthing at his cock through his jeans as your fingers finally get around the buckle and buttons and zipper and drag his jeans down to his knees. âShit, baby.â He moans, biting down hard on his bottom lip as you look up at him with a glazed expression, your nose and mouth buried against his boxers. He can feel the heat of your breath and the dampness of your tongue on the fabric, and his eyes roll back involuntarily as his cock leaks precum against his thigh.
âLove you so much, Roman.â You mumble, squeezing his shaft between your lips as you kiss down his clothed length. âWant you so badly.â
âYou can have me.â He mumbles, fingers threading into your hair. âAll of me, baby.â
You whine as you drag his boxers down, your hand wrapping around the hot base of his cock as you bring the sticky head to your lips and kiss his sensitive tip. You part your lips around the head and suck him into your mouth, groaning at the salt and metal taste of him as you swallow him further and further into your mouth. Tears spring to your eyes as he hits the back of your throat, but you push further, further until the fat head of his cock squeezes past your tonsils and your nose brushes against the pubic hair at his base. It hurts your throat, but Roman groans and you know this is how he likes it. And youâd do anything to make him happy. Itâs all you want to do, forever.
âFuck, you take me so good,â he says, his voice a cracked whimper. You let spit coat him and drip out of your mouth, slicking onto the floor at Romanâs feet as he thrusts properly into your mouth, fucking your throat ruthlessly. The fingers in your hair twist and tighten as he pins your face to his crotch and snaps his hips against your mouth, and you can feel his length twitching and thickening against the hollows of your cheeks as he approaches his climax. âShit, you like that?â He gasps out. âYou wet for me?â
You nod, bobbing your head on his cock as you press your own thighs together and moan around his length.
âFuckkkk me.â He groans. âGod I wanna be inside you right now.â
It takes him a moment to register that youâre fumbling to get your panties down your legs. But then you release his cock with a slick, wet gurgle and rise to a stand. âHow do you want me?â
Roman swallows, his eyes trailing down to your bare cunt as you lift your skirt up around your waist. âWhat?â âYou said you wanted to be inside me.â
And Roman feels a little twinge of something in his gut, but he can see the slick on your thighs and the fucked out look in your eyes as you wait for instruction, and he decides he can deal with a little bit of anxiety. âShit. Put your hands on the shelves there.â You brace against the shelves and stick your ass out, and Roman grips your hips as he thrusts into you from behind, bottoming out in one long stroke that has his mouth falling open on a groan as you grip around him. âFuckkkkk,â he moans, snapping his hips against your ass with a satisfying thwack, thwack, thwack sound. You arch your spine, rocking back to fuck yourself on his cock and parting your legs enough to feel his balls slapping against your clit. âShit, you feel so good.â Roman praises breathily, nails digging into the meat of your hips. âLike you were fuckin made for me.â
Your eyes roll back in your head as you moan, feeling an orgasm rumbling through your blood at his words. âRomannn,â you whimper, and you feel the twitching in his cock again as he nears his climax.
âShit. I want you to cum. Want you to fuckin cum on my cock.â He spits.
Thereâs no warning at all as your body reacts to the command, your clit pulsing rhythmically as your spine goes rigid and you clamp down around him.
Roman almost sobs at the feeling of you clenching around his cock as he grinds himself deep inside you, relishing in the impossible tightness of your cunt as you writhe through your orgasm and draw his own out of him. He cums against your cervix, feeling the flutter of your muscles contract and release as you milk his cock for every drop.
He pulls out of you and wraps an arm around your torso, dragging you against his chest so he can nuzzle his nose along your jaw. You melt against him, twisting your head further to the side to give him access to your neck. âYou can bite me, Roman. I want you to.â
Roman thinks his heart might actually have stopped at that. He doesnât stop to think as he licks over the sweaty flesh of your throat and bites down. His teeth arenât sharp enough to puncture your flesh, but just the feeling of your meat between his teeth is enough to draw a low, primal groan from his chest as he feels the thrum of your pulse against his mouth. His cock is starting to get hard again where it rests against your ass, and heâd maybe bend you back over and fuck you again if the sound of the bell doesnât shake him out of his fuckdrunk stupor. So he releases your throat reluctantly, dropping to pull up your panties and securing the damp fabric against your sensitive core before he button his own jeans.
âI love you, Roman.â You say, and Roman turns from the door to cup your cheeks and press a soft kiss to your mouth.
âYouâre mine, baby.â
There are girls crying fucking everywhere on Monday morning. Roman wrinkles his nose at all the snot and saliva and the high, keening pitch of performative grief as he steps around clusters of students. Youâre by your locker, and your smile is clear and bright when you see him.
âBaby,â you greet, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Roman leans into it, parting your lips with his tongue and pressing inside to taste the chalky mint of your toothpaste.
âWhatâs going on?â
You shrug. âSomeone died, I guess.â
Itâs a little disquieting to see you so nonchalant about it, but you werenât like, friends with Brooke Bluebell or anything, so maybe it doesnât matter.
âItâs just awful.â Letha sobs into a silk handkerchief in the cafeteria at lunch. âShe was⌠and it was so horrible.â
âYeah.â Roman agrees noncommittedly.
âAnd you were friends with her, werenât you Rome?â
Lethaâs looking at Roman like sheâs expecting something from him, and he shrugs. âI guess. Not so much recently.â His eyes slide to you, to the way youâre pushing your lunch around your plate without really eating anything.
âWerenât you working on that English paper together? Like literally at the weekend.â
Roman shoots his cousin a glare that she chooses to ignore. âI guess so.â
Lethaâs bottom lip wobbles. âYou were maybe like, the last person to see her alive. You should say something.â
Romanâs eyes drop to you again, but your face hasnât changed. Like youâre not even listening, but Roman knows you are. He can see the thrumming pulse in your neck, knows your heartrate has picked up. âI got nothing to say, Leth.â
You can feel Romanâs eyes on you in the car on the way home, and you know heâs going to ask you about how weird youâre being. But you canât tell him that youâre being weird because you canât fake sadness. And you canât tell him that youâre wearing ballet flats today because Brooke Bluebell's blood is all over your sneakers.
âWhatâs up with you?â He asks as he stops the car outside your house.
âNothing?â You ask, shaking your head. âJust⌠you know. Itâs sad, what happened to that girl.â
âBrooke.â Roman corrects, and your teeth snap together.
âRight. Of course you know her name.â
And Roman sees a flash of jealousy in your eyes then. He knows the fucking look, because itâs been slapped across his face every time you so much as glanced at anyone else for months.
âYou donât⌠you know there was nothing going on with me and her, right?â
You hum, eyes cast downward, and Roman sighs as he cups your chin and lifts your face to his. Roman pats his thigh, and you climb eagerly across the central console to settle in his lap and press your lips to his.
Roman shifts beneath you, his cock grazing against your core, and you moan into his mouth. He pushes you away, gently, and catches your eyes with his. âYou know youâre it for me, right?â
You nod, though youâre remembering the way heâd hugged the girl as she stood on his front step, and how sheâd looked back at him with unbridled lust in her eyes before getting in her car. Youâre remembering the look of absolute dumb shock on her face as you stuck a box-cutter into her stomach and dragged her guts out of the split seam of her belly.
And Roman isnât at all convinced that youâre okay, but you start to rock down against the bulge in his pants and he drops his head back against the headrest and lets you grind against his cock until he cums in his boxers because what the fuck else is he supposed to do?
The checking girl that lets him buy cigarettes despite being a few years short of 21 shoots him a fucking death glare when he reaches the counter, and Roman frowns.
âGot ID?â âHuh?â
âYou have to be 21 to buy these. Do you have any ID?â
And Roman twists his frown into a smirk as he leans over the counter. âCâmon, whats the deal? You miss me? I swear I havenât been cheatin on you with the 7/11 down the street. Just cutting back on my nicotine consumption.â
The girl doesnât smile back, but she looks very deliberately at the CCTV camera pointed at the register and mouths. âOut back.â
Roman nods conspiratorily and buys a pack of gum before heading out of the store and around to the alley.
âSorry, Roman.â The girl says, handing him three packets of Marlboros. âThey got big brother watching now.â
âFuckin sucks.â Roman agrees. âThanks.â
He hands her too much money, and she pockets it without looking. âDo you have some time? I go on break in five.â
And Roman knows what that means, that sheâs game to ride his cock in the passenger seat of his car if he wants to. But heâs got you now, so he shakes his head. âI gotta bounce.â
She looks maybe a little disappointed, but she shrugs it off and steps close to graze her fingers against his cock through his slacks. âSome other time, then.â
Itâs supposed to be seductive, and Romanâs cock maybe stirs a little with interest, but thatâs his lizard brain taking over. Because heâs all yours, and that includes his fucking cock.
Heâs nine cigarettes in, hip flask of aged whiskey resting warm in his palm when thereâs a knock on the window and Roman rolls the glass down. The scent of blood hits him hard, and he blinks through the sudden haze of it as he looks up at the girl. Sheâs dripping with it, blood pouring down her face and over her lips to drop heavily onto the front of her shirt.
âWhat the fuck happened to you?â He asks, and he isnât proud of the thick edge of arousal in his voice.
âYour psycho girlfriend attacked me.â She spits, and Roman can see blood bubbling out of the seam of her lips now, too.
âShee-it. Iâll⌠talk to her.â
âIâm gunna press fucking charges.â She seethes. âJust thought Iâd let you know. Cuz youâre weird but I donât wanna see something bad happen to you and sheâs fucking insane.â
Roman swallows hard. âYeah. I know. Just⌠get in the car. Iâll drive you to the hospital or the cops or wherever you wanna go.â
She hesitates for only a second, before sighing and spitting a wad of blood-stained saliva onto the ground. And maybe she thinks that Roman is her friend. Or maybe she believes that their previous time together will earn her some kind of loyalty. Theyâre most of the way out of town by the time she realizes that Romanâs going in the wrong direction, and when she tries to open the door, thinking sheâll take her chances rolling out into the road and making a run for it, she finds the locks engaged.
Your phone buzzes. âHey.â
âAre you busy right now?â âNo.â You glance at your homework. Your half-finished, due tomorrow homework. âWhy?â âI need you to meet me at the steel mill.â
You suppress a shiver. Thereâs something off about his tone, but you canât quite put a finger on it. Not that it matters anyway. Thereâs no scenario where you donât go, if he wants you to. âAlright. Give me like twenty minutes.â
Roman hangs up, and your stomach churns with anxiety as you slip out of your sweats and into a pretty, dark green dress that you know heâll like.
The old steel mill has always given you the creeps, and goosebumps break out on your arms and legs as you climb through the remnants of a broken door. âRoman?â You call into the cavernous space. Your own voice echoes back at you, distorted into little snippets of sound that make the whole thing so much creepier.
Your phone buzzes, and you blink against the brightness of your screen to read his message before following the directions deeper into the building. Thereâs an old office in the back, the only room in the whole place with a working lock, and of course Roman has the key. His family owns the place, after all.
Your face breaks into a relieved smile at the sight of him, perched on the edge of the desk. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and his hair is a little messy, and you feel arousal throb through your clit and slick in your underwear at the sight of him. âHey.â
He doesnât smile, and anxiety churns through you again. âWhat did you get up to today?â You frown. âNothing much. School, and then Iâve just been at home, studying.â
Romanâs mouth quirks into a smirk that sends a bolt of heat through you. âSuch a pretty little liar.â
You swallow. âI donât know what youâre-â
âCome here.â
You move on mechanical legs, crossing the space to stand between his thighs. He lifts your hands to his face, turning them palm down, and your eyes drop at the same moment his do, to the splits in your knuckles. âStudying?â He repeats softly, pressing his mouth to your injured fingers. âYou get in a fistfight with your algebra textbook?"
âIâŚâ You cut yourself off, a lump forming in your throat. Romanâs tongue darts out to lick over the cuts, coaxing them open, and you moan softly at the searing heat as your skin parts for him. âIâm s-sorry, Roman.â
âI know,â he coos against you. âI know, baby. It isnât⌠your fault.â He looks up at you then, green eyes dark as his pupils expand. âBut weâve got a problem now, havenât we?â
You bite your lip as he lifts a hand to cup your chin and turn your head to the side. Thereâs a couch in the far corner of the room. You hadnât noticed it before, hadnât been able to see anything but Roman, but ice floods your stomach at the girl hogtied and gagged there now.
âOh.â
âOh,â Roman echoes. âYou saw me talking to her at the store, didnât you?â
You can only nod, biting your bottom lip as a blush crawls up your neck. âShe⌠touched you.â
Roman feels a surge of affection and pleasure so intense that his heart aches with it. That youâd be so jealous, so possessive over him. The best compliment you could ever offer him, actually. âAnd you felt threatened?â âNo.â
Romanâs brows furrow as you wriggle around in his hold to look up at him through your lashes, bottom lip dragging through your teeth, and Roman thinks he might blow in his pants at the sight. âI wanted her fucking dead for touching whatâs mine.â
Roman moans as he wraps his fist in your hair and pulls you against his chest. âShit,â he hisses as he sucks your swollen bottom lip into his own mouth and drags your underwear to the side to shove two fingers roughly into you. âYou love me that much, huh?â
âKilled that other girl for you.â You gasp into his mouth as his fingers curl inside you. âWoulda killed that one too if she hadnât run away like a little, ahh,â you break off as his fingers find your g-spot and caress against the sensitive flesh. Your head drops to his shoulder and Romanâs free hand drops to your ass, pulling the fabric up around your waist so he can slip his fingers into your underwear and brush against your back entrance.
âYou gotta be more careful, baby.â He coos, adding a third finger as he fucks you open on his hand and your clit is dragged mercilessly over his palm. âShe was gunna go to the cops. I coulda lost you.â
You whine at the feeling of his finger pressing against the tight, dry muscles of your asshole. âIâm sorry.â
He hums, dipping his head to nip along your jawline. âYou donât need to apologize. But you do need to learn a lesson.â
You swallow hard, eyes rolling back at the assault of Romanâs hands and his tongue and his teeth teasing you everywhere all at once. He pulls his fingers out of your cunt in one sharp tug and you wince as he withdraws his hand and licks your slick from his hand, tongue dragging between his fingers as he stares at you.
âWhat do you want me to do?â Your voice is barely above a whisper as you watch his tongue lap at your arousal.
âYouâre gunna finish the job. Kill her.â
You turn your head to look at the girl writhing on the couch, and uncertainty curdles in your stomach like spoiled milk. âI⌠donât know if I can.â Because without the heat of the moment, you just⌠donât want to.
Roman clucks his tongue, giving your asscheek one last pinch before withdrawing his hand from your panties and pushing off from the desk. You can only watch in horror as he approaches the girl and runs his hand through her matted hair. âYou need to be jealous to get it up?â He asks you, a mocking smirk on his mouth. And yeah, you can feel the rage burning in your blood as he drops into a crouch beside her and pinches her cheeks before he leans in and runs his nose down the column of her throat. âIâve fucked this girl a lot, yâknow? She wanted it today, too. Touching my cock like she could have me. Take me from you.â
Your cheeks burn as you cross the room, and you grab the front of Romanâs shirt to pull him away from her. âI get it.â
Roman bites the corner of his lip, stepping away from the girl. âGo on, sweetheart.â
And you donât really feel anything as you lower to your knees in front of the girl and press the heel of your hand against her throat. Her eyes bulge, and thereâs maybe something like regret or terror or something in her stare, but you donât feel it. Roman moves behind you, pressing on your spine until youâre forced to brace against the ground with your free hand, leaning right on the girlâs body for support as he drags your underwear to the side and spreads your ass cheeks.
And thereâs a tiny sliver of shame cracking through the haze in your head as Roman spits into your asshole and you press your palm harder to the girlâs throat as her eyes bulge, and you realize for one brief moment that this is fucked up beyond all measures of fucked up, but then Romanâs middle finger pushes past the tight ring of muscles, and you arch against the intrusion.
This is the single hottest thing thatâs ever happened to Roman Godfrey. Heâs fingering your asshole while you choke the life out of a girl just for wanting him. You try to rock away from his finger and he holds your hip, pulling you back and closer so he can dribble saliva into you and add a second finger, stretching and curling and twisting his fingers until you whine and he knows heâs stimulating your cunt from the other side of it. âKnew you could be good for me.â He coos, reaching around your hip to stroke your clit as he stares at the press of your palm to the girlâs throat. âAnd youâre making it last.â
Youâre not doing that, but youâve never fucking strangled someone to death and your wrist is screaming in pain at the strain of pressing as it is. You grit your teeth, eyes rolling at the intense feeling of Romanâs fingers in your ass as he tweaks and teases your clit. The girl isnât looking at you anymore, sheâs looking past you, at Roman, and your strength surges as you rock forward to apply as much pressure to her neck as you can.
Her eyes roll back at the same time yours do, and Roman feels you clench your ass around his fingers as the girl looses consciousness.
âCum for me, baby.â He murmurs, and you whine his name as your orgasm washes over you, your empty cunt fluttering around nothing as you cum against his hand and release the pressure on the girlâs throat.
You havenât slept in two days. Your mom hasnât been able to get you to eat, and you certainly havenât been to school. Romanâs been blowing up your phone, but you ignore it. You feel low in a way you never have before, in a way you canât explain. You miss him like thereâs a part of your own body missing, but you canât bring yourself to go to him. So itâs almost a relief when he climbs the tree outside your window and into your room at three AM.
