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Heyyyy I absolutely love all your fics and I was wondering if you could write one about Roman and his childhood bestfriend who’s also his first crush🤭. It would be perfect if she’s like this untouchable queen but with him it’s just different.
Like a family reunion you know ;)
Immaculate (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Summary: Roman has no problem talking to girls. Fucking them too, more often than not. Anything to help him forget that he does not, and will not ever have you, his childhood best friend and the purest, sweetest, sexiest person he’s ever known. You’ve never thought about Roman like that until a drunken confession at a party opens your eyes.
Word Count: 4626
Warnings: NSFW, vaginal fingering, oral sex f!receiving
A/N: I think this is the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written. Because it’s NOT enemies to lovers, and Roman is a sweet baby and Reader is a sweet baby and ughhhhhhh.
MDNI, fic under the cut
“I’m gunna cum, Roman,” the girl moans, and Roman has to fight hard to stop himself rolling his eyes, because he knows she’s looking at him. He’s made that mistake before, and he’d worn the stinging scratches of her nails across his cheekbone for a week.
“Yeah, cum for me.” He winces at the dead tone of his voice, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She rolls her hips against his over and over again, and Roman’s cock twitches and pulses like he’s getting close, but there’s a fucking disconnect between his body and his brain and he just doesn’t feel like it.
“You gunna cum inside me baby?” She moans, her tits brushing against his face. Roman sucks a nipple into his mouth half-heartedly and she throws her head back, moaning so loud Roman knows for sure it’s a performance. And if she’s not going to be authentic, why should he pretend he’s not thinking about someone else? So he lets his head fall back against the headboard, eyes closing and lips parting around a soft moan. Because it isn’t the pretty girl in his lap he’s seeing in his mind. It’s you. Your soft curves, your slightly crooked smile, the flash of mischief in your eyes right before you jump on his back or push him in the pool or smear tomato sauce on his cheek as you eat fries in his car with your feet up on the dash. Which is a big fucking deal, because nobody else is allowed to eat in his fucking car.
And it’s the way you tilt your head to the side and bite the corner of your lip when you ask him what the fuck he’s looking at.
It doesn’t take more than that to have him cumming, but at least he has the sense to pull out and spurt over the girl’s stomach instead of inside her cunt. Because he needs an unplanned teen pregnancy like he needs a shotgun blast to the fucking guts.
“Romannn,” she whines, wrinkling her nose at the sticky mess on her shirt. “My dad’ll see.”
Roman shrugs. “Tell him it’s mayonnaise.”
He drops the girl at her house, and she leans into the driver’s side window to kiss him. He lets her do it, because he isn’t that much of an asshole, but he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand as he drives away and he looks at the seat she’s just vacated with a grimace. Because the upholstery doesn’t smell like your body lotion anymore, covered over by whatever expensive fragrance the girl drenched herself in before getting in his car. And Roman thinks those bullshit advice magazines have a whole lot to answer for, with girls spraying their perfume on duvets and sofas and car seats like it’s going to make guys fall in love with them instead of just making them feel dizzy with all the fumes.
He throws his keys haphazardly onto the side table in the entrance hall and kicks his shoes off right by the door in a way he knows his mother hates. And it’s like the act has summoned her, because Olivia Godfrey appears in the kitchen doorway. “Put those in the hall closet like a civilised man.”
“What’s the point when I’m just gunna need them again in the morning?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps we could give them a break and wear one of the many, many pairs of expensive Italian loafers I’ve bought you instead?”
“It’s taken me seventeen years to perfect my style.” Roman argues, but he knows it’s useless. He can see it in the mean set of his mother’s mouth. His beloved converse will be mysteriously absent from the hall closet tomorrow, and he’ll go to school in leather that squeaks on the hallway floors.
“I’m glad you’re back, darling. Do you have plans on Saturday?”
Roman’s first instinct, as it always is when it comes to Olivia, is to lie. “Yep.”
She purses her lips. “Cancel them. We’re going to a party.”
Roman frowns. “A party?” because that’s actually a surprise. He’d expected some uncomfortably formal mother-son dinner, something that would leave him feeling dirty and overexposed. But a party? That had his interest, a little bit.
“A twentieth anniversary party. I’m surprised you didn’t know. You’re still close with their daughter, aren’t you?” And Olivia doesn’t need to elaborate. Roman knows exactly who she’s talking about, and his stomach flips over at the thought of seeing you relaxed and laughing and probably in a dress.
“At their house?”
Olivia Godfrey smiles thinly. “Naturally.”
On Saturday, Roman wears the expensive Italian loafers and the blazer and he lets his mother tease his hair into the preppy fucking style she likes the most. Because he’s in a good fucking mood, and it’s in his best interests to keep his Olivia in one as well. SO maybe she’ll have a couple of extra glasses of wine and decide they should stay at the house, and Roman can see what you look like in your pyjamas.
You greet him at the door, and yeah you’re wearing a dress. A soft, silky thing that pours over your curves and falls over your shoulders, exposing the skin at your throat and over your collarbones. You step out of the house to wrap your arms around his neck, and Roman is forced to stoop a little to wrap his arms around your waist. Because he’s taller than he was the last time you saw him, still growing. “Roman Godfrey is here, the party can start.”
And Roman means to retort something clever and flirty, but you’re too close and all he can do is smile like an idiot and blush, and he can feel his mother’s contempt radiating off of her.
“Good to see you.” Is what he manages to say, and you pull away from him to flash your crooked, charming grin.
“It’s mostly old people here, FYI. But the young people are congregating on the lawn.” She shoots Olivia a tight smile. “Good to see you too, Mrs Godfrey. Mom and dad are doing canapes on the terrace if you want to go through.”
“Delightful.” Olivia says, narrowing her eyes just slightly at her son as she steps into the house and ventures through to the party.
“Young people, huh?” Roman asks, feeling a lump of uncharacteristic anxiety in his throat. Because naive or not, he’d assumed he’d have you all to himself tonight. The young people turn out to mostly be the kids of your dad’s business associates, and a handful of local teens from your school.
“Everyone, this is Roman. Roman, everybody.” Roman nods at the gathered group, who raise glasses or nod back for the most part.
“Roman as in Roman Godfrey?” A boy in a stupid white linen suit stands up and joins you. He’s at least as tall as Roman, and his eyes flick over Roman’s face like he’s trying to place him.
“One and the same.” Roman says, swallowing thickly.
“Oh, I’ll get you a drink. Beer?” You ask. And Roman wants to beg you to not leave him, but instead he just nods and watches you slip off to a cooler set apart from the seating area.
“My father has some contracts with your company. Biotech for prosthetic limbs, some real groundbreaking stuff.”
And Roman wants to be interested, but you’re bending down to fish a colder beer out of the bottom of the cooler, and your skirt rides up the backs of your thighs almost high enough for him to see your panties, and how is Roman supposed to focus on anything else, really?
The boy follows Roman’s line of sight, humming low under his breath. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Roman agrees absently, before the boy’s words sink in and his attention snaps back to him. “How well do you… I mean…”
“Oh, I’m her date, I suppose.” The boy shrugs. Like it’s nothing. Like being your date isn’t the single most incredible thing that’s ever happened in his miserable life.
“I didn’t know.”
The boy raises an eyebrow. “Why would you?”
And that just hangs in the air between them, because what is Roman supposed to say? That if he’d known you wanted a date for this party he’d have thrown his hat in the ring? That he’d have thrown himself at your feet and offered you his car and his cock and Godfrey Fucking Industries if it meant you’d give him a chance? No way. He’d never get all the words out, anyway.
But whatever his face is doing as he goes through this internal beating, the boy notices. And when you return to hand him a beer, your cold, damp fingers brushing against Roman’s in a way that sears his skin, the boy wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against his body. You look up at the boy with a frown. “Anyway. Uh, sorry, I didn’t introduce you. Roman, this is James. His mom works with my mom. And I think his dad has a contract with-“
“Yeah we covered that, babe.” He cuts you off, and Roman crunches his teeth together as his fingers tighten around the neck of his beer bottle.
“Oh, okay.” Your frown lingers as you look up at the side of James’s face and the hard set of his jaw. “Anyway, I should mingle.”
“We should do the rounds.” James agrees, not releasing your waist for even a second as he spins you away from Roman.
You’re left looking back over your shoulder and mouthing an apology to your best friend as he stares at you. And there’s something in his expression as his eyes drop to the arm wrapped around your waist, his pretty green eyes darkening as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. But James is introducing you to someone else, someone whose dad also works with yours but in a different department or something, and you’re forced to focus so you don’t look rude and embarrass the family. By the time the pleasantries are over and you can look back at Roman, he’s gone.
Roman can’t push James into the flowerbeds and impale you on his cock in front of all these fucking people, so he snatches a full bottle of scotch from the inside party and goes wandering through your house. He knows he isn’t supposed to, but why the fuck not, right? It’s not like you’ll notice, with your date wrapped around you and all those people to entertain. And that’s how Roman Godfrey finds himself standing, swaying outside your bedroom door. Your name painted on a pretty little plaque. A silky pink ribbon tied around the handle. And Roman knows he definitely isn’t supposed to go inside, but the alcohol is burning his conscience right out of him and he shoves your door open, stumbling onto the plush carpet. He has the forethought to close the door behind him at least, and maybe he’s not quite as drunk as he’ll claim if he gets caught. Because he makes a bee-line for your underwear drawer, the top drawer on your dresser, and he rifles through the scraps of cotton and silk and lace as his cock gets hard and he thinks about how pretty your pussy probably looks sitting behind your little panties.
And then Roman goes to your hamper, the one peeking out of your closet, and he rifles through that until he finds a pair of used panties about half way down. There’s a little stiff patch over the crotch, and Roman brings that to his nose and inhales the scent of you deeply. And yeah, he feels like a goddamn pervert obviously, but knowing he is one doesn’t stop the scent of your dried slick from making his cock throb, and he sits down on your bed and presses his palm to the front of his dress trousers just to take the edge off. He rolls onto his back, breathing in the duel scent of your arousal on your panties and your shampoo embedded in your pillow, and he turns his head to breathe in more of that clean, citrusy scent when he sees his own eyes staring back at him from your bedside table and he about jumps out of his skin. Because you have a framed picture of you and him on your bedside table. His face is the last thing you see every night before you go to sleep. And how the fuck does that mean nothing to you?
And it’s a lethal cocktail of arousal and drink and hurt pride that has him shoving your panties into his pocket and draining the bottle and hauling himself to his feet. He almost doesn’t make it all the way outside, he’s stumbling and a little disorientated because he hasn’t been in your house properly in years. But then he hears your laugh from somewhere else and he follows the sound and the change in the air until he’s outside.
“Roman!” You call out to him, shrugging out from under James’s arm and skipping up the patio steps to meet him at the door. “Where have you been? Oh.” You wrinkle your nose as you dip your head closer to him. “Well that isn’t beer.”
“Nah,” Roman hums, hooking an arm over your shoulder and pulling you into a hug. He meets James’s eyes over the top of your head, and he lets a lazy smirk curl over his mouth. He knows what he’s doing, but fuck that guy. Fuck that fucking guy.
“Roman,” you sigh, and Roman wraps his other arm around your shoulder too, pinning you to him. “You’re drunk.”
Roman presses his face against the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair right from the fucking source. “Yeah.”
You pull away, brows knitting over your eyes as you study his face. “What’s wrong?”
And he tries really, really hard to keep up the smirk and the bravado and the challenge. But you know him better than maybe he knows himself. So he shrugs and he doesn’t meet your eye.
“You wanna go for a walk?” He does look down at you then, as you wriggle your fingers into his closed fist and tighten your grip on his hand, and Roman all but melts at the contact and the sweet, concerned smile on your face. You’re going to leave the very important party for him. And James can stick that up his ass.
Your house backs onto the beach. It’s why Roman had spent so much time here as a kid, because Olivia liked the ocean and your parents, for some reason Roman had never been able to understand, liked Olivia. You tug him down the steep steps towards the ocean, and Roman is sort of touched to see the little bench he’d fashioned from driftwood and twine is still there.
“I made that.” He points it out, and you laugh.
“Yeah, you did. I’ve had to replace the ropes a couple times, but it’s going strong.”
And Roman’s throat is actually closing now, thinking about you replacing the worn out parts to fix the shitty impractical bench that he made for you. He should feel warm and fuzzy and affectionate. Instead he just feels kinda pissed off about the whole thing as he drops onto the bench and pulls you down next to him. “What’s going on with you?”
Roman hums, fixing his eyes on the black expanse of the ocean in front of him so he doesn’t have to think about how your skin looks in the moonlight or why you don’t love him back.
“You have a boyfriend.” He means it to come out playful but it just sounds sad.
“No I… you mean James?”
Roman scoffs, spit flying from his numb lips and maybe he’s more drunk than he thought. “He made it pretty fuckin clear.”
You shove lightly at his shoulder, and Roman almost keels over. “Shit you’re wasted.”
“I’m not.” He mumbles, turning his head to look at you even though it hurts to. You look so concerned. “Or I am. I don’t know.”
“Why would you… I mean… did he say something? Was he an asshole? Because I’ll kick him out. I swear to god.”
And that does it for Roman. He groans, dropping his head into his hands, and you feel helpless panic flutter in your throat at just how wrecked he is. “Rome, please.” You brush your fingers over the back of his neck and Roman whines before mumbling something into his hands that you can’t make out. “What?”
“I said,” and he lifts his head, bleary eyes boring into your soul and mouth pouting in a way that seems a little excessive, honestly. “If you wanted a date to this party, why didn’t you call me?”
And you laugh. It’s the first, stupid impulse because Roman has to be joking. Anything else is unthinkable. “Why didn’t I… you don’t wanna do that.”
Roman rolls his eyes, making an unattractive scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “You don’t know what I fuckin want.”
You twist your mouth to the side, sucking your bottom lip against your teeth as he wobbles on the bench beside you. “Shit, don’t do that.”
You release your lip with a frown. “Do what?”
“Bite your lip like that. It… fuck.” Roman groans, dropping his head back into his palms and grinding the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until he sees stars across his vision. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice is low and thick, and it sends a jolt of something new straight to your core. You know, instinctively, that he’s not joking about any of this. And that if you reached between his legs right now, he’d be at least half-hard. The thought of Roman Godfrey getting a stiffy for you makes you want to giggle, but considering you’d already laughed at him once tonight, you suppress the urge.
“Are you… is this the booze talking?”
Roman swallows hard. “I can hold my fuckin drink.”
“Why now?” Your voice is quiet, and Roman almost doesn’t hear you over the clashing of the waves down the beach.
“Liquid courage.” He shrugs. “Or that fucking guy. I don’t know. Maybe this is just the first time you’ve noticed enough to call me out on it.”
You consider this, trying to remember any hints Roman might have given you that he felt anything at all for you. But there really hadn’t been anything. He didn’t even flirt with you for fucks’ sake. And you’d seen him flirt. Shamelessly, sluttily with other girls.
“You’ve never tried anything with me.”
Roman scoffs. “Well no. Obviously not.”
“Why? You try with everybody else.” You don’t mean it as an insult, but Roman winces anyway.
“Everyone else is easy. You’re… real to me. I don’t know. I guess I just can’t do it with you.”
You blink at your best friend like you’re seeing him for the first time. Like Roman Godfrey likes you and the world has tilted on it’s axis and everything is a little bit wonky. And it’s not like you don’t know he’s pretty. You’re not fucking blind. He has those big green eyes and that bone structure and the full, perfectly shaped mouth that girls spend fortunes on trying to achieve with fillers. And his nose snubs up in a way that’s cute, and over the past couple of years he’d grown a foot and his voice had dropped along with his balls. And objectively, yeah, he was hot. But you’d known him since you were five years old. And Hemlock Grove High School was a clear twenty miles from your town, but he’d fucked almost half the girls in your grade somehow anyway. And there just wasn’t any way that he liked you like that. It just didn’t make any sense at all.
“When did you… how long have you…” you break off, not sure how to put into words what Roman had barely articulated himself.
“I don’t know, really.” He huffs a laugh. “Since always, I guess. I just got good at pretending I didn’t.”
“Shit.” You breathe out, and Roman stares intently at the side of your face as you process the bomb he’s just dropped on your decade of friendship.
“What are you thinking?” He asks after a minute of silence, because he thinks he might die if you don’t say something soon.
“I guess,” you say slowly. “I wish you maybe hadn’t fucked half the girls I know.”
Roman hums. “That’s fair.”
“But… you never fucked any of my friends. And I know they tried.”
“Valid.” Roman agrees. Because those thirsty bitches had tried, at your last birthday party. A couple of them had thrown themselves at him shamelessly, offering to fuck him or suck his cock or whatever he wanted. And it’s not that he hadn’t been tempted, but he knew for certain that if he went there you’d never, ever see him the way he wanted you to, and you might even stop being his friend. And no pussy in the world was worth that risk.
“Shit.”
“Shit?”
“I don’t know, Roman. I never thought about you like that.”
It hurts worse than he expects it to, even though it’s exactly what he expected. “I know.”
“But it’s not like you’re not hot. I mean fucking look at you.”
Roman’s cock perks up at the praise, and he licks over his bottom lip.
You groan, rising from your seat to step in front of him. Roman’s legs part to let you step between them and he looks up at you through his lashes with his lips parting softly and his hair slipping down onto his forehead where the salt-stained breeze has teased it out of place. “Fucking look at you.” You repeat. And Roman notices the drop in your voice, the faint flush creeping up the sides of your throat. And he doesn’t dare to hope that this is what he thinks it is, what his stupid, hard cock thinks it is.
But then you lift a hand to brush the hair from his forehead, and Roman whines low in his throat at the brush of your fingers against his skin. “Please,” he whispers. He’d be humiliated to beg like this, if the alcohol in his blood hadn’t softened his edges and if he wasn’t so fucking desperate to be touched by you. Only you.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
Roman shakes his head. “It’s the best idea. Please.” His hands lift to bracket around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer so he can press gentle kisses to your stomach over the fabric of your dress, and you moan softly at the feeling of his big hands wrapped around your legs. The sound is music to Roman’s ears, and he parts his lips to press his tongue against your stomach, dampening the front of your dress before dipping his head lower to press his face against your covered pussy. He can smell your arousal through the fabric, so much better than the phantom essence in your stolen panties.
“You’ve been drinking,” you gasp, a breathy whimper of sound as his tongue prods against your clit even through your dress and your underwear, and Roman’s hands slide up to cup your ass cheeks and shove your dress up so he can nuzzle his nose against the damp front of your panties.
“I’m always fuckin drinking.”
You hum, lacing your fingers in his hair and grazing your nails against his scalp. Roman groans, the sound vibrating through your core.
“Just… I need to think.”
And Roman knows that if you stop to think, you might decide none of this is worth the risk. And he’ll die. His cock will explode and he’ll die. So he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drags them down your legs, letting them fall to the sand around your ankles as he buries his face in your cunt and sucks your clit into his mouth.
“Oh fuuuuuuck,” you moan, fisting his hair hard as you buck against his face. You’ve never, ever been touched like this before. There had been a boyfriend, but he’d said going down on girls was gross, and you hadn’t had the confidence to question it. But Roman is drowning himself against you, the sharp point of his nose nudging the hood of your clit as he flattens his tongue against the sensitive bud and laps at it, little whimpering sounds loosing from his throat and vibrating through your core. “Shit, Roman.”
His fingers slip up between your thighs to brush over your entrance, and you gasp as he pushes a finger inside you. He moans throatily against you as he pumps his finger in and out of your tight heat, his tongue flicking rapidly against your clit before releasing it so he can drag his tongue over you from your hole up to your clit and back down again. The pleasure is blinding, and your legs buckle. Roman feels the moment you lose your battle to stay upright, and he hooks his arm around your ass and helps you lower to the sand, pushing your legs apart to grind his face against your folds as he fucks a second finger into you.
“I’m gunna fuckin cum,” you sob, throwing a hand over your mouth to stifle your own moans as Roman drags his teeth lightly over your clit and sucks it back into his mouth.
Your orgasm hits a moment later, rolling through you in heady waves that lift your body from the sand and have you grinding desperately up against Roman’s waiting mouth. He never stops fucking his fingers in and out of you, never stops sucking at your clit. You jerk and shudder through the aftermath, and the hand in Roman’s hair tugs on the strands. “Shit, I can’t. Please, t-too much.” It’s almost painful now, the way he pulls and pushes on your clit as he runs his tongue over the sensitive bud. “Romannnn,” you whimper. He pulls away finally, eyes clouded over with lust as his fingers curl up against your g-spot.
“M’sorry,” he mumbles, mouthing over your folds and down to push his tongue into your hole alongside his fingers. “Just thought about this for so long. Can’t.”
Your eyes roll back as he resumes his assault on your clit, grazing his teeth against it. You cry for real then, tears spilling into your hairline as a second orgasm is dragged out of your body and into Roman’s waiting mouth.
He whines against you, licking up every last drop of your arousal. And when you drop boneless to the packed sand and give up the fight, he drags his mouth away from you and sucks his swollen, soaked lips into his mouth.
He leans over you then, pressing those lips to your own, and there’s a jolt of actual butterflies in your stomach despite how completely overstimulated you are. His tongue slips past your lips to lick against your tongue, the taste of you blending with the scotch he’d been drinking, and Roman is fucking giddy to find you’re kissing him back with actual enthusiasm. He pulls away to let you breathe, and you smirk at him in a way that makes his cock impossibly harder.
“So, you like me, huh?”
Roman laughs, pulling your hand away from the sand to press it to the leaking bulge in his trousers. “Yeah, I fuckin like you.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Roman gets what he wants. Pretty much always. But around you he’s tongue-tied and he can’t 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 that’s great, that’s peachy. Until bodies start to pile up and Roman realizes your manufactured love for him has turned into something deadly.
A/N: Okay, so I didn’t 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 doesn’t 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. You’re 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 Roman’s 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 doesn’t do any of that, because suddenly it’s his mom’s face in his head and isn’t 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 it’s 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 he’s going to do something really fucking stupid like talk to you if he doesn’t find a distraction. So he pulls out his phone and he texts one of his favorite working girls to meet him downtown.
It’s 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 doesn’t really care that he slices his thumb open with a straight razor and rubs sticky red circles on her skin. And she isn’t bothered at all that he gasps your name when he cums.
She’s adjusting her sundress as Roman lights a cigarette and offers it to her. “A gentleman.” 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.
“You know, you should just talk to her.”
Roman raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“If you’ve got it so bad for her that you’re calling out her name when you’re with me, you should just talk to her.”
Roman’s pulse is a sick thrum in his throat as he pulls a money clip from his jacket pocket and holds it out to her. “It’s all there.”
She takes it with a sigh, flicking through the fat wad of bills. “This is… too much…” But she isn’t trying to give it back, either.
“Call the extra an incentive to mind your goddamn business.”
But as he watches her walk away, her sundress brushing around her thighs, he’s 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 it’s like an ice-pick in his brain. You’ve got a kinda goofy laugh, like a little too loud and a little too messy, but he fucking loves it. The fact that you’ve never laughed like that for him, that you’ve 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 might’ve bought pills off him at a party last year. Whatever the connection, it’s enough that the guy doesn’t say no to his offer of a smoke behind the bleachers, and he puts up no resistance at all to Roman’s suggestion that he stay the fuck away from you forever. He’s riding that high for the rest of the day, and it doesn’t 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. You’ve 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. You’d 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 Roman’s 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 girls’ bathroom to run your hands under the cold water to snap yourself out of it.
It’s 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 he’s sitting just one desk behind you and it’s 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 he’s made of something sharp.
And Roman feels the way you flinch, and he hates it. Hates that he’s never said so much as ‘hello’ to you and somehow he’s already lost you. So Roman Godfrey decides to lock the fuck in.
“Hey.”
You blink at him, mouth opening and closing. “Uh. Hi, Roman.”
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 don’t see him getting hard.
“You think the football team really have the flu, or they all got mono from making out with each other in the locker room?”
And you laugh. That bright, startled sound like a symphony of tuneless bells, and Roman’s answering chuckle is genuine as the tension eases out of your shoulders and your body angles towards him in your seat. “You know, I’ve always thought they were a little too friendly to be just teammates. And they all share the cheerleaders… maybe you’re on to something.”
“We might’ve just uncovered the scandal of the century. You wanna leak it to the school paper?”
You hum, tapping your finger against your chin in a way that just draws Roman’s attention to your mouth. “Nah, lets not disturb the natural order. And besides, Sam is a terrible lab partner.”
Roman shakes his head. “Not sure I’m much better. My report card is a modern day tragedy.”
You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, dropping your eyes to Roman’s notebook. He’s sketched a knight with a wicked looking sword, but there are no chem notes at all. “Maybe you just need to apply yourself to it.” You say softly, tapping your pencil against the sketch. “But this is good.”
Roman resists the urge to rip the sketch out of his book and offer it to you on bended knee. And he’s supremely grateful that you turn back to your own notes then, because if you’d nudged back just one page you’d find the sketch of you that he’d done from memory whilst boring holes into your back in class last week.
“Do you eat?”
You cock your head to the side, a smile quirking on your lips, and Roman feels his face flush.
“Most days, sure.”
“Right.” Roman clears his throat. “Right. Uh, would you wanna like, get pizza with me after school?”
Your brows knit. “I think the lab partner thing is only temporary. Wouldn’t wanna waste your time working with me if we’re back to our assigned partners next week.”
Roman is already considering pushing Sam off the goddamn roof and breaking every bone in his body so he can remain your lab partner.
“Not for, uh, not for school stuff.”
The words hang between you, and your eyes widen as you realize that he’s asking you out. Roman Godfrey is asking you on a fucking date.
“Oh. Yeah, okay.”
“Sorry?”
“I said yes. Pizza, that would be nice.”
Roman’s brain isn’t processing the words. Because it can’t be this easy, can it? He can’t just ask you out and then get to sit with you and eat pizza and listen to you talk and pretend he doesn’t 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.
“Fuck, that’s attractive,” you grumble as you lick tomato sauce off your lips, and even though you’re being sarcastic Roman wants to wholeheartedly agree.
“So,” you say as you take a sip of soda, “why’d you ask me out?”
Roman blinks at you. “Why not?”
“Well, no, okay, sure.” You roll your eyes. “I mean why now?”
And he means to say that you’re pretty, and that you’re smart and he enjoyed hanging out with you in class so why not? But he’s terrified that you’ll laugh at him or that he’ll come on too strong. So what comes out of his mouth is “everybody else is out with the fuckin flu.”