âWhat the fuck is going on?â He seethes, pushing hair out of his eyes and brushing leaves from his jacket. âIâve been fucking calling you and you just ghost me like Iâm-â
âRoman,â you croak, and he freezes. Roman stares at you, eyes scanning you with clinical assessment.
âShit.â He crosses the room and climbs onto your bed, long legs folding up under him as he pulls you into his lap and presses his lips to yours. âShit, you missed me.â
And you can only hum as you rub your face against his throat, breathing in the scent of him as your heart knits back together. âShit, I forgot about this part.â
âHmm?â
Roman sighs, prying you away from him just enough to look you in the eyes. âI forgot how⌠needy you get.â
Hurt lances through your chest. âI⌠Iâm sorry, I didnât mean to be I-â
âNo, baby.â He shushes you, pressing his lips to yours. âItâs not like, your fault. Itâs mine. I forgot that I have to keep you dosed. Micro-dosed.â
Your bottom lip wobbles as tears blur your vision. âI donât feel right.â
âI know.â Romanâs tongue traces the tracks of tears on your cheeks, and you shudder against him. âItâs my fault. I made you like this.â
And Roman knows that he canât keep it up. That he canât watch you disintegrate like Miranda had. That finding you hanging from the chandelier in the lobby might actually kill him. âI made you love me.â
You huff a laugh. âSure you did. I mean, I love you because I fell in love with you. I love you m-â
âMore than anything else in the world.â Roman finishes for you. âYeah, because I told you to. I have like⌠I can do things. I can make people do things that I tell them to. Itâs like⌠a super power or something.â
You blink at him, wondering if your boyfriend has gone insane. But at the same time, thereâs a niggling itch at the back of your mind. âLike⌠the guy at the bar?â
Roman swallows hard. âYeah, like that. I did that to you. Made you love me. I didnât know it would⌠go like this. That thereâd be side-effects.â
You think about your knife in Brooke Bluebells guts, and you press your lips together against a fresh wave of hysteria.
âCan you fix it? Make me be⌠not like this?â
âI donât know. I mean Iâve never tried.â
âCan you?â Your voice is barely above a whisper, and the pain that crosses Romanâs face lances through you like a blade.
âIâll try, baby.â He cups your cheeks, pressing his lips to yours and tasting the salt of your tears against his mouth before pulling back with a shaky sigh that tingles on your skin. When you look into his eyes now they seem bigger than ever before, glowing faintly in the low light of your bedside lamp. âNone of this is real. You donât love me, you never did. And youâve never hurt anybody. Youâre the best person Iâve ever known.â
And you blink as Roman releases your face, feeling his heart wrench into little pieces at the glazed expression on your face.
âI⌠did it work?â You ask faintly, and Roman frowns.
âI donât know. Do you feel⌠better?â You hum, shifting your hips as you check in with your limbs like youâre supposed to feel different physically. âI donât feel worse.â
âOkay,â Roman breathes. âWell thatâs something. I guess Iâll⌠go.â He lifts you from his lap and deposits you on the bed, and your stomach flushes cold.
âRoman, wait.â
He turns when heâs almost at your window, and the expression on his face is devastating. It devastates you, and you slide off the bed and wrap your arms around his neck. âI still love you.â
And this is the worst and the best time for Roman Godfrey to learn that you canât uncompel someone. You can compel them to do things, and you can compel them to forget that they did those things. But you canât cancel one command out with another. And Olivia Godfrey would have told him that, if sheâd had any idea of how much of a fucking idiot her son was. But she thought he had more self-control than he has, and now youâre staring up at him with adoration in your eyes and no memory of the awful shit youâve done for him.
âI donât know how to fix that.â He says in a whisper, even as his hands land on your hips and his fingers tuck under your shirt to splay against the heat of your skin.
âI donât wanna be fixed like that.â You mumble, trailing your hand down his front to cup his cock through his jeans. And Roman knows what to do now.
He lifts you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as he walks you back to the edge of your bed and lowers your back to the mattress. And then he drops to his knees between your parted thighs, hooking his fingers into your underwear and dragging your panties down your legs so he can spread you open and press his lips to your clit.
Your head drops back to the mattress as your lips part around a soft sigh, and Roman sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud against his tongue as his fingers knead the flesh of your thighs and hold you open for him.
âOhhh,â you whimper, lifting your hips to meet his mouth. The sharp tip of his nose brushes against the hood of your clit and you gasp, and Roman uses the moment to push two fingers into you and curl back, soaking the digits in your arousal as he fucks you open.
âShit, please,â you whine, and Roman hums against your core as he flicks his tongue steadily against your clit, holding it in place in his mouth with the gentle suction of his lips, coaxing blood to rise to the surface.
Itâs the most delicious pleasure-pain youâve ever felt, and you cry his name as you cum, your orgasm washing through you in waves that leave you boneless beneath him as your cunt flutters around his fingers and you soak his face in your release. Roman releases your clit with a final, languid lick before he crawls onto the bed on top of you. Youâre not sure when he shoved his jeans down, but you feel the press of his cock against your entrance and you bracket your knees around his hips as you bear down against him. Romanâs pupils expand as he bottoms out inside you, a low rumble of a moan vibrating out of his chest as he fills you completely.
âI love you,â you whimper, and Romanâs eyes close as he pulls half out of you and pushes back in. He knows that all this is temporary, that the violent impulses hiding under your skin, the impulses that drew him to you in the first place are still there, and that more bodies will fall under the crushing weight of your love. But buried inside of you with your cunt pulsing around his cock and the little breathy pants spilling from your lips, itâs a price worth paying. A price heâll pay a thousand times over, if he gets to have you.
So Roman says it, for the first time ever. âI love you. I love you so much.â He whispers the words against your lips, his breath puffing over your wet mouth as he snaps his hips against yours. The head of his cock brushes against your sensitive walls and you flutter around him, and Roman loses his control as he reaches for your ankles and pushes them back towards your head, folding you in half as he fucks you open wide and raw.
You whine at the stretch along the backs of your calves, but his weight is unrelenting as his cock pummels into you, and it isnât long before you feel the thick twitching pulses of his cock releasing inside you.
Romanâs forehead drops to yours as he pulls out, dipping his head to nuzzle his nose against yours before pressing a kiss to your lips and rolling to the side.
You donât respond when he asks if youâre okay, and Roman props himself up on one elbow and runs his fingers over your cheek until you snap out of your thoughts and look at him. âHuh?â âYou okay?â
âYeah. I⌠just doing math.â Romanâs lips quirk. âNerd.â
âNo. I mean, uh. I think I might be fuckin⌠ovulating.â
Roman freezes, his smirk sliding from his face. Because those words should put the fear into him, but they donât. He finds the idea of you carrying his baby, of being tangibly linked to him by a little writhing bundle, perversely appealing. He hooks an arm around your middle and licks the side of your neck until you squeal. âWell hello, mommy.â
You hum at the teasing nickname, turning so you can rest your head on his chest, and Romanâs heart thumps erratically under your cheek. Heâs so supremely fucked, actually.
Letha appears in front of him a week later with watering eyes, and Roman frowns up at her from his seat. âYou good, Leth?â
Her bottom lip juts out like sheâs going to cry, and Romanâs frown deepens as his eyes drop to the hand sheâs cradling against her chest.
âWhat happened?â
âYour⌠girlfriend shut my hand in my locker door.â
Roman swallows hard. âOh. Uh, Iâm sure she didnât mean to.â
âNo, well obviously not.â Letha rolls her eyes. âBut I think my fingers are broken.â
Roman looks up at the moment the cafeteria door opens and you step through, a pretty, vacant expression on your face. Your eyes widen at the sight of Lethaâs hand, like youâre totally innocent, like you had nothing to do with it, and Romanâs stomach twists with a sick mix of anxiety and pleasure. Because youâd seen him kiss the top of Lethaâs head at the car this morning, and then youâd broken her fucking hand. And it hadnât mattered that she was his cousin, or anything. And yeah, Roman thinks with a tiny smile and a throb in his cock. Heâs so supremely fucked, actually.
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10 Things I Hate About You, Chapter 17 (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Fic Summary: When Peter Rumancek meets a literal angel at his new school, he decides he'll do anything to have her for himself. There's only one problem; Letha doesn't date, kept under the thumb of her possessive cousin Roman. Lucky for Peter he has a cousin of his own, and you're willing to help him with his plans... for a price.
Full fic under cut, 18+, MDNI
Word Count: 3967
The walls have been closing in on Peter Rumancek. He feels them more and more every day, even though heâs got an angel tucked under his arm and a tiny, featherlight angel kindling in her stomach. Itâs all heâd ever wanted and twice as much as heâd ever dared to hope for, and yet his wolf rumbles like his skin is too tight and itâs too far away from the goddamn moon to feel like this.
Peter isnât his father, but heâs got his shoes in his hands so he doesnât make too much noise on the stairs as he creeps downstairs. He isnât his father, but he winces as he starts the car and checks the windows of Norman Godfreyâs house for signs that heâs been discovered. He isnât his fucking father, but heâs driving past the town limits and leaving his wife and his unborn baby and his cousin and his life in the rearview mirror as he tries to outrun the leash before it closes around his throat.
Thereâs a phone vibrating somewhere. You open your eyes, wincing at the bright light streaming through the gap in the curtains. You splay your palm on Romanâs bare back and he hums, muscles shifting under your touch as he reaches for you.
âRoman, your phone.â
âNo thanks.â He mumbles into his pillow.
You tut at him, crawling over his body to slide his phone off the nightstand. âItâs Letha.â
âTell her to fuck off.â
You roll your eyes, and the phone stops ringing. âMissed it.â
âProblem solved,â Roman mumbles, rolling onto his front and hooking an arm around your waist to lay you across his chest.
You press soft kisses across his collarbone, and he hums sleepily. âRoman?â
Roman groans. âWhat?â
âYou should call your cousin back. It might be important.â
Roman sighs dramatically, finally cracking one eye open to look at you. âThatâs what she has a husband for now. Iâm off duty.â
You open your mouth to remind him that you canât clock out of being family, when the phone in your hand starts ringing again. âI swear to fucking fuck,â Roman growls as he snatches the phone. âLetha you better be fucking dying or-â
Roman cuts himself off, and you feel the shift in the air as his eyes open, fully alert.
âNo, he isnât here. No, no, donât cry, weâll⌠figure this out. Okay? Okay. Just stay put. Iâll come to you.â
âWhat is it?â You ask as soon as Roman ends the call and tosses his phone to the side. Roman doesnât answer, instead gently sliding you off him and climbing out of bed. âRoman?â
He still doesnât answer as he tugs on a pair of boxers and yesterdayâs jeans. He doesnât really trust himself to talk right now, when heâs so mad his hands shake with it.
But youâre goddamn relentless, and you slip from the bed and grab his hands where theyâre trying to work the button on his jeans closed. âRoman. Look at me.â
Roman doesnât want to, but his eyes drag up your pretty face to your concerned, pretty eyes, and he thinks about the blood in your veins and the same blood running through Peterâs useless fucking heart and he snaps.
âYour piece of shit cousinâs skipped town. Left Letha.â
âNo he hasnât.â The response is immediate. Peter wouldnât do that. He just⌠wouldnât.
âYeah?â Roman asks, a nasty smirk curving on his mouth. âLeft her a note. Packed a bag, took the car. What would you call it?â
Your mouth opens and closes, and the smirk on Romanâs face drops at the bewilderment on yours.
âIâm⌠Iâll call him.â
Roman scoffs, stepping out of your loose grip and snatching a shirt off the floor. âYeah you do that. Iâm gunna go pick up my emotional wreck of a cousin. My pregnant emotional wreck of a cousin.â
âShit.â You run a hand through your hair. âShit, Iâll come with you.â
âNo, donât bother. I donât think seeing another fucking Rumancek is what she needs right now.â It comes out harsher than Roman really means it to, because heâs not mad at you. He isnât. But Peter isnât here to take the brunt of his fury. You flinch, your hands dropping to your sides, and Roman forces a slow breath out through his mouth. âIâm sorry. Iâm not⌠this isnât your fault. Iâm just worried about Letha.â You swallow and force yourself to nod. âGo. Weâll talk later.â
And Romanâs feeling worse than he ever could have imagined as he pulls up at his cousinâs house and sees Norman standing on the porch. Heâs supremely fucking glad that he didnât bring you with him, but he wishes you were holding his hand as he ascends the steps and meets his uncleâs glower.
âYour gypsy bride skip town with him?â
âNo.â
âThis is unacceptable, Roman. Itâs fuckingâŚâ Norman breaks off, shaking his head. âWhat the hell did you get her mixed up in?â
And Roman canât beat the shit out of Peter Rumancek, and he canât be mad at you for sharing his blood. So he squares his shoulders, and he looks at his uncle, and he says; âyou know what? Fuck you. I donât have to take this shit from you.â
You could have knocked Norman Godfrey over with a feather. For eighteen years, heâs been looking down at his nephew. He doesnât know when Roman got so goddamn tall, but he sees it now. The man in front of him. And he takes a step back.
âWe have to fix this.â He says it quietly. It isnât a command, for the first time maybe ever. Romanâs shoulders sag. âYeah, I know. Iâm trying to.â
âLetha sheâŚâ Normanâs voice shakes with the effort of holding in his tears. Heâs never felt so fucking helpless in his life as he does right now, watching his only daughter smother wails of anguish into her pillow with one fragile hand cupping the curve of her belly.
âI know. She doesnât deserve this.â
âRoman.â Norman shakes his head. âI donât know if⌠Iâm not sure if sheâll survive this. Iâve never seen her in so much pain.â
Thereâs a moment of true understanding passing between the two Godfrey men on the porch steps. A mutual, devastating agreement. That Peter Rumancek will come back and fix Letha, or he will pay for his desertion with his life. Because if Letha doesnât survive this, that gypsy piece of shit certainly fucking doesnât.
Roman isnât thinking about you as he hooks an arm under his cousins legs and lifts her out of her bed. Letha sobs into his shirt, staining the cotton with salt and snot, and Romanâs stomach churns with helpless anxiety as he holds her close to his chest and presses his lips against her damp hair over and over.
It takes a long time for her to stop crying. Romanâs back is screaming from the angle and his hands are numb where they hold her, but heâs so relieved sheâs calming down that he doesnât care about any of it.
âHeâs gone,â she whispers, and Roman releases his hold on her just enough to let her sit up.
âWeâll find him.â
âI donât think he wants to be found, Roman.â
Roman had of course come to this same conclusion. Peterâs note had been pretty clear on the matter.
Leth
Iâm so sorry. I canât stay. I love you, but I canât do this. You deserve someone who can.
Peter.
Roman had the words memorized, heâd read them so many times. Searched every scrawled letter for signs of hesitation. Heâd wondered, briefly and dangerously, whether Norman had made him disappear, but the genuine helpless misery on his uncleâs face made that pretty unlikely.
âIâll fix this, Letha. I promise.â
Letha sniffles, lifting her head enough to look her cousin in the eye. âI donât need you to fix it, Rome.â
Roman frowns. âI can do it. Iâll do whatever it takes to-â
âRoman, itâs not⌠itâs not your job to fix everything.â
Romanâs frown deepens, a crease forming between his brows because of course it is.
âYou can just do what youâre doing now. You showed up, you let me snot all over your shirt. Thatâs enough. And I love you for it.â
Roman swallows hard around a lump in his throat. When did his sweet, naive little cousin get so goddamn wise?
The mansion is too quiet when Roman gets home, and he doesnât have to call out to know youâre not going to answer. He has to work extremely hard to keep the panic from clawing up his throat as he heads upstairs, eyes searching for the cases of your clothes that heâd pretended to burn when heâd killed you and then presented to you on your return with a very apologetic smile.
His heart slows a little when he sees that theyâre all still there, and it doesnât look like youâve taken anything. But then he sees a folded piece of notebook paper on his beside table, and why do you fucking Rumancekâs insist on writing things down instead of just sending a text like a normal person? His feet are lead weights as he settles on the edge of his bed, reaching for the note slowly like heâs afraid itâs going to detonate.
He can hear the words in his head on a loop. Iâm so sorry. I canât stay. I love you, but I canât do this. You deserve someone who can. And if thatâs what your note says, Roman will lose his goddamn mind and hunt you to the ends of the earth. Heâd get on his knees and beg for a third or fourth or fifth chance. Heâd promise you anything. Heâd beg you to cut out his heart and put him out of his misery, because he has no interest at all in living without you.
Roman â going to get Peter and kick his ass all the way back to Hemlock Grove. Donât worry, back soon. Love you.
The anxiety seeps out of Roman like a punctured balloon, and he drops onto his back against the mattress with a sigh. He categorically does not deserve you.
If heâd been at the window at that moment, heâd see the moment the woodshed doors creak open and a ragged waif of a girl staggers out into the early afternoon. Sheâs half mad with dehydration and terror, but she takes in the big house, the grounds, and the first few digits of Romanâs license plate on the back of his jag as she makes a break for it, the chewed remnants of a rope still tied around her bruised ankles. Â
The last few drops of whiskey land on Peterâs tongue and he glares at the empty bottle like its betrayed him. Everything is hazy now, and his vision blurs as he sees his cousin walking towards him with a second, wobblier version beside her. Itâs weird, and Peterâs eyes roll uncontrollably as the world tilts to the side and he vomits the meagre contents of his stomach onto the packed earth.
You sigh, stepping around the puddle of bile and potato chips, hauling your cousin up by the front of his shirt so he doesnât faceplant into the vomit.