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 he’s fucked it up.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
You shake your head, forcing a smile, the polite smile you reserve for strangers. “No, right.” But there isn’t any other way that he could have meant it, really. And suddenly you don’t feel like eating pizza or drinking soda or sitting across from the pretty, nasty boy with the unfairly hot mouth. “I’m, uh, you know. I just remembered I have like, a tonne of homework.” You push up from your seat and sidestep out of the booth.
Roman’s stomach is churning. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He keeps his tone soft and his voice low, trying his best to diffuse the awkwardness and willing you to sit back down.
“No, it’s fine.” You offer him that tight, polite smile again, and Roman’s hand shoots out to grab your wrist. “Its fine, Roman. I just have to go.”
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. You’re not going to go home and wallow about being Roman Godfrey’s pity date. You are not. There’s 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 you’re 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.
“You’re too young to be in here.” The man slips up beside you, leaning against the bar where you’re 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 hadn’t carded you, and you’d ordered like you knew what you were doing.
“Who says?” 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.
“I’m not a cop.” He drops you a wink.
“Neither am I.” You look him up and down very deliberately, and he swallows like he’s intimidated by you. It feels kinda good actually, after Roman made you feel so small and unwanted.
“Can I buy your next drink?”
Roman means to go home. He waits until he’s sure you’re gone, and then he drags your plate and your glass across the table and he eats your pizza instead of his own and he doesn’t 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 you’re not at home. Your bedroom light is off, and Roman sits in his car outside waiting for what feels like hours before he can’t 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 you’re 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 doesn’t care. He can’t even hear them, over the thumping of your heartbeat in his head and the breathy sounds of your little moans. He kinda knows what he’s 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 doesn’t really think at all as he fists the back of the man’s fake-ass leather jacket and drags him off you.
“Hey what the fuck is-“
“Get out of here. Forget you ever met her, or me. Go home.”
It’s as easy as that, and the useless piece of shit doesn’t 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 “how did you do that?”
Your voice is quiet and it shakes, and Roman doesn’t want to see the look on your face. “Roman. How did you do that?”
Roman sighs, turning to you. “Do what? I just suggested he leave you alone. Smart of him to agree.”
You shake your head. “No, you made him. I don’t know how you…” You swallow, and Roman’s 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 he’s 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 isn’t the gentle sucking pressure of a love bite. This is a claiming, and your clit throbs intensely at the feeling as Roman’s teeth grind the little chunk of flesh into a swollen ruin and you moan out loud. Embarrassingly loud. And Roman’s used to girls whimpering and whining when he does this. He’s used to them wincing and shaking and pretending like it doesn’t 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 he’s 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 Roman’s 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.
“I’m gunna cum,” 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 he’s broken the skin but you don’t 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 hadn’t expected him to know.
He pulls up outside of your house, clicking the key in the ignition and turning in his seat. “You okay?”
It’s weird, the words coming out of his mouth. Because you kinda know that he doesn’t really care to know the answer. He’s asking because that’s the normal thing to do, but nothing about the past hour has been normal. It isn’t 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. “Sure. Just tired, I guess.”
Roman nods, licking his lips as he glances at your mouth. “You should get inside. Get some sleep.”
You nod, reaching for the door handle, but Roman’s 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 aren’t 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.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” 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 he’s 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 can’t wait to see it on you. It doesn’t occur to him, not even in the most insecure parts of his brain, that you might not be happy to see him. You’d cum on his fingers and you’d kissed him like you were his girl. It had turned into one of the best nights of his life, even if he’d had to jerk off in the car outside your house just to be able to focus enough to drive home.
So he’s 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. “No, Roman.”
Roman’s stomach drops out and he swallows. “Why not?” If you’re embarrassed about the PDA, he can work on that. You’d let him finger blast you in an alley not five feet from a busy street last night, but whatever.
“I’m not… we’re not like a couple or anything. I’m not a conquest for you to… parade around until something better comes along.”
Roman frowns, because he doesn’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. There isn’t anything better than you. He’s forgotten all about his shitty throwaway comment at the pizza place, and you must have too because you’d cum on his fucking fingers.
“I thought last night, we-“
“Last night was a mistake.” You hiss, a blush staining your cheeks. “Should never have happened. I’m not even sure how it happened, or whether you like, pressured me into it or whatever, but-“
“Oh fuck you.” Roman spits, taking a step back. “You wanted it. Moaned like a fucking whore the whole time.”
Your blush deepens, blood flushing attractively under your skin, and Roman’s eyes drop to the lurid purple mark on your neck, the pulse of your vein so close to the surface. And even though he’s pissed off and he’s hurt, his cock twitches to life at the memory of sinking his teeth against your flesh.
“Well, it was a mistake all the same. I won’t… do it again.”
“Fine by me.” He scoffs, forcing a smirk onto his face. “Plenty of girls willing to do whatever I want.”
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 isn’t 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 won’t 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 Roman’s lovely face is soft and sweet as he looks at you, and you loosen your grip just a little.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Okay.” You say carefully. “Me too.”
Roman’s smile widens, lighting his eyes, and your breath catches in your throat at just how disarmingly pretty he is. “I came on too strong. I do that.”
“Yeah.” You swallow. “But I… shoulda had more control too. I’d been drinking. Not an excuse, but yeah.”
Roman sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Can I come in? Just to talk.”
And you push the door wide, letting him step into your house. He has to duck a little to get through the door because he’s 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. “Roman, what the-“
“Shut up.” 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. “I tried to be nice. I tried to do it the right way.” His voice is low and soft, and his words curl around you and fill your head with hazy smoke. “Sometimes you gotta skip a few steps to get where you wanna be. Where we both wanna be.”
“I don’t-“
“Shh,” 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 don’t know. “You want me. You want me more than you’ve ever wanted anyone.”
“I want you,” you repeat, your own voice an octave lower than usual as the words sink into your skin.
Roman hums. “You love me. You love me more than anything else in the world.”
And he doesn’t fucking know that he’s 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 it’s maybe the best mistake he’s ever made.
Roman Godfrey feels like he’s king of the fucking world as he strokes his thumbs carefully over your knee and you pepper kisses across his jaw. Because he’s 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. That’s been an unexpected side-effect, just how fucking horny you are when you love him.
“Roman.” You purr into his ear, and Roman hums as his thumb turns inward to caress the soft skin of your thigh. “We have ten minutes until classes start.”
Roman knows what you’re 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.
He’d paid the janitor a hundred bucks at the start of the year for a key to one of the supply closets, and he’d never been more grateful for it than he is right now, with you fumbling at his belt as he leans back against the shelves.
“Shit,” 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. “Shit, baby.” 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.
“Love you so much, Roman.” You mumble, squeezing his shaft between your lips as you kiss down his clothed length. “Want you so badly.”
“You can have me.” He mumbles, fingers threading into your hair. “All of me, baby.”
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 you’d do anything to make him happy. It’s all you want to do, forever.
“Fuck, you take me so good,” he says, his voice a cracked whimper. You let spit coat him and drip out of your mouth, slicking onto the floor at Roman’s 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. “Shit, you like that?” He gasps out. “You wet for me?”
You nod, bobbing your head on his cock as you press your own thighs together and moan around his length.
“Fuckkkk me.” He groans. “God I wanna be inside you right now.”
It takes him a moment to register that you’re fumbling to get your panties down your legs. But then you release his cock with a slick, wet gurgle and rise to a stand. “How do you want me?”
Roman swallows, his eyes trailing down to your bare cunt as you lift your skirt up around your waist. “What?”
“You said you wanted to be inside me.”
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. “Shit. Put your hands on the shelves there.” 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. “Fuckkkkk,” 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. “Shit, you feel so good.” Roman praises breathily, nails digging into the meat of your hips. “Like you were fuckin made for me.”
Your eyes roll back in your head as you moan, feeling an orgasm rumbling through your blood at his words. “Romannn,” you whimper, and you feel the twitching in his cock again as he nears his climax.
“Shit. I want you to cum. Want you to fuckin cum on my cock.” He spits.
There’s 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. “You can bite me, Roman. I want you to.”
Roman thinks his heart might actually have stopped at that. He doesn’t stop to think as he licks over the sweaty flesh of your throat and bites down. His teeth aren’t 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 he’d maybe bend you back over and fuck you again if the sound of the bell doesn’t 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.
“I love you, Roman.” You say, and Roman turns from the door to cup your cheeks and press a soft kiss to your mouth.
“You’re mine, baby.”
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. You’re by your locker, and your smile is clear and bright when you see him.
“Baby,” 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.
“What’s going on?”
You shrug. “Someone died, I guess.”
It’s a little disquieting to see you so nonchalant about it, but you weren’t like, friends with Brooke Bluebell or anything, so maybe it doesn’t matter.
“It’s just awful.” Letha sobs into a silk handkerchief in the cafeteria at lunch. “She was… and it was so horrible.”
“Yeah.” Roman agrees noncommittedly.
“And you were friends with her, weren’t you Rome?”
Letha’s looking at Roman like she’s expecting something from him, and he shrugs. “I guess. Not so much recently.” His eyes slide to you, to the way you’re pushing your lunch around your plate without really eating anything.
“Weren’t you working on that English paper together? Like literally at the weekend.”
Roman shoots his cousin a glare that she chooses to ignore. “I guess so.”
Letha’s bottom lip wobbles. “You were maybe like, the last person to see her alive. You should say something.”
Roman’s eyes drop to you again, but your face hasn’t changed. Like you’re not even listening, but Roman knows you are. He can see the thrumming pulse in your neck, knows your heartrate has picked up. “I got nothing to say, Leth.”
You can feel Roman’s eyes on you in the car on the way home, and you know he’s going to ask you about how weird you’re being. But you can’t tell him that you’re being weird because you can’t fake sadness. And you can’t tell him that you’re wearing ballet flats today because Brooke Bluebell's blood is all over your sneakers.
“What’s up with you?” He asks as he stops the car outside your house.
“Nothing?” You ask, shaking your head. “Just… you know. It’s sad, what happened to that girl.”
“Brooke.” Roman corrects, and your teeth snap together.
“Right. Of course you know her name.”
And Roman sees a flash of jealousy in your eyes then. He knows the fucking look, because it’s been slapped across his face every time you so much as glanced at anyone else for months.
“You don’t… you know there was nothing going on with me and her, right?”
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. “You know you’re it for me, right?”
You nod, though you’re remembering the way he’d hugged the girl as she stood on his front step, and how she’d looked back at him with unbridled lust in her eyes before getting in her car. You’re 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 isn’t at all convinced that you’re 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.
“Got ID?”
“Huh?”
“You have to be 21 to buy these. Do you have any ID?”
And Roman twists his frown into a smirk as he leans over the counter. “C’mon, whats the deal? You miss me? I swear I haven’t been cheatin on you with the 7/11 down the street. Just cutting back on my nicotine consumption.”
The girl doesn’t smile back, but she looks very deliberately at the CCTV camera pointed at the register and mouths. “Out back.”
Roman nods conspiratorily and buys a pack of gum before heading out of the store and around to the alley.
“Sorry, Roman.” The girl says, handing him three packets of Marlboros. “They got big brother watching now.”
“Fuckin sucks.” Roman agrees. “Thanks.”
He hands her too much money, and she pockets it without looking. “Do you have some time? I go on break in five.”
And Roman knows what that means, that she’s game to ride his cock in the passenger seat of his car if he wants to. But he’s got you now, so he shakes his head. “I gotta bounce.”
She looks maybe a little disappointed, but she shrugs it off and steps close to graze her fingers against his cock through his slacks. “Some other time, then.”
It’s supposed to be seductive, and Roman’s cock maybe stirs a little with interest, but that’s his lizard brain taking over. Because he’s all yours, and that includes his fucking cock.
He’s nine cigarettes in, hip flask of aged whiskey resting warm in his palm when there’s 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. She’s dripping with it, blood pouring down her face and over her lips to drop heavily onto the front of her shirt.
“What the fuck happened to you?” He asks, and he isn’t proud of the thick edge of arousal in his voice.
“Your psycho girlfriend attacked me.” She spits, and Roman can see blood bubbling out of the seam of her lips now, too.
“Shee-it. I’ll… talk to her.”
“I’m gunna press fucking charges.” She seethes. “Just thought I’d let you know. Cuz you’re weird but I don’t wanna see something bad happen to you and she’s fucking insane.”
Roman swallows hard. “Yeah. I know. Just… get in the car. I’ll drive you to the hospital or the cops or wherever you wanna go.”
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. They’re most of the way out of town by the time she realizes that Roman’s going in the wrong direction, and when she tries to open the door, thinking she’ll take her chances rolling out into the road and making a run for it, she finds the locks engaged.
Your phone buzzes. “Hey.”
“Are you busy right now?”
“No.” You glance at your homework. Your half-finished, due tomorrow homework. “Why?”
“I need you to meet me at the steel mill.”
You suppress a shiver. There’s something off about his tone, but you can’t quite put a finger on it. Not that it matters anyway. There’s no scenario where you don’t go, if he wants you to. “Alright. Give me like twenty minutes.”
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 he’ll 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. “Roman?” 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. There’s 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. “Hey.”
He doesn’t smile, and anxiety churns through you again. “What did you get up to today?”
You frown. “Nothing much. School, and then I’ve just been at home, studying.”
Roman’s mouth quirks into a smirk that sends a bolt of heat through you. “Such a pretty little liar.”
You swallow. “I don’t know what you’re-“
“Come here.”
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. “Studying?” He repeats softly, pressing his mouth to your injured fingers. “You get in a fistfight with your algebra textbook?"
“I…” You cut yourself off, a lump forming in your throat. Roman’s 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. “I’m s-sorry, Roman.”
“I know,” he coos against you. “I know, baby. It isn’t… your fault.” He looks up at you then, green eyes dark as his pupils expand. “But we’ve got a problem now, haven’t we?”
You bite your lip as he lifts a hand to cup your chin and turn your head to the side. There’s a couch in the far corner of the room. You hadn’t noticed it before, hadn’t been able to see anything but Roman, but ice floods your stomach at the girl hogtied and gagged there now.
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Roman echoes. “You saw me talking to her at the store, didn’t you?”
You can only nod, biting your bottom lip as a blush crawls up your neck. “She… touched you.”
Roman feels a surge of affection and pleasure so intense that his heart aches with it. That you’d be so jealous, so possessive over him. The best compliment you could ever offer him, actually. “And you felt threatened?”
“No.”
Roman’s 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. “I wanted her fucking dead for touching what’s mine.”
Roman moans as he wraps his fist in your hair and pulls you against his chest. “Shit,” 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. “You love me that much, huh?”
“Killed that other girl for you.” You gasp into his mouth as his fingers curl inside you. “Woulda killed that one too if she hadn’t run away like a little, ahh,” you break off as his fingers find your g-spot and caress against the sensitive flesh. Your head drops to his shoulder and Roman’s 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.
“You gotta be more careful, baby.” He coos, adding a third finger as he fucks you open on his hand and your clit is dragged mercilessly over his palm. “She was gunna go to the cops. I coulda lost you.”
You whine at the feeling of his finger pressing against the tight, dry muscles of your asshole. “I’m sorry.”
He hums, dipping his head to nip along your jawline. “You don’t need to apologize. But you do need to learn a lesson.”
You swallow hard, eyes rolling back at the assault of Roman’s 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.
“What do you want me to do?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you watch his tongue lap at your arousal.
“You’re gunna finish the job. Kill her.”
You turn your head to look at the girl writhing on the couch, and uncertainty curdles in your stomach like spoiled milk. “I… don’t know if I can.” Because without the heat of the moment, you just… don’t 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. “You need to be jealous to get it up?” 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. “I’ve fucked this girl a lot, y’know? She wanted it today, too. Touching my cock like she could have me. Take me from you.”
Your cheeks burn as you cross the room, and you grab the front of Roman’s shirt to pull him away from her. “I get it.”
Roman bites the corner of his lip, stepping away from the girl. “Go on, sweetheart.”
And you don’t 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 there’s maybe something like regret or terror or something in her stare, but you don’t feel it. Roman moves behind you, pressing on your spine until you’re forced to brace against the ground with your free hand, leaning right on the girl’s body for support as he drags your underwear to the side and spreads your ass cheeks.
And there’s 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 girl’s 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 Roman’s middle finger pushes past the tight ring of muscles, and you arch against the intrusion.
This is the single hottest thing that’s ever happened to Roman Godfrey. He’s 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 he’s stimulating your cunt from the other side of it. “Knew you could be good for me.” He coos, reaching around your hip to stroke your clit as he stares at the press of your palm to the girl’s throat. “And you’re making it last.”
You’re not doing that, but you’ve 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 Roman’s fingers in your ass as he tweaks and teases your clit. The girl isn’t looking at you anymore, she’s 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.
“Cum for me, baby.” 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 girl’s throat.
You haven’t slept in two days. Your mom hasn’t been able to get you to eat, and you certainly haven’t been to school. Roman’s been blowing up your phone, but you ignore it. You feel low in a way you never have before, in a way you can’t explain. You miss him like there’s a part of your own body missing, but you can’t bring yourself to go to him. So it’s almost a relief when he climbs the tree outside your window and into your room at three AM.
“What the fuck is going on?” He seethes, pushing hair out of his eyes and brushing leaves from his jacket. “I’ve been fucking calling you and you just ghost me like I’m-“
“Roman,” you croak, and he freezes. Roman stares at you, eyes scanning you with clinical assessment.
“Shit.” 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. “Shit, you missed me.”
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. “Shit, I forgot about this part.”
“Hmm?”
Roman sighs, prying you away from him just enough to look you in the eyes. “I forgot how… needy you get.”
Hurt lances through your chest. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be I-“
“No, baby.” He shushes you, pressing his lips to yours. “It’s not like, your fault. It’s mine. I forgot that I have to keep you dosed. Micro-dosed.”
Your bottom lip wobbles as tears blur your vision. “I don’t feel right.”
“I know.” Roman’s tongue traces the tracks of tears on your cheeks, and you shudder against him. “It’s my fault. I made you like this.”
And Roman knows that he can’t keep it up. That he can’t watch you disintegrate like Miranda had. That finding you hanging from the chandelier in the lobby might actually kill him. “I made you love me.”
You huff a laugh. “Sure you did. I mean, I love you because I fell in love with you. I love you m-“
“More than anything else in the world.” Roman finishes for you. “Yeah, because I told you to. I have like… I can do things. I can make people do things that I tell them to. It’s like… a super power or something.”
You blink at him, wondering if your boyfriend has gone insane. But at the same time, there’s a niggling itch at the back of your mind. “Like… the guy at the bar?”
Roman swallows hard. “Yeah, like that. I did that to you. Made you love me. I didn’t know it would… go like this. That there’d be side-effects.”
You think about your knife in Brooke Bluebells guts, and you press your lips together against a fresh wave of hysteria.
“Can you fix it? Make me be… not like this?”
“I don’t know. I mean I’ve never tried.”
“Can you?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and the pain that crosses Roman’s face lances through you like a blade.
“I’ll try, baby.” 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. “None of this is real. You don’t love me, you never did. And you’ve never hurt anybody. You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”
And you blink as Roman releases your face, feeling his heart wrench into little pieces at the glazed expression on your face.
“I… did it work?” You ask faintly, and Roman frowns.
“I don’t know. Do you feel… better?”
You hum, shifting your hips as you check in with your limbs like you’re supposed to feel different physically. “I don’t feel worse.”
“Okay,” Roman breathes. “Well that’s something. I guess I’ll… go.” He lifts you from his lap and deposits you on the bed, and your stomach flushes cold.
“Roman, wait.”
He turns when he’s 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. “I still love you.”
And this is the worst and the best time for Roman Godfrey to learn that you can’t uncompel someone. You can compel them to do things, and you can compel them to forget that they did those things. But you can’t cancel one command out with another. And Olivia Godfrey would have told him that, if she’d 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 you’re staring up at him with adoration in your eyes and no memory of the awful shit you’ve done for him.
“I don’t know how to fix that.” 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.
“I don’t wanna be fixed like that.” 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.
“Ohhh,” 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.
“Shit, please,” 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.
It’s the most delicious pleasure-pain you’ve 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. You’re 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. Roman’s pupils expand as he bottoms out inside you, a low rumble of a moan vibrating out of his chest as he fills you completely.
“I love you,” you whimper, and Roman’s 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, it’s a price worth paying. A price he’ll pay a thousand times over, if he gets to have you.
So Roman says it, for the first time ever. “I love you. I love you so much.” 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 isn’t long before you feel the thick twitching pulses of his cock releasing inside you.
Roman’s 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 don’t respond when he asks if you’re 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. “Huh?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I… just doing math.”
Roman’s lips quirk. “Nerd.”
“No. I mean, uh. I think I might be fuckin… ovulating.”
Roman freezes, his smirk sliding from his face. Because those words should put the fear into him, but they don’t. 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. “Well hello, mommy.”
You hum at the teasing nickname, turning so you can rest your head on his chest, and Roman’s heart thumps erratically under your cheek. He’s 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. “You good, Leth?”
Her bottom lip juts out like she’s going to cry, and Roman’s frown deepens as his eyes drop to the hand she’s cradling against her chest.
“What happened?”
“Your… girlfriend shut my hand in my locker door.”
Roman swallows hard. “Oh. Uh, I’m sure she didn’t mean to.”
“No, well obviously not.” Letha rolls her eyes. “But I think my fingers are broken.”
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 Letha’s hand, like you’re totally innocent, like you had nothing to do with it, and Roman’s stomach twists with a sick mix of anxiety and pleasure. Because you’d seen him kiss the top of Letha’s head at the car this morning, and then you’d broken her fucking hand. And it hadn’t mattered that she was his cousin, or anything. And yeah, Roman thinks with a tiny smile and a throb in his cock. He’s so supremely fucked, actually.
Summary: After learning about his reputation and rejecting his advances, you’re caught up in Roman Godfrey’s web of dark obsession. It starts with small things, seeing the cherry red of his jaguar passing on your way to work or the gym. The ghost of his tall silhouette ducking out of the coffee shop moments before you turn around. And it’s a little disconcerting, but you can ignore it. Then come the nightmares, the night terrors, the sore muscles and bruises and memory fog. And the worst part? The only person who seems to believe you is Roman.
Starting at a new school in a small town part way through the year is not easy, but the pretty, perky blonde assigned to be your buddy helps you feel a little less out of place. Letha Godfrey isn’t exactly popular, but she’s well-liked in that endearing way reserved for people who are truly just nice. And she’s a fountain of local knowledge, talking your ear off about everybody you pass in the halls, getting you up to speed on classroom politics and who’s-dating-who. It’s useful, and you catalogue everything away under ‘shit you don’t care about but have to remember so you don’t get your face kicked in for flirting with someone’s boyfriend’. Because that had happened before, at a New York school you’d been stuck at for one semester, and it sucked.
“Seriously, they seem all stoic and standoffish but I promise when you get to know them, they’re cool.”
“Yeah.” You hum, eyes scanning the cafeteria. Your gaze lands on a boy who you’d have skipped over if not for the fucking intense way he was looking at you. And had been since the moment you stepped foot in the room. His eyes, electric green and too big for his face, hadn’t blinked since you’d started looking at him, you were pretty sure. “Letha, who is that?”
Letha stops talking to follow your sightline, and sighs. “That’s Roman.”
“He’s staring.”
“He’s my cousin. I usually sit with him at lunch, he’s probably looking at me.”
You shrug, even though you can feel his stare boring into your skin and you know damn well he was looking at you. Still is, by the way your skin prickles with heat. You collect your food behind Letha and follow her over to her cousin, taking a seat as far away from him as possible on a small table.
“Hey, Rome.” She says, sliding her tray down next to his. “This is-“
“No introductions necessary, cuz. You’re the talk of the town.”
Roman’s mouth, his full, pretty mouth curls up into a lazy smirk and you feel blood heat your cheeks. “Slow news day, then.”
His smirk widens as he tilts his head to the side. “Well you’re in good hands with Letha. She knows everybody.”
“I’m definitely getting that impression.” You offer him a small, shy smile and his smirk softens into something more genuine and a million times more attractive. The heat in your cheeks flares again, and you force yourself to look away before your face actually combusts.
“She’s from New York.” Letha says between bites of her burger.
Roman whistles low through his teeth. “City girl. What’re you doing in Hemlock Grove?”
You chew your own burger carefully, giving yourself time to formulate actual words. “We travel a lot for my dad’s work.”
“And your dad’s line of work is…” Roman teases, leaning across the table.
“Defense. He works for the military.”
“I think that means it’s classified.” Letha says with a wink, and you nod.
“I mean, not like classified, but like he doesn’t talk about specifics and I don’t ask. I’m not like, into it.”
“A pacifist?” Roman asks, raising an eyebrow.
God, it’s hard to form even thoughts under the weight of his attention. There’s something almost ethereally pretty about him, almost unnaturally so. You hadn’t really noticed it from across the room, but up close it’s all you can see. He looks like Letha. He’s hotter than Letha. “Something like that.” You mumble eventually, and Roman bites his bottom lip as he watches you blush and squirm and pretend you’re not at all bothered by him.
“No.”
Roman frowns, hooking his fingers into the strap of Letha’s backpack and dragging her back from the door. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.” Letha hums. “Actually it’s fuck no.”
Roman scoffs, shaking his head. “Enlighten me.”
Letha rolls her eyes as she turns to face her cousin. “You want to ask the new girl out. And you think because I’m her buddy or whatever I’ll get you in. But I won’t do it.”
Roman hums. “Okay. Why not?”
Letha sighs, giving her cousin her best long suffering look. “You know why, Roman. I love you, god knows I do. But you’re… you know.”
Roman forces his mouth to smirk even though his stomach is churning with a dangerous mixture of hurt and anger. “No, I don’t. Spell it out for me, Leth.”
“You’re a manwhore, Roman. And if I help you get close to her you’ll fuck her and then turn into an emotionally unavailable asshole and she’ll be so pissed off she’ll stop hanging out with me too. And I’m sick of losing friends that way.”
Roman’s about to defend himself, about to demand that Letha give him examples of this behaviour, but then he remembers Ashley and Lucy and Sarah and Beth and maybe she has a point. A stupid one, but he can’t really argue against the evidence. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right girl.”
Letha purses her lips. “And you think this one might be the right girl? From one conversation?”
Roman shrugs. “She’s got the nicest tits I’ve ever seen in real life.”
Letha makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and flicks her hair over her shoulder as she stomps off towards the parking lot, and Roman rolls his eyes at her back before following her out to his car.
The music is almost too loud for conversation, but Roman tries anyway. You’re leaning over the pool table, giving him an unfairly good view of your tits spilling out the front of your shirt as you bend in half, and Roman is genuinely powerless to stop himself crossing the bar to come and talk to you. You look up as he approaches, eyes sliding to your friend before returning to him with a guarded expression.
“Small world.” Roman says, giving you his very best and most charming smile.
“Small town.” You retort, narrowing your eyes in concentration as you tap your cue against the white ball, sending it scattering over the table.
“Of all the small bars in all the small towns, you walk into mine,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow.
“I’d heard your family owned half the town. Didn’t know that included the drinking establishments.”
Roman shakes his head, leaning on the edge of the pool table in a way he hopes looks casual. “Nah, not like officially. But I’m in here a lot. There isn’t much to do around here but drink and fuck.”
You don’t respond, your attention returning to the game as your friend hands you a beer. Roman feels the dismissal, and it churns in his guts like poison. He doesn’t know what to do with it, and he’s missing the blush on your cheeks from the cafeteria.
“You wanna grab a drink with me? I’m buying.”
You smile. “In the middle of a game here.”
“After.” Roman swallows hard, feeling the absurd prickle of tears in the corners of his eyes. Are you… rejecting him? Has anyone ever?
“I’m with my friend, Roman. Sorry.”
Roman shrugs, pushing off the table and forcing himself to scan the bar for an easy target. “Maybe some other time.”
“Maybe,” you reply, but your focus is already back on the fucking pool table and Roman has to work very hard to put one foot in front of the other and make his way over to a girl he vaguely recognises.
“Hey, Roman.” She smirks, and Roman doesn’t respond with words. He pushes her against the wall and parts her lips against his own, wondering if you’re watching.
*
Letha nods sagely as you relay the events from the bar. “Like I said,” she sighs. “He’s a manwhore.”
“Yeah but it was like… I don’t know. Forced? Like performative.”
Letha hums. “Maybe. I don’t know. Roman can be really sweet when he wants to be, but he’s just like this.”
“Well, I appreciated the heads up.”
Letha smiles softly. “I’ve lost friends who have fucked around with him. Just wanted to give you the facts so you could make your own choice.”
“Yeah. I don’t do manwhores.”
The manwhore in question rocks up at that moment, tossing his wrapped sandwich onto the table as he slouches into a seat next to you. It’s the wrong end of the table, and Letha presses her lips together in apprehension as she waits for the inevitable show to begin.
“Good to see you last night.” Roman says. “Sorry I couldn’t stop for a drink, had… business to attend to.”
The business is currently staring daggers at you from across the room, and your force a tight smile onto your face. “You certainly seemed busy.” You’re not going to let him get under your skin. You just can’t get involved with someone like him, even if he’s the prettiest guy you’ve ever seen. Even if you think it would probably be a lot of fun.
“What are you doing tonight? Spot opened up in my calendar.” Roman flashes you a grin, and you focus on your plate. Letha’s chair creaks, and you turn to watch her push to a stand.
“Got to run to the office. Paperwork.” She mumbles, a blush staining her coward, lying face. You glare at her as she shuffles away, leaving you to deal with this alone.
“I’m busy tonight.”
“Tomorrow.” Roman’s eyes are enormous and hyper-focused on you, and your heart thumps irregularly in your chest.
“I don’t think so.”
“Letha told you to say no, didn’t she?”
You twist your mouth to the side, forcing yourself to look at him. “She told me you… get around.”
“What a fuckin bitch.” Roman says, a blush staining over his cheekbones. Because he’s embarrassed, sure, but he’s hurt too. “Slut shaming is so 2010.”
“Well, whatever. I’m just not interested in that. I mean, I’m sure you’re great. But I’m more like, a relationship girl I guess. Not interested in joining a rotation.”
Roman wants to argue with you, wants to maybe convince you that you should go out with him. But his pride is fucking wounded. Really, really fucked wounded. By Letha and her big mouth, and you with your self-righteous bullshit.
So he shrugs. “In that case, offer rescinded. I’m not into that feelings bullshit anyway.”
To his horror, you smile. “Glad we’re on the same page then. Friends?”
And Roman’s stomach is on fire as he nods, sharply. “Friends.”
It costs a hundred and fifty dollars to find out everything Roman needs to know to build his schedule around yours. A hundred bucks to bribe the receptionist into giving him your transcript, and fifty to pay a junior to follow you home and hide in the bushes across from your house to find out what time your bedroom light goes out. And from there, he fills in the blanks. What time you wake up and open your curtains, always in your pjs with messy hair and your nipples poking against the fabric of your shirt.
What time you leave home, which bus you get on. He compels a kid from AV to hack into your Spotify account and download your playlists, so he can listen to what you listen to when he does what you do. Follows you to the library after school on Monday, the gym on Tuesday. Straight home on Wednesday to take an extra long shower, and Roman doesn’t even try to stop himself jerking off in the car as he watches thin plumes of steam curl out of your bathroom window. You take a laptop to the coffee shop in town on Thursdays and write until they close, mainlining americanos like you’re dependent on the caffeine to live, and by the third week he’s sitting on the opposite side of the room, drinking the same drink and wondering what it would taste like if you pushed your tongue into his mouth.
Roman has it bad for you. He hasn’t been able to fuck anyone else in almost a month, and that’s unheard of. Roman Godfrey closing up shop is a crisis amongst the teenage girl population, who have grown pretty used to Roman’s willing presence as a tongue and a cock for pretty much anyone, anytime. And he’s tried, but it just doesn’t work anymore. His cock can’t get hard if he isn’t thinking about you.
And yeah, maybe he could stop following you around town and obsessing about your schedule and jerking off to your Instagram pictures, but he just doesn’t want to. And it’s ruining his goddamn life, actually.
So when he sees an ad in the paper for a bonified, authentic WITCH, he decides it’s maybe worth throwing a couple hundred bucks at a love potion. Why the shit not, right?
“It doesn’t work like that.” The woman shakes her head, offering him a sympathetic smile. “There’s no magic to force someone to love you. Have you tried talking to her?”
Roman scoffs. “Yeah. Didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I have… if it’s an issue of money. I’ll pay whatever.”
She shakes her head again. “What you ask for does not exist.”
“I just need her to… see me.” Roman says quietly, swallowing around a sudden thickness in his throat. “Just need a chance to show her what I can offer.”
The woman frowns, assessing him. She can see a darkness surrounding the man, a sickly black aura that makes her afraid, but his money is green and her electric is days from being shut off. And she has an elderly mother in the second bedroom. So she makes a decision that could get her cut off from the coven, but it’s a desperate choice for a desperate situation and maybe this boy will do exactly as he says. Who is she to know, really?
“I have… something. Something that might help you to be seen.”
Roman nods, already pulling a money clip from his jacket and flicking through bills. “Give it to me.”
*
You writhe in your sheets, sweat slicking your hair to your neck and itching on your bare legs as they tangle in the damp fabric. You can’t see him, but you can feel the pressure of his presence on the edge of your unconscious mind, teasing and tugging at the resistance of your mind as you run through the forest. You know the place, it’s the forest on the edge of the farm in rural England where you’d lived for a year as a child. You’d found it spooky then. Twisted by your subconscious it’s a nightmare, gnarled trees twisting towards you like limbs as you tear through the bleached bone branches and stumble over fallen debris. He’s so close, behind you but also inside you somehow, thrumming into your veins like a sickness. Your foot catches on an unearthed root and you fall, the breath thumping out of you on a scream as you bolt upright in bed. Your hands shake badly as you reach for the lamp beside your bed, squinting against the sudden brightness after so much dark. There’s a faint creak from the other side of the room, and your head snaps to the window. It’s shut, and locked, but that sound…
It’s all in your head. You’re under a lot of stress, and you’ve been watching too many horror movies. That’s all there is to it. Your imagination has melded several things together and created a monster, but it’s not real. There are things you can change, and things you can’t. You can stick to Disney after sundown. You can ask your teachers for a little extra help in the classes you’re struggling with. You can take a different route home, or switch to the Starbucks on Main. You can maybe get out of your gym membership and start running closer to home. You can’t force Roman Godfrey to stop stalking you. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t admit he was doing it, anyway. But he’s tall, and his eyes are like fucking beacons flashing at you across any crowded space, and he’s the only person in this town who drives a vintage, cherry red jaguar. You know the sound of its engine rumbling past your street. You know the low growl as it idles outside your house. You know the click of silence as he turns the engine off and sits across the street for hours.
But you can’t tell him you know any of this. Because you have no proof, and because you’re not sure what will happen if you do. Roman sits with you and Letha at lunch. He laughs and he cracks jokes and he treats you as a friend, exactly as agreed. How could you accuse him of anything more than that when he hadn’t done anything, exactly? So you sigh, and you flop down onto your back and you stare at your bedroom ceiling until sleep finally retakes you.
It takes a week for the dream to change. Or more, for it to progress. The heavy in and out of his breathing filling your head as he follows you through the trees. His green eyes shining in the low moonlight, fixed on you as his mouth curls into a smirk. Every night he gets a little closer, until his phantom hand wraps around your wrist and drags you off the path, into his chest. And your mouth opens to scream, but the hot press of his lips silences you as his tongue glides into your mouth, tasting like nicotine and peppermint gum. Roman smokes, and Roman chews peppermint gum to cover it up. And it’s Roman in the dreams, even if you never see his face.
It’s harder to look at him in the cafeteria, chewing on a slice of pizza and making dumb faces at Letha across the table. Much harder to look him in the eye, when last night you dreamt of cumming against his pretty mouth whilst he held you down in the leaves and devoured you.
“She’s completely fuckin spaced.”
You jump at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder, and Roman withdraws slowly, a smirk on his face. “Welcome back to earth.”
“Sorry.” You mumble, running your hand back through your hair. A few strands come loose in your fingers, and you swallow around a lump of anxiety. Your hair had been falling out, little by little. Just stress. Just nightmares.
You force a smile and a shrug. “Just not sleeping great.”
You can feel Roman’s eyes on you, the weight of his stare like a millstone around your neck as you push pasta around with your fork. “Maybe you should talk to somebody.”
His voice is soft, but it still makes you jerk upright. “I’m fine.”
His smile is disarming, even as something else flashes in his eyes. “Only a suggestion.”
*
You look fragile. That’s what Roman thinks as he stands at the foot of your bed, watching you whimper and moan and toss and turn. Your hair is thinner than it was when you first met, and there are permanent dark circles under your eyes. And Roman’s kinda insulted, because he’s been giving you everything, every night. He’s been making your eyes roll back and listening to you cry as you cum on his tongue, and he knows you’ve been waking up with your panties soaked through. He’s been able to smell it on you every day at school, and it’s been so fucking hard to stop himself from bending you over the lunch table and rewarding himself for all his goddamn patience.
But today you’d looked through him as you dismissed him, and Roman Godfrey’s patience had run out. He braces his hands on the metal frame of your bed and leans in, inhaling the sleepy, warm scent of your skin and sweat and your laundry detergent. You’re worked up, he can see the dark damp patch on the front of your panties. He’d been jerking his cock with his eyes closed for hours, pushing your face into the packed earth and spreading your ass cheeks to spit into your hole and fuck you with his tongue until you’d cum at least twice. Roman doesn’t know why it’s always that fucking forest, but it doesn’t matter. You wait for him now. You don’t run. And you have to know it’s him. You have to. But you’d still looked at him like he was nothing at all to you, and that’s just not something he can deal with anymore.
He clears his throat, and you hum in your sleep as you stir awake. Your eyes open, and flutter closed. And then they open again, flying wide as you bolt upright.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” You hiss, drawing the sheets up around your neck like Roman hasn’t seen it all before.
“Pleasant dreams?” Roman asks, letting his eyes wander lazily over your body.
You flush, and Roman smells the sharpness of your arousal pooling fresh in your underwear. Yeah, you fucking know it’s him.
“Did my parents let you in?”
Roman rolls his eyes. “Parents don’t tend to let me in. Window.”
Your eyes flick to your closed window, and back to him. “If you go now, I won’t say anything to anybody.”
Roman’s mouth pulls into a lopsided smirk. “Baby, you won’t remember any of this tomorrow.” He climbs easily over your bedframe, long limbs folding under himself as he crawls up your body like an enormous black spider, and your mouth opens to scream. Roman’s tongue slips against your teeth, swallowing the sound as he licks into your mouth. His body presses against you, hard cock nestling against your oversensitive core, and you whimper against his lips.
He pulls away from the kiss to catch your eyes, and you can’t look away from the haunting, glowing beauty of them as he murmurs words of reassurance.
“You’re going to enjoy this. You want me, you want me to fuck you. You’re going to cum.”
The words settle into your skin, slowing your heartrate and slicking throbbing arousal in your clit. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him against you, suddenly desperate to feel his mouth on yours, and Roman moans against your lips as his hips grind into yours. The friction sends bolts of pleasure zinging through your core, and you hook a leg around the back of Roman’s thigh, desperate for more. “Please,” you whisper into his mouth, and Roman hums as hooks his thumbs into your panties and drags them down your legs.
The feeling of his tongue on your cunt is too familiar, but your brain can’t quite focus on that with the blinding waves of pleasure rolling through you. Roman flicks his tongue against your clit in rapid little licks, his fingers circling your hole before pushing into you and curling back, and you sob as your hips lift to grind against his face. You’re pinned to the mattress by the weight of his body, forced to hold still as he sucks your clit into his mouth and grazes against the hood with his teeth. His fingers are a blur as he fucks them in and out of you, brushing against your most sensitive inner walls with each stroke and winding the chord of pleasure in your stomach tighter and tighter and tighter.
“I’m gunna cum,” you whine, and Roman moans into your folds, nuzzling the sharp point of his nose against you as he laps hungrily at your soaked pussy, coaxing every drop of your release out of you as you jerk underneath him.
Roman doesn’t ask permission or look for reassurance before he pushes your knees up and fucks into you. You’re wet enough to take him in one thrust, though your muscles tighten and flutter around him and you whimper like maybe it hurts a little bit. And Roman might have cared about that, before all of this. Before the endless nights of walking in your dreams, the endless hours of watching and learning and blurring reality and fantasy. You’re not a person to him anymore, not really. Though he can’t deny that the feeling of you, of being inside you is more real than he’d ever imagined. His cock throbs and aches with an insatiable need to break you open, and he doesn’t try to stop himself.
You’re folded almost in half as Roman leans all his weight into his hands pressing your knees against the mattress, his hips snapping against yours violently as his cock fucks you open. He can feel the spongy flesh of your cervix bumping against the underside of the head of his cock, and your eyes water with every thrust as you chew on your bottom lip hard enough to split the delicate skin.
Roman growls as your blood smears into your drool and smudges against your chin, and he dips his head to suck your lip into his own mouth, clamping his teeth down on the puffy flesh until your blood explodes on his tongue and he cums, burying his seed deep against your cervix and grinding his cock into you until he physically can’t anymore. He pulls out of your cunt before he releases your lip, licking at the swollen bud gently before taking your face in his hands and forcing your eyes open.
“I was never here. This never happened. Go to sleep.”
And even now, even as your eyes close and Roman’s thoroughly fucked out, he can’t let you rest. Can’t let you have a night of dreamless slumber. His eyes sting with dry exhaustion as he slumps into the driver’s seat of his jag and takes a shot from the rapidly depleting bottle of dreamers potion, before closing his eyes and slipping into your mind to fuck you again.
*
“Jesus Christ,” Letha gasps as you sit down at the lunch table the next day. You avoid her eyes as you lick self-consciously over your lip. It’s doubled in size and purple under the thin membrane of your skin, swollen with blood like you’ve been punched. You feel like you’ve been hit by a train, every muscle and bone in your body aches.
“I know.” You mumble, the words muffled by the lack of co-ordination your mouth is currently experiencing.
“What did you do, make out with a mountain lion?”
You shoot Letha a glare as Roman sits down opposite you, his eyes fixed on his cousin. “I don’t know. Woke up like this.”
“Maybe you bit your lip in your sleep.” Roman offers. He doesn’t look at all shocked by your condition, and you feel the absurd urge to be grateful for his indifference.
“Probably.”
“Maybe you were having a very good dream.” Letha suggests with a smirk.
You shake your head, but your clit throbs with the phantom of half-remembered arousal, and you don’t have to look at Roman to know he’s watching you.
*
Your wrists are tied to your headboard, and Roman’s balls deep in your pussy with his hand clamped over your mouth when he realizes he might have tied the knots a little too tight. You’re going to bruise, you bruise so fucking easily as it is. But it’s too late to do anything about it now, and the way you wince as you tug at your restraints is making his cock throb so he ignores it and uses his free hand to lift your leg over his shoulder so he can fuck you harder and go so much deeper.
Your eyes roll back in your head at the new angle, the head of Roman’s cock dragging against your sensitive spot with every gruelling thrust. Your parents are down the hall, and you know that if you screamed, they would come running. But you also know that Roman will make them go away, and you can’t risk it. The only thing you can do is survive him, let your body surrender to the punishing brutality of his cock and his hands and his tongue.
“Look at me,” he grits out, and you do, willingly. Because this is the best part, when he tells you to cum and then makes you forget. You need this part. “You’re gunna cum on my cock. You’re gunna cum harder than you ever have before.”
And you do. Holy shit, you do. Your cunt spasms, your clit jolting with electric pulses as your entire body goes rigid and then melts into the mattress. Roman fucks you through it, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming, almost painful sensation of your walls squeezing his cock.
Your catch his eyes, blinking through wet lashes as you look at him. And Roman almost can’t cum, looking at you. At how pretty and soft you are. That makes this real, and he can’t live with himself and know you’re real. So he wraps a hand around your throat and turns your head, sucking a sensitive chunk of your flesh into his mouth and grinding his teeth against it until blood blossoms under your skin and you shudder with sobs beneath him.
*
“Seriously.” Letha’s voice is low, her face pinched with concern as she looks at you. “If someone is… hurting you… you can tell me. I can help.”
You shrug. Because what can you say, really? You think you’re being haunted? There’s a phantom in your dreams, and you’re waking up with cum between your thighs and bite marks on your neck and you have no fucking idea how any of it is possible? She’d look at you like you’re crazy. She’d stop being your friend. And then you’d have no one.
“She looks fine to me.” Roman drawls as he drops into the seat opposite. You swallow hard. No, you wouldn’t have nobody. You’d have Roman, and Roman would have you. All to himself. That would be worse.
“I’m fine.” You agree, nodding tightly at Letha. “Just tired.”
Letha’s eyes narrow and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. You don’t look fine. You look like you’re on the verge of actually dying, but you’ve only been here a little while and Letha doesn’t know how to step in without overstepping.
She waits for you to pick up your tray, your food untouched, and glide from the room like a ghost before she turns to her cousin and asks him for his help.
And that’s how Roman Godfrey ends up idling his car beside you as you wait for the bus. He leans out the window and clicks his fingers in your direction, which would piss you off if you had the energy to feel anything other than low-level terror at all times.
“Get in, I’ll drive you.”
“I’m fine.”
Roman rolls his eyes, tapping the horn loud enough to make people look. “Get in.”
He doesn’t push you, and you say nothing as he drives seamlessly to your house even though he shouldn’t know where you live. There’s no point pretending, is there?
“I think I’m going crazy.” You whisper into the silence when Roman cuts the engine on the street across from your house.
He turns in his seat, tilting his head to the side. “Why?”
“I… I don’t know. I’ve been getting these nightmares. Like really vivid nightmares.”
Roman hums. “Maybe you should lay off coffee before bed.”
“I don’t… it’s not that.”
“Everybody gets nightmares sometimes.”
“I’m waking up… different.”
His eyes snap to your face, alert and watchful. “Different how?”
You push a shaking breath through your lips. “I have… bruises that I can’t explain. Here.” You tug the sleeve of your shirt up enough to show him the livid marks against your wrist. “And… uh…” You brush your hair to the side and show him the bruises sucked into your skin by a phantom, and Roman’s eyes darken, his pupils expanding at the memory of giving them to you.”
“No chance you’re like… sleepwalking?” You shoot him a withering look, and he nods. “Okay, no. That’s weird. Definitely weird.”
“Do you think I’m crazy?”
There’s a pause, and you can’t breathe into the silence as Roman considers this.
“No. I think there’s an explanation, we just haven’t found it yet. I… I could help you figure it out, if you want.”
You swallow around a lump and resist the urge to throw yourself across the small space to hug him. It’s Roman, and there’s no way he cares about you, not really, but he believes you and the relief of that, of not carrying this awful dread all by yourself anymore, is dizzying.
“You believe me.”
Roman smiles softly. “You’re not making those bruises up. These ones,” he reaches across the central console to ghost his fingers against the side of your neck and goosebumps break out over your flesh. “These look like hickeys, y’know?”
*
Letha doesn’t understand why you’re putting on makeup and a dress just to go to Roman’s house. And you have no way to explain it to her that won’t have her cussing you out and hitting you with a reality check that you do not want, so you shrug. “I’m tired of looking like shit all the time.”
She doesn’t argue, because honestly you do look like shit more often than not these days. Concealer under your eyes is a huge improvement, and a little bit of blush sets the colour of your skin off with a healthy-ish glow. You look at least twenty percent less like a corpse, and that’s not nothing.
She’s offered to drive you to Roman’s, and you can’t think of a way to say no that doesn’t seem suspicious seeing as he’s her cousin and she goes to his house all the time, probably. But you don’t want her to come inside with you, and by the look on Roman’s face when he sees her step out of the driver’s side, he doesn’t either.
“Private study group, Leth. Sorry.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah right. Since when do you do anything scholarly outside of school?”
Roman shrugs.
“It’s for me, really. He’s helping me with a project.”
Roman smirks at his cousin as Letha blinks at you. “You want his help? Because I’m free tonight and I’m really g-“
“I have a unique perspective.” Roman cuts in, a devilish glint in his eye that sends butterflies skittering nervously in your stomach.
But Roman isn’t dangerous or anything. His dad was way into occult stuff before he killed himself, and Roman thinks he can perform some kind of ritual to repel whatever is haunting you. It’s stupid, but it’s worth a shot. And he’s willing to help, so you smile at Letha and send her on her way, and you follow Roman Godfrey into his house.
“You can sleep in here.” You freeze at the threshold of the bedroom, eyes going wide, and Roman quirks a brow at you. “What, you thought I’d be able to catch your little sleep demon without you going to sleep?”
You frown. “I can take a guest room. Or the couch downstairs.”
Roman hums. “Mom would shit a bowling ball if she knew you were even here. I’m not allowed sleepovers with girls. Anymore.” He adds, thinking about the time his mother walked in on what could only be described as an orgy, and had banned him from having overnight guests indefinitely.
“It’s not that kind of sleepover though,” you argue weakly, your voice quiet. The truth is that you’re too tired to really fight him on this, and his enormous bed looks inviting.
Roman crosses the room and cups your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. “You’re safe with me. I promise. Nothing is going to get to you tonight. You can sleep, and I’ll watch over you.”
And even though you shouldn’t, even though he’s given you no real reason to trust him, you nod obediently and climb into his bed, settling against his clean sheets. The last thing you see before you close your eyes is Roman easing into an armchair beside you, his eyes fixed on your face.
*
When you wake up, you wonder for a moment if you’ve been in a coma. Your limbs feel heavy. Not achey like normal, not bruised. But heavy like they’ve been deadweight for a long time. Your mouth is dry, and your head buzzes with a sleep-fog that isn’t unpleasant. The sun streams through a thin gap in Roman’s blinds, cutting brightly across his face where he’s curled up in the chair, cheek pillowed on his hand against the headrest. You feel a little guilty, looking at him scrunched into the seat. He must have had an uncomfortable night. But you’re… not tired. You’re not afraid. You’d slept through the night, soundly, without a nightmare or a presence or anything.
You shuffle to the edge of the bed and put a hand on Roman’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Roman?” You murmur softly, and his green eyes open slowly, his face breaking into a sleepy smile when he sees you.
“You slept?”
“I did,” you whisper. “Like… really good.”
Roman exhales, the tension leaving his spine as he uncurls from his chair and puts his hand on your knee. “Shit, that’s good news. You snore, you know.”
You gasp, slapping a hand to your chest. “I do not snore.”
“No, you do.” Roman makes an awful, gagging grunting sound, and you wrinkle your nose and lean forward to smack your hand over his mouth.
Roman’s eyes narrow and his tongue darts out to lick your palm, making you squeal with disgust and something not disgust as you snatch your hand back and wipe your wet palm on his thigh.
He leans in, the smile dropping gently from his face as his breath fans over your mouth. And you close the gap. There’s no real doubt about it, no question of who kisses who. You lean into him, pressing your lips to his and parting them to trace the seam of his mouth with the tip of your tongue. Roman moans softly, his hand lifting to cup your jaw, and there’s something jarringly, comfortingly familiar about his hands on your face. Like he’s supposed to be there. You melt against him, letting him pull you into his lap and straddling his thighs. You can feel his cock stirring to life against your core, your clit throbbing with arousal in response, and you shift your hips just a little bit to grind yourself against him.
Roman’s hands drop to your hips, dragging you forward and back as his tongue licks against your own, and you feel the tickling of fear pricking along your spine and setting adrenaline flowing through your veins.
“Wait,” you mumble against his mouth, and Roman pulls back. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust, but his thumbs rub soft circles against your hips and his expression is soft and concerned.
“You okay?”
“Yes. I, um. This is just all a bit fast.”
He swallows. “Yeah, I know. I don’t mean to… I just… I really like you. I’ve liked you for a really long time.”
Your heart squeezes painfully at his confession. “I think I knew that.”
Roman sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and you watch the thick flesh turn crimson under the pressure as he releases it. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same.”
You shake your head. “I… I think I do. Maybe.”
“Maybe is good. I can work with maybe.” Roman bites the corner of his lip. “We can take it slow.”
You nod, dipping your head to brush your lips over the line of his jaw. “I need slow. I can’t… promise you anything. Like, sexually. I don’t know when I’ll be ready.”
Roman shushes you, running the pad of his thumb over your lips. “I can wait. Shit, I want to wait. You’re worth it. This is worth it.”
He doesn’t tell you that he’s already had you in every way imaginable and that he’ll continue to do so until you’re ready to give yourself to him willingly. But his cock is already getting hard thinking about how he’s going to fuck your face tonight, how you’re going to cry and drool and moan for him before he makes you forget and you wake up all soft and sad and crawling into his arms for reassurance. It’s the best of both fucking worlds, actually.