âPeter Rumancek you are so fucking dead.â
Peter groans, his eyes refusing to focus as he looks down at the fist balled in the front of his shirt. âHowâd you find me?â
You scoff, releasing his shirt and dropping into a squat in front of him. âThis is where you always go when you wanna drink yourself into a coma. Youâre predictable.â Peter nods, his head feeling too loose on his neck. âI fucked up big time, cuz.â
You whistle. âYeah, you really did. You wanna tell me what happened?â
Peter does, actually. He thinks maybe, out of everybody, you might understand. âItâs a cage.â
You ease down onto the ground beside him, pulling a stolen pack of Romanâs cigarettes from your jean pocket and handing it to him. Peter slips a stick into his mouth and lights it with shaking fingers. âWaking up in Norman Godfreyâs house and going to school and getting a job and raising a kid.â
âOkay.â
âThey have a literal white picket fence out front.â
âOkay, right.â You take the cigarette from his mouth and suck in a long drag. âAnd you donât love Letha anymore, either.â
âWhat?â
You raise an eyebrow at him. âYou donât love Letha. Wish you hadnât married her, donât wanna be a dad.â
Peter frowns, plucking the cigarette from between your lips and flicking the ash from the end. âNo, I do. Want that, the kid and Letha. Of course I fuckin do.â
Peter sees what youâre doing before you get to point it out to him. âAh, fuck.â
âYouâre a goddamn genius, Rumancek.â You deadpan. âThrowing it all away over a picket fence. If thatâs the cage youâre so worried about just step the fuck over it, those things are like two feet tall.â
Peter barks a laugh. âAh, fuck.â He flicks the cigarette away into the bushes and you link your arm through his. âWhat the fuck do I do now?â Peter asks quietly.
You rest your head on his shoulder. âNow, dearest cousin, you learn the ancient art of grovelling.â
The drive back to Hemlock Grove is quiet. Youâd come in an expensive cab that Peter promised to reimburse you for, and driving Peterâs fancy rental car is taking pretty much all of your focus.
âWait, wait, stop.â Peterâs words are slurred, his face pressed against the cool glass of the passenger window. âStop!â He says again, and you jump as you hit the breaks and the car jolts to a standstill.
âWhatâs wrong?â
âIâŚâ Peter straightens, his eyes narrowing as he looks out at the road. âThere! Look, in the trees.â
You squint, and you see the little flash of colour on the edge of the treeline.
âYou see it?â Peter asks impatiently. âHey, do you-â
âYes! Shit, yeah. I see it. Just⌠uh, wait here. Iâll go see.â Peter scoffs as he shoves his door open and spills out onto the road. âGet behind me.â He mumbles, and you roll your eyes as you approach the side of the road. Peter stumbles along behind you, completely useless and making altogether too much noise.
âHello?â You call into the forest, scanning for that slip of blue against the bleak backdrop. âIs⌠do you need help?â
Thereâs a sound like breaking twigs, and then you see the blue of her thin satin nightdress stretched torn and damp over her skin. âPlease,â she whispers, and you only just make it in time to lurch forward as her bruised legs fold underneath her and she slips into unconsciousness.
âPeter!â You hiss, and heâs there immediately, some of the bleariness fading from his eyes as he takes in the state of the girl.
âWhat the fuck happened to her?â âI donât know. We need to get her to the car, sheâs freezing.â
âNeed to get her to a hospital.â
âI know,â you say, smoothing her hair out of her face as you hand her to Peter. Heâs a lot stronger than you and picks her up easily. âBut thatâs on the other side of town. Weâll take her to Romanâs first, get her warmed up and some fluids in her at least. Weâre less than a mile from the house.â
And Peter has a terrible feeling in his balls that has nothing to do with the booze or Letha or anything. The girl curls up in the backseat, head resting on Peterâs chest as you drive up to the gates and wave a little key fob that Roman must have given you and the gates creak open, and Peterâs balls ache with a sense of impending something that heâs still too drunk to quantify. Until the car stops, and the girl wakes, and her eyes go as wide as saucers and her mouth opens and she screams, and screams, and screams.
Roman is so stupidly happy to see you that he doesnât register the whole scene at first. You donât smile when he comes into the dining room, and that sends a little skitter of anxiety through his guts. He takes a step towards you and you take a step back and Roman freezes. Thatâs when he inhales, the sharp scent of fear permeating his senses and filling his throat with fire. Thereâs a tiny whimper, and his head snaps to the side and hones in on the girl tied to a dining room chair. Sheâs shaking so hard that the only thing keeping her upright are the strips of fabric pinning her to the seat, and Roman swallows hard as he scans the bruises littering her body and the livid, deep gouges on her ankles.
âWhat the⌠fuck is going on?â He asks. His voice doesnât sound like his own, gravelly with the effort of talking through the burning hunger in his throat.
âIs it him?â You ask, and Roman flinches at the sound of your voice. But youâre not looking at him, and youâre not talking to him either. The girl whimpers again, lifting her big dark eyes to look at Roman, and he swallows down bile at the misery and terror on her face.
âHey, youâre okay. Youâre safe, I promise. I just need you to tell me.â You say again, taking a step towards the girl.
She looks away from you, across the room, and Romanâs spine straightens as Peter pushes off from the wall and hurries to her side. He looks worse for wear too, bleary-eyed and unsteady on his feet, and Roman canât process a single thing thatâs happening in this clusterfuck. Then Peter cups the girlâs jaw, and Roman sees red because whatâs he doing touching her like that when Letha is suffering the worst pain of her life less than ten minutes from here?
âNo oneâs gunna hurt you.â Peter murmurs softly. âIâll protect you. You just need to tell us if it was him, so we can fix it.â
The girl sniffles, turning back to look at you. âIt wasnât. I havenât seen him before. It... It was the lady. With the black hair.â
Your shoulders sag with relief, and Peter pets the girlâs hair soothingly. âYou did good, kid.â
âRoman. Can you⌠you know.â You donât look at him as you ask, and Romanâs heart thumps uncomfortably against his ribcage.
âRight.â He takes a step towards the girl, who looks up at him with wide eyes. She isnât scared of him, and thatâs a fucking relief, but it does nothing to soothe the hurt of your downcast eyes or the ticking in Peterâs jaw as he gets close. Roman drops carefully to one knee, ducking his head until the girlâs eyes catch on to his. âYou got lost in the woods. You were never here, youâve never seen any of us before. There was no woman with black hair. You got lost in the woods, and you stumbled onto the road and we found you.â
The girlâs pupils expand as her features soften, and her shoulders slump forward. âYou found me⌠lost in the woods.â
Roman pushes to a stand, brushing his fingers very lightly over the girlâs bare shoulder before stepping back. He doesnât look at Peter and he certainly doesnât look at you as he retreats to the door. âIâll drive her.â Peter says, holding his hand out for the keys to his rental. You pause, your hand halfway to your jeans pocket. âYou sober?â
Peter shrugs. âSober enough.â
And that fucking does it for Roman. That Peter Rumancek had been drinking, that he wanted to get behind the wheel with this kid in the passenger seat because heâs sober enough like thatâs a fucking measurement of competency. That heâd maybe wrap his car around a tree and leave Letha a widow, leave his unborn kid without a father. Roman doesnât think, he just crosses the room and punches Peter right in his stupid fucking face.
Peter isnât expecting the hit, and Roman has a couple of inches on him. He goes down hard, head cracking backwards and spine bending unnaturally as he falls onto his ass and his bottom lip explodes against Romanâs sharp knuckles.
The girl at the dining table screams, and Roman turns his head at the sound. Itâs all Peter needs to find his footing and throw himself at the taller boy, knocking him onto his back and straddling his hips. Peter gets a single punch in to Romanâs face, crunching his nose into a bloody pulp before your fingers wrap around a fist of his hair and drag him up to his feet.
âShit, shit, ouch!â He hisses, prying your fingers away from his hair as he stumbles after you, around the dining table.
With the expanse of wood between them, the boys glare daggers at each other, but there is no more lunging or idiocy.
âFucking children.â You spit.
âHe started it,â Peter whines.
âYou ditched Letha. I should fuckin kill you!â
And the fight leaves Peter like air from a burst balloon, because how had he fucking forgotten the terrible decision heâd made this morning? The decision that heâd regretted almost as soon as heâd finished penning that fucking note, but that heâd followed through on anyway? Shit, Roman should kill him. Roles reversed, if Godfrey had knocked you up and then bailed? Yeah, Peter would have shredded him to pieces.
âFuck. Letha.â Peter runs a hand over his mouth, smearing blood over his jaw. âShit.â
âYeah. Youâre not driving the kid to the hospital. Youâre gunna drink a fucktonne of coffee and then youâre gunna go and beg your wife for forgiveness. Claim temporary insanity, blame it on the gypsy blood bullshit, whatever. Donât fuck it up again.â You run your thumb over the smear of blood on Peterâs chin, and he sighs.
âShe isnât gunna forgive me, cuz.â
You hum. âMaybe not. But youâre gunna apologize anyway.â
You turn to Roman, rounding the table to kneel by his side. Heâs sitting up now, elbows resting on his knees as blood streams steadily down his face, staining his shirt. âYou okay?â You speak softly, but Roman still flinches.
âPeachy keen.â His voice is monotone and flat, and unease crawls in your stomach at the sound of it.
âYou should stay here. Clean up. Iâll get her to the hospital.â
âNo, Iâll go.â Romanâs firm as he pushes to a stand and crosses to the girl again, tilting her head up with a finger under her chin. âYouâre gunna forget the last ten minutes happened. We found you on the side of the road, lost in the woods. Never saw any of us before.â His thumb grazes over her jaw, and her eyes flutter closed, a little sound loosing from the back of her throat.
An ugly spike of jealousy flushes through you at the gentle touch. âIâll come with you.â
Roman shakes his head, his eyes still on the girl. âNo thanks.â
âRoman.â Your voice catches in your throat, and he does turn then. It isnât exactly warmth in his eyes when he looks at you, but his mouth pulls into a half smile. âI just need some time.â
And you have to respect that. It isnât easy, watching him walk out with his arm around the girlâs shoulders. It sucks to see him buckle her into the passenger seat of his SUV, to rest his arm on the back of her chair as he reverses around the courtyard. But he had the right to time, didnât he?
Taglist: @bryandanielson-yes @loushaw131460 @guaaafiiburg @purplerainx1 @samanthaw16 @starzgard @vincenteva @theredvelvetbitch @devilslittlehelper @iith1um @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @kikibit @goosegreenwood
I love yearning men đ
PROBLEM - TONY STONEM
female!reader x tony stonem
word count: 978
contents: 18+, mentions of alcohol, loss of virginity
Tony was on his way to discuss Sidâs âproblemâ, his problem being that he was still a virgin. Sid promptly tried to defend himself on the phone explaining how his sister was still a virgin as well. This however gave Tony an idea. He quickly hung up on Sid and dialed his sister.
â Tony? What do you need, â I asked on the phone as I made my way to college.
â Thereâs a party tonight, want to come? Hang on other line, â he spoke before clicking off to talk to Sid once more.
You contemplated going to the party for a moment until you heard Tonyâs voice again.
â Are you still there? Are you coming or not? âÂ
â Yeah Iâll be there, just text me when and where, â I said quickly into the phone before hanging up and walking into my class.
Tony began to come up with a plan for how to get you alone at the party tonight. He knew Sid was his best mate and heâd go absolutely mental when he found out that he shagged his sister, but heâd deal with that problem later.Â
After his classes, he decided to ring you and make sure you were still coming tonight. He rang your phone and let out a groan when you didnât answer.Â
Once you were finished with your classes you saw Tonyâs missed calls, and dialed him back.Â
â Hey Tony, whatâs up? âÂ
â Youâre still coming, right? âÂ
â Yeah Iâm still coming, â I said as I giggled.
â Alright, Iâll see you tonight, wear something sexy, â Tony said before quickly hanging up.Â
You laughed at his comment as you went up to your room. You began to get ready for the party, soon after Tony spoke to you. You had settled on a short red dress with black heels before heading out to the party with Sid.
â Why are you dressed like that, â Sid asked as he scanned you up and down.
â I- I dunno I thought I looked nice, â I said softly as my fingers fiddled with the edges of my dress.
Sid rolled his eyes as he huffed while shaking his head. Once you reached the house where the party was we met up with Tony, as none of our other friends could come. You smiled as Tony took your hand and brought you inside leaving Sid to follow behind you. Tony kept supplying you and himself with drinks until you were clinging to him as you flirted with one another. Tony helped you upstairs and into one of the bedrooms as you held onto him. You sat on the bed together as Tonyâs hand slowly moved up your thigh as he leaned in closer until he pressed his lips against mine. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he pulled you into his lap.
â Mmâ Tone- Tony this wrong, â I said as I pulled back from the kiss.
â Itâs not wrong babe, you want this as much as I do, â he said as his hand trailed under your dress letting his fingertips graze against your panties.
You sighed softly as he slid your panties to the side and pushed his fingers inside of you while his lips trailed down your neck. You let out soft moans as you tugged on Tonyâs hair.
â Fuck Tony â I moaned his name over and over again as he fingered me while covering my neck in hickies.
As you got closer to reaching your high he pulled his fingers out of you and licked them clean. You let out a whine before he smashed his lips back onto yours while pulling your dress off and over your head. You watched as he pulled off the striped polo he was wearing before he pushed off his jeans and pulled you back into his lap. He slid off your bra before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and kneading my other breast with his hand. Your fingers tugged on his hair pulling him away before kissing him again as he laid you down on the mattress. Â
â T- Tone Iâm a virgin, â I whispered softly against his lips.
â I know. â He grinned as he slid your panties down your legs followed by his boxers letting his hardened cock spring out between your legs.Â
You blushed a deep red as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your entrance. You let out a soft gasp as he pushed his cock fully inside of you without warning. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he slowly moved himself in and out of you.Â
â F- Fuckinâ hell youâre so tight, â he moaned your name as he thrusted into you harder.Â
You pulled him closer as you begged him to go deeper. You moaned against his lips as his thrusts became harder and more urgent. You cried out his name as you came around his cock before he pulled out of you and shot his cum all over your breasts and stomach. Tony kissed your forehead gently before rolling off of you and laying down beside you. Once you had caught your breaths Tony cleaned you both off before exiting the bedroom leaving you to get dressed. Tony walked down the stairs seeing that the party was still going he found Sid sitting by himself on the couch. He flashed Sid a cocky grin before taking a sip of Sidâs drink.
â Whatâs got you so happy, â Sid questioned as he looked at Tonyâs disheveled clothes, before he saw his sister stumbling down the stairs with her hair a tangled mess with hickies covering her neck and her shoes in hand.
â Tony- you didnât.. â
â Looks like youâre the only virgin, â Tony laughed as he threw an arm around Sidâs shoulder.
SECRET - TONY STONEM
female!reader x tony stonem
word count: 864
contents: 18+
Tony and Michelle were infamously on again and off again, everyone knew when they broke up theyâd be back together that night. This time when he broke it off he meant it, because he had set his sights on someone new. That girl happened to be Michelleâs younger sister. Y/n had y/h/c hair with beautiful y/e/c eyes. He always snuck glances at you when he stayed over, but you never seemed to pay him any mind.Â
You did notice Tonyâs glances towards you, but one thing stopped you from returning them, and that was the fact he was Michelleâs. Tony wasnât yours to have, you saw how heartbroken Michelle was everytime they split, but also how happy Tony made her when they were together. You always felt a twinge of jealousy whenever you saw them kissing or heard them together in her bedroom.Â
The next day as you were getting ready to leave for college Tony was on your doorstep.
â Tony? Michelle already left already-, â I trailed off as he handed me a flower. â Whatâs this for ? â
â Just thought youâd like it, â he said as he gave you the crimson coloured rose.Â
You smiled softly as you held the rose as you walked to college together while you talked and chatted about courseworkÂ
â So are you and Michelle back together yet, â I asked softly.
He shook his head as he chuckled, â No, uhm I donât think weâre going to get back together this time.â A slight blush graced his cheeks as he smiled while rubbing the back of his neck.Â
I stopped walking and then looked up at him, â Sheâll be devastated, what changed?â I asked softly as I twirled the flower he gave me between my fingers.
â I suppose I fancy someone else..â
I frowned at his words as we walked, â Well canât you rethink your choice? âÂ
He shook his head as he looked over at you.
â Well who do you fancy then ? â
He blushed a pale pink as he smiled and shook his head. You frowned as you begged him to tell . He refused again, making you groan in frustration. You bugged him the rest of the day begging him to tell you who he fancied, but he refused to say.Â
You let him walk me home as Michelle was staying at a friend's house and hopefully wouldnât find out. You continued to talk as you went upstairs to your room, and the next thing you knew his lips were on yours⌠and you werenât stopping him. You quickly pulled his sweater over his head and discarded it onto your floor as he pulled you in closer by your waist. You pulled away for a moment as you looked into his eyes before crashing your lips back down onto his. He pushed you down onto your bed as he eagerly tore off the rest of your clothes before pulling off his. You watched as he settled between your thighs, and before you could have a second thought he quickly thrust two of his fingers inside followed by his mouth greedily sucking on my clit. You moaned loudly as he continued his assault on your body as your fingers tangled in his hair.Â
â Oh- fuck Tony, â I moaned and whimpered as my hips ground shamelessly against his face.Â
Before you knew it you were cumming all over his face and fingers. He grinned as he sat up before greedily licking his fingers clean and leaning down to kiss you deeply. His tongue slipped inside your mouth letting you taste yourself on his lips. He slowly pushed your thighs open as his cock teased at your aching entrance. He pulled away from the kiss making sure you were looking into his eyes as he thrusted into. You let out a loud moan as he pushed his cock all the way in you before pulling out completely and then ramming himself all the way back in. He pinned your wrists above your head as he fucked you roughly making your bed creak and groan under your combined weight. He kissed and sucked on your neck while whispering dirty things against your skin, you were so close to reaching your peak before he pulled out of you. He smiled devilishly before flipping you onto your stomach. He took your hips into his hands before plunging his cock back inside your tight cunt. You moaned pornographically loud as he set a fast pace, drool spilled from your mouth as your hands pathetically clasped at the sheets as you neared your release. You cried out loudly as Tony slammed into you one last time making us both cum. Tony gave a few more weak thrusts before letting you go and rolling off of you and laying next to you as he caught his breath.Â
I sat up as I realized what we just did, â Tony you canât tell Michelle this happened. âÂ
Tony smiled as his fingers idly trailed up and down your thigh, â Nips doesnât have to find out. âÂ
TRICK OR TREAT? - TONY STONEM
female!reader x boyfriend!tony stonem
word count: 754
contents: 18+
Your phone rang as you walked down the pavement, your hand clasped in your sisters. You had promised to take her out for halloween, helping her dress as a fairy, in turn having to cancel on Tony. You regretted it in a way, but you hoped he would understand.Â
Your hand slid away from your sisters, reaching for your phone, flipping it open and pressing it to your ear, it was Tony.Â
â Where are you? â
â I told you, I have to take Angela trick or treating. â
A sigh escaped Tony, you could practically feel his eyeroll through the phone.
â Youâre serious? â
â I could come by later.. â
â Iâll come by, see you. â
With that he disconnected the call.Â
A huff left your lips, your hand finding its way back to Angelaâs. You walked around for almost two hours, finding yourself out until nine.Â
â Last house Angie, then we gotta get home. â
Holding her hand, you reached the last house, ringing the doorbell. Watching as the door opened as a sweet old lady placed chocolate in both your hands.Â
When you got home that evening you were quick to put Angela to bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before climbing the stairs to your bedroom.Â
You moved about in the darkness of your room, slipping off your jeans and sweater, tossing them down into your hamper, leaving you to stand in only a bra and underwear.Â
Suddenly you heard the creak of a floor board, brow furrowing, you faced the darkness.
â Hello? â
With one small step towards your bed, you felt arms wrap around your waist, yanking you back against someone. A scream left your lips, but was quickly silenced by a hand covering your mouth. Your legs kicked, your body thrashed, and squirmed, desperate to get away.Â
â Hey, Hey! Stop itâs me. â
Quickly you turned to face the person, it was just Tony. Your hands flew up, shoving him back, a scowl on your face.
â God! You asshole! â
Your hand shot out, slapping Tony across the face, the anger evident, but with no real malice. Tony knew that, his arms coming out to slither around your waist, his lips finding your neck in the dark.Â
â You liked it.. A dark figure in your room.. Touching you.. wanting you. â
Your eyes rolled, but you knew Tony was right, you liked it.Â
â Shut up.. Twat. â
A smirk grew across Tonyâs face, you always told him to shut up when he was right. His hands slid upwards, cupping your breasts through the cups of your bra.Â
â You liked it. âÂ
His teeth sank into your neck, nipping at the soft skin, while his hands slid further down. Fingers toying with the lace of your panties, a soft whine left your lips.Â
â Donât tease Tone.. â
He hummed softly against your neck, his fingers dipping in, slowly rubbing your clit. His lips covered your neck in hickies and bites, he wanted everyone to know you were his.Â
Slowly his fingers withdrew, his hands coming up to shove you down on the bed. A laugh escaped you as Tony came tumbling down on top of you, lips pressing to any inch of bare skin. Hands slid up, yanking off your bra, before tearing off your panties. Your eyes widened as he sank into you, with no time to adjust his hips were slamming against yours. Tonyâs hand came up, pinning you down by the back of your neck, his hips pounding against yours. You couldnât breathe, every thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, each filthy word making you grow all the more wet.Â
You were beginning to see stars, still pinned under Tony, your second orgasm approaching, or was it your third? You couldnât even remember your own name let alone how many times you had cum. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your lips puffy and glossy, sounds escaping passed them Tony had never heard before.
Tonyâs hips rutted forward, pushing deeper, shoving you further into the mattress. Your cries were muffled by the sheets, your drool and tears soaking into the fabric. Your eyes sealed shut, feeling your third orgasm crash over you. Tony couldnât hold back, a groan leaving his lips, head falling back, he came inside you.Â
-Â
Slowly he slipped from your warmth, watching as his cum leaked down your thighs before collapsing beside you. His fingers came up, brushing hair from your face, moving closer to press a gentle kiss to your lips.Â
â Happy Halloween. â
A lazy smile graced your lips, curling closer to him.Â
â Twat. â

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sex in school , james cook !
warnings: rough, unprotected sex(always use protection)!, semi-public sex(?) & bad writing.probably too many commas, and intentional lowercase.
* haven't written smut in like 2 years, so this might suck !! my apologies >_<! *english isn't my first language.*
"she's a total nut." katie said as she looked over at a random blonde, "her brother went mental." she turned to you with a smile, "tony stonem? you heard?" she asked before waving her hand in your face.
"effy's nice." you say as you turn to her, "nice? whore maybe." she says with a laugh, the blonde laughing as well, "youre familiar with that word, aren't you?" katie's smile falters, "what the fuck?" she says as you walk away.
"oi, watch it, tits." the brunette says as you brush shoulders. "shut up, cook." the other brunette says as he slaps his shoulder, "that's effy's friend." he whispers.
the first brunette then follows you, walking next to you, "whats your name? i'm cook." he says as he smirks, "you're effy's friend?" you then stop in your tracks, turning to face him,"think you could help?" he says pulling a paper out of his pocket, "got this from 'er, just need to check out 'sex in school'."
"you want me to have sex with you for effy?" you ask as you shake your head, "yeah. is that so wrong? it's just a favor. i'll pay you back." he says as he places his hand on your shoulder, nodding to the bathroom behind him. "it won't be long." he whispers.
"don't waste my time." you move behind him to the bathroom, "you won't regret it." he walks behind you, placing the paper back in his pocket.
he locks the stall door once you're both inside, he's standing infrot of you, very close considering its a stall. now, he's checking you out. "i'm already hard." he whispers as he licks his lips, smirking. "just take your cock out, damn." you whisper which leads to him pushing down his jeans alongside his boxers.
his cock springs out, leaking precum, and hitting his abdomen. "you're 'cock' cook." you whisper, "heard of you" you say as you move your hand down to stroke his cock, "fuck me." he whispers as he throws his head back. "youre good, babe." he whispers, moving his hand to your waist and the other underneath your thigh, the other one following behind.
"hop." he demands as you let go of his cock, pushing you against the stall wall, his hand now up your skirt, moving your panties to the side with his thumbâ slightly grazing your clit, earning a moan from you. "shh. we're just getting started." he uses his hand to line up his cock with your entrance.
"you're not a virgin, are you?" he asks not bothering to look at you as he pushes his tip inside, rubbing his cock with your juices, "no." you mumble. "good, i don't do slow." you moan as he pushes himself fully into you. "you're tight." he moves one hand up to your ass, massaging it or more so gripping it roughly.
"fuck, babe. squeezing me so good. such a pretty little cunt." he moans against your neck, your hand moving up to his mouth to keep him quiet. "you talk too much." you whimper as he rams into you again. the sound of constant of skin on skin filling your ears alongside the muffled chatter outside the bathroom as you feel your stomach tightening.
"cumming?" he muffles against your hand, he bites your fingers softly. silencing his moans. "im close, cook." you whimper as he starts to fasten his pace, the wall of the stall creaking.
he thrusts one last time before pulling out and cumming on your stomach, "jesus!" you say before he scoffs, "you wanted it inside?" he asks as he sets you down, pulling up his jeans and boxers. "i didn't even-"
"guess i owe you one."
âË â§ âââââąđâ°ââââ â§ âË
omg. ok i hope this wasnt total cow shit. enjoy!
lia zhang evil bisexual variant: tony stonem đĽ°
edit by vttzfs on tiktok!

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10 Things I Hate About You, Chapter 16 (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Fic Summary: When Peter Rumancek meets a literal angel at his new school, he decides he'll do anything to have her for himself. There's only one problem; Letha doesn't date, kept under the thumb of her possessive cousin Roman. Lucky for Peter he has a cousin of his own, and you're willing to help him with his plans... for a price.
Full fic under cut, 18+, MDNI
Word Count: 3446
In hindsight, you should have replaced the fucking carpet. Itâs not like Roman didnât have the cash, or the means to get things like that managed. But you didnât, and now Peter and Letha are standing in Romanâs dining room looking at the enormous dark stain.
âThe cook spilled a pot of gazpacho.â Roman says, wrinkling his nose. âFired him.â
âA pot?â Letha asks, eyes trailing over the sheer fucking size of the stain.
âBig pot.â He grits out in response.
You look at Peter, pleadingly, and he puts a hand on the small of Lethaâs back and steers her away from the stain. âYou know, you guys are kinda like sisters now.â
âSisters?â Letha asks, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. âHowâs that?â âWell,â Peter frowns. âI know weâre all cousins or whatever, but I fucking delivered her. You know that? No?â He looks at Roman, who shrugs. âIâve always considered her my sister. And now weâre hitched, that would make you two-â
âSorry?â You cut in. âDid you just say you guys are-â âOh did I not mention?â Peter says casually, trying and failing to hide his smirk. âThat this is Mrs Letha Rumancek? I coulda sworn I-â
You cut him off as you throw yourself at your cousin, the air shoving out of his lungs as you barrel into him. âYou supreme fucking asshole, Rumancek!â You half-shout, shoving him away and whirling on Letha. âAnd you!â Lethaâs hand flutters at her stomach, her eyes shifting from you to Peter and back like sheâs not 100% sure youâre stable. âWelcome to the fucking family! Holy shit. Holy shit.â You stop short of hugging her, not sure whether she wants you to with how nervous she looks.
âYouâre⌠happy for us?â She asks carefully, hope shining in her pretty green eyes.
You scoff. âHappy for you? Holy shit. I mean, Peterâs been obsessed with you since day fuckin one. This is literally his dream. Happy for you? Iâm fuckin ecstatic.â
Lethaâs grin lights up her face in a way that actually has you pausing to blink, dazed. Fucking Godfreys and their ethereal, unfair beauty.
âBest news I heard all year.â Roman adds, slipping up beside you and wrapping his arm around your waist. You lean in, turning your head enough to bump your nose against his shoulder.
âGood boy,â you whisper under your breath. Roman hears it, his spine straightening at the praise.
âSo weâre all family. Rumanceks and Godfreys, whoâda thunk it?â Peter asks, hooking his hand around Lethaâs waist and dragging her back against his body.
âWhereâs aunt Olivia, anyway?â Letha asks. The innocent question tears through the atmosphere, and Lethaâs oblivious to the tension thickening between the other three people in the room.
âWho the fuck knows?â Roman says eventually, a tight smirk on his face. âProbably found some aging oligarch to squire her off to Europe or somewhere.â
Lethaâs mouth twists to the side. âYou know you shouldnât talk about her like that. Weâre all part of the one-parent club. If anything ever happened to her youâd be an orphan, Roman.â
And God fucking damn Letha couldnât have picked a worse moment for this particular lecture. Romanâs fingers tighten against your ribs, and you reach down to lace your fingers with his, squeezing as hard as you can.
âHey, I have a dad actually.â Peter says. âHeâs just⌠in the wind. Maybe heâll show up to meet his grandkid.â
Your eyes snap to your cousin, to the sheepish, proud smirk on his face. âPeter I swear to God if thatâs a joke Iâll-â
âItâs not.â Letha says, brushing her fingers over the slight swell of her stomach. âWeâre having a baby.â
There is no more talk of Olivia or orphans or suspicious stains. Roman pulls a decanter of scotch and three crystal glasses from a cabinet by the fireplace, and Peter runs to the kitchen to get Letha a club soda, and the four of you toast to teen pregnancy. You find the whole thing unbelievably, gorgeously hysterical. âIâm gunna be an aunt. And Roman, holy shit uncle Roman.â
Roman rolls his eyes, but heâs beyond pleased to hear you say it. Uncle Roman. A title, a solid line connecting him to this strange little family that really seemed to want him. What a fucking beautiful concept.
âDo gypsies do the whole godparents thing?â Letha asks, turning her head to look at Peter.
He shrugs. âSome do, some donât I guess. Why, you religious all of a sudden?â
Letha scoffs. âNo. I mean, I just think itâs nice, isnât it? Godparents and christening. Like, sheâll have angels watching over her.â
Peter blinks, his eyes stinging as he looks at his pretty, lovely wife. âShe?â
Lethaâs cheeks stain a delicate pink as she shrugs her shoulders. âI donât know, obviously. I just⌠she feels like a she. I know itâs stupid.â
âItâs not stupid.â Peterâs voice is thick and soft and low as he hooks an arm around Lethaâs waist and pulls her against him. He presses a kiss to her forehead, and you have to look away because theyâre so fucking cute and theyâre talking about their baby and their future is mapped out perfectly for them. Your future is staring into the depths of the fire with an unreadable expression, and your stomach twists with anxiety.
âI think maybe itâs time for you two to get a room.â You say, shaking your head with a smile on your face. âYou can stay here obviously, if you want to.â
âMy dadâs letting us stay with him.â Letha says. âThough⌠I donât think heâd appreciate the noise.â
Peter swallows, his cock stirring at the drop in her voice as she gives him a very sexy, very meaningful look.
âWell, stay here and desecrate one of Romanâs rooms. He wonât mind.â You donât ask him directly because youâre not sure what will come out of his mouth. You canât trust the way he looks right now.
âHey Rome?â Letha calls. âRoman?â
âWhat?â
You wince at the sharpness of his response, but it could have been worse.
âYou okay if me and Peter crash here tonight? Just tonight.â
Roman turns his head just enough to look at his cousin, and past her to her husband. âSure. But strip the bedsheets tomorrow before you go, so I can burn them. The wet-dog smell will never come out.â
Peter stiffens, his eyes flashing to you like you can do something about it. You force a laugh, rolling your eyes at Lethaâs confused expression. âComparing gypsies to mongrels again, good one Godfrey.â
Lethaâs expression relaxes as Peter forces a laugh as well, linking his fingers through Lethaâs and pulling her out of the dining room. He turns in the doorway. âYou okay?â He mouths.
You nod, shooing him out of the room before you approach your boyfriend as carefully as you would a snared animal.
âRoman.â
âYeah, I know. Iâll apologize to them tomorrow.â
You sigh, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek to his back. âWhat do you need?â
Romanâs shoulders slump as his hand comes up to hold your arm against his stomach. âI donât know.â
His voice is quiet and broken, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the answering wave of sadness that washes through you at the sound of it.
âIâm here.â
âI know.â He lets out a shuddering breath, pulling your arms away so he can turn and wrap an arm around your shoulders. You let him pull you against his chest, and Roman inhales deeply against your hair. âI know, and I should be⌠it should be enough. I should be so fucking happy to have you back. Itâs more than I coulda ever hoped for.â âYou can be happy with me and still hurting.â You mumble into his chest, pressing your lips to his shirt. âYou can feel more than one thing.â
Roman hums, his arm slipping off your shoulders so he can wrap his arm around your back and squeeze you tighter against him. âI donât wanna be sad about her. I shouldnât be. She was⌠she hurt you, and sheâs killed so many people, and she-â
âAnd she was your mom.â Roman huffs a bitter laugh. âShe was an evil fucking cunt.â
âPeople can be more than one thing, too.â You pull away from him, reaching a hand up to curl around the back of his neck and tilt his face towards yours. âItâs okay to be sad.â
Romanâs eyes water and his face crumples, and you press up onto your toes to push your mouth against his before a whimper breaks free from his lips. You feel the warmth of his tears as they roll off his cheeks and onto yours, and you coax his lips open so you can taste the bourbon on his tongue as his body shakes against you with tiny, sharp sobs.
âI love you,â you whisper into his mouth, tasting salt and heat. Romanâs sobs turn to breathy moans, his hands dropping to your hips and dragging you against his body. You lift a leg up around his thigh and Romanâs hand drops to your ass to lift you against him, turning you to the wall and crushing you against it as his tongue licks against your teeth and he grinds his cock against your core. He drags his mouth away from yours with a groan, dragging his teeth over the pulse point in your neck before suctioning a piece of flesh into his mouth and sucking hard. Your clit swells and pulses in time with the rough roll of his hips against you, and you flail your hand against the wall behind you, desperate for something to hold onto as Roman drags your body roughly against the wall with the desperation of his thrusts.
âShit.â You gasp as something sharp rips across your palm. You snatch your hand back, lifting it over Romanâs shoulder and wincing at the shard of porcelain plate embedded in your palm. âShit, Roman.â
Roman notices the change in your tone first, and he pulls away from nuzzling at the heat of your flesh to check on you. Then he smells the blood. Roman ate nine leeches on the morning he got you back, five of which were fresh off the sagging chest of his dealer. And yesterday he ate the meaty, muscly flesh of his motherâs throat. But itâs like all of that has burned away already, and the scent of blood, your blood mixed with your arousal and the pulsing aching hardness of his cock sends him into a state of near frenzy. âOh.â He manages, the word coming out more like a cough, as he drops you to your feet and stumbles back. And back, and back.