Tag list: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @elyseesarchive @nqarxne @brightnessluvworld @loushaw131460
I luv your fics and I'm wondering if you can make a breedingkink!Roman or Eric fic?? 🫣🫣 Or hey, maybe a threesome if you don't mind making a cross fic
Three's Company (Roman Godfrey x Reader x Eric Draven)
Summary: Roman loves three things. His car, his girlfriend, and getting so high he forgets he’s a Godfrey. When a routine pick-up turns into something more, he wonders whether he’s a man who can learn how to share.
Word Count: 6066
Warnings: NSFW, drug use, oral sex (m and f!receiving, vaginal fingering, threesome, PiV sex, breeding kink)
A/N: Ohhhh, anon. This request skipped over some of my other projects (sorry!) because I am so GASSED about it. Holy shit. What a request. What a gift to us all.
Fic under the cut!
Roman presses his palm to the horn, letting out a sharp, demanding sound as his jag idles outside your apartment building. Lights go on, and Roman smirks to himself at the thought of all the people he’s pissing off every time he comes to pick you up after midnight. You emerge from the building, a scowl on your face as you jog towards the car. And that’s why he does it like this, rather than texting you. Because you’re pissed now, and when you jog towards the car your tits bounce and it’s immaculate. If he was quiet you wouldn’t rush, and he wouldn’t get to see how sexy you are when you’re mad at him.
“Jesus, Roman. I’m gunna get evicted.”
“You’re moving in with me when your lease ends anyway, who give a shit?” He leans over to hook his fingers into the front of your low-cut shirt and drag you towards him, pressing his lips to yours and tasting the weird strawberry-mint gum you always chew.
“Might be.” You say. “I might be moving in with you. You know damn well I haven’t decided yet.”
Roman scoffs as he returns his hands to the wheel and steers away from the sidewalk. It’s been a point of fucking contention between the two of you for months, and Roman isn’t in the mood to argue right now. Not when he’s about to be off his face and he’ll need you to like him enough to make sure he doesn’t choke to death on his own vomit.
His dealer’s apartment is not unlike yours, which is reason number three hundred and fucking five that Roman wants you to move in with him. It’s rundown, some of the windows have been kicked in and boarded over, and there’s graffiti covering every available surface. It’s a real appropriate setting for junkies and whores. Not for his angel girl.
You reach for his hand as you round the car, squeezing his fingers and tucking in close to his side as he leads you to the entrance. The first time he’d brought you here you’d spent the whole time terrified for his car. Terrified that you’d come out to find it stripped to nothing or gone completely. But Roman had assured you that clients of his dealer were safe parking here. No one messed with him. Or at least, not twice.
Roman knocks three times on the door and steps back, tucking you a little further behind his back as the music inside cuts out and a voice calls; “one second.” The door opens on a thick cloud of smoke, and you squint against the burn as you try to suppress the urge to cough.
“Starting without me?” Roman asks, raising an eyebrow.
Eric smirks, reaching a hand out to shake before pulling your boyfriend into his apartment and clapping him on the back. It’s jarring, seeing the two of them together. In some lights they look a little alike, like two sides of a pretty coin. Same green eyes, and pretty much the same height. But where Roman looks like he’s just walked off the set of a men’s fashion shoot, Eric is messy. His hair is dyed black and chopped into a mullet, and he’s covered in a chaotic spread of tattoos. He looks mean, until he smiles at you over Roman’s shoulder and his whole face lights and softens with the upturn of his lips. “Hey,” his voice is soft too as he pulls away from Roman and steps to the side to let him pass. He doesn’t hug you, doesn’t want to cross that boundary. Not when you look as pretty as you do, and he knows you smell good without you having to get too close. Your perfume hazes over him as you pass, and Eric inhales as subtly as he can, holding the scent of you in his lungs like smoke.
“How’re things?” Eric asks quietly as he busies himself preparing Roman’s order. He likes Roman, though he’s always found the other man to be a little unsettling. Something about his eyes, too big in his face and he doesn’t blink enough. Plus he’s a rich asshole, and that naturally puts him outside of Eric’s circle forever. But Roman flops down on his couch like he doesn’t notice it’s threadbare with broken springs, and he sprawls out like he’s at home. And he always shares a smoke and shoots the shit for a while before leaving.
“Same old, same old, you know.”
Eric nods, though he doesn’t know what life could possibly be like for the CEO of Godfrey Industries. Roman’s never given Eric his last name, and it’s not like Eric gives a shit or anything, but he saw his face on the cover of a fucking magazine a couple months back and had bought it. The magazine was in his bedside draw right now. Eric couldn’t say why he kept it. Didn’t know himself, actually. He just… did. And he only took it out sometimes, eyes scanning the article and the pictures whilst his brain thought about all the times Roman Godfrey, CEO Roman Godfrey had sat on his couch drinking his beer and clapping him on the shoulder like they really were friends.
Roman sits in the center of the couch like always, and you slot in beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. Eric puts the baggies on the coffee table, and Roman hums appreciatively as he pulls a money clip (a fucking money clip) from his breast pocket and tosses it onto the table. Eric tries hard to not take that as dismissively as it feels. “You staying for a while?”
Roman nods. “If you’ve got anything ready.”
Eric scoffs, pulling a neatly rolled joint from behind his ear and parking it between his lips before lighting the end and drawing deeply. He settles back against the couch, passing the joint to Roman, who takes three long drags before he passes it back to Eric. You roll your eyes, shifting against Roman’s side like you’re reminding him that you’re there and that you might want some, too. But if Roman notices your fidgeting, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
You're about to maybe ask, when suddenly the joint is passed over Roman, and you stare at the tattooed fingers holding it out to you. “Oh,” you mumble as you straighten up. “Th-“
“She’s good.” Roman cuts across you, taking the joint from Eric. “But she’d take a drink, right baby?” He slings his arm around your shoulders and a bolt of heat, pleasure mixed with embarrassment jolts up your spine.
“Beers in the fridge, I can show you.” Eric’s eyes burn into yours, and you bite the corner of your lip as you force yourself to look away.
“I’ll get it.” Roman says, pushing up from the couch with a dramatic sigh. He passes the joint back to Eric before he leaves, and Eric shifts around in his seat so he’s facing you.
“You wanna smoke?” His voice is thick with the last drag as it singes his lungs, and heat throbs in your core at the rough sound of it.
“Maybe not a good idea.” You mutter, offering him a small smile. “Thanks anyway.”
“He… uh…” Eric twists his mouth to the side. “He do that a lot? Answer for you?”
You’re shaking your head before he’s finished talking. “He’s protective, that’s all.”
You hug your arms closer to your chest, and Eric notices, shifting a little into Roman’s spot on the couch as he ducks his head lower. “If you’re… if there’s anything wrong you could tell me. I’d… I don’t know. I’d help you.”
You shake your head again, your stomach flipping uneasily. Because he’s got it wrong, Roman is a little controlling and a lot possessive, but you’re not in trouble. You’re right where you want to be, tucked under his arm and completely in love with him. “Thank you. Really. But it’s not like that. He’s-“
“Well this is cozy.”
Ice skitters up your spine at the low, mocking tone of his voice as you turn back to Roman. Eric jumps back like he’s guilty, and the smirk on Roman’s face turns practically feral. Dangerous. “Hey, man. Was just asking your girlfriend if she really didn’t wanna smoke. You know, to be polite.”
“Right,” Roman drawls, placing three beers on the coffee table and crossing his arms over his chest. “And giving her a good eye-fuckin while you were playing dutiful host.”
Eric’s mouth opens and closes, his face flushing. People didn’t talk to him like that. They took one look up at him with his height and his sharp face and his ink, and they looked away. Roman stares down at him, green eyes as cold as chiselled gemstones, and Eric feels the prickle of challenge on the back of his neck.
“Roman,” you mumble, holding a hand out to him. “It’s not like that at all. You’re just…”
“Oh, don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at him, sweetheart.” Roman spits. “Bet your cunt’s fucking soaked for him, isn’t it?”
You sit back, head jerking like he’s slapped you. He has, in a way. Because Roman could be dismissive and spoiled, but he’d never been so openly cruel to you before. It stung.
“Roman man, c’mon. We’re having a good time here. Don’t need to do this.” It’s the last placating thing Eric is going to say before he turns this rich bitch out on his ass and refuses to sell to him anymore. He can do without his money, even if the stack of ‘past due’ letters on his kitchen counter say differently.
“Am I lying, baby?” Roman asks softly, rounding the coffee table and staring at you as though Eric hadn’t spoken at all. “You getting all wet for this lowlife?”
Eric’s hand balls into a fist at his side, and your heart lurches into your throat. They may be similar in size, but you can see the ripple of taut muscle under Eric’s shirt. Roman doesn’t have that, and in a fight he won’t win.
“Yes!” You blurt. Eric’s fingers release from his fist, his eyes snapping to your face. “Yes. I am.”
The tension seems to roll out of Eric’s spine and right into Roman’s. His eyes flash as his pupils darken, and his smirk splits wider, teeth peeking through the seam of his full lips. “Yeah? I thought so. Fuckin slut.”
You swallow as tears prick at your eyes. “It’s not… it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like…” you trail off, because you don’t know what comes next. Reminding him that he spends almost five hundred bucks a month in strip clubs would go down like a lead balloon.
“Kiss him.”
You’re pretty sure your heart stops. There isn’t any other way to describe the complete absence of sensation as you hear your boyfriend’s words, and you see his lips moving, but you can’t make sense of them. “What?”
Roman settles on the edge of the coffee table, expensive bags of coke and pills forgotten as he flattens his palms against his thighs. “You heard me, sweetheart. Kiss his pretty mouth.”
You’re supposed to say no, to stand up and storm out. Your eyes slide to Eric, and your stomach bottoms out at the way he’s looking at you. Lips slightly parted and pink, shining with saliva as his tongue flicks out unconsciously. His eyes are fixed on you, his pupils blown dark and wide.
“I don’t… Roman please, you-“
You’re cut off by the blur of movement and the press of lips against your owns. Not as soft as Roman’s, and a million times more hesitant. You can taste the smoke of his joint and the salt of his skin, and when his tattooed fingers come up to cup your cheek you lean into the touch.
You hear the hitching of Roman’s breath, and you force yourself to pull away from Eric’s kiss. His face is so close to yours, ethereally, savagely beautiful and enough to spark heat low in your core. You’d be turned-on out of your mind if it wasn’t for the icy fear running through your nervous system. Roman was right there. Roman had just watched you kiss another man. And there was no telling how he’d make you both pay for it.
You rip your eyes away from Eric and turn to Roman, already bracing for… your mouth drops open at the sight of your boyfriend. His eyes are even darker than Eric’s, the green completely eaten away by his lust-blown pupils as he bites his bottom lip. You can hear the rough scrape of friction and your eyes drop to his crotch, where Roman is insistently dragging his palm against his own cock.
Now your body reacts. Faced with the beautiful, sharp man on the couch and the hard, possessive stare of your boyfriend, you let instinct take over and pull Eric back towards you. He dips his head, lips sucking against the pulse point at the base of your throat, and you thread your fingers into the rough tangle of his hair as you turn your head and catch Roman’s eye. “You…” you gasp, eyes rolling back as Eric’s teeth nip against your skin. “You like to watch, Roman?”
Roman doesn’t. Or at least, he never has before. But watching the way you roll your hips up to meet Eric’s thigh has his cock so impossibly hard that he doesn’t question it any further. “You wanna fuck him?” Roman unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, fisting the base roughly and not caring at all that he’s the first one in the room with his junk out. He holds his hand out to you. “Spit, sweetheart.”
You spit a thick glob of saliva into his palm, and Roman grins as he wraps his fist around his cock, the slickness of your spit making his hips buck into his hand involuntarily.
Your eyes roll back and you clench around nothing at the sight of Roman jerking himself. Eric’s thigh presses against your pussy, moving back and forth enough to provide some friction, and you whine. His mouth detaches from your neck and he lifts his head to kiss you properly as his hand snakes down between your bodies. You moan into his mouth at the press of his fingers over your crotch, so close through the thin material of your leggings.
“God, listen to you,” Roman mumbles, biting his own lip hard enough to draw blood. “Such a fuckin needy slut for him.”
“Roman,” you whimper against Eric’s mouth. “Please.”
You don’t know what you’re asking for, and Eric pulls away to look at you. “Do you want me to stop?” His fingers are still moving, probing and caressing against you, and you shake your head as pleasure sparks through you. “More, I want… more.”
Eric turns to look at Roman. He’s not surprised to find the other man has his cock in his hand, he’d been sorta aware of that happening whilst he was sucking a big, claiming bruise into the side of your throat. And it’s maybe a little hot, having him touch himself like that whilst Eric ravishes his girlfriend. “What do you think, Roman?” He asks, his voice husky at the feeling of your slick soaking through layers of fabric to wet his fingers.
Roman smirks. “I think we should give her what she’s so obviously desperate for, Draven.”
It’s permission, and Eric wastes no time in wrenching your leggings and panties down your legs and off, tossing them over the couch and then tugging his own shirt over his head. Your eyes widen at the sight of his torso, and Eric feels a flush of pride at the hungry look on your face. He’s toned and taut and tattooed, and you can’t stop yourself from tracing a few of his designs with your nails. Your hand skirts lower, grazing against the waistband of his sweatpants, and Eric hums as you dip into his boxers and wrap your hand around his cock.
“Shit, look at how fucking wet she is,” Roman mumbles, shuffling closer to push two fingers into your folds. You whine and buck into his hand, and Roman pinches your swollen clit between his index and middle fingers. “Goddamn soaked.”
He pulls back his hand and sucks his fingers into his mouth, and you squeeze Eric’s cock hard, jerking your hand up to the tip to swipe your thumb over his precum. Eric hisses, hips bucking against your hand. “Please,” you whimper. “Eric, Roman, one of you just fucking do something.” You lift a leg to hook around the back of Eric’s thigh, and he licks over his bottom lip before shifting backwards. Your hand is pulled from his cock and your bottom lip wobbles into a pout until he slides down the couch and wraps his hands around the backs of your knees, dragging your legs over his shoulders and burying his face in your pussy. Your head jerks back against the couch as your eyes unfocus, and you can’t control the way your hips lift to push yourself against his face. Eric’s lips wrap around your clit, sucking it softly into his mouth, and you moan. Your eyes open, looking for Roman, and there’s a slight twist of worry in your stomach when you see his face. He’s not touching himself anymore, though he’s still hard and leaking sticky beads of precum. He’s watching Eric, an unreadable, dark expression on his face.
“Roman,” you mumble, and he looks at Eric for a good long moment more before turning to you. “Come here, baby.”
He bites his bottom lip as he steps in front of you, and you shuffle towards the back of the couch so he can kneel on the cushion. You grip his base with shaking fingers and guide his cock into your mouth, laving your tongue against the sticky, salty head of him before hollowing your cheeks and drawing his thick, pulsing length into your mouth.
Roman sighs, his fingers finding familiar purchase in your hair as his hips start to gently thrust into your mouth. “Shit, that’s it.” He groans.
Eric’s tongue is licking at your clit in earnest now, the slick sound of his face dragging against your pussy enough to make you a little embarrassed.
“She taste good, Draven?” Roman asks, and Eric hums against you. You gasp, Roman’s cock slipping another inch into your mouth and the blunt head of him hits the resistance of your throat. “Shit,” Roman spits, snapping his hips faster against your face, pushing his cock a little further down your throat with each thrust.
Spit slips from the corners of your mouth and down your chin, and Roman groans as he runs his thumbs through it, smearing your chin and jaw wet. “You like the way he eats you out?” You nod, the bob of your head dragging his cock in and out of your throat with a brutality that will likely bruise. You feel Eric’s fingers ghost against your entrance and you moan, sending vibrations down the length of Roman’s cock and encouraging Eric to push two long fingers inside you. He curls them back towards himself, free hand holding your hips to the couch as you try to buck up against his face again at the new sensation.
Roman really likes this. He’s the only one without a mouthful, and he can tease and taunt and coax the two of you as much as he wants whilst still getting his cock sucked. You whine around his length, eyes dropping to try to look at Eric, and Roman glances down to see he’s sitting up, wiping the glistening mess of your arousal off his mouth. “She’s about to cum.” He’s still pumping two fingers in and out of you, and your hips lift against his hand shamelessly as you wiggle and writhe.
“Yeah?” Roman asks, tightening his grip in your hair. “You about to cum, little slut?”
Your eyes roll back even as they sting with humiliated tears. You do not like being called a slut, but it’s absolutely how you feel right now, with both men looking at you like they’re going to eat you alive. So you squeeze your eyes shut as a few tears slip out and into your hairline, and you nod around Roman’s cock. He pushes in another inch and your gag reflex kicks in, your throat contracting around his cock as you focus all your efforts on not biting him. That happened once before and he didn’t talk to you for a week.
Roman mercifully pulls his cock out of your throat and cups your jaw, fingers stroking against the dampness of tears on your temples. “Hey, shh,” he coos, dipping his head to press his lips to yours. “We’re not done with you, are we? You’re not satisfied yet.”
You shake your head, lips wobbling around a whimper of a moan as Eric’s fingers curl deliciously inside you again. “Open your mouth, baby,” Roman whispers against your lips. You don’t register the command right away, too busy focusing on the waves of pleasure building towards a crescendo as Eric pumps his long fingers in and out of you.
You do register the sharp press of Roman’s fingers on your cheeks, forcing your mouth to open, and you choke on the thick wad of saliva he spits onto your tongue, unprepared for the assault. His spit rolls down the back of your throat and you cough, bolting upright and fixing your boyfriend with a shocked glare. “Roman what the fuck?”
“Aw,” Roman coos, wrapping a fist around his cock again. “Don’t go setting boundaries on me now, baby. That’s all off for tonight. We decide how we use you.”
Eric hums, his fingers dragging out of you and up through your folds. He presses his thumb to your clit, circling it gently. “But we're not gunna do anything you don’t want, princess.”
Roman bristles at the nickname, his lip curling at the soft expression on his dealer’s face and the careful, soft way he touches you. His fingers trail your jaw absently as he fixes his face into a cold, bored mask. “You wanna breed her?”
Eric’s hand stops moving, his eyes snapping to Roman’s. “What?”
“Yeah, what?” You ask, pushing yourself into a seated position and pressing your knees together.
“You both heard me.” Roman drawls. “Put her on her stomach and breed her like the animal she is.”
Eric doesn’t move. You’ve stopped breathing, staring at Roman with wide-eyed shock. “I’m not… I’m not on the pill yet.” You mumble quietly.
Eric looks away, looks at the couch and the wet patch you’ve made on it. “We should use protection. I’ve got-“
“No.” Roman snaps. “No, you both wanted this. Couldn’t keep your hands off each other, eye-fucking like mating season on the goddamn farm. So do it.”
Eric isn’t going to do it. Not with you looking so small and so worried, and certainly not because Roman Godfrey told him to. But your eyes lift to your boyfriends, and you chew your lip. “Kay, Rome.” You mutter.
You settle on your knees, turning your back to Eric and lowering yourself until your tits are flat to the couch and your ass is in the air, your bare, slick entrance quivering empty and inviting between your parted thighs. Eric’s brows knit, even as his hands lift to caress over the meat of your ass cheeks and slip down into your slick. “You sure?”
“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Eric. B-breed me. I want you to.” Eric still isn’t sure about this, about any of it anymore, but his cock is leaking and neglected and you look so good and you’d asked him to, hadn’t you? So he shuffles into position and presses the slippery head of his cock, his bare, raw cock into your entrance. You sigh, your spine curving low as he pushes inside.
“Shit,” Eric moans as he bottoms out. You’re pulsing and tight and impossibly wet around his cock, and he has to dig his short, black-painted nails into the meat of your hips to ground himself for a minute. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.”
“Right?” Roman huffs a laugh. “She’s fucking perfect.” He eases himself down in front of you, guiding the head of his cock to your mouth again. “Go on, baby. Take us both like I know you can.”
You part your lips and accept his cock into your mouth gratefully, squeezing around Eric’s cock in time with the bobs of your head up and down your boyfriend’s length. “You like that?” Eric asks, his hips picking up pace as his balls slap against your clit with every thrust.
You can’t respond, can only moan sloppily around Roman’s cock, and he groans. “Yeah, she fucking likes it. Shee-it, she’s trying to swallow me whole.”
Eric hums, reaching a hand around to circle his thumb on your clit, and you squeeze harder around him as pressure builds in your abdomen. “Gunna get her close again.” Eric spits, shifting the angle of his hips to brush the head of his cock against the sensitive spongy flesh inside you.
You whine at the feeling, your whole body shuddering with the first waves of your orgasm as you rock back against Eric’s cock and pull off Roman’s length to focus on lapping at the head and the sensitive, leaking slit. Roman’s fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you off his cock completely and forcing your head up so he can watch your face. “Shit, look at you. Completely fucking fucked out, aren’t you?”
You whimper, lips parting and tongue lolling out like you’re begging him to give you his cock again. Something to muffle the embarrassing whines and sobs and moans spilling from your lips.
“Fuck her harder.” Roman says, lifting his eyes to watch Eric as he pummels into you, his face tense with concentration.
Eric hesitates, his thumb still rubbing gentle, delicious circles against your clit. “I don’t know, Roman, I’m already in her fuckin guts, man, I-“
“She can take it.” He says, dipping his head to catch your eye. “You can, can’t you baby? Can take it harder.” And it honestly doesn’t matter to him whether you can or not. The fact is you’re going to, because Roman wants you to feel the bruises from this inside and out for a week.
“Harder,” you whisper, rocking back against Eric’s hips. “Fill me up.”
Eric’s eyes roll back at the way you sob out the words, so at odds with the sucking, tight pressure of your cunt as you milk him. “Shit. You want my cum? Want me to… fucking… fill your pussy up?”
You sob openly then, tears streaking over your cheeks, and Roman kisses the salty trails away, his cock throbbing and leaking insistently against his stomach. He wraps his fist loosely around his length, pumping himself in time with the way your body is dragged back and forth on Eric’s cock.
“Roman, please, I can’t – take – please, please” you stammer, lips shaking with the violent way you’re sobbing as you rock back and up into the persistent circling of Eric’s fingers against your clit. “I need to…”
Roman’s mouth silences you, his lips pressing yours open and his tongue pushing against your teeth and lapping against your own. “You’re doing so good,” he mumbles, making your lips tingle with the vibration of his words. “You wanna cum so bad, huh?”
You can only nod, squeezing your eyes shut as Eric changes the angle of his thrusts, sending the fat head of his cock grazing into your most sensitive spot over and over again. “She’s right on the edge, man,” Eric spits, gritting his teeth as his nails dig harder into your hip.
“Stop touching her,” Roman says, and Eric’s head snaps up to look at him.
“What?”
He rolls his eyes. “You can keep fucking her. But get your hand off her.”
You whimper when he removes his fingers, your clit throbbing with unresolved desire. “Roman,” you whisper.
“Look at me,” he coos, cupping your face in his hands and catching your eye. “He’s gunna fill you up, kay? Get you all fucking stuffed with his filthy fucking cum. But I want you looking at me when he does it. Only me, baby.”
You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, focusing on the grip of Eric’s fingers wrapped around your hip and the smack, smack, smack of his balls against your cunt as he snaps his hips against you. “Shit,” he gasps as his orgasm hits and he all but folds over you, his cock twitching as he shoots his load deep inside.
Your eyes roll back at the pulsing, hot feeling of it, and Roman’s fingers caress over your jaw. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He coos, dipping his head to peck your lips. “My slutty little angel.”
Eric winces as he pulls out of you. It feels hollow to have cum inside you like this. He’s a missionary guy through and through, wanted to put your legs over his shoulders and press his forehead to yours so he could watch you as he fills you up, but this is Roman’s game and you’re Roman’s girl. “Shit,” he mumbles, watching in awe as his cum spills out of you and drips down into your folds.
“You fill her up?” Roman asks, keeping his eyes on your face.
“Yeah.” Eric huffs a laugh. “She’s fuckin stuffed, man.”
Roman hums, wrapping his hands around your braced arms and flipping you onto your back. You yelp, legs kicking, but Eric places his warm palms on your knees and drinks in your fucked out features with such intensity that you feel yourself start to itch under the attention. “You gunna be a good host and clean her up?”
Eric frowns, pushing your knees apart to watch as more of his cum dribbles out of you and soaks into his couch. “I’ll get you a towel.”
“Nooo.” Roman coos, a terrifying little smirk curling on his face. “Use your mouth. We all know how much she likes your tongue in her cunt.”
You swallow, eyes rolling up to look at Roman. He’s got your head in his lap, his fingers carding soothingly through your hair and completely at odds with his words. “Roman, he doesn’t have to.”
“No, I want to. You deserve it, princess.” Eric says, a small smile on his face. He licks his lips as he settles between your thighs, and you clench your muscles, pushing more of his cum out of you as his tongue flicks against your clit.
Roman hums in approval, his fingers curving round to the front of your throat and pressing his thumb against the mark Eric left on your neck. He tuts, pressing harder before he lowers over you and bites down on the swollen, bruised flesh hard enough to make you cry out.
He lifts his head to glare at Eric. "Stop trying to make her cum and put your tongue inside her. Jesus Christ.”
Eric rolls his eyes as he dips his head, the sharp point of his nose nudging against your clit as his tongue pushes into your hole and drags the last of his cum out of you.
Roman lifts his head to watch, eyes darkening as Eric sits up and wipes your combined slick from his chin. His eyes drop to Eric’s cock, already thickening and pulsing between his legs, and Roman sighs. “Switch with me, Draven.”
Eric nods, placing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee before he gets up and takes Roman’s place at your head. He can’t resist the impulse to lean over and kiss your mouth, licking gently at your bottom lip. Your lips part and you moan into his mouth, and Eric feels his cock twitch at the heavy sound of it as you’re pulled away from him, and then back. Away, and back. He breaks the kiss, lifting his head to watch Roman slam his cock into you again and again. He has your legs thrown over his shoulders and he’s pounding into you with brutal force. You whine, hips lifting off the bed a little like you can get away from the awful sting of his cock against your cervix.
“You’re doing so well, love.” Eric mumbles, thumbing fresh tears from your cheeks. “Taking him so good.”
Roman scoffs, turning his head to nudge his nose against your ankle. “She knows how to behave.”
Eric ignores him, peppering your face with tiny kisses and brushes of his nose and his lashes. You breathe in the weed and nicotine scent of him, lips chasing his as he hovers over you. “You want him to cum in you too, pretty girl?” Eric asks in a low voice.