Heâs out of the room and shoving past Peter, unable to answer his shouted âWhat happened?â All Roman can think about is getting out. Getting away from the scent of your blood and the shame of his hunger. He runs out into the courtyard, gravel biting into the soft flesh of his feet. And then he keeps running, off across the grounds and away, away, away.
Peterâs balls deep in his angel when he smells a scent as familiar to him as the musk of his wolf. And maybe a couple of months ago heâd have ignored it, because you cut yourself shaving in the shower or sliced your finger open on a new book and it was nothing to worry about. But your boyfriend was a volatile Upir who had just killed his own mother, and Peter isnât about to scent your blood in the trunk of a Godfrey car again. So he pulls out and buttons his pants and promises heâll be right back, that heâs having a bathroom emergency that heâs not at all looking forward to explaining to Letha, and he runs.
Romanâs stumbling out of the dining room when he arrives, face paler than Peterâs ever seen it, and dread twists in his balls as heâs shoved out of the way by the Upir, the fleeing Upir.
Peter swallows hard, preparing himself for whatever horror awaits on the other side of the threshold. So heâs a little blindsided to find you unharmed, leaning against Olivia Godfreyâs China cabinet with wide eyes. Youâre cradling your hand to your chest, and steady droplets of crimson splash onto the carpet and soak in. And couldnât Roman have come up with something better than gazpacho to explain that? Peter shakes his head to clear it and crosses the room. âWhat the hell happened?â
âWhereâs Roman?â You ask, running your uninjured hand through your hair. Your cheeks are flushed, your chest heaving. And thereâs the sharp scent of⌠oh. Oh, gross. Peter breathes through his mouth as he reaches for your hand, sending a mental prayer to whichever god might be listening that you hadnât had this hand on Godfreyâs cock a minute ago. âHe ran out. What the fuck happened?â
Your mouth opens and closes. âI just⌠itâs nothing. Shit. I cut myself on a broken plate.â You kick a thick shard of porcelain near your foot, and Peter sees the staining of your blood on the jagged edge. âRoman freaked.â
Peter sighs, the tension sagging out of his shoulders. âHe didnât hurt you.â
You frown. âNo, he didnât. He wouldnât.â
âI smelled the blood and thought⌠okay. I guess he needs space.â
You swallow. âYeah. Shit, I almost forgot.â
âBut he stopped. He didnât⌠didnât try to eat you?â Peter feels awkward as hell. He wants to claw his own skin off, having this talk with you. Especially as your cheeks are all flushed and your hairâs messed up and he knows what was happening or about to happen. And the thought of Godfrey all over you, inside you makes his skin crawl.
You shake your head. âSoon as he realized what happened he just⌠ran away.â
âThatâs good. I mean, I know itâs not good, but itâs control. More than I thought he had.â Peter says.
âYeah. Roman Godfrey practicing self-restraint. Has to be seen to be believed.â You say softly. Your heart is aching with love and pride. Because he fought against his most base instincts in order to keep you safe. Because he was proving again and again that he really could be the man you hoped he was.
âI should⌠get back to Letha.â
You raise an eyebrow, taking in the disheveled state of your own cousin. His belt is undone, clinking around his waist, and his hair has been teased up by delicate fingers.
âYeah, I guess you should. Happy wife, happy life.â
âYeah,â Peter huffs a laugh. âGive him time to cool off. Heâll come back eventually. Maybe needs to eat some roadkill or something.â
You wrinkle your nose, but you donât correct him. Considering heâs been taking his nutrition from leeches, roadkill might actually be a step up on the food chain.
As soon as Peterâs back up the stairs, you slip on your sneakers and head out into the courtyard. You donât need to go too far, you can smell the sharp smoke of his cigarettes coming from the greenhouse and you find him sitting at a little patio set, chain smoking like his life depends on it. Itâs kinda funny to see his long limbs crunched into the little seat, but you donât laugh because of the bitter, biting self-loathing written across his features and the hunched set of his shoulders. âHey, Godfrey.â
Roman looks up, sucking hard on his cigarette. âDonât⌠stay over there.â
âWhat if I donât want to?â
He shakes his head, lips curling up at the corners. âFuck, youâre so stubborn.â
âRoman.â
He stubs the last of his cigarette out and pulls a new one from the packet on the table. âWhat?â
âIf I come over there right now are you gunna kill me?â
His eyes flash to yours as he drops his lighter on the table. âJesus Christ. What kind of question is that?â
âThe one I asked.â
âNo.â Roman rolls his eyes, but his hands are still shaking badly. âI wouldnât.â âOkay.â You take a step forward, and Romanâs spine straightens. âAnd if that changes, you can just push me away and run again. I wonât mind at all.â
Roman rolls his eyes, but a blush creeps up the side of his neck. âI didnât run away.â
âNo, you did.â You take another step, and another. âBut itâs okay. Itâs fine. I get it. And I think, you know, eventually.â Youâre right in front of him now, and Romanâs breath hitches as you press your thigh between his legs and lift your hand to graze your nails against his scalp. His head tilts back, chasing the contact, and you hum as you lift your injured hand dangerously close to his face. âEventually this wonât bother you at all. Weâre gunna⌠whatâs the word?â
Roman doesnât know, because his throat is on fire with hunger and his cock is getting hard against your leg and what the fuck are you doing to him?
âDesensitize! Thatâs the word. Weâre gunna desensitize you to my blood.â
Roman swallows thickly, his tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth. He wants badly to grab your wrist and sink his teeth into the jagged, puffy cut on your palm. âI donât think it works like that.â
You hum, withdrawing your hand mercifully. âIt worked for Peter. Got him used to my scent when he was barely a pup. So heâd never make a mistake and kill me when he turned.â
Roman swallows, sucking in the blissful oxygen that isnât quite so tainted with the coppery scent of your blood now youâve moved your hand away from his face. But then his eyes trail up and he has to watch your tongue glide over your palm, coming away sticky with blood, and his hand wraps around your wrist as he drags you onto his lap and presses his closed lips to the cut. Itâs the worst kind of torture. It doesnât provide any relief at all to be this close to your blood and unable to taste it. None at all. You shift in his lap, reaching your hand between the press of your bodies to grind your palm against his crotch, and Roman groans. âWhat are you doing?â His words are almost unintelligible as he mumbles them into your skin, unwilling or unable to pull away from your hand.
âShhh, baby. Just stay right there. Youâre already doing so well.â
Roman rolls his eyes, but he inhales sharply as you slip your fingers beneath his waistband and wrap your hand around his half-hard cock. He presses his lips harder against your hand, feeling the thick, clotting blood give way to fresh liquid under the pressure. If he parts his lips just a tiny bit, your blood will spill into his mouth. It wouldnât be the same as biting you. It would be an accident, even. You squeeze his cock hard, thumbing over his tip to collect the precum thatâs just started to bead before gliding back down his length. Romanâs hips lift, chasing the friction, and you have to squeeze your thighs around his in order to stay upright on the little chair. âCareful,â you whisper, before pulling your hand out of his pants.
âHey,â he manages to pry his mouth away from your hand long enough to narrow his eyes at you. âWhat are you doing?â
You bite the corner of your lip as you climb off his lap and tug your pants and underwear down. Romanâs pupils expand at the sight of you bare before him, and he fumbles to get his own jeans and boxers off, awkwardly shoving them down past his knees and spreading his thighs wider. âYou gunna⌠come here?â He asks hopefully, wrapping his fist around his cock and pumping himself slowly.
You grin as you approach, climbing into his lap and slapping his hand away from his cock. âMine.â You remind him. You grip him at the base as you rise up on your knees and position the pulsing head of his cock at your entrance.
And then you press your bleeding palm to his mouth hard as you sit down on his cock, and Romanâs mouth fills with your blood as your walls squeeze around him and he actually, genuinely feels like he might pass out. His eyes roll back as his mouth sucks greedily at the cut. There isnât much blood, but itâs enough to coat his tongue and stain his teeth and send flutters of desire low into his stomach. You settle against him, the tip of his cock buried so deep inside you that you can feel it throbbing in your guts. Romanâs hand drops to your hip, trying to lift you off him, but you plant your free hand on his shoulder and hold yourself still. âNo moving, Godfrey. Weâre gunna stay just like this.â
Roman groans in protest as his cock twitches, and you smile. âJust focus on my hand. On the blood. How it smells, how it tastes. And if it gets too much, if you think you might bite, you can tap me,â you drop your hand over his and tap his fingers against your hip. âand Iâll ride you until you have it under control again.â
Roman scoffs and tries to jerk his hips upwards, but you shift back so your knees can pin his hips to the back of his seat. âWeâre going to keep doing it until you can lick that little bit of blood away without wanting to rip my throat out. I donât care if it takes all night. All week.â
Roman's eyes roll back at the thought of being inside you for a week, and he parts his lips and lets his tongue flatten against the cut. He focuses on the sensation of your skin parting against him, the gentle resistance as he laps against the wound. He lets himself breathe it in, too.
And under the copper there is herbs and forest and rain. Itâs not strong, heâs not overwhelmed with it the way he always is when he presses his nose to your skin or your hair or your pussy, but itâs there. And yeah⌠with enough practice, he thinks he might be able to pick that scent out again. And suddenly, despite the fact that his throat is on fire and his head is swimming and his cock is throbbing with a deep ache that has him sinking his nails into your flesh on the verge of taking, he can see what youâre trying to do. And thereâs hope. Actual, real hope that this might work. You spread your fingers against his cheek, nails grazing his jaw, and Romanâs mouth is filled with a fresh slick of blood as the cut in your palm flexes open. He swallows instinctively, eyes snapping to yours in warning as his teeth sharpen and graze against your skin.
Youâre watching his face, and you see the shift. You push up on your knees and sink back down, clenching hard around his length as you bounce on his cock. âItâs okay, Roman.â You say between breathy moans. âFocus on this now. Watch me.â
Roman canât do anything but watch you, with the way you ride him. Like a fucking pro. Like the prettiest thing heâs ever seen in his fucking life. His hand leaves your wrist to fist in your hair and drag your mouth to his, pushing his tongue in to swallow the sounds of your pleasure as your walls contract around him. At this angle, your clit bumps over the rough hair covering his pelvic bone with every roll of your hips, and you whimper into his mouth as pleasure coils in your stomach.
You pull back from the kiss, dropping down to sit heavily on his cock again, and to Romanâs absolute horror you stop moving altogether.
âWhat the fuck?â He knows he sounds whiny, he just canât help it, like at all.
âYou stopped. Look.â You waggle your fingers at him, the swollen cut on your palm already starting to close. At the feeling of you riding his cock, heâd stopped himself from biting you. It wasnât control control, but it was something. It was the suggestion of control. And Roman knows he should be grateful for the lesson, because youâre trying to help. But you look so smug sitting on his cock and denying him the sinful roll of your hips. And heâs not good at being good. Not for long, at least.
So itâs really just his nature that makes him grab your hand and sink his teeth into the wound. He can feel your flesh parting like butter, and itâs easy enough to stop before he goes much deeper than the initial cut. He probably could have done it with regular teeth, even. You gasp, and Roman uses that moment of distraction to push your knee off his hip and wrap his hand around the back of your thigh, forcing your legs further open so he can rut up into you. Itâs not as good as when you ride him, the angle isnât right and he canât get enough friction, but itâs worth it for the dumb look of surprise on your face as he takes over.
âRoman, you, ahh-â you groan as the head of his cock grazes against a sensitive spot inside you. âYou bit me you little shit, you-â
Romanâs tongue digs further into the gash on your hand and your head drops forward as you squeeze your eyes shut and your walls flutter around his cock. Because it feels good to have him biting and sucking at the wound. And maybe youâre learning something about yourself that makes you a literal perfect match for your Upir boyfriend, but you canât let yourself get carried away with that now. And you canât let him win.
You wrap your free hand around his throat, pressing hard against his Adamâs apple until he lets out a little moan. âYouâre so,â you lift your hips and drop back down hard onto his length. âfucking,â Romanâs eyes roll back and his mouth disconnects from your hand. âSpoiled.â You spit the last word against his cheek, dragging your teeth over his jaw as you rock back and forth on his cock. âFucking hell, Godfrey, you were doing so well.â
Roman hums, the use of his last name sending a spark of glee through him. You only called him Godfrey when it was a game, so he knows youâre not really mad at him. Itâs no effort at all to lift you off his lap and lay you on the patio table. Your stomach meets the cold metal and you gasp as Roman drags you back to the edge, effectively folding you in half at the waist. Your feet can just touch the floor, but it isnât comfortable at all. Roman runs a finger down your spine and you arch into the touch instinctively, moaning softly as his other hand dips between your legs to graze through your folds and pinch your clit gently. âI didnât bite your fucking hand off. I did do well, donât give me that shit.â
You turn your head, the metal biting against your cheek. âYeah? This isâŚâ you gasp as Roman shoves back into you roughly, his hands pinning your hips to the table as he slams his cock into you over and over.
âWhat?â He spits.
âYou⌠this isâŚâ you whimper as his tip brushes over the sensitive, spongy flesh inside you, and Roman makes an effort to angle his thrusts to hit that same spot over and over again.
âCâmon baby, spit it out,â he coos, even though his own voice is shaking with his impending orgasm as he watches your pussy smear arousal against the tabletop.
âGood,â you moan. âThis is⌠shit⌠this is you being⌠good?â
Roman laughs, folding over you to press his chest to your back so he can bite gently into your shoulder. This close his cock pushes in and up, somehow even deeper inside you, and your eyes roll back as Romanâs mouth falls open against your skin and he vibrates a moan into your flesh. âShit, Iâm gunnaâŚâ
Itâs all the warning Roman can give you as he cums, burying himself inside you with short sharp ruts of his hips. Heâs not willing to pull out even an inch, desperate to pump his load so far inside you that youâll be forced to keep it. Itâs an insane, irrational impulse, but heâs powerless to do anything about it when heâs so mindlessly fucked out.
You feel the hot pulses as he cums, and you grind your ass back against him to help draw out every drop of his pleasure. You feel the press of Romanâs arm as he pulls your stomach up from the table and drags his thumb against your clit, circling the sensitive bud over and over again. He doesnât pull out, and the ragged sound of his breathing against your ear as you clench and squeeze around his sensitive cock is enough to tilt you over the edge. You cum with a whine of âRomannn,â and itâs the prettiest sound heâs ever heard. And then Romanâs wondering how much heâd have to pay you to let him record you saying his name like that so he could make it his ringtone. His alarm tone. Whatever.
Heâs thinking about it so much he doesnât realize that youâve cum and that youâre desperately trying to wriggle away from him, making no progress because heâs deadweight over your body.
Youâre almost sobbing when he finally realizes and pulls out of you, and even though heâs worried that heâs hurt you heâs also extremely fucking pleased to see that none of his cum has come out of you yet.
âYou okay?â He asks, running his hand down your back.
âUh huh,â you mumble. Your legs feel too heavy and you just canât move at all, even though the metal edge of the table is biting into your hips and youâre completely exhausted.
âCâmon,â he mumbles, lifting you carefully off the table and lowering you both to the ground. The floor is cold, and Roman wonders if he should just carry you back to the house naked, but then he remembers he has guests and while he doesnât really give a shit, he figures you might.
The sky is clear through the glass panes above your head as Roman pulls you against his chest and reaches up for his discarded cigarettes. He lights one and settles back onto the hard tiled floor, trailing his fingers up and down your arm as he inhales and blows perfect smoke rings into the air.
âOh shit,â Roman mumbles, squeezing you tighter against his side.
âWhat?â
âI sure as shit hope you didnât teach Peter your scent the same way you taught me. Thatâd be fucked up.â
You nuzzle against his neck. âYouâre disgusting, Godfrey.â
Romanâs chest shakes with laughter as he turns his head to press a kiss to the top of your head.
You wake in Romanâs bed the next morning. Itâs still strange, to feel so at home in a place that had been the backdrop to your nightmares for weeks. But without Oliviaâs presence the house had settled into something quieter. Something distinctly Roman. You roll over, arm reaching for his body, but the bed is empty.
You sit up, wrapping a sheet around your naked torso before you slip out of bed and go to the window. Peterâs car is still on the driveway, as well as a sleek sedan.
You tug on your clothes from the night before and head downstairs, following the sound of voices into the kitchen.
âYou know her as well as I do. Better, even.â Roman says as you step into the room. His eyes lift to you immediately, and you note the tension in his face and the hard set of his shoulders.
âMorning,â you say into the tension, giving the man opposite your boyfriend a wide berth as you round the kitchen island and wrap your arms around his torso from behind. You press your cheek into his back, feeling the thump of his heart through his ribcage, and a little of the tension bleeds out of him at your touch.
âAnd this must be the infamous female Rumancek.â The man says with a smile that doesnât reach his eyes. âIâd heard youâd run off and left my nephew in quite a state.â
You peer around Romanâs side, and his hand reaches for you. âSheâs here now. Thatâs all that matters.â
âLook Roman, maybe thereâs been a misunderstanding, or maybe Peterâs started making decisions for my daughter. But either way, Iâm not leaving until I speak to Letha.â Roman opens his mouth to argue, but thereâs laughter down the hall like tinkling bells, and you turn your head to the door to see Letha running into the room with Peter hot on her tail. She almost barrels into her father, her eyes going wide as she registers his presence. Her arms lift to cover the little slip of a camisole sheâs wearing, and Norman Godfrey rolls his eyes.
âShe lives.â
âDaddy.â Lethaâs smile drops, her Disney-princess eyes wide. âI should have called.â
âYes, you should have.â
âI⌠we⌠it got late, and I was so tired, you know, pregnancy stuff. Roman offered to let us crash here, just for one night.â
âDid he?â Norman turns an accusatory glance in Romanâs direction, and you pull yourself out from behind him.
âActually sir, I invited them. I didnât know they were supposed to be staying with you. Iâm sorry.â
Romanâs hand slips into the back of your jeans, fingers cool as they splay against the bare flesh of your lower back. âNo, uncle Norman. It was my responsibility, theyâre my guests. It wonât happen again.â
âActually sir,â Peter chimes in from the doorway. âItâs on me. I shoulda reminded Letha we needed to get back to your house.â
Norman Godfrey holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. âAlright, alright. This isnât a Spartacus situation, kids. I get the picture, and Iâm not mad at anyone⌠in particular.â You donât miss the way his eyes slide over Roman, or the way his fingers press harshly into your skin in response. âThe sooner Olivia gets up the better. Iâll let her know that Letha isnât to stay here, and sheâll make sure you all end up in your own beds at the end of the night, okay?â
Thereâs an awkward pause that lasts for a beat too long.
âAbout⌠that.â Roman says, lifting his free hand to push his hair out of his eyes. âSheâs not here.â
âNo? Where is she?â
âUh, you know, she-â
âSheâs run off to Europe with some aging oligarch.â Letha says, and Roman has to work very hard to suppress the string of expletives he wants to spit in his cousinâs direction.
Normanâs eyes snap to Roman. âHas she?â
And Roman knows that Norman knows that it isnât true. That thereâs nobody else in the world who would know just how not true that is. Because Normanâs been sleeping with his dead brotherâs wife since before Roman was born, and Olivia is as loyal to Norman as sheâs capable of being.
But there are at least two people in the room that know nothing about any of it, and itâs more important to Norman to keep Letha in the dark than it is to get into it with Roman, so heâs forced to shrug and smile and nod. âWell, I wish sheâd have told me. I suppose⌠youâre okay here by yourself, Roman?â
Roman nods stiffly. âNo ragers, and Iâll leave the liquor cabinet alone. Scouts honor.â
Normanâs smile remains fixed and a million miles from genuine as he escorts his daughter and her husband from the Godfrey mansion, checking his phone again for any replies from Olivia as he goes.
Taglist: @bryandanielson-yes @loushaw131460 @guaaafiiburg @purplerainx1 @samanthaw16 @starzgard @vincenteva @theredvelvetbitch @devilslittlehelper @iith1um @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @kikibit @goosegreenwood
My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys
PART 4
Contents: DUB-CON, Smut (not in this part), Alternate Universe, Situationships, Toxic Relationships, Degradation, Possessive Behavior, Social Anxiety, Tutoring, Emotional Manipulation, Drama, Misogyny, Bets & Wagers, Denial of Feelings, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Dumbification, Objectification, Humiliation, Power Imbalance, Jealousy, Miscommunication
A/N: Please mind the content warnings before reading! This chapter includes a lot of misogyny. Also, I pulled some lines from the TBOSAS book.
Coriolanus POV
She was losing her pretty little head, trying to figure out who her secret admirer was.
He was right here, watching her. Only she was too caught up in her own world to notice, wasnât she? Ever since she found those flowers and notes in her locker, she regarded her peers with a sort of exasperation, as if trying to pin down the culprit cluttering it.
Not the reaction heâd expected.
She shouldâve been over the moon to discover there was someone so enamored with her, enough to leave her thoughtful gifts.
Then it occurred to him how much she disliked surprises and what she couldnât wrap her head around. How typical of her to give it ten minutes of her effort before deeming the mystery unsolvable, the same way she abandoned her mathematics when he wasnât leaning over her shoulder, guiding her along. Whatever would she do without him?
It left a bitter taste in his mouth, her sharing his chocolates with her friends. Doling them out like mints, like they meant nothing. So utterly unappreciative.
The next day, it was not a gift she found in her locker, but a clipped note from her âsecret admirerâ, scrawled in red ink this time:
Do not share them. They were meant for you.
It seemed she needed a more direct hint. Coriolanus took matters into his own hands and started snacking on those same chocolates during class. Artisanal, heart-shaped with drizzles of pink on them.
âDo you want some?â Heâd asked when he caught her staring at them with narrowed eyes. âTheyâre milk chocolate. Your favorite.â
That was the first thing he said to her in days.
He knew all of her favorite things. It wasnât his intention to; she had a tendency to ask him stupid questions, sometimes about his favorite things, which was how he learned about her favorite things, in turn. Her favorite fruit? Strawberries. Favorite color? Pink. Favorite animal? Cat. Favorite vegetable? Well, she hardly ate those and preferred sweets.
Finallyâfinallyâit clicked in her pretty little head as she blanched, and he couldnât help but smile at that. It was so easy to ruffle her feathers. There was something suggestive about the way he licked the pink drizzle off his fingers that transformed her shock into disgust. His gaze dragged over her, greedily, like that sweet treat wasnât enough to satiate him and there was something far sweeter before him, tempting him to take a bite.
The next round of gifts he left in her locker went straight into the trash in retaliation.
To which he responded with another note. Only this one ended up on top of her pillow with a large stuffed rabbit, and of course, a rose. Of a different color: not pure white, but red, the color of desire. Proof that some part of him burned for her. In her eyes, he imagined it wouldâve been a random flower, and that was by design. She didnât need to know the extent of his feelingsâjust that she was in his thoughts. Those white roses he gave her before symbolized new beginnings. A point of no return.
The gift was delivered directly to Prunella herself, with specific instructions on where to place it: right on her bed. Sheâd been so giddy to receive the gift, as if it were meant for her and not her stepdaughter. He winked and told her to keep it a secret. The note read:
That wasnât very nice of you. But youâre lucky Iâll forgive you for that.
I bought this the other day. It reminded me of you.
It wasnât very nice of her to toss out his gifts. Still, he would forgive her for that, because he was gracious.
The stuffed rabbitsâ beady hazel eyes were the same shade as Phoebeâs, and he thought she mightâve appreciated one as a gift, since her shelf was overrun with stuffed animals. More stuffed animals than a grown woman could possibly need, but she could pass them on to her children someday. Their children, heâd mused against better judgment, playing with the pink bow tied around the rabbitâs neck when heâd plucked it off the store shelf.
He was briefly bombarded with the image of her with a ring on her finger. A little one in her belly. Another one on her lap, playing with the stuffed rabbit. Penny, her cat, basking in the window of his penthouse, soaking in the rays of sunlight. A warm, idyllic picture of a sort of life heâd never experienced with his family. Not when his father was so removed from his life and the war had taken away many whom they held dear. The Snow penthouse was cold and devoid of joy.
Especially since Tigris moved out, and with her went all those colorful touches she made to the place. Now she was so enveloped in her endeavor to become a designer; they hardly talked. And when they did, it was usually about her witch of an employer, Fabricia Whatnot. A woman as ridiculous as her name was, who used her more as a slave than an apprentice, having her clean clumps of her magenta hair out of the shower drain and massage her feet. Tigris never complained, so grateful was she to have a position in fashion. It had taken lots of coaxing for her to open up about her struggles, as she wasnât the type of person to speak about them.
Coriolanus didnât have a warm family, though he relished the idea of creating his own someday, and making it the one he longed for growing up. He was an only child, but his heir wouldnât be. Perhaps he would give him a sister. Two children seemed like a sensible number. Three was fine, too. Four was an absurd number of children for any elite family to have. Not long ago, it was a luxury to have that many children, because it meant another mouth to feed in these trying times after the war. But times were changing, and Father had said that once he became president, he would put an end to the problems plaguing the Capitol.
Coriolanus pictured Phoebeâs future, and well, it was a no-brainer, what sort of life sheâd go on to live. Someday, her father would marry her off to a rich man, and she would become a devoted wife and mother. With her maternal nature, she would serve her purpose well. Heâd seen her before, treating her kitten like a baby, feeding her human food and dressing her up. Cooing and coddling her.
How ridiculous, heâd thought, when he first saw Penny running around her townhouse with a collar resembling a diamond choker rather than anything meant for a pet. And a matching pink dress to boot. When Phoebe was downstairs fetching them snacks, he briefly glanced at her wardrobe and discovered a large section of it dedicated not to her, but her pet. Why on earth did an animal need an entire wardrobe? Would she be the same way with her children, spoiling them rotten and dressing them up?
Heâd wanted a cat, growing up, although his father was allergic to them and disliked animals anyway. Did not care much for their filth, either. Coriolanus made do with petting Boa Bell whenever they stopped by to see Pluribus Bell to trade.
Prunella, ever an eager hostess, invited him inside the townhouse for some refreshments when he dropped off Phoebeâs gift. Though he wasnât interested in chatting with the woman, he found that a bit of flattery went a long way in unearthing secrets (particularly about a certain someone he had his eye on). After a round of pleasantries, their discussion veered towards the upcoming Yule Ball, and of course, the topic of suitors. Who Phoebe was to attend the Ball with.
âThere is one gentleman coming over this week,â Prunella confessed.
Oh? That was news. Phoebe had never mentioned a gentleman caller. Granted she had not spoken to him in days, still nursing that frosty demeanor towards him. Not only that, she appeared almost⌠frightened of him. Had he scared her then, in her room? But she had invited him there. Did he intimidate her with all that talk about the future and how he wanted her to be his? Well, wasnât that what she longed for? A sign of devotion? Heâd given her just that.
Women were such mysterious creatures.
âWho, might I ask?â Coriolanus inquired. âI do not mean to be nosy. Iâm merely looking out for Phoebe. I make it my duty to get to know my peers.â
Prunella spat out the name of some nobodyâsomeone who could hardly afford their tuition for the Academy, he later discovered through his resourcesâfrom another one of those families that lived well beyond their means. A recipe for disaster that he deemed was no good for the girl. Sheâd been horrified to hear of that and had subsequently thanked him for letting her know. Then, over the phone, she went on about how time was ticking, and she still had to find a match for her daughter.
What about a certain Plinth? He hinted. That was when he discovered that the Plinth boy had never approached the Blackwoods to ask for permission to attend the Ball with their daughter. Phoebe had apparently not spoken of the boy once.
So it appeared that after all, sheâd lied to make him jealous.
What a petty schoolyard trick.
Coriolanus shook his head. âI can do something about your situation,â he then offeredâan opportunity out of the goodness of his heart. He imagined how sad it wouldâve been for Phoebe to have no date for the Ball. People would talk, now that they were aware of her existence. Even if she lucked out and found someone in time, her going with anyone but him was not an option. Not when there were rumors that she was his girl.
All that was left was to make it official.
And what would be more official than him showing up to such a prestigious event with her on his shoulder?
Nevertheless, he freed his schedule for a Saturday night, to have dinner with the Blackwoods.
She could forget all about that other boy.
⌠⌠âŚ
When Phoebe descended the spiraling staircase, the whole room stopped to stare.
Her father, Silas Blackwood, wore a look of sheer pride on his face, and it was no wonder. Whatever sheâd done, sheâd done it well and had managed to capture the interest of a Snow. If there were any achievement she made in her life, it wouldâve been dwarfed by this one alone. Everything had come together to make this evening possible.
She looked so different outside of her academy rougeâall dolled up in a purple dress, with her hair done up and her makeup perfect. Absolutely ravishing. Coriolanus imagined she would look even more so in a gown made of a sumptuous red silk.
Dinner had gone as expected.
Of course, Silas Blackwood had approved of him courting his daughter. A union between their families would be advantageous for him; itâd be just what he needed to bolster his reputation and claw his way up in society. Before coming over, Coriolanus had rehearsed before the mirror what to say to the man and how to react to any curveball thrown his way.
Inevitably, he passed his test with flying colors.
Snow lands on top.
The only issue was, how would Father react? What would he think of the girl and the Blackwoods?
His father, Crassus Xanthos Snow, was a different beast entirely. A man adamant on tradition. This Yule Ball was not any Ball; it would be improper for Coriolanus to show up with some random girl on his shoulder. Whomever he chose would share the limelight with him and be toted around for all to see. It was customary for the couples to take pictures together, and those were plastered in yearbooksâimmortalized for all to remember. The Yule Ball was also a way for couples to establish courtships.
An exciting time for everyone.
He could picture itâhis name plastered on the front page of The Capitol Gazette, along with the lucky lady he chose. It had happened to Father when he attended the Yule Ball with the woman he later married.
The old newspaper was buried somewhere in his fatherâs study, collecting dust, along with the pictures he kept of her. Most everything of hers had been given away, save for those pictures. There were only a few things of hers that Father permitted him to keep: her powder compact and her orange scarf, which still smelled like roses. Like her.
Coriolanus remembered how his fatherâs eyes, as cold and hard as ice, would thaw under the warmth of Motherâs gaze. She was so warm with everyone and it was hard not to fall in love with her, heâd heard, from those who knew her back then. And he remembered how she had the sweetest voice when she sang him to sleep. Roses are red, love; violets are blue. Birds in the heavens know I love you. In difficult times, when he had trouble falling asleep, he would click open his motherâs compact and inhale the rose scent of the silken cake of powder within. It never failed to calm him with the memory of how it had felt to be loved like that.
Heâd asked his father once, what was it about her that heâd been drawn to?
Her voice, heâd answered. How sweetly she sang in the choir. She was a choir girl, always singing in the front at every performance.
Lucilla Snow was, without a doubt, the only soft part of his father. When they lowered her into the ground, it was like a part of him had been buried with her. Heâd always been focused on his work, but after she passed, he threw himself into it. Less of a father working to provide for his family, but the head of a Dynastyâsomeone who reigned at the top but was untouchable.
The piano in their living room had been among the first of Motherâs belongings to go because it took up so much space, heâd said, but Coriolanus wondered if sometimes when he saw it, he pictured her sitting there, running her fingers along the keys.
She used to teach Tigris how to play the piano. But Coriolanus was never allowed to play. From a young age, his father had told him it was best he spent his time learning practical skills. He buried him in books so that his sponge of a mind could absorb whatever knowledge it was capable of.
Coriolanus had asked his father if he had married for love. It was a practical match, heâd said, but he was no fool. Lucilla was not among the cream of the crop. A well-bred elite, yes, but not of old money. Back then, wealth was in tiers; even the upper class was divided. Even more so than it was now.
So, he thought, it would be rather hypocritical of him to turn his nose up at him courting a girl of the same tier his mother once belonged in. If he could marry a bit beneath his status, why couldnât he, too? Didnât he want him to follow in his footsteps? Times were changing, too. The Capitol was a small place, especially after the war. There were only so many elites in existence. Especially those of old money.
Coriolanus approached his father about Phoebe, and how he wanted him to meet her and her family.
âWhatâs gotten into you, boy?â Father looked him up and down, suspiciously, because heâd never brought home a girl to meet him before. He was, however, used to him sneaking girls upstairs for a romp in the sheets. They never spoke of his rakish habits; this was a phase many youths had. Perhaps someday heâd outgrow it.
It was never Coriolanusâs intention to indulge. His studies were his focus (because Father expected nothing less than perfection from his heir). It was just thatâexceptional people like him attracted attention. Girls were on him like bees to honey, showering him with affection, perhaps hoping to become his lucky missus someday. They were inevitably left jaded because, after he had his fun with the girl, he dropped her and never looked back. It was never his intention to break her heart; he couldnât help that he felt nothing for her. For any girl.
And then she came along.
Phoebe Blackwood.
That unassuming girl who had somehow weaseled her way into his life without meaning to.
His male friends were no better than pigs, eyeing the women around them like they were tasty morsels. Placing bets to see whom they could seduce. It was like a sport to them, adding more notches to their belts, since elite women were notoriously harder to seduce than âloose common girlsâ. Those girls were taught from a young age that their âvirtueâ was their worth.
The Academy hosted only a fraction of the students in the Capitolâa prestigious and private institution that only the elite could afford to attend. Those poorer made do with public schools. Seldom did the Academy accept new students, but it did occasionally happen, with new families allotting wealth. Which meant, whenever there was a new face, people noticed. Especially a pretty face.
That new girl, they noticed, was a bit odd. So quiet and poor with conversation. Nowhere to be seen during lunch, and she had no friends. A few of the boys had tried flirting with her and she brushed them off, not the least bit swayed. Even Urban Canville had been unsuccessful in working his charms. Her one true love, it seemed, were her books.
Clearly she was that type of girl, the boys had thoughtâthe stuck-up and prudish type who believed she was better than everyone. Someone ought to knock her down a peg, was the idea that they had. The bet came to him one evening, when they were all gathered at Festusâs place, drinking and playing cards. How hard would it be to seduce that girl? heâd thought. It would be an interesting change to seek someone out for once.
And now heâd ended up here, all these months later. Still seeing that same girl. He could say it was all for the sake of the bet, but that wouldnât explain him approaching his father like this, to ask for his permission to court her. It was dedication at an unprecedented level.
After a few months, heâd expected to grow bored with her, yet he hadnât. This anticipation he felt, knowing he had this girl all to himself, was so new to him. It was a pleasure to mold her. This freedom was something he never had with those other girls who were already shaped, having been raised their entire lives to be bona fide Capitol darlings. But Phoebeâshe was unchiseled. Something raw waiting to be shaped.
Father agreed to meet with the Blackwoods.
Phoebe, the poor thing, had been terrified of his father, whose piercing gaze picked her apart, assessing her worth. His military stint had that effect on people; he was a man both feared and revered.