You force yourself to look away, towards Roman, and you clench around his length at the fucked out concentration on his face. He’s grinding his bottom lip against his teeth, hair falling damp into his face as he fucks into you, and you squeeze around him in time with his thrusts. Roman’s eyes meet yours, his expression softening for half a second as he drops a hand to your clit and brushes his fingers against your sensitive bud. “Yeah, you want me to finish in you, baby?”
You nod, eyes rolling at the pleasure building in your stomach. “Please, Roman. Need you. Please.” Roman moans at the sound of your begging, his fingers picking up pace against your clit as he thrusts into you harder and faster.
“You wanna cum?” He spits, angling his hips to brush against your sensitive walls as he circles your clit.
“Please,” you sob. Eric’s cock is painfully hard, and he doesn’t want to admit that the sound of you crying and begging is what’s done it. You turn your head to the side to lick at his swollen tip, and he angles his hips towards you a little to allow you to suck the head of him into your mouth. You hum against him, sending shockwaves of pleasure down his length as Roman coaxes you to the edge of your orgasm with practiced ease.
“Cum for me. You can do it,” Roman spits between sharp gasps. His own orgasm is approaching rapidly and he’s determined now to get you over the edge before he finishes. “You’ve earned it, angel.”
The affirmation is your undoing. You drool and groan around Eric’s cock, swallowing him deeper into your throat as your orgasm hits and rolls through you in uncontrollable waves. You’d been edged and denied and so insanely turned on again and again, and the pleasure at this final moment is overwhelming as you jerk violently against Roman’s hand. Eric whimpers as he spills into your throat, his second load not as powerful as his first but still enough to make his knees weak as he cradles your head and fucks your mouth.
The moment he stops twitching against your tongue, you turn your head away from him to watch Roman, desperate to see the look on his face the moment he falls apart and loses himself in you. It’s always your favorite thing, and this time is no different. His jaw goes slack around a whisper of your name as he cums, hips rolling against yours and stomach tensing with the strain. You squeeze around him, milking every last drop of his release from him as Roman rides out one of the best orgasms of his life.
After, Roman tucks his cock away and Eric pulls up his sweatpants and strokes your hair and Roman finds your underwear and your leggings and rolls them both back over you, pressing a single kiss to your oversensitive clit. You’re not sure which of them helps you sit up, or which one mouths kisses against your temple as you try to regulate your breathing.
When everyone is breathing a little more normally, Eric relights the forgotten joint and takes a drag. He passes it to Roman, who shakes his head. “Give it to her. She’s earned it.”
Tag list: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @loushaw131460 @nqarxne
I have a request for a Roman or Eric fic where he and his ex(reader) are able to coparent peacefully for a good amount of years even though they had a bad break up but feelings and past emotions come into play which causes a lot of drama, messiness ect…. Very toxic but with an equal amount of fluff and smut. Thank you in advance 🤞🏾🤞🏾🤞🏾🤞🏾
Trauma Bonding (Eric Draven x Reader)
Summary: You and Eric don't get on. You're civil because you have to be, because a broken condom and a reckless decision made you the proud parents of the best kiddo in the world. You don't let yourself remember how much you loved him until he shows up on the wrong day of the week with bleary eyes and a broken heart.
Word Count: 4934
Warnings: vaginal fingering, PiV sex, lots of angst!
A/N: Thank you so much for the request! We looooove a yearning, messy Eric over here and this was so much fun to write! I hope you like it <3
MDNI, fic under the cut
You squint at your phone in the darkness. Even with the brightness turned right down, your eyes sting as you try to focus on the words, but they don’t make any sense.
Csn o conr occer? Nwwd tp see he
Pleare
Pleaers
Pls
You sit up, rubbing your fingers over your closed eyelids to try and clear the sleep haze, but the messages made even less sense when you could focus on the words. What the fuck was he talking about. You sigh and close your phone. You’ll call him tomorrow, remind him that sending you strings of drunk nonsense at – four AM you realise with a groan – is not okay. And it’s not part of the arrangement, anyway. Co-parenting with your ex, your messy, stupidly hot, endlessly infuriating ex was hard enough without the rules.
Before the rules there had been too many fights ending in your face pressed against the couch whilst he fucked you hard and fast and hateful from behind. Not that you regretted those times, but they sure as shit made things more complicated.
The rules kept things in line. You only communicated via text, calls were for emergencies like sickness or an urgent, unavoidable change in the schedule. Outside of talking about Sammy, you didn’t communicate at all. And it had worked for six years. Six years of sharing the most perfect little kid in the whole world. Six years of civil handoffs, pleasant drop-offs, and only a handful of heated, hungry stares at birthday parties and parent’s evenings.
You’re thinking about the rules, and you can’t sleep. Because Eric knows the rules. He’d helped make them, and he hadn’t broken them. Not ever. But those texts… was he in trouble? You sit up, anxiety gnawing at your stomach as you pick up your phone and type back a quick reply.
Are you okay?
Three little dots appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear for a final time. And you can’t shake it, the creeping feeling of dread. So you suck in a breath and you drag your hair away from your clammy skin, and you press the little green phone icon.
Three rings, and you’re blasted with a wall of sound. Wherever he is it’s loud. Deafeningly loud. Clinking glass and thumping bass and then the shrill laugh of a woman. The anxiety in your stomach twists into something ugly and you hang up, throwing your phone down onto your bed and glaring at it like it’s offended you. Like the phone is responsible for waking you up, rather than the inconsiderate drunk asshole who texted you. Eric fucking Draven. It was bad enough that your kid shared his name, so you had to hear it every time you took them to the doctors or school or wherever. But the name did suit. Sammy Draven was a badass name for a badass kid. You reach for your phone again and slide the screen to turn the damn thing off, then you cover it with a spare pillow for good measure. Fuck Eric and his drama. You’d send him a strongly worded text tomorrow, something stern enough to scare him straight, and you could forget this whole thing ever happened.
Feeling reasonably back in control, you flop back down onto your mattress and close your eyes. Sleep comes eventually, though there’s a pair of green eyes in your dream that send skitters down your spine and slick frustrated arousal in your pyjamas.
THUD.
You jerk awake, heart pounding.
THUD. THUD.
There is someone trying to break into your apartment. You reach for your bedside lamp with shaking hands and pull the cord, illuminating your room. It’s still pitch black outside, and you scramble for your phone before remembering you turned it off. Shit. You slip out of bed and grab a robe, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armour before darting down the short hall to Sammy’s room. Still sleeping, little face pressed half into the pillow and eyes screwed shut. You hope it’s a nice dream and not a nightmare. You close the bedroom door as quietly as you can to muffle further sound and tiptoe towards the front door. It’s not shaking off it’s hinges, so that’s something. You lean up to check the peephole, and have to suppress an audible groan at the tattooed, dishevelled man slumped against the far wall of the corridor. Eric fucking Draven.
You consider leaving him out there, but he’s Sammy’s daddy and if he passes out in the hall and you have to see that tomorrow when you do the school run… no. You won’t do that to Sammy. Or to Eric, who despite everything you love in the deep, complicated way you can really only love someone you’ve created a life with. You open the door slowly, taking in the slump of his shoulders in his ratty, dark grey tee. His arms are otherwise bare, and he’s shivering. At the creak of the door his head lifts, and the anger you’d felt at seeing him outside your apartment gutters away into nothing at the watery pain in his big green eyes. “Eric?”
“M’sorry.” He mumbles. Slurs, would be more accurate. His eyes are bloodshot. He’s wasted for sure, but you can’t tell in the low light of the hallway if his pupils are too big or too small.
“You’re not supposed to… show up like this.”
“I know. I just… it’s been a bad night.”
“Okay.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest against the chill. “That doesn’t change the rules.”
Eric’s eyes close and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “I know that. I just… I need to see Sammy. Please.”
The texts. Realization clicks into place, and you sigh. “No. No way, not like this.”
The sound he makes rips right through you. It’s agonising, somewhere between a groan and a sob, his voice cracking at the end as his shoulders slump. “Please.” His voice is small and quiet. “Please. Just for a minute. I’ll be quiet.”
And you almost say yes. Fuck you want to say yes. Anything to fix the broken crack of his voice. It’s so un-Eric it hurts. “What’s got you like this?” You ask softly.
“I… you don’t wanna hear about it. The rules.” He spits the last word, head lifting and eyes resting on you like an accusation. Like they’re your rules and not something you’d decided on together.
“You’re off your fucking face.” You say. “Go home, sober up. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Sammy.” He repeats, pushing off the wall. He wobbles in place, but even unsteady on his feet you have to look up at him, your chin lifting to keep your eyes on his face. He’s so goddamn tall. And broader than you remembered, like he’s been working out more. A tiny sliver of fear runs through you. Because he could force his way in if he wanted to. He could do a lot of things if he wanted to. You take an involuntary step back, and Eric’s eyes widen at whatever he sees on your face. “Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I… yeah. I’ll go.”
You swallow, reaching out to catch his wrist. He turns easily in your grasp, eyes dropping to the point of contact as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Just tell me you’re okay, Eric.”
He sighs, releasing his bottom lip and shaking his head. “Not your problem. Sorry I woke you up.”
He’s walking away, and you hate it. It’s exactly what you asked him to do, it’s what the rules dictate, but you step out into the hall and chase him down, your bare feet slapping on the linoleum as you slide around his tall frame and spread your legs wide, blocking his path. He stops, his head turning to the side like he can’t meet your eye. You hate that, too.
“Wait. This isn’t what we do. This isn’t us.”
“It is.” He argues. You huff, lifting a hand to pinch his chin and turn his face back to yours. “You’re Sammy’s dad. We’re family forever, Draven. Don’t make me drag you back in there by your ear. You know I’ll do it.”
A tiny smile curves on his mouth, the first one you’ve seen all night, and it kindles something like relief in your chest. “Yeah, I know you’ll do it. Can’t forget the time you dragged me outta that bar in Chinatown. My ear was purple for like a week.”
You roll your eyes. It’s not a happy memory for you. He’d missed Sammy’s doctor’s appointment, and he’d promised he’d be there to hold the squirming baby down whilst the doctor administered shots because you just couldn’t face it. But you’d had to, alone, with Sammy screaming in anguish. And then you’d come home and Eric had text you to say he was going out for a drink with the boys from work, and you’d lost it. Dropped Sammy with your mom and tracked him down. You’d let your anger take the lead, but it had been hurt that chipped away at your heart. All that night, watching him sleep it off. All the next day, when he tiptoed around you waiting for an explosion that never came. And slowly, slowly, you’d detached from him. For the sake of your heart, you had to. Because Eric was a good man, and a devoted dad, and a sweet, loving partner. But all of that came second to his demons, the addictions and the depression and the mania. And that’s not how you wanted to raise Sammy. It’s not how you wanted to be loved.
“You wanna avoid a repeat, you’ll get your ass inside.” You say softly. You try to smile, but it won’t come without tears pricking your eyes and you very much don’t want him to see you cry. He nods, following you like an oversized, obedient puppy as you lead him back down the hall and into the apartment.
Eric’s eyes scan the hallway, taking in Sammy’s artwork pinned to the fridge and the polaroids of the two of you taped into a haphazard collage on the wall. His smile is soft and wistful as he scans your faces, wishing he was in even just one picture. Because he should be. He should be wrapped around you, his face nuzzling your neck whist his kid, his kid rests against his chest. It’s the worst kind of insanity that he isn’t in your life in the way he’s supposed to be, but that’s how you wanted it.
And Eric had moved on. He had. Many times, with many people. This time, this last time, it had almost stuck. Lisa had been nice. She had a good job and a golden retriever and a mortgage. A good choice for him. He’d been considering introducing her to Sammy, even. But then tonight had happened.
You push a bottle of water into his hand, your fingers brushing his knuckles for a moment as you step around him and head for the couch. He follows, unscrewing the cap and taking a few gulps of the cool liquid. It helps, helps him swallow around the lump in his throat and the dryness of his mouth.
“I tried to call you, after you sent me those drunk texts.”
Eric winces as he lowers himself to the couch beside you. He’s careful not to touch you, with the straight set of your spine and the way you’re hugging your arms over your chest. “I tried to answer.”
You think about the sounds on the phone, and you clench your teeth together. “Sounded like a party.”
Eric nods, taking another sip of his water. “For everybody else, yeah.”
You don’t say anything at all, waiting for him to go on.
“I… uh… I got dumped tonight.”
“Oh.” You blink at him in surprise. “I’m… sorry to hear that. It was… Laura?”
“Lisa.”
“Lisa.” You confirm, nodding. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.” You shake your head. “But you’re alright? I mean, you’re always alright.”
Eric bites the corner of his lip, his black painted, chipped nails worrying with the label wrapped around the bottle. “Yeah. I’m alright.”
You swallow hard. “I don’t mean to be an asshole, Eric.”
“No, I know. You’re not. I’m… I’ve fucked up your night.”
“I have to take Sammy to school in a couple hours.”
Eric nods. “I’m sorry.”
“And it’s… you get to go home after this and sleep it off, I don’t.”
“I know.” He puts his water bottle down on the coffee table and turns in his seat. “I wouldn’t mind taking the kiddo to school. I could crash here a couple hours and you could get some sleep.”
You groan, pressing your thumb and forefinger to the bridge of your nose. “You know damn well that’s a bad idea, Eric. We’ve talked about this at length, you-“
“I know, I know.” He cuts you off, his hand dropping to your thigh. “It was just an idea. Forget it.” You look down at his hand. Your heartrate picks up, and there isn’t enough oxygen in the room. His hands were always a weakness for you. They were so big, veins standing out prominently and tattoos blurring on his long fingers.
“You’re not being fair.” You whisper.
Eric’s brows furrow, before his eyes follow yours to the point where his hand is splayed over your thigh, and he drags his fingers reluctantly away from your skin. “Sorry.”
Your throat feels too tight, and you swallow against a hard lump of unshed tears. “You’re not being fair, Eric.”
And Eric is just… confused. His heart hurts, and he wanted to see his kid and he wanted to see you, and he’s here but he doesn’t feel better and somehow he’s hurting you now, too. “I don’t… what do you want me to do? Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
You breathe out on a shaky laugh. “What I want you to do? Shit. Fuck you, Eric. Seriously.” You’re lightheaded now, and your hands shake as you press them against the tops of your thighs hard enough to push the blood out of your fingers. “What I want? What a fucking joke.”
Eric bites his bottom lip again, reaching a hand out to brush through your hair. He can’t help it. He doesn’t want you to be mad at him, not after everything. “I keep hurting you. I don’t mean to, but I do, don’t I?”
You force your head up to meet his eyes. “Did you really come here to see Sammy tonight?”
The question hangs in the air between you, and Eric blows a breath out through his lips slowly. “Yes. And no.”
You lick your lips, and Eric’s eyes drop to your mouth. “To see me?”
“Yeah.” The word is out on an exhale without thinking about it. Eric can’t think about much other than your mouth, actually. “She has a husband.”
You lean back, blinking. “What?”
“Lisa.” He says softly. “She had some lame work drinks thing so I went to the bar to surprise her. She has a husband. Took him as her plus one.”
“Oh shit.”
“I was her, like, bit on the side? The mistress.” He laughs, humorless and bitter. “Didn’t feel good.”
You reach for him because you can’t help it. “You’re not… fuck, Eric. You’re better than that. You’re like… you’re the husband.”
He flinches. Because he isn’t your husband. You hadn’t wanted him either, in the end. He worries against a hole in the fabric over his thigh, tattooed fingers tracing over the frayed edge until it unravels another inch, exposing his skin. “I’m not. They all looked at me like… like I was some junkie. She pretended she didn’t even know me. Gave me five bucks and told me to move along.”
Oh God your heart hurts. “Eric, look at me.”
He doesn’t. He can’t. He can’t look at you and see pity there. Or worse, agreement. Because you’d had him completely, had his baby and it hadn’t been enough.
“Please.”
He still can’t, he shakes his head and glares at his thigh like a petulant child.
You huff a sigh and crawl across the couch, climbing into his lap and threading your fingers into the scruffy hair at the nape of his neck. You tug on his hair until his head lifts, lips parting around a hum as you settle over his thighs. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You don’t deserve it.”
“I always choose wrong.” He mumbles, hands dropping to rest on your hips even if it’s overstepping, because he can’t help himself. It’s been years since he’s gotten to touch you like this, and his dreams and his memories don’t compare, don’t come close to the soft heat of your skin under his palms.
“Not always,” you say softly, a teasing edge to your words. “You picked me, that was a good call.”
“We made Sammy.” He mumbles, a soft smile gracing his face. “Yeah. You’re the best choice I ever made.”
You almost kiss him. There’s so much unsaid, so much pain, so much want, so much awful, wasted potential. “I’ll always love you, Eric. We’re… there’ll always be an us because we made Sammy.”
Eric nods, his eyes dropping to your mouth. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone else.”
The air is sucked from your lungs as his mouth connects with yours. You didn’t lean in, but he kisses you anyway, his full lips pushing yours apart and licking his tongue into your mouth. He tastes faintly of cigarettes and beer, but nothing sharper. You’re painfully accustomed to the taste of cocaine on his gums, but it’s absent tonight. You let your spine curve as you press your chest to his, desperate to feel the hard planes of his muscular chest against your breasts as his hands squeeze against your hips and drop to your ass, lifting you higher. You gasp into his mouth as your core connects to his crotch. His grey sweatpants do nothing to conceal the rapidly hardening length of his cock, and he drags you back and forth over the considerable length as you scratch your nails against his scalp.
You’re not supposed to kiss Eric Draven. You’re not supposed to let him into your apartment in the middle of the night, and climb into his lap, and kiss him like you love him. Even though you want to. Even though you love him with a deep, unyielding part of your soul that can never erase him completely.
He moans into your mouth, lifting his hips to rut against you, and your eyes roll back at the jolt of pleasure that zaps through you. Your clit is rapidly swelling, and you answer his moan with a whine of your own. One of his hands leaves your ass cheek to push into the back of your pyjama pants, curving down around your ass and pushing your panties aside to rub teasing circles against your entrance. “Can I?” He gasps against your mouth. “Can I touch you, baby?”
And god, how are you supposed to say no? How could anyone, with this beautiful man spread underneath them? You nod, pressing your lips to his over and over as you lift your hips and tilt back, leaning into the press of his fingers.
He sighs as he pushes his middle and index fingers into your heat, feeling your walls flex around the stretch of the intrusion. “Shit. Shit, I missed this.”
Tears spring to your eyes and you don’t try to stop them as they track down your cheeks. “Eric,” you whisper.
He lets out a shuddering breath, pulling his fingers out of you and lifting his free hand to your face, cupping your jaw. “Did I… did I misread this? Are you okay?”
You shake your head, and then nod. “I… no, you didn’t. I am. I just… I love you so much. And I can’t… I don’t know how to… do this with you and be okay after.”
Eric swallows, a wave of self-loathing washing through him. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m such an asshole.”
You nod, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. “You are, actually.”
Eric laughs, a tiny chuckle followed by a caress to your cheek and a matching brush of fingertips against the clothed front of your pyjama pants. “I want you. I always want you.”
“I want you too.” You whisper.
“I’m not… I didn’t kick you out. You decided… and I know you…” he pushes the pads of his fingers against your clit through the fabric and your head drops back, baring your neck to him. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat. “You had your reasons, sweetheart. I know that. I know I’m…” he licks a stripe up your neck and slides his fingers into your pyjama pants, humming in approval a as he brushes through your slick folds. “I know I fuck up. A lot.”
You huff a breathless laugh, tilting your hips back to give him better access. Eric presses the calloused pad of his thumb to your clit and you whimper at the feeling. “Eric, please,”
“I know,” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I know, baby. Let me… Just let me make it better.”
You slump against him, the last of your resistance ebbing out of your spine as his thumb rubs rough circles against your clit and his finger probe lower, pressing in at your entrance.
“Okay,” you whisper because you know he needs to hear it.
Eric hums as he presses inside, the tight, wet heat of you clenching around him as familiar and welcome as coming home. His cock is leaking steadily into his boxers, pressing desperately against the fabric and begging for your touch, but he knows better than to ask for it. He’ll take this, he’ll take anything you’ll give him for as long as you’ll let him be here. “You’re so tight for me. And so wet,” he whispers, lips dragging against your mouth. “I wanna fuck you open. Can I?”
You whimper. What the fuck are you supposed to say? No? Are you going to say no to Eric Draven offering to make you cum so hard you forget your own name and why you can’t love him anymore? Unthinkable.
You nod, helping him lift your hips enough for him to thumb into his sweats and drag them down to his knees. He helps you resettle, the head of his cock pressing to your entrance with painful, throbbing desperation.
“I want it,” you mumble, letting yourself sink halfway onto his length. “Want you, Eric.”
The sound Eric makes is more like a sob than a moan, and you clench around him.
“God,” he whispers. “Fuck, you feel so good. You always feel so… fuck.” His hips drive upward, butting the head of his cock against you so deeply you can almost see the outline of his cock against your lower stomach. He wraps a hand in your hair, yanking your head forward so he can mash his mouth clumsily against yours, and you whine as you roll your hips forward, grinding yourself against his pubic bone. The rough thatch of hair at the base of his cock drags against your clit, and the sensation is so overwhelming and so familiar that you start crying again.
This time, Eric doesn’t stop. His tongue traces the tears as they track down your cheeks, his hands kneading soothing circles into your hips. “Love you so much. Always did, you know?”
It doesn’t help and it’s exactly what you want to hear. Your walls clench and flutter around him as he fucks up into you. “Don’t..” you breathe. “You can’t just…”
“I know.” He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it through the press of his teeth. “I know it doesn’t change anything but I do. I can’t…” his head drops back against the couch cushions, and you chase him, mouthing over the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I know, fuck.” He groans, hips snapping faster up against you as he reaches a hand between your bodies to thumb clumsily at your soaked clit. “I know it doesn’t change anything for you.”
You lean over him, encouraging him to put more pressure on your clit as your orgasm coils tightly in your abdomen. “It… shit, Eric. You can’t say stuff like that… when” you swallow hard. “When you’re like this. When we’re…” you break off, emotion choking the words out of you as the coil snaps inside you and you cum against his hand with a broken sob. Eric’s head lifts from the couch to capture your mouth, swallowing the whimpers and sobs and choked little gasps you make as you ride him. The pleasure is blinding, numbing your legs and shattering your heart as you tense around his cock.
It’s this, the tensing and the whimpering and the needy, hot press of you that undoes him. Eric cums with a moan, grinding his hips against yours and burying his release as deep inside you as he can get it without hurting you. He holds you, pins you to his lap as he grinds upwards, cock pulsing ropes of cum against your walls. And Jesus, for a second he hopes you’re ovulating. He hopes he’s getting you pregnant again. Because if you love him for giving you Sammy, how much more will you love him for another kid?
You slump against him, boneless and empty. Eric wraps his big arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and pressing kisses to the sweaty mess of your hair. He’s still inside you, softening cock pulsing with the flexing, tight tension of your walls as they milk the last residual drops of his arousal from him.
It’s a long time before either one of you works up the courage to speak. As the responsible adult, you suck in a breath and pull away from him, lifting your hips and wincing only a little when his cock is dragged out of you, a squelch of cum dropping onto the couch in the process. “We shouldn’t have…”
“Please don’t.” He cuts you off, and you force yourself to look into his eyes. “Please don’t say we shouldn’t have done it. Even if you mean it.”
“Eric,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna give you the impression that this means…”
“I know.” He mumbles. “I know it doesn’t mean anything. I was lonely, and you helped. That’s all. Don’t… I don’t expect anything from you.”
You swallow around a lump of guilt and words you can’t say out loud. “We have rules.”
And Eric nods, because he knows. Even as his thumbs knead circles on your hips, and he can smell you and taste your mouth on his tongue and his heart beats for you, he knows. The rules keep you safe. They keep your heart safe from him. From the demons in his head that he can’t control. “I’d… I’d go to rehab. If you wanted me to.”
You freeze. “You… what are you saying?” You don’t dare to hope. You can’t.
“If there was even… even the slightest chance that you’d consider taking me back. I’d go. I mean, even if there wasn’t. If you wanted me to, I’d go. Get clean, take the meds. I’d be… I’d do whatever for you.” Eric doesn’t look at you while he says it, but he hears the sharp intake of breath and feels your body coiling tight.
“Do you mean that?”
He does look at you then, because your voice sounds different. When he looks at you, into your eyes, his breath is stolen from his lungs at the shining, devastating hope in your eyes. God, he wants you to keep looking at him like that. He doesn’t wanna be the reason that light goes out, not ever. Not ever again.
“I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll go now.” He lifts you off his lap, carefully depositing you onto the couch beside him, and you scramble to follow him as he strides with newfound purpose towards the front door. You catch him before he opens it, hooking your fingers around his wrist.
“They’re not open now, love. But if… if you mean it, I’ll take you tomorrow.”
Eric’s smile is soft as he turns, dipping his head to press a kiss to your mouth. “I mean it. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be here.”
You should let him go. You should let him go now, and see if he shows up tomorrow like he says. But you don’t. You lace your fingers with his and tug his hand gently, and Eric’s eyes darken as he looks past you, up the hall to the bedroom you used to share. “Traffic’s a bitch in the morning.”
He nods, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth in the maddeningly sexy gesture that he doesn’t know is so goddamn attractive. “I could stay on the… couch.”
But he’s following you down the hall, stripping off his ratty t-shirt and stepping out of his sweatpants before he reaches your room. His body brackets yours like a comforting blanket, and you trace the patches of ink on his chest and his stomach and lower as Eric reaches for the lamp by your bedside and presses his lips to your own.
Tag list: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @loushaw131460
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Omg idk if you're taking requests rn, but this idea came to me in school 🤔. Can you please please please write a fic about reader coming home from family vacation and finds (or walks in on) Roman cheating on them with Annie?? (bonus points if reader finds out how they're related😵😵)
Port in a Storm (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Summary: You come home early from a family vacation to surprise your boyfriend Roman and catch him in bed with the one person you'd never have suspected... his sister Annie.
Word Count: 2841
Warnings: NSFW, INCEST. Non-con elements, more angst than I’d usually write.
A/N: OH this is diabolical. It hurt me to write it, actually. But I hope you like it!
MDNI, fic under the cut
You wince at the slight metallic scrape of your keys landing on the table in the entryway as you slip your shoes off and creep towards the stairs. It’s the best surprise you’ve ever managed to pull off, and you’ll be so annoyed if you end up spoiling it at the last minute and announcing your presence before you get the chance to see the look on your boyfriend’s face.