Heâd already decided before inviting them over (and digging up whatever he could on their family) that the girl was good enough for his son to court. Perhaps someday heâd grow bored with her and theyâd call it off. That was clearly his assumption, since beforehand, heâd brought up the names of other girls to him. Daughters of his closest friends. What of the Cardew girl? heâd suggested. Or Arachne Crane?
Livia Cardew was as mean-spirited as a Capitolite could be and Arachne Crane was simply so⌠Loudmouthed. Some evenings, he could hear her bellowing across the street from her apartment. Whenever she found something funny, she socked his arm so hard she left a bruise. Father threw around a few more names, as if he hadnât already considered those girls.
None of them were of any interest to him.
⌠⌠âŚ
She was so scared of him, his girl.
Ignoring his calls, pretending she couldnât see him in school after his father had approved of them attending the Ball together. He let her get away with that behavior for an entire day. Almost.
Until the last period of class, when he snatched the books from her arms before she could flee from her locker.
âThought you could run away from me?â he teased.
Phoebe blinked a few times, all caught off guard.
âI can carry my own books,â she retorted once she recovered from her shock. And then jumped, attempting to retrieve them from him, but he held them above her head, letting her get all worked up. âThis is ridiculous!â She huffed, as red as a tomato. âGive me my books back.â
âWhat sort of man would I be if I let my girl carry her things?â He ruffled her hair and she scowled. Today, a red ribbon adorned her honey blonde ponytailâthe same one heâd gifted her before. It was a small token to him, but she wore it proudly, every day.
âWhy donât you help Clemensia carry her books instead?â she muttered under her breath, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. Again with Clemmie. He shook his head. Youâd think she was obsessed with that girl, with how often she looked at her and brought her up.
After the last bell of the day rang, he guided her out onto the front steps of the Academy entrance and then captured her lips in a daring kiss for all to see. A few of his friends, whoâd been watching, whistled. It was adorable the way she hid on his shoulder, so embarrassed for them to be seen like this. But sheâd get used to it.
His closest friends knew she belonged to him.
He told the boys all about Phoebe Blackwood long ago, ever since that evening when he first tasted her. They knew all about how tight her cunt was and how eager she was for it. But he didnât lie; she was saving herself for her husband. How typical, they all agreed. So what, then? Of course, he could always trick her into falling for him and have her think that he loved her, too. Courting her was one way to secure the affections of a girl who longed for dramatic displays of devotion. It was only natural she was hesitant to give it all up, when there was no promise she wouldnât be left in the dirt afterwards. Breaking a girl like her called for a delicate method.
Coriolanus relished the idea of conquering her completely, both body and mind. Perhaps there would come a day when they called things off, and sheâd be so distraught, so broken-hearted thinking, if only sheâd gotten away while she had the chance. If only she'd hadnât given herself to him, only to be thrown away like a broken toy.
What if he didnât break her heart? What if they never called it off?
She was falling for him; he could see it. Whenever he was around, a dazed look filled her eyes, and she was so eager to be in his presence. So eager to be near him, despite her caution. After they indulged, whenever he tried to get up and leave, she would sometimes make an excuse to have him stay a while longer. To âtalkâ.
They rarely talked much (about anything meaningful, that is). He liked her better when she was quiet, with her lips wrapped around his cock.
It wasnât like he didnât enjoy speaking with her; he just didnât enjoy the vulnerability he felt, getting close to her. But he had to give her something if she was to fall for him. So sometimes he allowed her to curl up against his chest and prattle on.
And then he had to leave, unless he wanted to be caught tangled in the sheets with Mr. Blackwoodâs daughter. Then he would surely pressure him to marry her, to save her from ruin.
He didnât like being rushed.
⌠⌠âŚ
They went on their first date together.
Well, heâd not framed it as one when he dragged her to his car after school. Just a chore they had to get out of the way: picking their outfits for the Yule Ball. She wasnât thrilled to be there, trying on dresses she didnât like, but it wasnât about her. It was about them.
Phoebe gravitated towards soft colors and designs replete with ruffles and frills, he noticed. Fabricia Whatnotâs specialty. Like a child in a candy store, she touched everything, running her fingers along the sumptuous silks and chiffons until he told her to leave them be. For each dress she reached for, he offered his two cents. Not that dressâit was too bright and childish. Not that one eitherâitâd drown her silhouette. That dress was a fine choiceâif she wanted to look like a pastry.
She piped down so quickly at that, crossing her arms over her chest. He couldâve sworn for a moment that she was sulking, but he paid her no heed, instead gathering whatever caught his eye as their assistant, Violetta, paraded them around the shop.
Coriolanus sat before the mirror as Phoebe modeled one dress after the other.
What a strenuous effort for her. Just beyond the sitting room, he could hear her wrestling with the zipper of her dress, muttering something under her breath. Do you need any help? heâd offered, although she never liked to ask for help. So she was left to struggle by herself.
After her hiccup in the dressing room with the purple dress that didnât fit, they settled upon another. It was perfect, really. A beautiful red number, the bodice clinging to her like the stem of a rose, then flaring out into petal-like drapes. A lovely gown fit for a lady as lovely as a rose. They found a suit and some accessories to match.
It hadnât become a date until they stopped at the ice cream parlor along The Promenade.
To reward her for being on her best behavior, he treated her to whatever she wanted. He allowed her that much for putting up with him, even though he knew she wanted to give him a piece of her mind in that fitting room earlier. In a way, it was a reward for him to see her happy now, enjoying her ice cream. Her favorite thing in the world to eat.
The sugar gave her a bounce in her step. She struggled to keep up with him as they walked, so he slowed his strides to match hers. They stopped before the fountain in the heart of the square, to enjoy the view.
Though while she was looking at it, he was looking at her.
More specifically how when she licked her spoon, a bit of marshmallow sauce dripped down it, onto the corner of her mouth.
It took a good deal of self-control for him to rein in his thoughts. To keep them grounded in the present, and not how much he wanted to have her back then in the fitting room, pressed against the glass. Oh, she wouldâve been mortified, and he wouldâve pocketed her panties just so he could watch her squirm in her uniform, holding the hem of her skirt down to not flash anyone.
But he was not an animal.
He couldnât give in to every impulsive thought on his mind, however tempting.
Where would he take her next? he instead thought.
The ice cream had certainly cheered her up, and also made her teeth chatter because it was freezing outside. A flurry of snow floated down on them and she sneezed. As they walked, she shivered, rubbing her hands around herself to try and keep warm. It had not been his initial idea to take her to eat ice cream in this weather, but he knew how much she loved ice cream, and she said she ate it even in cold weather. Even if it made her sick.
He sighed, unbuttoning his coat and shrugging it off his shoulders. âHere,â he said, draping it around her. âThisâll warm you up.â
âBut what about you? Wonât you get cold?â She blinked a few times.
âIâm a Snow, darling. We never get cold.â
âDonât call me that.â She wrinkled her nose at the pet name.
âYou donât like it? What else would you prefer?â He caught a snowflake on his glove and watched it melt.
âMy name,â she answered, her oversized sleeves flopping as she gestured. She looked utterly adorable, drowning in his coat. It was like a dress on her.
He allowed her to take the lead and guide him wherever she wanted.
Which was how they ended up in a boring bookshop. A compromise, since sheâd not wanted to go to Fabriciaâs. It was, coincidentally, the same store he went to when he bought that stuffed rabbit for her.
âOh, itâs that ugly thing,â Phoebe mused, picking it up off the shelf and playing with its soft ears.
âReally? Because I thought it looked like you,â he quipped in turn. âI thought youâd like it. Whatâs wrong with it?â
âPenny liked it more so I gave it to her instead.â She shoved the rabbit against his chest and took off, leaving him all alone in the aisle, feeling a bit wounded. Did she think his gift was better fit to be a chew toy for her cat?
Women were so hard to please.
He placed the bunny back on the shelf and followed her as she perused the shelves of books and knick-knacks.
âOh, Iâve been looking for the third volume of this series!â She plucked the book off the shelf and thumbed through it. And then, folded it against her chest and rocked on her heels. Looked off to the side, and then back at him, as if expecting something. âI really wanted this one⌠Itâs a shame I forgot my wallet at home. If Iâd known weâd go shopping togetherââ
Coriolanus rolled his eyes and snatched the book from her. âJust say you want me to buy it for you.â
âIâll pay you back tomorrow! I promise.â And now she was holding her hands behind her back, trying to be cute about it.
âDarling, when youâre with me, you wonât be paying a dime.â
Darling. It had a ring to it.
⌠⌠âŚ
âYouâve never been to a party before?â
Clemmie gasped at Phoebe from across the lunch table, as if sheâd committed a crime. For elites like them, parties were commonplace. People threw parties for no reasonâjust because they could, for the hell of it, lately. A sign that times were indeed prosperous this long after the war.
Partying. Indulgence. It was creeping back into fashion.
âNot even once?â Didi covered her mouth in shock, adding to Clemensiaâs dramatics.
âDo they throw parties out in the districts?â Her twin brother, Pollo, questioned.
âSort of. But I was never allowed to go.â Phoebe frowned.
âYour father didnât want you exposed to the likes of those people,â Coriolanus corrected her blunder, squeezing her thigh under the table. She swallowed, and as his friends blabbed on, her attention drifted across the cafeteria towards the pairs of eyes watching her. Sejanus, Lyssie, and Io.
They werenât any good for her, he decided. It was best that she stuck with him and stayed far away from the likes of that Plinth boy who would corrupt her with his sentimentality and ideologies.
Their conversation drifted towards the upcoming party Clemmie was to host in her townhouse. Of course, they asked his girl to attend. Anyone and everyone relevant in their school would be invited, and her being his girl landed her a spot on the exclusive guest list. âI donât know. I donât want her exposed to that sort of stuff,â said Coriolanus, and Phoebeâs anticipation for this party deflated so quickly.
He didnât want her exposed to their games, nor the drinking and other paraphernalia involved. All sorts of wild things happened at parties like these; he would know because he was one of those partygoers. Though he didnât care much for parties, he made an effort to attend to fulfill social obligations.
He pictured Phoebe for a moment, drunk off her mind, or high as a kite. Of course, a dumb girl like her would think nothing of someone with shady intentions handing her something to drink or eat. She would take it to be polite, and then what? Let them carry her off to some far corner to do whatever?
Absolutely not.
His blood boiled just imagining one of his friends laying a finger on her.
No doubt theyâd be curious to have a taste of what was his.
âRelax, Coryo.â Didi patted Phoebeâs shoulder reassuringly. âSheâll be in safe hands with us. Youâll be there too, will you not?â
âDonât worry,â Festus teased. âWeâll make sure sheâs not corrupted.â
He didnât want to hear that coming from Festus Creed of all people, the one who gave out those pills. There was something particularly greasy about his smile and the way he sometimes ogled what wasnât his. That boy could not be trusted around his girl.
Coriolanus pulled Phoebe closer and tucked her hair behind her ear. ââŚIâd like to experience this, just once,â she murmured, as quiet as a mouse. âIâve never been to a party like this before.â
After a while of going back and forth about it with his friends, he allowed her to go. So long as she was with him the entire time so he could keep her safe.
⌠⌠âŚ
Thus the night of the party came.
An exciting time for his girl. Phoebe descended the spiraling stairs of her townhouse with such haste that she tripped on her heels, crashing right into him. How fortunate that he was there to catch her. She squeaked, flailing her arms, and he effortlessly scooped her up by the waist, setting her down on her feet.
âOops.â An awkward smile formed on her lips. âIâve got two left feet. These heels are taller than what I usually wear.â
âBut you look stunning in them,â Prunella agreed, from her spot at the top of the stairs. When Coriolanus spotted her, she offered him a wink. She was still holding a brush in her hand. He supposed sheâd probably helped preen her for the evening. And indeed she had done a wonderful job.
Phoebeâs honey blonde hair was styled into loose curls cascading down her back, and they bounced as she moved. Her pink dress and heels were picked out by him. This time he made sure to pick out something she liked, as she wasnât thrilled about not having a say in the dress he chose for her to wear to the Ball. The flowy pink dress was a perfect choice for the eveningânot too flashy and not too casual. To complete the look, she had a fluffy white shawl draped around her shoulders.
Silas Blackwood soon joined them in the foyer, grunting in acknowledgement of his presence. âI trust you remember what weâve discussed before, Mr. Snow?â His piercing gray stare fixed him, and there was something imposing about the fact that he was taller than him. Even at his imposing height of six feet, with broad shoulders to boot.
Coriolanus straightened up, taking things in stride. âOf course. Iâll remain by her side, and Iâll make sure to bring her back by ten.â
âGood.â He grunted, and his piercing stare softened once it settled upon his daughter, who was raring to go.
âWe should go now! Weâre running a bit late.â Phoebe nudged Coriolanus.
âAnd whose fault is that?â he retorted on their way out of the townhouse. âHow long did you spend getting ready, pray tell?â
âOnly two hours.â
What couldâve taken that long? She must have given herself a full-body scrub and shaved every inch of herself before getting dressed. He ran his hand along her arm and, as expected, it was silky smooth.
To think sheâd gotten all dolled up just for him.
Seeing her like this was enjoyable. Maybe heâd buy her more dressesâgive her more reasons to get dolled up. For now, theyâd take their time. Ease into this new dynamic of theirs.
Before they entered the Dovecote townhouse, Coriolanus pulled Phoebe aside and rested his hands on her shoulders. âDo you remember what we discussed?â he inquired, arranging her neat curls over her shoulders.
During the car ride over, heâd instructed her on what to do and say, to be polite:Â Chin up. Shoulders straightâdo not slouch. Remember to speak clearly. And most importantly, remember that you represent not only yourself but me as well now, as my girl. Also, it was important that she looked people in the eye when speaking.
In case she forgot, he reminded her again, and then he captured her lips in a chaste kiss, savoring the sweetness of strawberry on his tongue. Her flavored lip gloss. So delicious, he could eat her up. Maybe later, he would.
They stepped into Clemensiaâs townhouse.
It hadnât been his intention to leave her side, because, heâd promised Mr. Blackwood that heâd keep an eye on her. But he trusted Clemensia to keep her safe, and Phoebe needed to practice socializing. She could not rely on him forever to be her anchor in conversations.
Besides, most of his concernsâFestus and his equally dubious friendsâwould be in his company. The party was set up so that the girls and boys could separate, then reconvene later.
The greenhouse was devoid of any feminine touch for a while. There he was surrounded by menâmen who were loud and sweaty after having had too much to drink. Festus roped him into an evening of drinking games, and was subsequently annoyed at how good he was at them. Both him and Urban Canville were beasts at party games.
While the rest of the boys were in various states of tipsy to drunk, he was bored and still quite dry.
Soon, the boys had started to become restless, being cooped up in the backyard, so they made their foray back inside, to check with the girls.
Coriolanus was among the last of them to step inside.
Only to see the most peculiar thing.
Urban Canville kissing his girl.
⌠⌠âŚ
His blood boiled.
He couldnât even say it was a drunken mistake the boy made, because he had fucking been there, watching him this entire time. This bravado was nothing unusual for him. A smug expression formed on Urbanâs face when Phoebe froze beneath him, her fists balling at her sides. His mouth muffled her surprised squeak.
When he pulled away, she turned to find Coriolanus standing in the threshold. She was so flushed and dazed. Certainly not from that kiss. He spotted the cup of punch in front of her and briefly wonderedâwas that her third glass? Her fourth? She hiccupped.
Coriolanus sauntered over, ignoring all the eyes plastered on him. All the hushed whispers and the tension teeming in the room. âAm I interrupting something?â he began, placing a hand on Phoebeâs shoulder. She flinched.
âSnow. Nice of you to show up,â Urban began, as if he had not just kissed his girl in front of everyone. âWeâre playing truth or dare. Care to join us?â
Phoebe slumped back in her seat, so floaty, like she was not aware of her existence. It led him to wonder if Clemensia had fed her anything that was not of the alcohol variety. Heâd explicitly told her not to. âYou are aware that is my girlfriend you just kissed,â Coriolanus said, so calmly despite the itching urge he had to deck Urban Canvilleâs face.
Phoebe gave him a stupid smile, and that was his last straw. He unceremoniously pulled her out of her seat and she stumbled forward, bracing against his shoulder to balance herself.
âLook at you. So smitten with this girl. I have never seen you like this before,â Urban taunted, coolly. âSo whipt. What did you do to him?â He looked down at Phoebe, expecting some sort of explanation, though she wasnât all there. She blinked, readjusting her focus.
Leave it to Urban Canville to stir up shit; it was what he did best, and that tendency had landed him in a few tousles throughout the years. Of course, heâd always gotten off scot-free. That tended to happen when your daddy was rich and influential enough to bail you out of trouble. He had a thing for his girl, tooâalways lingering around Phoebe, trying to partner up with her for class assignments. Always inquiring about what he was up to with her, to make small talk. Was he, in truth, imagining being in his shoes?
Gaius Breen and Felix Ravinstill popped into the room and froze for a moment, so awkward about it, as if theyâd intervened in what appeared to be a private matter.
âDo not be so sour,â Urban continued. âIt was a dare. You know what thatâs like, donât you? Weâre not the type to back down from those.â
âSit down, wonât you?â Felix gritted out to his friend.
âIâm quite comfortable here,â he replied, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. âWhat I donât understand is why youâre still keeping her to yourself.â He gave it some thought. âItâs been months already. Just accept that youâve lost and let us carry on with the game. There's no need to cause a scene.â
âWhat are you talking about?â Phoebe murmured. âWhat has he lost?â
It was getting so stuffy in here. So hard to breatheâbut that couldâve been the stench of cigars wafting in through the screen door. Coriolanus loosened the collar of his shirt, trying not to look at her, his girl. Still he caught a glimpse of her hazy gaze sharpening as she tried to make sense of it all. He couldnât let her know.
But it was inevitable that he broke her heart. If not this way, then another. Heâd never imagined, however, that it would be at the expense of his image. To hell with hers, heâd thought then. Until sheâd become so entangled with him. If one of them went down for this, theyâd go down together. Fuck.
âFor fucks sake,â Festus muttered under his breath before rushing over to Urbanâs side and pulling him back by the collar. âHow much have you had to drink? Weâre cutting you off here.â
âIâm feeling quite sober.â He shrugged, breaking free without much effort on his part. âI was just curious. Havenât you had enough, stringing the poor thing along?â
âCoriolanus. What is he talking about?â She tugged at his sleeve, demanding an explanation.
What a spectacle this was. His gaze swept over the room and sure enough, some of the girls here were having a field day watching this. Livia Cardew and Arachne Crane had never looked so entertained. Few had the decency to appear uncomfortable with the conflict unfolding here.
âNothing,â Coriolanus retorted. âHeâs just bitter you didnât choose him to be your date to the Ball.â
Urban sighed. âPerhaps we should leave it at that for her sake.â
âFor my sake?â Phoebe faltered, her fingers tightening around Coriolanusâs sleeve. âI deserve an explanation.â
The solution was simple. They needed to remove themselves from the situation. Now, before things got worse. Before she knew too much.
âEnough.â Coriolanus moved his hand to the small of her back, gently steering her in the direction of the exit. âWeâre taking our leave now.â
Before they could make it out of the living room, Urban Canville had said, âIf you wonât tell her, I will.â
âPhoebe,â Coriolanus gritted out into her ear and then tugged her arm, but she was a stubborn weed rooted in place.
She gave Urban an imploring look, which was all the permission he needed to elaborate. âThere was a bet among him and a few of his friends. To see how soon it would take him to deflower the most prudish girl in our year.â
âIs that so?â She swallowed. For a moment, she just stood there, confused, letting those cruel words sink in. Then she pulled away from Coriolanus. Steeling her expression into a cool indifference, she crossed her arms. âWell, then. How does it feel to know youâve lost?â
How does it feel, Coriolanus?
Heâd never lost. Not once in his life.
He parted his lips to speak, but no words came. Just a soft exhale. His tongue refused to yield.
You are dead to me. Though she was silent, the cold look in her eyes told him that much.
âAt least we assumed you were a prude at first,â Urban Canville clarified, as an afterthought. âNone of us had expected you would be suchââ
Such a slut? So eager to spread her legs for a good grade? Although she didnât spend nearly as much time studying as she did sucking his cock, theyâd heard. It was an inside joke she could never understandâthe boys grinning whenever they asked what grade she got on her assignment, and she proudly showed off her paper. The bright red A on it. Whatâs so funny? sheâd ask, and theyâd poke fun at her, saying things like, Coryo taught you well, didnât he? OrâIt seems those tutoring sessions are paying off.
Coriolanus fixed him with a cold look and rolled his shoulders, fully prepared to pummel him (if need be). âRespectfully, Urban, youâd do well to keep my girlâs name out of your mouth, if you know whatâs best for you.â
Phoebe swiped up her cup of punch and stared at Coriolanusâs perfectly white shirt for a moment longer than was appropriate. She squeezed the cup so hard, almost threatening to shatter it. The look in her eyes said, Shall I throw it at you? See if youâd like that. He took a step back just in case, but to his relief, she gulped the punch instead. Like a tall glass of water, before slamming it down on the table with such force that the girl beside her flinched.
Then she took off, her heels clicking on the marbled tile as she did.
Her gait was a bit wobbly and patheticâhow much did she have to drink, again? Phoebe nearly broke her ankle on the way out, her heel slipping as she bumped into Festus, but she simply ignored him (and his attempt to catch her). She fumbled with the doorknob and made her way outside, slamming it shut.
âGood luck, man.â Festus fixed Coriolanus with a terse smile and patted his shoulder.
He paid his friend (and his lousy attempt at defusing the situation) no heed, instead following his girl out onto the front steps of the townhouse. Thanks to his long strides, he caught up to her in no time.
âDonât, donât follow me,â she scowled, not having it.
âI can explain,â Coriolanus reasoned calmly, though he was anything but calm. Often, before going out, he rehearsed before the mirror, what to do and say in conversations. That way he was never caught off guard, and, for his eighteen years of life, that practice had served him well.
Until now, when he was wholly unprepared for a situation he hadnât anticipated.
âSave your breath. I donât want to hear it.â Phoebe rushed down the front steps in her haste to put some distance between them.
âWhere are you going?â He jogged, matching her stride. Though the snow had been plowed off the sidewalk, it was still slippery in light of the recent snowfall.
âAway from you,â she huffed. Bits of ice covered the ground and she slipped in her haste to get away.
Luckily, heâd made it there just in time to catch her. âWaitâIâll call my chauffeur to pick us up.â He seized her by the arm.
She shot him a nasty look. âIâm perfectly capable of walking home.â
âDressed like that?â He gestured at her, as if sheâd gone mad. âIn the freezing cold?â It was, what, fifteen degrees outside? Her teeth chattered as she glared at him, and it was rather hard for him to take her seriously when she looked like a shivering puppy. Of the vicious typeâwhatever they were called. The tiny ones rich women were starting to carry in their purses, who were particularly ill-mannered.
She ground her teeth. âYes. Now let go of me, or I will scream.â
âOh, be my guest. That will only make you look more mad,â he spat. There was no way in hell sheâd be walking home alone. Even a place like the Capitol, with all its order, had its share of shady figures lurking in the dark, with no good intentions towards young women like her. Besides, heâd promised to keep her safe.
She opened her mouth to scream and he panicked, clamping his hand over her mouth to stop her. âHow much have you had to drink?â He inquired, although he knew she was drunk. The question was, how drunk? She attempted to speak through the hand clamped over her mouth, but something muffled came out instead. âEnough.â His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered her. âIf I uncover your mouth, will you scream?â
She shook her head and he gingerly relinquished her.
âYou are the scum of this earth,â she spat out, unceremoniously shoving him back.
He grunted, falling back onto his bottom in the snow. âYou havenât given me the chance to speak!â he said, for crying out loud.
âWhy? So you can lie to my face?â
It was then that he noticed her cheeks were wet. She was crying because of him. And trying so hard to handle this situation with grace.
Heâd never lied to her. Ever. Heâd been duplicitous, yes, phrasing his words in a way that left her confused, always wondering what he truly feltâbut heâd never outright lied to her.
He faltered for a moment too long, and she shook her head.
Then she stormed off, her heels precariously slipping with each step made. She was seconds away from breaking her ankle or worseâfalling onto the street. What if she got hit by something? That crazy woman. He rushed onto his feet, just as she rounded the corner of the street.
âYes, there was some sort of bet,â he admitted in exasperation, and then took a moment to catch his breath. âIt was a game to me, at first. But I didnât thinkââ he tugged her back by the bow of her dress and she flailed, falling back against his chest. âI didnât think Iâd grow⌠fond of you.â
The words sounded foreign coming from his mouth. So foreign and⌠wrong. Yet they werenât a lie. This was, however, a moment of weakness.
âReally?â She remarked bitterly, then hastily wiped her face.
âYes. Though I wish we could have this conversation somewhere warm. In the car, maybe? Youâre freezing, Phoebe.â He spun her around and squeezed her shoulders, trying to settle her, to no avail. He could still fix this; he just had to figure out how.
She jerked free from his grasp one last time. The bow on her dress was now askew, the stitches of one corner ripped from her previous effort to break free. A bright punch stain sullied it, and what a shame that was. Perhaps he could buy her another dress to make it up to her, but sheâd proven time after time to have no appreciation for the gifts he gave. âBecause I am gracious,â she huffed, half breathless, âI wonât tell my father what you did. But I never wish to speak with you again, am I clear?â
She was a mess, mascara streaks staining her cheeks, her dress disheveled.
âCan I⌠at least take you home?â he murmured, tersely. âYour father would have my head if anything were to happen to you.â
He swallowed at the mention of her father. Would she tell him what he did? That he had played her? There would be no way in hell heâd let him court her daughter after this, even if they patched things up. Or⌠would he allow it?
He imagined an industrious man like Silas Blackwood prioritized practicality over sentimentality.
If he was under the assumption that heâd ruined her, that would create a predicament for him. Sheâd be lucky if any respectable elite wanted to marry her then. The cleanest solution in that case was, truly, to grovel and hope that he married his daughter.
Phoebe begrudgingly allowed Coriolanus to escort her back to the front steps of Clemensiaâs townhouse. She refused to enter, not wanting to make a spectacle of herself, he assumed, as everyone was still inside. He made a quick call to his chauffeur before joining her out on the steps, to freeze with her in solidarity.
Her teeth chattered as she pulled her shawl tighter around herself, seeking what little warmth she could. âCome wait inside,â he implored, and she stubbornly shook her head. Sighing, he unbuttoned his coat and then draped it over her shoulders. The way he did on their first date, when she was shivering after eating all that ice cream.
A wall of roses cloaked her. His scent. He rather liked the idea of her being covered in it, smelling like him. Despite how much he was sure she hated him now, her need for warmth took precedence over it. She bounced on her heels and when he tried to pull her close, she pushed him back. âDonât.â
Iâm just keeping you warm, he wanted to say, but refrained from doing so. âThe carâs already on its way,â he informed her. âItâll be three minutes.â
Those three minutes felt like an eternity until finally his chauffeur pulled up to the curb. Phoebe didnât wait for him to open the door for her like he usually did; she helped herself inside and hugged the other side of the vehicle, attempting to insert as much space between them as physically possible.
For a long moment, they stuck to their corners, staring out the windows awkwardly.
Now was his chance to speak. While she was still trapped in here and the car was rolling.
âYou must hate me right now,â he began, delicately.
She hummed, chin propped on her palm.
âBut what I said earlier was true. When I approached your father, it was after I decided not to follow through with that bet.â Sort of. Heâd not officially brought it up to his friends, though he figured, why not let things run their natural course? Eventually, heâd have her. All of her. And, in that way, heâd win. It was the cleanest solution.
âSo.â She tilted her head. âAm I to forgive you, then? Forget about that?â
âWhat do you want me to say?â Exasperation laced his tone.
âNothing, preferably.â She finally turned to him.
âI donât expect your forgiveness. I just wanted to come clean,â he explained, straightening up in his seat. âI donât know what it is about you that Iâm drawn to. But I know that I am, and I cannot help it.â In a way, sheâd bewitched him. It was unlike him to feel anything for one of his girls. Anything but lust, perhaps, and that feeling was fleeting at best. Whatever heâd felt for this girl, however, had lingered. No⌠festered. âYouâre free to do whatever youâd like. Scorn me, hit me if you want, Iâll allow itââ
She brightened up at that. âAre you offering?â
â⌠Go ahead.â
He would allow her this much, to give her a chance to simmer down. Maybe sheâd feel better afterwards. Coriolanus braced for it as she scooted closer, then raised her hand. She didnât strike him like he anticipated she would; he flinched when he felt nothing but air on his cheek from her hand grazing past it. âI will not hit you, as tempting as it sounds.â She withdrew and he exhaled slowly.
âAs I was saying. I canât control how you feel about all of this, and I apologize if I hurt you.â He sighed. âThere is no bet anymore. There hasnât been one for a while now. Urban Canvilleâs simply bitter that you didnât choose him, so he caused a scene.â It wouldnât make things better, but it was something. If she expected him to grovel, sheâd be sorely disappointed.
âI see.â Phoebe shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and then went back to ignoring him. She stared out the window, at the passing fixtures and buildings illuminated by the streetlamps. Once they neared the Blackwood townhouse, she wiped her face and fixed her hair, attempting to make herself presentable. Probably to avoid her fatherâs suspicion.
âYou can ignore me all you want, I wonât blame you for it. Itâs only natural that youâre upset,â he continued, not letting her frigid behavior deter him. âBut I wanted to inform you that youâre still mine.â
Mine, in every way.
Her brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. Their fingers brushed and she shivered. âI wonât let you go. Make do with that what you will,â he told her. Every couple had their obstacles. Their quarrels, their meaningless spats. This was one of them, he supposed. He could give her some time to simmer down so they could reflect on this.
Only they didnât have time.
The Ball was right around the corner.
A minute later, they arrived at her townhouse. She stepped out as soon as the car rolled to a stop, not wanting to be stuck in there with him for a second longer, it seemed. âHere,â she fumbled with the buttons of his coat and tossed it to him, âhave your coat back.â
He escorted her to the front door of her house because he insisted it was the right thing to do. Phoebe held it together, smiling and playing along as Coriolanus debriefed the gathering they attended to her father. At least the version of it that he wouldâve liked to hear.
Then he returned to his car.
⌠⌠âŚ
The interior of the Snow penthouse provided little reprieve from the frosty air outside.
Father liked it cold, as did he. But she didnât, his girl, always shivering here. So much that he usually gave her something warm to drink, a blanket, and one of his jackets. He took care of her like that. Liked to watch her play with the oversized sleeves.
And then he rolled his eyes, because heâd thought of her again.
âYouâre back early.â
Fatherâs imposing voice boomed from across the living room. He was relaxing on the couchâa rare sight for a man who could not stay put without purpose. Perhaps he had a busy day and had earned himself a break. Now he was enjoying a drink, and through the TV, he heard Lucky Flickermanâs eccentric voice.
âIt was a boring party,â he informed Father, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the rack.
âBoring, was it? Even with your girl there?â His sharp gaze was fixed on him, and he could only wonder, what did he want? He was rarely involved with his life unless something went wrong or he had a piece of his mind to give.
ââŚYes,â came his terse reply.
âDid something happen? You seemâŚâ Father sat up in his seat, giving him a once-over. âUpset.â
âIâm tired. Iâm retiring for the night,â he announced in a clipped tone, cutting their conversation short.
That night, he tossed and turned in bed. Sleep was no friend when all he could think of was his tarnished image. Perhaps tarnished was a strong word to use for such a minor incident over a bet, but the shame of being called out like that stung his pride. What would they all think of him? Would they laugh? Murmur about how heâd lost his charm?
The morning after, his behavior hadnât improved.
He snapped at the maid for preparing him a cup of tea that was a touch too sweet for his liking. It was his usual, but today, everything felt off. The middle-aged woman flinched at his unusual outburst, but soon recovered, taking off at once to prepare him another cup.
Across from him at the dining table, Father was buttering his toast.
They rarely talked during breakfast. Them sitting together wasnât out of some obligation to bond; Father had a rule that everyone must eat at the table. In his eyes, it was slovenly to eat anywhere else. So sometimes they ended up eating together by happenstance.
âSomething did happen,â he spoke, to his surprise.
But he said nothing in return, instead cutting the eggs on his plate.
They communicated with silent gestures, usually. A raised brow indicated amusement. Silence was either disinterest or a sign of something bothering them.
âSo it seems.â Father took a sip of his coffee and set his cup down on the coaster. Then considered him for a long moment. âWhat happened?â
âYouâre rarely interested in my social affairs,â Coriolanusâs jaw tightened.
âYouâve been acting off.â More silence. âDid something happen with your girl?â
âWhy would you assume itâs about my girl?â he deflected.
âBecause Iâm observing a pattern, son,â Father answered. âYouâve been spending quite a bit of time with this girl. Tutoring her. Surely not out of the goodness of your heart.â He took a bite of his toast and swallowed. âYou and I both know you arenât the charitable type.â
His eggs tasted like rubber.
Upon his silence, Father continued. âSo, what has she done?â
A Snow was never at fault. In his eyes, she was to blame.
âWe had a misunderstanding. Sheâs upset with me,â Coriolanus replied, crisply.
âThen fix things with her. Make it right.â
As if he hadnât already tried. âItâs not that simple,â he argued.
âWomen are such emotional creatures,â Father agreed, leaning forward in his seat. âIâve had my fair share of quarrels with my Lucilla before.â
âHow did you resolve things?â asked Coriolanus. Perhaps he could impart some advice. If only Phoebe were more materialisticâthe answer to his problem wouldâve been as simple as showering her with gifts and promising her all sorts of things, then.
âTime. Lots of it. But you donât have much time, do you? The Ball is right around the corner.â
âAnd I am dead to her,â Coriolanus remarked dryly, but he found no humor in this.
âSome women are wild. Harder to tame,â he reflected. âBut none of them are unbreakable.â
âSo⌠What do you suggest I do, then?â His observation was lost on him. How would one go about âbreakingâ something they couldnât catch?
âIf I were youâŚâ he trailed off in thought, twirling his fork, âI would leave her with no room for doubt. Remind her that she is yours. Remind her of her place.â
Remind her that she is yours. How? He could show up at her house and confess to her, though at the expense of his dignity (because there was no guarantee sheâd forgive him). At best, she may push him off her balcony, right onto the thorny trellis, in a fit of rage. âAnd if that doesnât work?â Coriolanus swallowed.
âMake sure it does. If you want something bad enough, you will do whatever it takes. Do not be afraid to get your hands dirty, son.â
Do whatever it takes.
A/N: This series was supposed to be a short deal, but here we are at 4 parts!! I have no idea where this will go next, but I do love drama. Stay tuned đ. Reader discretion is advised! My stories are never planned out so they may take (dark) unexpected turns.
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