You’ve been away for two whole weeks, sunning yourself at an all-inclusive resort with your family and spending some quality time with them all. And it’s not like you didn’t enjoy the trip, you did, but you were the only one who hadn’t brought your partner along and it had been lonely. But Roman had to work, and you had to be okay with it. Juggling being the CEO of Godfrey Industries, a single father and a bloodthirsty mythical creature was… a lot. And you were not in the business of making his life harder. His cock, sure. But his life? No. You were his sunshine, his refuge, his port in a storm when the…
You pause at the top of the stairs, listening hard. There are creaking noises coming from his bedroom. There’s no mistaking it, you’ve listened to his bed making those same noises under the combined, writhing weight of you and him a hundred times over. Your heart crawls into your throat as your stomach drops, and you have to force your legs to keep moving. You have to see. Oh Christ, you don’t want to see.
The door is pushed to, but it isn’t closed, and it swings open silently as you lift your eyes to the bed. And your brain… short circuits. Because you can’t be seeing what you’re seeing. It isn’t possible. Roman lies on the bed with his arm thrown over his eyes, veins standing out prominently against his pale flesh. His other hand brackets her hip, fingers digging into her skin as she bounces on his cock. Her dark curls bounce along with her, hips rolling aggressively as her nails dig into his chest. Her head turns, snaps in the direction of the door, and her mouth twists to the side.
You want to say something. Anything to break the thick, awful silence closing in around you like a smothering blanket. Annie catches your eye, a wicked glint in hers as she smiles. Smiles, whilst she’s riding your boyfriend. Rolls her hips as she fucks her own little brother.
You do make a sound then, a tiny, broken whimper, and Roman’s arm drops from his face as his head turns on the pillow, pretty, messy brown locks matting against the silky fabric. His eyes are glassy but they widen, bugging out with shock as he realizes what’s happening. The hand on Annie’s hip shoves, knocking her onto her ass as he launches naked from the bed. The condom on his cock hangs half off as he staggers towards you, cock softening rapidly as terror floods his nervous system. You saw. You saw. “Wait. Wait, fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” He stammers. He’s reached you now, hands lifting like he’s going to touch you before he jerks back and runs his hand through his hair instead. “You’re…”
“I thought you said she wasn’t back until Friday.” Annie says from the bed, her voice even. Your eyes slip past Roman, because you can’t look at him. Annie leans back against Roman’s headboard and drags his duvet up her body to cover her tits, looking perfectly at home nestled against his sheets. Because she is. Because you’ve walked in on something that’s happened before.
You think about every sibling movie night you weren’t invited to. To the dinners and weekend breaks they’d taken together, all in the name of keeping their familial relationship alive. “I can… explain.” Roman says carefully.
You force your eyes to meet his, your knees buckling at the raw emotion you see there. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, and you think about Annie’s mouth slanting over his, and you stumble back into the hallway. “No.” Your voice is soft, but Roman flinches like you’ve shouted.
He wishes you would shout at him. Or hit him. Or do something other than look at him with that awful, broken pain on your beautiful face. “Please.” He mumbles, the word thick with unshed tears.
“No, Roman. Don’t… don’t follow me.”
And he doesn’t, even though every muscle in his body screams at him to chase you down the moment you turn your back on him. Because if he can just stop you, just keep you with him, he can fix it. He might have to pry your face back to his and compel you to forget what you saw (he’d done it three times before, and you’d always been fine after, really) but he’d fix it. Losing you was just not an option.
“Let her go.” Annie’s voice drawls from the bedroom. “You’ve had her too long anyway.”
And Roman feels a bubble of pure fury roil in his stomach as he turns to his sister, his hateful, manipulative sister. “Get out.”
Annie’s smirk spreads lazy over her face. “I didn’t come. You know damn well I’m not leaving until I’m satisfied.”
And Roman does know that, because it’s been that way since he was eighteen and he’d met his sister in a bar and taken her home and fucked her. He hadn’t known who she was then. She did, though. She’d come looking for him, and he’d fallen for her pretty dark eyes and her insatiable sexual appetite and the fact that she’d offered to teach him how to control what he was. Which she’d done, showing him how to find suitable donor blood. She’d kept him safe. But it hadn’t been for free. The price had been his time and his attention and his cock, and he hadn’t minded at all, until he’d run into his mother leaving her apartment and everything had shattered. Roman had tried so hard to get away from it. But Annie had her claws in deep, and she had evidence of it all. Videos of him fucking her, stealthily filmed clips of her sucking his cock, even shots of him sucking blood bags dry as crimson flowed down the front of his shirt. And she made it really fucking clear that all of it would end up on the internet if he tried to break things off. He’d lose everything. Shit, he might go to fucking prison. So Roman had been stuck, submitting to her desire whenever she called for him.
He’d met you completely by accident. He was giving a talk at Penn State to a lecture hall full of business majors, and you’d raised your hand and asked a question that left him tongue-tied and scrambling. And after, you’d skipped down the steps and landed right in front of him and apologized for catching him off guard. And Roman had taken one look at your pretty face and wide, innocent eyes and his heart had skipped a beat and he’d asked you to show him where the nearest coffee shop was.
He’s standing outside that same shop now, looking in on you as you sip a latte and tap away on your laptop. And it hurts him, it’s a physical pain in his chest to be on this side of the glass. To be on this side of the glass forever, because he’s fucked it all up and there’s no way you’ll ever look at him again and his veins are filled with the cancerous, disgusting curse of his bloodline. Look up. See me. Fuck, don’t look up. Don’t look at me, I don’t wanna see. It’s like he’s spoken into your mind, and maybe he has. Maybe that’s something he can do. Because you feel a tingling on the side of your face, and your head lifts and your face turns to the window and he’s there, fingers pressed to the glass and face full of such devastating longing that your heart clenches.
You’re supposed to leave Roman Godfrey alone. That’s what you think as you slip your laptop into your bag and hurry out of the building. You catch up to him just as he’s reaching the edge of campus, your fingers catching on the sleeve of his coat. He spins in your loose grip, eyes burning into the point where your skin touches him. “Roman.”
Despite the fact that he’s been watching you, following you for days, he can’t look at you now. He doesn’t want to see what’s in your eyes. He’ll never get over it if it’s pity. He won’t survive if it’s disgust, even if he deserves it.
“Roman. Look at me, please.”
Your fingers leave his sleeve to reach for his jaw, cupping it as gently as you can as you tilt his head up. And Roman forces his eyes to meet yours. He owes you that much. His breath hitches audibly. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”
“Can we talk?” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Somewhere private.”
Roman nods, his pulse thrumming erratically as he leads you to his car. You get in, you get in and let him drive you back to your apartment off-campus, and he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you’re sitting beside him, that you put a glass of water in front of him as he sits on your couch. It’s worn threadbare in places, and he’s always hated the color. Now he feels like kissing every inch of the ratty fabric, because he’s missed it so much.
“There isn’t anything I can say to fix this.” He says, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth.
“No. But an explanation would go a long way towards… helping me.” Helping you move on, Roman realizes with a sinking sense of dread. He’s going to have to watch you detach from him in real-time. And he deserves it. Deserves to become nothing to you. Because that’s what he is. A cock and a hunger, to be used and discarded. Temporary insanity to think you’d love him and stay.
“I don’t know where to start.” He twists his fingers together in his lap, long legs crossed awkwardly.
You push a breath out through your nose. “When did… it start?”
Roman mirrors you, exhaling harshly. “The first night I ever met her. She didn’t tell me she was… not for a long time.”
Bile rises in your throat as her face flashes unbidden in your mind. “And when you found out… it just carried on?”
Roman’s shoulders slump, a broken half-laugh barking from his chest. “I tried to stop it. But she… she’d filmed me. All of it. Every time we’d… and feeding. She had so much proof.”
The bile in your throat thickens, your stomach churning with dread. “She… blackmailed you?”
Roman nods sharply, once. He’s staring at his own hands now through a blur of tears, and he wishes he was dead. Wishes you weren’t sitting next to him, digesting all this shit. “Said she’d make sure I lost everything. My company… my daughter.”
It would have been so much easier to leave him in the dust if he was an incestuous pervert. But the broken, wretched shell of a man in front of you is neither of those things. He’s a victim of abuse, of the worst kind of breach of trust, and your heart clenches painfully.
“I’m so sorry, Roman.”
His head snaps up, wet eyes widening in a way that would almost be comical if the situation wasn’t so fucking dire. “You have no-… why?”
You shuffle a little closer to him, and Roman tracks every inch of space as it disappears. Your hand lifts to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the little scar on his cheekbone like it has a thousand times, and Roman leans into your touch. He’ll take it, he’ll take any fractional drop of kindness you offer, cataloguing it in case it’s the last time he ever gets to feel your skin on his. “It isn’t your fault, sweetheart.”
Roman sobs. He doesn’t mean to, he tries so hard to swallow down the thick bubble of misery in his throat, but he’s choking on it and then he’s crying.
“Oh, no, no.” You mumble, pulling his long torso against you and slipping your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. Roman’s sobs wrack your whole body, his tears soaking through the front of your shirt as he tries desperately to smother his cries against your breasts. “I’ve got you, Rome. You’re okay.”
The words sink in slowly, settling around him gently. He pulls back from your chest just enough to reach up and capture your lips with his own, pushing his tongue into your mouth and tasting the soft exhale of your surprise as your back connects with the couch cushions. Roman moans, his hand slipping between your legs to rub over the seam of your jeans. You’re hot beneath his palm, and Roman wonders if you’re wet. He grinds his palm against you hard and fast, and you whimper against his lips, writhing underneath his body as he pins you to the couch.
“Roman, wait, you-“
“Let me.” He mumbles against your mouth. “Please, I can make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.”
And you almost give in, your eyes rolling back in your head as your clit swells and your hips lift to buck against his hand. Roman’s lips curl upwards as he presses wet kisses over your jaw, free hand reaching for the button and zipper on the front of your jeans. “It’s what I’m good at. All I’m good for.”
And you freeze like he’s slapped you. Your hands come up to his chest, pushing him firmly back. Roman goes, even though he’s so much stronger than you.
“Roman, no.” Your words come out steady, your arousal ebbing away steadily as you look at the confusion on his face, the swollen buds of his lips and the tent in his pants. What did you just… do you really think that?”
Roman can’t remember what he said. All his blood has gone to his cock, and your tits are rising and falling rapidly against the thin fabric of your shirt and he can smell your arousal as you soak your panties. How is he supposed to think about anything else? “What?”
You swallow, reaching for him and running the pad of your thumb over his swollen mouth. You don’t know why you do it. Maybe to stop yourself from kissing him. “Do you really think you’re only good for… this? For sex?”
Roman’s cock drops like you’ve dumped a bucket of ice into his lap. He doesn’t wanna do this with you. “Maybe.”
You’re shaking your head so hard it makes him feel dizzy. “Roman, no. Sweetheart. How could you… no.”
Roman shrugs, trying desperately to convey a sense of casual nonchalance like his whole nervous system isn’t on fire. “It doesn’t matter.”
You sigh, pushing his back against the couch and climbing into his lap. Roman’s hands land on your ass instinctively and squeeze, and you do your best to ignore it as you cup his face in both hands and tilt it up to yours. “It matters the most. You’re… so much more than this, Roman. So much more.”
Roman tries to look away. He really does, tries to slide his eyes to the side to look at the wall or the blank TV or anything but you hold him firm, your eyes burning into him with such sincerity that his stomach aches with it. “Everybody leaves. She… makes them.”
And he could be talking about Annie. Or about Olivia. Or about the cousin who died, or the sister who disappeared. Loss on loss on loss.
“I’m not leaving.”
The declaration takes you both by surprise, but as Roman’s eyes spark with a desperate hopefulness, you realize you mean it.
“Don’t say that if it isn’t true. Please.” His voice is quiet.
“Good thing I mean it. I love you, Roman. Loved you before all this shit. Let me love you through it.”
Roman’s nervous system collapses. It’s the best way he can describe the feeling. He’s been in fight or flight mode for what feels like years, since he lost Shelley and Letha and Peter and his mom all at once. At your words, at the fingers tickling against his scalp and the beat of your heart against his chest, the adrenaline spike that’s been poisoning him cuts out, and he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you so tight you can’t breathe.
“I love you,” he whimpers against your chest, feeling the residual damp from his own tears on your shirt. “I love you, don’t leave.”
You lock your arms around his shoulders and squeeze him right back, until you’re both breathless and your bones ache. “Never, Roman.”
Tag list: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @loushaw131460
GIRLLL I LOVE YOUR WORKK!! I was wondering if you could do a fic where Olivia is basically looking for a girl (for Roman to own/ have as a potential wife) and basically the girl is looking for a summer job so she ends up getting interviewed by Olivia thinking she’s going to help around the house or be an assistant but Olivia has other plans. Obviously Romans captivated by her and doesn’t really plan on letting her leave. I see it as a Dark!Roman and like a petite doe eyed girl that ignores her intuition bc she’s easily manipulated. Idk if this makes sense but i would love of you could do something with this!! And….. Olivia is such a control freak she would go out her way to find Roman someone to easily manipulate🙈😩😩
The Housemaid (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Summary: It was an ad in the paper. HELP WANTED, female preferred. Innocuous enough, probably placed by some older lady who needed someone to take over household chores. If you’d known then what you know now, you would never have set foot in the Godfrey mansion.
Word Count: 7335
Warnings: NSFW, like at all. Coercion, emotional manipulation, slavery, non-con, oral sex, PiV sex
A/N: Phew anon, what a ride this was. I’m sorry it’s taken me a couple of weeks to get to your request, and I hope you like it. I hope my Dark!Roman lives up to expectations…
MDNI, fic under the cut.
It was an ad in the paper. You’d answered an ad in the paper. You’d been sitting in a diner, looking out at the smoldering scrapheap of your car and wondering whether you’d have to go digging between the seats for change to pay for the singular shitty cup of coffee in front of you, and the ad had caught your eye like an answered prayer. ‘HELP WANTED, female preferred.’ That was all it said. You imagined the woman who wrote it, someone older, someone unfamiliar with the seedy innerworkings of Craigslist. Someone who needed some help around the house, some cooking and cleaning and lawncare, whatever. You could do that. All of that, if it came with an envelope of cash at the end of the week.
Hemlock Grove was a small, quiet town like a hundred other small, quiet towns you’d passed through in the last couple of months. The people were maybe a little less friendly, a little more reserved. The waitress that drops the newspaper off with your coffee doesn’t smile, and you feel a bit less bad about your lack of tip money as you flick through pages of local news. A new bench in the churchyard, a discount store opening on the strip, and a girl’s eviscerated remains turned up in the park. The personal ads were always the fun part, and there’s a faint trace of pen around the HELP WANTED ad, drawing your eye. You’re not the first person to enquire, then. You ask to borrow the diner’s phone and it rings just once before a woman answers.
“Godfrey residence.”
“Uh yeah, hi. I’m calling about the ad in the paper, help wanted.”
“Ah, the ad.” Her voice is cool and crisp, accented in a vaguely European way that you can’t identify. “Are you available this afternoon for an interview?”
You nod before you remember she can’t see you. “Yes. Uh yes, absolutely. I don’t… could you give me the address, please?”
“It’s the Godfrey house.”
“I’m not… I’m not local.”
“Oh.” You can’t tell if she’s disappointed or not, but she rattles off the address and you try desperately to keep the words in your head as you signal the waitress for a pen and scribble the address down on a coffee-stained napkin. The waitress presses her lips into a tight line when she sees what you’ve written down, but she doesn’t say anything.
*
The Godfrey mansion is an imposing structure, and you stare up at it with your bag slung over your tatty jacket and feel inadequate. The older gentleman who answers the door looks you up and down before plastering a polite smile on his face and leading you into the marble foyer. The woman who descends the staircase in front of you is a vision, a carefully curated collection of couture garments and sleek dark hair and golden skin. Your mouth falls open a little as you stare at her and she seems to move even more slowly, giving you ample time to admire her.
“Uh, hi. I’m here about the ad, we spoke on the phone.”
“Yes.” She cocks her head to the side, looking you up and down in a way that makes your skin feel too tight. “Oh, yes. I think you’ll do nicely. Can you start today? Now?”
You blink. “I thought… don’t you have any questions for me?”
“Dress size.”
“What?”
“Pardon.” The woman says. “Not what. Pardon. And I asked for your dress size. My staff wear a uniform.”
You think about the plain suit on the greying man who answered the door. “Okay.” You blush a little as you rattle off your measurements, but the woman doesn’t write anything down.
“You’ll call me Mrs Godfrey.”
“What are – Mrs Godfrey, sorry. I’m just a little confused. What actually is the job? The ad didn’t say.”
“Oh.” Mrs Godfrey purses her lips. “You’re to be a caretaker of sorts. I have a housekeeper, but she’s getting on a bit and could do with the help. Light household duties, mostly. Do you have any degrees? Any languages?”
“I… no. I’m sorry. I’m only eighteen. I got my GED though.”
“Eighteen, and out on your own?” It isn’t concern in her voice, not really, and you feel a shiver skitter down your spine.
“I’m reliable. If I make a commitment, I stick to it, you can be sure of that.”
She smiles. “Of course you do. This is a live in position, I trust that won’t be a problem.”
You swallow. “That… actually works out great. I’m between places at the moment.”
Mrs Godfrey looks you up and down again, her smile turning smirk. “Imagine that.”
You have no idea what to do with the scrap of fabric laid out on the bed in front of you. You’d met the housekeeper, Anna, and she wore a calf-length black dress. You’d expected the same, if that was the uniform. Maybe it was a joke? Not that Mrs Godfrey seemed all that… funny. A little voice in your head had started to fret, whispering that this was all a bit odd, that maybe you didn’t need the money this badly, that no one knew where you were and that was stupid. But you’d already made the commitment, and Mrs Godfrey needed the help, and Anna was older and her joints hurt her, you could see that in the pinching on her face when she knelt to wash the floors.
Not that she appreciated your help. Not at all. You knelt beside her in your ridiculous, porn star rendition of a maid’s outfit and she’d sneered at you with such open revulsion that you’d actually recoiled.
“I don’t need your help. You think you were brought here to work in a dignified position? Maybe you should go and take care of your charge like you’re sup-“
“Enough, Anna.” The woman’s pale face pales further, her skin turning a sickly shade of green as her eyes slip past you to look up at the man who’d spoken.
“Yes, master Godfrey. I apologize.”
“Apologize to her.”
Anna’s eyes snap back to you, her lower lip trembling like it pains her to shape the words. “Apologies for my tone, madam.”
You shake your head; but freeze at the touch of fingertips on your jaw as your head is turned, your face directed up to look at him.
“Do you accept her apology? I could make her go away, if you want.” The boy above you is beautiful, lovely green eyes in an angular face, slightly upturned nose and thick, plush lips curved up into a smirk that sends an unexpected bolt of arousal through your core.
“No… I mean, I yes. I accept the apology. Thank you.”
The boy’s smirk drops, like you’ve disappointed him. “She’s right, though. You’re not here to wash the floors. Not that I mind seeing you on your knees.”
You blink, feeling shame prick stinging tears into the corner of your eyes. “What… uh what am I supposed to be doing? Mrs Godfrey said light household duties… a caretaker.”
The boy hums. “Olivia always did like to bullshit. She shoulda gone into politics, coulda been the fuckin president. Or, you know, fucking the president.” His smirk has returned, and you feel a blush staining your cheeks as he looks at you. “Jesus, you’re cute. I mean, I knew you were but… fuck.”
You don’t know what to do with the compliment, not used to anyone being so bold about it, so your fingers fiddle with the hem of your too-short skirt, trying to pull it down like there’s any way to cover more of your exposed thighs. The boy’s eyes drop to your legs, his gaze darkening as he grazes his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’m Roman, by the way.”
“Anna called you master Godfrey. Should I?”
His eyes flick back up to yours, dark amusement shining in the depthless green pools. “Not that I don’t like the thought of you calling me master, but I’d prefer Roman, actually.”
You offer him a small, relieved smile. “Roman.”
*
You find out what being a caretaker means on your very first night in the mansion. Roman slips into your room as soon as the moon is up. He’s wearing next to nothing, just a pair of tight white boxers that leave nothing at all to the imagination as he peels the sheets from your body and pushes your legs apart.
“Wait,” you mumble as his long, toned torso covers yours and he ruts his stiffening bulge against your thin panties. “Wait, please.”
He doesn’t say anything, and when your hands catch onto his jaw and hold his face steady you look into the depthless green pools of his eyes and find… nothing. The complete absence of consciousness. It scares you more than what comes next. Roman’s hands are so much larger than your own, and he pins both of yours above your head easily. You twist to the side to look, exposing your neck to the hungry press of his mouth, and his tongue prods at your jugular, massaging against it in a way that makes you feel nauseous. His other hand slips up under your shirt, cupping your bare breast roughly.
“Roman, wait,” you mumble, lifting your hips as though you can push him off. His own hips pin you to the mattress, the hard closeness of his stiff cock dragging against your core through your panties.
“It’s okay,” he coos, his voice a low rumble as his breath cools the saliva on your neck. He lifts his head, those depthless, dead eyes boring into yours, and you feel your panic solidify into something more primal. You’re a mouse caught in his claws, and you let your spine drop into the mattress, exhaling slowly. “You’re okay,” Roman mumbles, pressing his mouth clumsily to yours. He tastes like cigarettes and the sharp bite of something more potent, and he smells like rich, spicy cologne. The scent is somehow familiar, and that makes it worse.
He releases your wrists, but you don’t move. You let your arms bracket his shoulders, fingertips smoothing over the soft skin of his back as he drags your panties down your legs and drops them to the side of the bed. Two long fingers part your folds, caressing through the traitorous slick of arousal from the dry grinding of his cock against you. Your clit throbs and swells as he brushes against it with maddening gentleness. “You don’t have to… we don’t have to do this. I won’t tell Mrs Godfrey, I-“
His lips press to yours again, cutting off your protests as he presses his middle finger inside you, impossibly deep. You gasp into his mouth, unable to suppress your reaction to the feeling of his long finger probing and nudging against your sensitive walls.
He adds a second finger, dragging both in and out of your hole with a wet sound as he stretches you open.
You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember how to breathe, try to ignore how good his unwanted touch feels.
“Look at me.” He whispers, withdrawing his fingers from you completely. You meet his eyes reluctantly, your stomach clenching with fresh anxiety at the new emotion there. The depthless nothing has been replaced with a shine, and his bottom lip juts out like a child about to cry. “You must make your heart steel,” he says softly.
Your lips part, whether to question or to beg, but a quiet resolve settles over you like a blanket. The panic is gone, the anxiety is little more than an itch at the back of your brain. Then Roman sheathes himself inside you, his cock thick and long, and you huff out a pained whine as he bottoms out, his length pulsing against the fluttering of your walls. “Shit,” he hums, pulling half out and pushing back in. He sets a rhythm like that, in and out, your back dragging against the mattress with the force of his thrusts. He punctuates each one with a rough grind of his hips, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix in a way that sends a jolt of stinging pain through you with every stroke.
His hand comes up to your face, cupping your jaw gently before his fingers tighten and he forces your lips to pop open, licking his tongue into your mouth and gliding it against yours. He pulls back to suck in a breath, and your head swims like he’s stolen the oxygen right out of your lungs. The stinging in your cervix is dulling to an ache as he continues to rut into you, and his hips stutter against yours as he holds your face steady and looks into your eyes. “Come.”
It is terrifying, the way your body rolls into an unwanted, unexpected orgasm. The pleasure is white-hot as it curls through your stomach and floods your core, and you clench frantically around him as your mouth makes embarrassing, pitiful whimpering sounds. The movement of your muscles tips him over the edge, and Roman finishes deep inside you, his head dropping to his chest as he grinds his cum right up against your cervix.
He pulls out slowly, wincing at the tight grip your walls have on him. You can do little more than lie there, watching, as he tucks his softening, slick cock into his boxers and sits back on his heels. There’s a dark vertical line marring his expressionless face, and he lifts a finger to brush through it. Blood; his nose is bleeding. He doesn’t seem to care, sucking his finger wetly and pulling the cupid’s bow of his top lip into his mouth to suck the residual crimson from his skin. You wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. He pulls the sheet up over your body, tucking the corners around your shoulders in an absurd mimic of care before slipping out of the bed and leaving the room, all without a word. You don’t sleep, listening for every creak in the hallway and jumping half out of your skin at the creaking, ticking sounds the old house makes until sunrise peaks through the slatted blinds.
Mrs Godfrey delivers your clean uniform personally the next morning. It’s jarring to see her standing in your doorway, looking altogether too elegant and too expensive to be seen in this part of the house. “I trust you slept well.” She brandishes a garment bag at you, and you take it automatically.
“I… had a visitor in the night.”
You wait for her question. It doesn’t come.
“Mrs Godfrey… your son…”
“My son is a good boy. He does as he’s told. It’s not for you to question him.”
You swallow hard around a lump in your throat. She knew. “I didn’t sign up for this.” Your voice is shaking and small, and you wish you could be braver. You wish you could tell her where to shove her job and her rapist POS son, and walk out of this creepy-ass house with your head high.
“Really, am I supposed to feel sorry for you? You’re a drifter. You have no money, no home. No prospects of any kind. Is my mansion not to your liking?” Her voice is clipped, but there’s a mean spark in her eyes that has you shrinking in the doorway.
“My… duties. You said caretaker.”
Mrs Godfrey sighs like this is all a huge inconvenience and pushes past you into the room. Her eyes take in the mess of sheets on the bed, the little, rumpled slip of your underwear on the floor, and her lip curls. “My son has many excellent qualities. But he is the sole heir to the Godfrey empire, and he has certain… proclivities that have made securing him a suitable match rather taxing. He has an unnatural appetite and frankly, I’m sick of cleaning up PR nightmares when he takes things too far with the spoilt daughters of my late husbands business acquaintances.”
You swallow hard, mind flashing to the blood on his upper lip and the dead look in his eyes. Proclivities.
“And so I’m… what? Practice? Something to… expend his energy on?” The words make you feel sick. The expression on Mrs Godfrey’s face makes you sicker.
“You’re to do whatever he wants you to do. If he wants you to crawl around and bark like a dog, you’ll do it.”
“And…” You suck in a breath, feeling your legs shake. “If I say no?”
Mrs Godfrey raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You won’t. You’re not here by accident, surely you know that. He picked you.”
Your vision tunnels as you sit heavily on the bed, the sheets puffing up and releasing the ghost of his cologne into the air. And oh, God. You’d thought it was familiar when he’d climbed on top of you last night. You’d smelled it before, that exact blend of perfume and cigarettes. At the diner. Maybe in the booth behind you. “He was at the diner.”
Mrs Godfrey smiles. “Inspecting you up close, making sure he liked you. You should be flattered. When you showed up here yesterday I was rather… underwhelmed.” She scans down your body, and you cover your chest like it’ll do any good when you’re wearing so little. “I suppose he could see the potential assets hiding under that grungy old jacket.”
“How long am I going to be here?” You ask carefully.
“Until he’s bored of you. Or you’re… unable to fulfil your duties.” There is absolutely no emotion in the older woman’s face or voice as she reveals this awful truth. She shrugs one shoulder like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“How many… caretakers has Roman had?”
Mrs Godfrey’s lips quirk into a smile. “You’re his fourth in two years.”
*
Roman is sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of lucky charms with a newspaper spread out in front of him. You blink at him from the doorway. You’d expected to feel… something when you saw him. Fear, or revulsion. But he looks so jarringly normal, eating cereal and flicking through the paper like he didn’t force himself on you last night. He looks up and one side of his mouth pulls into a lopsided smile that would be endearing if he wasn’t a monster.
“Morning.”
You nod, stepping into the room. “What can I do for you today, Master Godfrey?”
Roman’s smile drops, a fine wrinkle creasing between his brows. “I told you to call me Roman.”
You drop your eyes to your shoes. “My apologies, sir.”
You hear the drag of his chair against the tile as he pushes out of his seat and crosses the room. He doesn’t touch you, but he dips his head to catch your eyes. “What’s up with you?”
Your mouth opens and closes, the desire to scream at him warring with the desire to shrink into nothingness and go unseen. Your inherent fear of confrontation wins out, and you bow your head. “There’s nothing the matter. I’m simply awaiting my instructions as your caretaker.”
Roman’s spine straightens at the complete lack of… anything in your voice. What the fuck was up with you today? You’re wearing the uniform, and he can’t stop his eyes from dropping to the swell of your breasts over the cheap frilly fabric. He looks more often than he should, but he can’t help it. You look like every wet dream he ever had as a kid.
Finding you had been a stroke of fate, he was sure of it. The last girl had been a disappointment, she’d dissolved into hysterics within a month and had cut her own wrists open in the bathtub. Which had been its own kind of gift, granted, but it had sucked. He’d wallowed in the rejection of it for two weeks before Olivia had brought him a stack of yearbooks and asked him to pick.
You’d stuck out immediately, your enormous doe-eyes and half smile giving him the familiar tingling feeling of his cock stiffening. He’d pointed at your picture like it didn’t matter, and Olivia had smiled and stroked his hair back. “I’ll see what I can do.”
And then you were here, your car breaking down just inside the limits of Hemlock Grove. Roman had trailed you to the garage, where they’d told you they wouldn’t be able to fix your awful junker car, and then to the diner, where you’d stressed over a couple of cents to buy a coffee. Roman had slipped the waitress a fifty to give you the paper, and he’d circled the HELP WANTED ad himself. And here you were. Fate, with a side of Godfrey influence.
Now those enormous doe eyes are trained on the ground, and Roman feels his stomach flip over with the indignation of rejection. Because how dare you go cold on him when he’s been nothing but fucking nice to you, standing up for you when Anna was being a bitch. And okay, the uniform was a little on the nose, but he was just having fun. You could change into something else if you really wanted to.
“Instructions, huh?” He asks, forcing his voice to come out harsh to hide the hurt he feels. “Yeah, okay. I spilled my coffee. Clean it up.”
You look past him to the table, to the full, very much unspilled mug sitting beside his cereal bowl. Roman huffs, turning on his heel and nudging the mug to the edge of the table.
“Don't,” you mumble, eyes lifting to his.
And Roman knows he should stop now, he’s gotten what he wanted, you’re looking at him with your big, beautiful, innocent eyes, but there’s a meanness inside him that he can’t always control and he pushes the cup again. It shatters against the tiles, splattering everything with coffee, and you suck in a breath as your eyes widen. “Why did you do that?”
“Rags are in the pantry cupboard.” He says, dropping into his seat and picking up the paper.
You stare at him a moment longer before sighing and turning to the cupboard he’d pointed at.
You sweep up the wet glass easy enough, working around his long limbs. He only manages to touch you once, a brush of his fingers over your ass as you lean across the table to collect a stray shard. You jump away, and you hear his quiet laughter from behind the paper. But to clean up the coffee you have to get on your knees and climb under the table, and dread fills you as you lower yourself to the ground. You hear the rustling of Roman’s paper, and then he clears his throat.
“And while you’re down there…”
You turn your eyes up at him, pressing your teeth into your bottom lip.
“My shoes caught a little of that. I don’t want the leather to stain. Start there.”
You nod, releasing your bloodless lip and running the rag over the tops of his shoes until there’s no trace of coffee on them. “Better?” You ask in a tiny voice.
Roman looks down, turning his feet this way and that. “No. They’re dry, but they’re not clean.”
You frown, worrying the rag between your fingers. “Do you have a cleaning spray I should use, I don’t know if the kitchen one is okay for leather, but I could-“
“Spit.”
You stop talking, looking up at him. “What?”
“Spit.”
“I… no. I mean, I couldn’t.”
“You can spit or you can get down and lick them clean. I know which option I’d pick.”
He’s not smirking at you. He’s not even smiling, but there’s an unsettling glint in his eye that sets you on edge. It’s his eyes that make you do it. You bite your tongue to fill your mouth with saliva and then you part your lips to drop the foamy slick onto his shoe.
Roman hums, and your eyes land on the growing bulge against his jeans as your shaking hands bring the rag over the top of his shoe and buff it until it shines again.
He doesn’t make you shine the other one, because the moment you lift your eyes from your work his hand tangles in your hair and he drags the sticky head of his cock over your lips. You hadn’t heard him unzip his pants, or registered the little huff of an exhale as he gripped his hard length and shifted his hips. You don’t need to be told what to do now. Your lips part, tongue bumping messily against his slit as you taste the salt of him. Roman lets out a quiet moan, relaxing back into his seat. He doesn’t let go of your hair, but he doesn’t force your head either. You suction your mouth around the head of his cock and suck hard, laving your tongue against the underside before you slip lower, letting his thick length graze against your tongue as you take him deeper.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s it. Good girl. Take it all. Take care of it.”
You hum against his skin, and Roman’s fingers tighten in your hair. He does push a little then, his hips lifting to bump the thick tip of his cock against the resistance of your throat, before you exhale slowly and relax.
He’s too big, really. He’s still got a fist wrapped around the base of his cock, and his fingers meet your mouth with each bob of your head, your spit dripping down to paint his balls and soak into the sleeve of his shirt.
You hear footsteps in the hallway, and try to pull back, but Roman pushes his hips higher, his cock squeezing into the narrow canal of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, spluttering and choking on his thick length.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Mrs Godfrey’s voice. You try again to pull back, but Roman releases his cock and glides his wet fingers into your hair, holding you firmly against his crotch as he bucks up against your face. Your nose grazes the rough thatch of hair on his pubic bone and he huffs a laugh.
“Is there a… problem, mother?” He asks between laboured breaths.
“At the table? Really, Roman. We have a dozen bedrooms.”
Roman moans, a loud, sultry, slutty sound that heats your cheeks. To make a sound like that in front of your own mother? You feel shame gutter in your stomach, but you couldn’t stop the inevitable now. You can feel the pulsing, painful length of him in your throat, and you know he’s close to coming.
“Couldn’t wait.” He groans. “Too hard.”
“Yes.” Mrs Godfrey drawls. “I can see that. Just… clean up the mess.”
Roman grunts, snapping his hips up faster against your face, and your throat makes a terrible, wet sound of protest as you choke on his cock. “Not gunna… leave any mess.”
The words register just before his nails dig against your scalp and you feel the searing pulse of his release as Roman spills down your throat. You don’t even taste it, he’s buried too deeply. There is no choice, you swallow reflexively against the trickle of sticky fluid dropping down your throat, and Roman moans at the feeling of your throat contracting around his sensitive cock as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.
When Roman pulls out of your mouth, you snap your head around to the door, but Mrs Godfrey has gone. You wonder if she stayed to watch her son’s climax, and you wish you could unthink it because that’s completely fucked up. Roman runs his thumb over your bottom lip, collecting the slippery slick of residual cum and spit and pushing it back into your mouth. You accept his thumb like an offering, licking against the rough pad of it.
“God, you’re good.” He says in a tone bordering on reverence. “Didn’t even have to make you do that.”
You bite your lip. He’d commanded it, hadn’t he? And you were his plaything, until you figured out how to get out of it. “I need to finish cleaning up the coffee.” Your voice is hoarse, your throat raw.
Roman shakes his head. “Anna can do that shit. Do you wanna get out of here? Go for a ride?”
Hope flutters in your chest. Freedom. A chance to flag down a passerby. “That sounds nice.”
He doesn’t let you change your clothes, and you feel horribly exposed as your too-short skirt rides up your thighs in the passenger seat of his car. It’s a classic jaguar, cherry red and immaculately kept. A hell of a car. You remember thinking so the first time you’d seen it, parked outside your motel room two weeks and three towns ago. And again, outside the diner where you’d been too preoccupied with your own misery to realize it was the same car.
“You okay?” He asks after a long time of driving in silence.
“You said… something to me, last night.”
Roman shrugs. “You can’t trust anything I say when I’m tryna fuck. My cock’s running the show.”
You shake your head, reaching your fingers for his chin and grazing softly against his jaw. Roman’s head turns, surprise lighting his eyes as he leans into the touch like he’s starved of it. “You said I must make my heart steel. What does that mean?”
Roman’s eyes flutter closed for a moment before he jerks his head back to the road ahead. “It’s… nothing. Just something I tell myself sometimes.”
“Your mom says I’m your fourth caretaker.”
Roman swears under his breath. “Yeah well Olivia should learn to keep her fuckin mouth shut.”
You swallow, fixing your eyes on the side of his face. It hurts to look at him, but you need to see whether he reacts to what you’re saying. It’s the only chance you have to figure him out. “She also said they… were gone. When you got bored or they… couldn’t perform.”
Roman’s jaw ticks, the only outward sign of the panic churning in his gut. You aren’t supposed to know that. Any of it. It doesn’t matter, anyway.
“You’re not like those other girls.” He says carefully.
You drop your hand to his thigh, stroking his tense muscles with shaking fingers. “Did they… did any of them survive you?”
Roman feels like he might black out. He pulls the car over to the side of the road, the motion erratic and you yelp as you’re thrown forward. “Why the fuck would you ask that?” He seethes, snapping his seatbelt open and turning in his seat to glare at you.
You shrink against the leather, blinking away a film of tears. “Because I want to know whether… whether I’m gunna get out of this or not.”
Roman’s hand grips your face painfully, lifting your chin high and exposing your throat. His eyes drop to the pulsing thrum of blood under the delicate surface of your skin, and his tongue wets across his bottom lip. “You’re not getting out of this. You accepted the position. And I’m not… I don’t do well with sharing. You’re mine, that’s kinda all there is to it.”
His thumb pushes into the hollow of your cheek as he softens his tone. “It doesn’t have to be bad. You liked it last night, didn’t you? You got something out of it.”
You remember the way he spat the command at you, and the way your body responded like he’d pulled your orgasm out of your very soul. “I didn’t like that.”
Roman sucks in a breath, his face contorting into the cold smirk you were coming to understand was his default. “Coulda fooled me with the way you soaked my cock.”
Your cheeks flush a violent red, and Roman presses his palm to that heat, relishing in the rush of blood close to the surface.
“I don’t… I don’t understand this. Any of it. You… could have anyone you wanted.”
“Yeah.”
“Someone who wants you back. You don’t need to… men like you don’t need to force it.”
Roman’s eyes flash with something, and you feel heat curl in your stomach. Danger. You’re close tosomething dangerous. Now would be the time to shut the hell up, but for once your mouth is overriding your sense of self preservation. “Your mom said you had… I think she said proclivities. She means perversions, right? You’re into something that other people wouldn’t like. That’s why you needed me, someone who wouldn’t… wouldn’t be able to make you suffer the consequences.”
Roman’s head tilts to the side. “Proclivities. The spin doctor is in. What’s your point? This the part where you beg me to let you go?”
“I…” You swallow hard, straightening your spine with a false sense of confidence. “There’s someone for everybody. I’m saying I don’t think you need to… to do all of this. Just find someone whose into what you’re into. Then you could be yourself with someone who wants the same thing.”
Roman’s hands drop from your face. “You really think there’s someone out there for me?” His voice is soft, his face hopeful.
You nod jerkily, praying he doesn’t see the tremor in your hands as you press them against your thighs.
“Hmm.” He hums, biting the corner of his lip. “Maybe you’re right. I… I guess you aren’t interested in sticking around then, huh?”
You pause. This feels like a trap, and you need to be careful. “I think… I don’t think I’m the right person for you. I’m boring and damaged. But I wouldn’t ever tell anyone about any of this. I’d walk away and you wouldn’t have to deal with me again. No PR nightmare for your mom, either.”
Roman’s mouth twists to the side. “Right. Okay, yeah maybe you’re right. Shit. Olivia’ll kill me if I let you go though. She’ll want to get rid of you properly. You promise you’re gunna be good? Not gunna come back around causing trouble for me?”
You shake your head so fast your vision blurs. “Never. I’d never, I promise. I’ll just disappear.”
You hear the click of the locks disengaging, and your eyes flit to the door and back to Roman. “Go.” He says softly. “Before I come to my fuckin senses.”
You don’t wait for that. You fling the door open and throw yourself from the car, taking off right into the thick forest bordering the road. It’s not the smartest choice, you don’t know where you are and you have no idea how to make it back to town, but you can figure that out later. Right now you just need to get as far away from Roman as possible, before he comes to his senses.
Roman watches you slip into the trees, your little skirt puffing up around your hips and flashing your panties at him. He smiles, feeling his cock twitch and thicken. This is the best part. His most favourite part. He switches off the engine and gets out, running his hand back through his hair before he makes his way into the forest. Your scent is everywhere, the sharp musk of your sweat and the sweetness of your terror-laced adrenaline. Even if he couldn’t smell you, he’d be able to track you easy enough. You’re loud, thundering through the forest and snapping twigs and disturbing fallen leaves as you go. You’re running, but in your silly little dress and kitten heels you can’t gain much ground.
Roman can see you again now. There are little bits of debris in your hair and you’re panting loud enough for him to hear thirty foot back. His cock twitches insistently against his jeans and he reaches down to palm himself as he ducks under a branch and cuts left, arcing around you until he’s just behind you.
Your scream is cut off by the cool press of his palm against your mouth, his skin forcing your lips apart. You can’t bite down, and you can’t breathe. You feel his lips against the side of your neck, his sharp nose nudging against your ear. “You smell like fear,” he mumbles, his voice liquid silk skittering down your spine as his free hand slips up under your dress and drags over the front of your panties. “And you’re wet.” His voice is a purr now, his fingers pushing your underwear aside to slip inside you, curling back in a way that should be pleasurable but isn’t when you’re out of your mind with terror. “Fuck, it’s so much better when they run.”
He drags you roughly backwards, your heels skidding in the mulchy earth as you scrabble for purchase. He pushes you away from him suddenly, spinning you and pushing you back against a tree. The rough bark scratches your bare back, and you realize Roman’s yanked your dress up. “Roman, please. Lets just talk.”
Roman grins, his teeth flashing too sharp and his smile too wide. “I can smell you. Could smell you from a mile away. Fear makes it all so much… sweeter.” His eyes flick down your body, and you shrink against the tree like there’s anywhere to go. He takes a step closer, dipping his head to press a hard kiss against your mouth before sinking to his knees.
The breath goes out of you as you look down at him, his big green eyes hooded as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “You said you didn’t like it last night.”
You feel your face flush as you nod.
“You’ll like this.” He mumbles, before his head disappears under the little puff of your skirt and you feel his mouth close over your pussy through your panties. His tongue probes over the fabric, coaxing your clit to swell as your hips cant forward against him and you let out an involuntary whine. Roman groans against you, his nose nudging the elastic of your panties to the side so he can nuzzle into your slick. He moans again as he suctions his lips over your clit and draws it into his mouth, sucking surprisingly gently against the sensitive bud. Your hand flies to his head, fingers tangling in his hair like you’ve forgotten who he is, and he rewards the touch with a series of devastatingly fast flicks of his tongue against the underside of your clit.
“Oh shit,” you whine, trying to simultaneously tug him closer and close your legs against the overwhelming sensation. Roman’s hand seizes on your calf and lifts, and you yelp as you almost fall. He drops your leg over his shoulder, spreading your further as he pushes his tongue into you, swallowing greedily at your arousal before flattening his tongue against your clit again and thrumming against it. “Please,” you whimper, the coil in your stomach tightening with a pressure that’s too close to too much.
Roman hums against your core, sending vibrations through you, and you fall apart, the coil snapping with a buck of your hips and the complete loss of sensation in your legs. Roman holds you up, burrowing his nose and mouth against you, consuming everything that spills out of you as you clench around nothing and shake against his lips.
He pulls away with a wet smack of his lips, reappearing from under your skirts with flushed cheeks and a swollen mouth. Your eyes roll back at the filthy sight of him, and he licks his lips hungrily before fisting the front of your dress, fingers tangling in the corset ribbons as he drags you down against him. You land awkwardly, limbs splayed out to the sides to avoid touching him as much as you can. Roman rolls his eyes and drags you over his lap, your stomach making harsh contact with his thighs before he thumps you down onto the ground. His hands smack down hard on your ass, shoving your skirt up your back as he rips your underwear to the side. Your nails dig into the dirt as he settles on your legs, pinning you to the earth as he pushes his stiff cock into you from behind. From this angle he hits your cervix almost immediately, and you can’t stop the tears springing to your eyes. You can’t move, can’t change the angle of his thrusts even a little with your body so thoroughly pinned. Your walls clench around him, and Roman moans, his nails digging into the meat of your hips as he drags you back and forth, fucking you on his cock at a brutal pace. You feel your jaw go slack as he fills you, every ridge and vein on his cock dragging against your sensitive insides as he spills into you.
He isn’t gentle as he pulls out, barely sparing the time to tuck himself back into his trousers before he’s hauling you from the floor and slinging you over his shoulder. You feel the moment his shoulder connects with your stomach and the wet, humiliating squelch as his cum is pushed out of you to drip down your thighs. Roman huffs, his fingers splaying possessively across your skin. Back at the roadside he puts you down just long enough to open the passenger door before he pushes you inside.
If you’d thought the drive out had been quiet, the journey home is deathly silent. You can feel the tension rolling off Roman in malevolent waves, and you feel terror curl in your stomach and sour. You’d fucked up. Big time, royally fucked up, and now there was no way out. He wouldn’t let you leave again.
As if he’s read your mind, Roman kills the engine in the enormous driveway and turns in his seat. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
“I… there’s no leaving, is there?”
He hums. “No, there’s no leaving. Not the way you think. You’ll stay here until you break, or until you accept that this is where you’re supposed to be. With me.”
There’s something shining in his eyes when he talks, even though his voice remains steady and low.
“What if…” you swallow hard against a lump in your throat. “What if you get bored of me before either of those things happen?”
Roman blows out a breath in a low whistling sound. “Well, I can’t promise I won’t ever fuck anyone else, sweetheart.” You feel your face flush as your stomach churns. “But… you’ll have your hands full anyway, raising the babies.”
You freeze, the world narrowing on that word. “Babies?”
Roman’s mouth smirks, but the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s studying you, taking silent mental notes of every flicker on your face. “What, you think my mother puts up with all this shit so I can get laid?” He scoffs. “She wants a fuckin dynasty, strengthen the bloodline or whatever.”
You can hear your own blood roaring in your ears. It’s so loud, so deafeningly loud that you can’t quite believe that Roman can’t hear it too. “I’ve never… wanted to be a mother.”
“Oh.” Roman shrugs. “Well, if you hate the lil tykes when they come out I’ll hire a nanny. A whole fleet of them if you want.”
You start to cry, pathetic sniffles spilling from your nose as your throat tightens uncomfortably, and Roman drags you onto his lap, pulling your face close so he can trace your tears away with his tongue. “Shh don’t cry. Fuckkk, it gets me hard when you cry.” He sighs, pulling his full bottom lip into his mouth. “I’m gunna take care of you.” He ruts up against you, pressing his erection against the ruined, soaked mess of your panties, and you remember Mrs Godfrey’s warning about his appetite. Roman’s fingers slip your panties to the side as he pushes you down onto his hard length and your head drops against his shoulder, stifling a quiet sob against the fabric of his shirt.
Bill Skarsgård as the aging body for Thom Browne x Met Gala 2026.
Wearing a custom work consisting of an elongated patchwork tuxedo in wool and silk satin with a black cashmere vest, oversized peacoat in black coated cotton and shearling collar, silk faille tie and classic wingtip boots.
Summary: You’ve always been good at reading people, and you’d figured out that Eric had a praise kink within about ten minutes of meeting him. He’d handed you a beer, twisting the top off the bottle with ease, and you’d commented on how strong he was, and his pupils had dilated. Getting him on his knees had taken little more than a ‘good boy’ and a gentle push.
Word Count: 1655
Warnings:
A/N: Giiiiiirl sub!Eric is... well. Here you go.
MDNI, fic under the cut
“You gunna be a good boy for me?” You ask. The man folds immediately, his long torso dropping as he lowers himself to his knees. Green eyes lined in messy kohl look up at you and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.
“I’ll be good.” He swallows thickly, the attractive bob of his throat sending you feral. You want to bite his Adam’s apple. You want to make him beg.
“You think you’ve earned it, Eric?” Your voice is liquid silk as you lift a lazy hand to run through his hair, the short, scruffy mullet sticking up at the top as you card your fingers against his scalp.
“Please,” he whispers, chin lifting to expose his throat to you. An act of submission, and one of desire.
You tug on his hair, watching his eyes flutter shut. “You can touch me.”
His hands lift to your hips, his tattooed fingers shaking with how badly he needs to feel you. His face follows, leaning forward to press kisses to your clothed stomach, and you sigh. “So good, Eric. You’re so good for me.”
He whines, his mouth opening as his tongue licks against the fabric of your shirt. “Please,” he whispers against you.
“You want more? You want me to tell you how good you are at pleasing me? How much I like it?”
Eric’s moan is answer enough, and he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama pants and drags them down to your ankles. His mouth connects with your center now, sharp nose nuzzling against your clit through your underwear. “Fuck, Eric.” You sigh, teasing your fingers through his hair and encouraging him to push against you. “You’re so hot, you know that? You drive me crazy.” You feel his teeth graze against you and your eyes roll back. “Fuck, yeah. That’s it. I want you to taste.”
Eric whimpers, actually whimpers as his fingers slide into the waistband of your panties and he drags them down. The air is cool against you and he sucks in a breath, looking up at you with lust-blown eyes. “Can I?” The words are barely a whisper, and you bite your bottom lip.
“Show me what your talented mouth can do, love. Make me come.”
Eric sighs as he presses his mouth to you, his tongue flicking out over your clit before suctioning his lips around it and flattening his tongue against the sensitive bud. He moans against you, his mouth greedily exploring your core and sending vibrations through you. “God, fuck,” you moan, tugging hard on his hair. “You look so good like this. So fuckin slutty all covered in me.” Eric’s fingers slide up the inside of your thigh, parting gently through your folds before pushing inside you.
You exhale, relaxing your muscles around the intrusion. His fingers are long, thicker than your own, and he curls them up into you in a way that you’ve never been able to reach. Practiced. You bite your lip at the spark of jealousy, thinking of him with someone else. Anyone else. You pull his hair harder, hard enough to make him moan vibrations into your clit before he pulls away with shining eyes.
“Am I… do you want me to stop?” His words are slurred, his lips and tongue numb from pleasuring you.
You roll your eyes, releasing his hair to stroke your finger over the teardrop tattoo beneath his eye. “No, sweetheart. I wanna come with you inside me. Feel your big cock filling me up. You can do that, can’t you?”
Eric’s eyes shutter closed as he shifts on his knees, his erection pressing painfully against the front of his boxers. “I can do that.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, a crease forming between his brows as he tries really, really hard to focus. If he comes in his boxers he’ll have disappointed you, and he can’t bear even the thought of you looking at him with disapproval.
“Take those off, and get on the bed. Up against the headboard.” Your words are a command, your voice soft but firm. Eric swallows hard against his impulse to latch his mouth to your clit again, to hear you telling him what a slut he is.
He stands, barely registering how much taller he is than you, how much broader. You notice though, and your breath hitches in your throat as he shoves his boxers down and his thick cock bobs up against his toned stomach, precum painting the tattoos littering his lower torso with slick. For a moment he just stands there, letting you look at him, trying not to cover himself as shame flushes through him. He’s not used to being looked at like you look at him, not used to being seen for exactly who he is.
“Bed, Eric. Don’t make me tell you again.”
He moves then, sliding up the mattress until his back presses flush to the headboard and his thighs spread wide, inviting you to sit. You crawl up his body, straddling his crotch and gripping his cock at the base to slide it up through your slick, grinding your clit against his sensitive head. “You have such a pretty cock, Eric. You want me to ride it?”
Eric whimpers, his mouth capturing yours in a bruising kiss. “Please,” he mumbles against your lips, his hips lifting.
You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, tilting your hips until the fat head of his cock presses against your entrance. You sink down, just a tiny bit, enough to squeeze but not enough to relieve, and the sound Eric makes in response is so close to a cry that you consider dropping down to the hilt just to watch him unravel. “Beg me for it.”
Eric’s eyes meet yours, his swollen bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “What?”
“You heard me,” you whisper, pushing up on your knees until he slides out of you completely. “Beg me to fuck you. Tell me you need it.”
Eric groans at the feeling of the silky wetness of you against the length of his cock. He doesn’t want to beg, but he thinks he might die if he doesn’t get inside you. And if he does what you ask, you’ll reward him, won’t you? “Please. Please fuck me. I need you so badly. N-need you to ride me. Pleasepleaseplease,” he whispers against your mouth, his hips thrusting gently up against you, seeking any kind of friction.
A fresh wave of arousal floods through you and you sigh, pecking his lips. “You sound so fuckin hot when you beg. You’ll do anything I tell you to, won’t you? You’re so good for me, Eric. Such a good.” You line up his cock with your entrance and sink down. “Fucking.” You feel the moment he bottoms out, the stretch intense but not painful after his fingers, “boy.” You finish with an internal squeeze, your muscles gripping and releasing him so tightly Eric’s mouth falls open on a whispered ‘fuuuuck’ and his head drops back against the headboard.
You lean back, taking in the sight of him blissed out and perfect beneath you, before you lift up and drop back down on him. His hands bracket your hips automatically, helping to lift you off and drop you down as you ride him, your pace quickening as you chase the desperate edge of your orgasm. “You fill me so good.” You mumble, dragging your nails down his chest. “So perfect for me. My good boy.”
Eric’s hips lift to meet you with every thrust, the coil of arousal tightening in his balls. He isn’t going to last long, and he’d all but promised to make you come. One big hand leaves your hip and finds your clit, slicking upwards through your wetness before circling the sensitive bud. “You gunna fill me up with come?” You ask, your words stuttering out of you on shaking breaths as your own release nears, the combination of his thick cock dragging against your sensitive inner walls and his calloused fingers working your clit pushing you towards the edge of oblivion faster than you’d thought possible.
“Gunna fuck-gunna come,” he grits out, his fingers a slick blur against you, his eyes fixed on your face. Eric is good at this part, at taking note of the fractional changes in your facial expression, the sounds you make. He knows when you’re close, knows how to adapt his actions to your reactions. You’re close now, and he could cry with how relieved he is. You’ll come before him.
Your walls flutter erratically around him as you come, hips stilling and clit grinding down against his fingers as pleasure washes through you and you soak his thighs. You moan his name as you do, and Eric’s own orgasm hits at the sound, at the best praise he could ever receive. He’s the one who makes you come. The only one, if he has anything to say about it.
When you stop shaking Eric withdraws his fingers, lifting them to his mouth and sucking instinctively. Your release always tastes sweeter than your arousal, and he loves tasting it on his tongue and his teeth even hours after you’re done with him. His sensitive cock is still twitching inside you, and your muscles grip around him reflexively, painfully as you release him. He winces at the feeling.
“Oh, poor baby,” you coo, lifting a hand to the sweaty scruff of hair at the back of his neck and grazing your nails against his scalp. “You did so well for me.”
Eric hums, leaning into your touch. He’s exhausted, his thighs burn, and he’s bitten the inside of his cheek so hard there will be a blister tomorrow. But he’d go again, right now, if you asked him to. He’d do anything you wanted, to be your good boy.
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Summary: After Roman makes two boys kiss in the corridor for tormenting Shelley, he’s sent to the guidance counsellor to avoid being suspended. You’re more interested in how than why, and Roman’s more into show than tell.
WARNINGS: NSFW, pretty much pwp, sexual coercion, dubious consent, vaginal fingering, rough sex, power dynamics, upir stuff, blood kink
word count: 3582
A/N: THIS IS A REPOST FROM AO3 BECAUSE I WANT A MASTERLIST. Apologies if you've already read it over there, but hey, there's a nice GIF with this one. :)
Full fic under cut, MDNI
The clock over the door tick, tick, ticks down the minutes as you sit across from the boy on the couch. He’s sprawled over the oxblood leather like it’s his office rather than yours, but his sharp green eyes flick to your notepad every time you write something down and he worries his full bottom lip between his teeth.
“I’m not gunna talk to you.” He says into the silence. His voice is rich, accented with just the tiniest inflection of somewhere else. You shrug, eyes never leaving the page in front of you as you continue sketching.
“That’s fine by me. I get paid either way.”
His jacket looks expensive, the watch braceleting his wrist costing more than your car. He scoffs, shifting into a seated position. “I’ve heard that before.”
You don’t respond, adding a curling flourish to the belly of the snake circling itself on your paper. Leather creaks. “Don’t you wanna know where I’ve heard that before?” You cross one leg over the other, adding a crosshatch shadow to the underside of its belly. “From hookers, mostly. Don’t much wanna talk to them, either. They’re better for other stuff.”
Silence falls as the boy waits for his words to land, for you to blush, anything. “You’re not bad, though.” He continues eventually, agitation adding a sharp edge to his words. “If you popped the top couple buttons on your shirt, let your hair down. I’d consider fucking you.”
Finally you look up, meeting sharp, bright eyes. His full lips pull up into a smirk that’s a little too wide at the corners, like his face might split open, and you glance back down at the snake on your paper. That’s what this boy reminds you of. A beautiful, cold-blooded predator. “I’ll bear that in mind, Mr. Godfrey.”
His smirk falters and he leans back against the couch, spreading his legs wide and dropping a large pale hand onto his crotch. He wears a gaudy ring on one finger and he rubs the side of it with his thumb, likely a nervous gesture. “I didn’t do anything, you know.”
Finally. You tilt your head to the side. “Actually, I don't know. Why don’t you tell me.”
He rolls his eyes and lifts a hand to run through his hair, disturbing the slicked back strands. “Those two assholes were being dicks to my sister. Calling her names and shit. Every other asshole was just watching, getting off on it or whatever. I just politely suggested they give the people something to get off to.”
“What exactly did you say, Mr. Godfrey?”
“I told asshole one to kiss asshole two on his pretty little mouth. And he did. How is it my fault if they’re emotionally fucking traumatized or whatever?”
“You don’t feel like it’s your fault, then?”
The boy shrugs, splaying his palms wide on his thighs. “I just made a fucking suggestion. If I suggested that your dog gets his by a truck and then tomorrow Fido bites it under an eighteen-wheeler will I be arrested for conspiracy to commit?”
You smile, eyes flicking to the photo of yourself with your childhood dog, sitting on the desk. Facing outward, towards the patient. You don’t have that dog anymore, don’t have time for pets or family or anything but work, really. But the picture puts people at ease, gets them talking.
“Of course not,” you say. “But you have a certain influence in this town, one that can’t be ignored.”
“Shelley’s as much a Godfrey as I am and those fuckers torment her. She not got that influence?”
“You know as well as I do that it’s different.”
He stands then, crossing to your desk and pressing his palms into the wood. “Look lady, say what you want, but I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? This is all just a bullshit box ticking exercise. Unless you think I’ve got some supernatural ability to force people to do what I tell them, then we’re done aren’t we?”
You lean back in your chair, watching his eyes heat as his gaze drops down your body to the crossed legs and short black skirt riding up your thighs. “Do you?”
He swallows as he meets your eyes again, but there’s a glassiness to his now. “Do I what?” His voice is deeper, too.
“Have a supernatural ability to force people to do what you tell them.”
He blinks. “That a serious question?”
You shrug. “Humor me.”
He considers it for a moment, before a smirk begins to curl on his mouth again. “Sure. Yeah. Maybe I do. If I did, I could tell you to take your shirt off and you’d do it, right?”
“I suppose that’s the idea.”
“And yet, you’re still fully clothed.” He straightens, eyes raking over you. “Shame.”
“I don’t recall you telling me to do it.”
He freezes then, tension coiling his body tight. “This is stupid.”
“If you’re uncomfortable, you can say so. This is a safe space, Mr. Godfrey.”
Something flashes in his eyes and he shakes his head. “I’m not uncomfortable. Fuck.” He sighs, rubbing his fingers over his mouth, bringing color to his lips. “Fine. He spreads his palms on your desk again as he lowers, dipping his head to your level. “Take off your shirt.”
The words penetrate into you, deeply. Your fingers are already moving, fumbling the buttons down the front of your plain white blouse and shrugging the material off your shoulders to pool around your waist. Cool air hits your skin, goosebumps peppering your chest, and his gaze drops appreciatively to your breasts. The boy’s eyes heat, pupils dilating as he devours the exposed flesh.
“How did you…” You begin but he holds up a finger.
“Get up.”
You move on marionette legs, pushing to a stand. His eyes drop to the pencil skirt covering your midriff and legs and his lips part, tongue slipping out to glide along his bottom lip. “Come here.”
You do, heels clacking softly against the hardwood as you round the desk, stopping just in front of him. He’s much taller than you, and up close he’s even prettier than you realized. His eyes are electric, zinging with lust and power as he runs a finger down your arm. Goosebumps break out everywhere he touches and you gasp. “You asked me for this.” He says, and you’re not sure whether he’s reassuring you or himself. But you feel your head nodding, your eyes dropping to his throat as it bobs around a swallow. “Turn around and bend over the desk.”
You want to resist, you do, but your body moves on his command, your skin shocking against the chilled wood of your desk as you flatten against it. You hear his sharp intake of breath before fingers ghost over your ass, tracing the line of your panties through the fabric.
“Mr. Godfrey,” you manage, the words breathless.
“Shh. Roman. If you’re gunna be moaning my name, I want you to call me Roman.”
You know, in your conscious mind, that this is very fucking wrong. You’d lose your license if anyone found out you were doing this, and besides, you didn’t want to do this. Did you? He was a client, a patient. And in high school. Messing with high school kids at your big age? Maybe a felony. But his hand spreads wide over your ass then, engulfing a whole cheek with ease as he squeezes your flesh in his palm. You can feel the ridge of his ring against your skin. He’s not like the teenagers you usually see in here. There’s a sophistication about him, in the way he talks. A confidence that can only come from being a Godfrey.
“We don’t have to…” You start; but break off at the feeling of his fingers tracing up your spine, hooking into the clasp holding your bra closed and flicking it open with practiced ease. The heat of his hardening cock presses into your ass as he leans over you, sliding the scrunchie from your hair and shaking the strands out to cover your face. Heat pools between your legs and you try to press your thighs together. He notices, kicking your legs apart with the toe of his designer leather shoe. Your heels scuff against the hardwood and the breath huffs out of you.
“Lift up your skirt. I wanna see.” Your hands curl around the hem of the skirt, rolling it up over your ass and leaving you exposed. You shudder at the new sensation of cold air on your skin, then whimper as his warm hands drop to your ass with an audible smack. “Fuck.” He breathes, sliding one hand down between your legs and pressing his thumb over the place where your clit is. You don’t want to think about how he found that so quickly, but your eyes roll back in your head as he applies pressure. “Good girl. Didn’t even have to tell you to get wet for me.”
A blush heats your skin and you turn your face to press a burning cheek against the cool wood. “Roman,” you mumble. “Please.”
He sighs, hooking your underwear to the side, swirling his thumb through your folds before pressing it to your clit again. “You want it?” His tone is almost lazy, like he’s bored. Like he predicted this outcome from the start.
You feel yourself nod, hips lifting uselessly off the desk, trying to find some friction against his hand. Shame burns in your core, but it’s a delicious kind of fire. “Please,” you whisper again. His fingers join his thumb, slipping through your slickness to find your entrance. He doesn’t ask before pushing his index and middle fingers into you and you clamp down on them, hissing at the stretch of them. He groans, dragging them out of you and pushing back in.
“Fucking tight,” he mutters approvingly. “My cock might break you.”
Your eyes roll back at the lurid, filthy thought of that as you push back against his hand and he rewards your depravity with a few rough circles of this thumb on your clit. “Won’t break.” You manage between whimpers and gasps.
Roman chuckles darkly, the sound sending a skitter of unease down your spine. “We’ll see.”
His fingers disappear suddenly and you whine, walls clenching on nothing and clit throbbing with unresolved need. You don’t hear anything over the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears, but you certainly feel the moment he shoves the entire length of his hard cock into your pussy. “Fu-uck,” he groans, his cock pulsing deep against your cervix. “Knew it would feel good, but fuck.” The last word is almost a growl and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to avoid screaming. Iron fills your mouth as your lip bursts under pressure, blood smearing across your lips and down your chin as your face is dragged along the wood over and over again, your body slamming against the edge of the desk with each powerful thrust as Roman fucks into you like you’re little more than a doll.
“What is…” his hips falter and he pulls out of you, your legs giving way as you flop heavily against the surface. His hands find your arms and pull you up, turning you over and dragging you close to him. Your breasts are exposed now, your bra discarded on the desk behind you, but he barely notices, his eyes are fixed on your mouth.
“I accident-“ He cuts you off with a kiss, all hard press and demand as his tongue pushes past the barrier of your lips and he sucks your torn bottom lip into his own mouth, digging at the ragged cut with his teeth. God, it fucking hurts but you don’t try to pull away. His hands slide down your arms to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he presses his cock against your center and you lean into it, desperately grinding against his length.
His tongue lashes at your teeth and bottom lip relentlessly but his hands slip lower, cupping the underside of your thighs as he settles you firmly back onto the desk and spreads your legs wider. Roman seizes the base of his cock and pumps himself, letting the head drag through your folds and press against your clit. You whimper into his mouth as he pushes back inside, seating himself impossibly deep inside you as he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. Fresh blood spills from the wound and he swallows greedily, a low groan rumbling from his throat as he draws more and more out of the cut. Your lip is going to bruise, badly, but the pain only heightens the pleasure. You clench around him, walls fluttering as his cock fucks in and out of you at a punishing pace.
His hand comes between you to rub at your clit and your body jolts against his hand, the dual sensation of his cock and his fingers sending you hurtling towards your orgasm. Your legs bracket around his hips, opening yourself wider and granting him a deeper angle. He breaks the kiss, finally, his tongue dragging down your lip and licking the sticky mess of blood from around your mouth. He presses hot, wet, open mouthed kisses down your chin, chasing each stray drop of blood down your neck with the tip of his tongue. His cock drives up at a new angle and you dig your heels into his ass, whining at the feeling of the head of his cock slamming into you with such force that you feel it all the way down to your toes. He groans against your skin, lips parting over your pulse point before his teeth scrape your skin.
Your eyes fly wide at the hot flash of pain as his teeth sink into your flesh. Roman’s teeth aren’t sharp enough to pierce your flesh, though he’s certainly biting hard enough. Blood blooms to the surface under the skin, staining your neck with a brutal mark and you clamp down on his cock. His hips falter for a moment and he pulls his head back to capture your eyes with his. The green of his irises is almost completely gone, eaten by his lust-blown pupils.
“Come for me.” He demands, the thumb on your clit speeding up as he drags it over the sensitive bud again and again. And you do, on cue, on command. Your release washes over you and you arch your back, hips bucking wildly into his hand as you clench and spasm around him.
Roman makes a tortured, gorgeous sound somewhere between a whine and a moan as he comes, slamming into you over and over as he rides out his orgasm. You can’t help but watch him come undone, his hair falling into his face, damp with sweat. His lips are swollen, luridly crimson and parted around the sounds he makes. God, he really is beautiful. Ethereally so, if you met him under different circumstances, you’d have wanted all this and more.
He huffs out a breath as his hips still, grinding tightly into you one last time before he pulls out and runs a hand through his hair, slicking it away from his face. You feel the warm rush below and drop your eyes to watch as his cum leaks out of you. His eyes follow yours and he tsks, shaking his head as he dips his fingers between your folds and slicks the mess up and over your clit, making you shudder. He scoops a thick smear of cum onto his fingers and lifts them to your mouth. “Suck.”
Revulsion turns your stomach even as heat kindles between your thighs but your lips part, accepting his fingers into your mouth. You run your tongue between the digits, tasting the blended essence of him and yourself and your eyes flutter closed for a moment, savoring the awful, shameful lust that burns through you as you swallow. You open your eyes again, seeking his approval, and notice his nose is bleeding, a single drip of blood beading on the cupids bow of his top lip.
He pulls his wet fingers from your mouth and swipes the blood from under his nose, sucking those same fingers into his own mouth.
“How,” you begin, forcing your lungs to push breath in and out despite the racing of your heart, “did you do that?”
He pulls his fingers from his mouth with a pop and the corner of his mouth lifts. “What are you suggesting I did? I just asked.” His other hand trails up your bare thigh, ghosting against the sensitive flesh. “You wanted that.” He says it casually, conversationally, but his eyes are burning bright and green again.
You swallow. “I didn’t… I…”
“Yeah, you did.” He cuts across you. “We’re still speaking hypothetically here. If I had powers, they’d only work if you looked at me, into my eyes. Like those assholes did. Like you are now. So maybe I made you take your shirt off, maybe I told you to bend over the desk and you didn’t really have a choice. But after that? I wasn’t looking at you anymore. You could have said no at any time, and you didn’t. You did what I told you to, because you wanted to.”
There’s a rightness to his words, but your mind races with the impossibility of it all. Either you believed Roman Godfrey had some kind of psychic mind control abilities, or you believed you’re a degenerate who sleeps with high school kids entrusted to your care. Neither option fills you with confidence. “I’m a guidance counsellor. I could lose my job for this…” You stammer, feeling tears well in your eyes and spill hot tracks down your cheeks.
“Shhh,” he cooes, thumbing away your tears and sliding his hand into your hair. His fingers caress your scalp and skitter down the back of your neck as he leans in, pressing his softening cock against your still-bare core. “Here’s what’s gunna happen. You’re gunna write that I’m completely innocent and well-adjusted in that little notebook of yours, and no one is ever gunna find out that you fucked a high school student in here. Okay?”
Nausea roils in your stomach at the juxtaposition of the tenderness of his touch and the icy calculation of his words.
“You’re blackmailing me.” You mumble. It isn’t a question.
Yeah.” He huffs a laugh. “Don’t look so offended. You got something out of it, didn’t you? Had you begging for my cock.”
You open and close your mouth, indignance making you lean back, away from his touch. “I… did not beg.”
“No, sweetheart, you did. Maybe not as much as I’d have liked, though.” He dips his head, brushing the tip of his nose against your throat. “Next time, I’ll have you on your knees.”
His words burn in your core and your clit throbs, sending a fresh wave of slick between your legs. His lips curve into a smirk against your neck as he licks a wet streak up to your ear.
“There…” you stammer, trying desperately to keep control of your brain even as Roman’s mouth tries to short circuit it. “There won’t be a next time. I’m giving you a-“ You cut yourself off with a groan as Roman suctions a piece of flesh into his mouth, sucking a fresh bruise into your skin. “A clean bill of health, remember?”
He pulls away, tilting his head to the side. His cock throbs between your legs, stiffening and pulsing against you as your arousal builds. “Oh yeah.” His mouth twists to the side as he considers this for a moment, before he smirks. “But I’m an extremely bad boy, Miss. I’m sure it won’t be long before I do something disturbing again.”
Good fucking lord. He leans in, that sinful mouth pressing against yours again as he kisses you softly, pressing chaste kisses against your lips even as he grinds his cock against you. You wrap your arms around his neck, finally allowing yourself to slip your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and tug lightly. His mouth curves into another infuriating smirk against yours as he deepens the kiss, gliding his tongue into your mouth and caressing your own until you let out an involuntary moan.
It's like this is the sound he needs from you, because he sighs into your mouth before pulling back with a self-satisfied smirk. “Good girl.”
You blink, stunned as he tucks his cock back into his expensive trousers and buckles his obnoxious designer belt. He runs a hand through his hair again, eyes raking over you with a cool indifference that has you squirming with embarrassment. “See you soon.” He says, before turning to the door. He doesn’t look back as he leaves, the clock over the frame indicating you have just two minutes until your next appointment.
Your eyes blur with tears as you fix your underwear in place and roll your skirt back down, hastily rebuttoning your shirt as you take your seat on the other side of the desk and rip the doodle off the front of your notepad. There’s a knock at the door and you call out, plastering a polite smile on your face which splits your lip open as the next student comes in and sits on the couch.
Hi would you ever write about like stepsiblings for Roman or no? Sorry if this is a weird ask, i don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.
Thicker Than Water (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Summary: In your short life, you had experienced two great tragedies. The first had been at twelve when your mother had died suddenly. Olivia Godfrey becoming your stepmother had been the second.
Word Count: 4706
Warnings: somnophilia, oral sex, dubious consent, partial loss of virginity, vaguely incestuous themes (stepsiblings) sexual coercion
MDNI, fic under the cut.
In your short life, you had experienced two great tragedies. The first had been at twelve when your mother had died suddenly. A brain aneurism apparently. One minute she’d been pouring your cereal and mumbling something about a dentist appointment, and the next she’d just been… gone. You hadn’t known what to do about any of it, so you’d gone to school and pretended you hadn’t seen it happen.
You pretended that for four years, and it was fine. Then your father had come home with a pinched smile on his face and an elegant woman standing at his side, and she’d brandished her hand at you like a weapon and you’d seen mom’s ring on her perfectly manicured finger.
Olivia Godfrey becoming your stepmother had been the second great tragedy. There was nothing you could do about it. Your dad had hidden his entire, admittedly short relationship from you, and the date was already set. Just three weeks away, and wouldn’t you like to meet your brother?
Roman Godfrey was a walking tragedy all of his own making, but to you he was… refreshing. He seemed to hate his mom almost as much as you did, and he thought her quick marriage to your dad was pathetic. You’d warmed to him immediately despite his complete and utter lack of interest in you.
“You’re not my sister.” He’d said, deadpan. “I already got one of those. Maybe more, if dad screwed around before he offed himself.”
You’d blinked at him in surprise, but then you’d just… liked him. He talked about death like other people talked about the weather, and it was so fucking refreshing to hear that after years of people tiptoeing around your mother’s passing like telling the truth would somehow fuck you up worse than her dying did.
Roman was the first and only person you told about your mom.
“Shit.” He muttered, sucking on the damp end of his joint before handing it to you. “I saw my dad, too. Not when he blew his brains out, but I found him right after, on the carpet. Just… laying there.”
You’d nodded like you understood, because you did.
Your infatuation with Roman Godfrey developed at a remarkable pace. You imprinted on him like a baby bird, following him around everywhere from the moment you set your bags down in your new house, in his house. He was a year older and lightyears cooler than you, and he knew it. Every time he snuck you a joint or made you keep a lookout as he raided the locked drinks cabinet in the study, he invited you into his world for a moment, and kept you hooked.
You were a late bloomer, everybody said so. Your mom had been too, apparently, not starting her period until well into her late teens and not growing a pair of tits until it was almost too late to use them. Both things struck you quite suddenly at sixteen, and you were drowning in misery over not having your mom around to talk you through tampons and pads and bras and boys. Because the boys did start to notice you after that, and Roman noticed the boys.
He drove you to school every morning, mostly in silence and mostly under duress. You didn’t care, it was enough just to ride in his expensive car and breathe in his expensive cologne and pretend he wanted to be there. You didn’t know any different, didn’t know there was another way to like a boy.
Until Tyler Lane asked you to get coffee with him after school, and you decided to go for it. You weren’t waiting for Roman by his jag at the end of the day, and Roman was sort of relieved about it until he saw you getting into Tyler’s car and his vision whited out like he was on a bad trip. Tyler had taken you to Starbucks and bought you a fancy iced latte thing and driven you home, gawking up at the Godfrey mansion like it was a tourist exhibit. He’d promised to call you and leaned across the central console to peck your cheek, and your heart had hammered so hard in your chest you were sure he’d be able to see it thumping under your shirt.
Roman had been waiting in his car, parked around the side of the garage, and as soon as he heard your car door slam and the absurd, skipping patter of your feet on the gravel he swung around to block off the courtyard exit and knocked on Tyler’s window.
Tyler didn’t call you. He wouldn’t talk to you at school the next day, or the day after. And little by little, the boys stopped looking altogether. And gun to his head, Roman couldn’t tell you why he’d done it. It’s not like he liked having you follow him around. He didn’t want you to obsess over him, when he couldn’t give you anything worth having. He rationalised it easy enough, you were supposed to be his sister and brothers do that whole overprotective thing, right? He was just playing his part in the fucked up family dynamic he’d been forced into.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise when you turned your focus back to him, and it shouldn’t have pleased him as much as it did. You knocked softly on his bedroom door one night, and Roman groaned as he rolled onto his stomach and invited you in.
“You sleeping?”
He grits his teeth against a sarcastic retort and sits up. “No. Why aren’t you in bed? It’s late.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” You shuffle from one foot to the other, your robe falling open on a tiny camisole and a pair of silky pink shorts so short they should be considered underwear. Your skin glows in the moonlight streaming in from the open window, and goosebumps break out over your chest.
And Roman’s cock stirs at the sight, twitching to life as he wonders whether your skin is as soft as it looks. Whether your cunt is as tight and wet and virginal as he imagines it is, in his worst moments.
“Can I get in with you? Just for a minute?”
Roman huffs a laugh. “Fuck no.”
“Please,” you whine. “Dad and Olivia are… busy. And I just want a hug. I’ll be so fast.”
Roman’s stomach aches. He doesn’t want you climbing into his bed in your too-short shorts. But your bottom lip wobbles and you look so goddamn pathetic that he rolls his eyes and pulls his duvet back to let you climb inside.
You hum happily as you cross his room, bare feet slapping against the hardwood until you climb into the warmth of his bed and settle yourself right in his lap.
“No way.” Roman grumbles, pressing his palms to your hips as he lifts you off his lap and drops you to the side of him. “I’m not Santa Claus.”
“How am I supposed to hug you from here?” You grumble, but you wriggle down in the sheets until your back is flat to the mattress and you’re taking up all the room on his pillow, your hair spread around you like a halo.
Roman mutters something rude under his breath and shimmies down next to you, his shoulders tense against the mattress. You roll onto your side and nuzzle the icy tip of your nose against his shoulder, and Roman jumps a little at the unexpected contact. “You can’t stay.” He reminds you.
“Just for a minute.” You promise, fingers reaching out to brush over the skin of his abdomen before you settle your palm against his bare skin. Roman tenses, praying your hand stays exactly where it is and doesn’t venture any lower, where it’s sure to encounter the hard, twitching length of his cock pressed against the front of his boxers. He’s pretty sure your infatuation with him would come to an abrupt end if you realized how close he was to rolling you over and fucking his damn stepsister.
You lay and listen to the steady in and out of his breathing, chewing your lip into your mouth.
“Roman?”
“Go to bed.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“I’ll just ask you this one thing and then I’ll go to sleep.”
Roman groans. “Fine.”
“Am I pretty?”
Roman squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could make you disappear. But he opens his eyes and he can feel your breath tickling against the side of his neck, and your little fingers tracing circles against his stomach.
“You’re fine.”
“Am I ugly?”
Roman groans again. “No. I just said you’re fine, didn’t I?”
“Fine isn’t the same as pretty.”
“Shit. Why the fuck do you care what I think anyway? I’m your brother.”
You make a disgusted sound in the back of your throat and withdraw your hand, and Roman misses the contact instantly. “You’re not my brother. You’re my step brother. By law, by marriage. We’re not related, Roman.”
On this, at least, Roman agrees with you. “Well, okay. Yeah, you’re pretty.”
“Then why don’t any of the guys at school ever hit on me?”
Roman wants out of this conversation more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. “I’m sure they do.”
“No, they don’t. Tyler Lane asked me out once, but he never called me again even though he said he would. I think there’s something wrong with me.”
Roman feels a tiny bit guilty then, and he considers coming clean. Considers telling you that he warned Tyler to keep his fucking hands off his fucking sister, and to spread the word. That Roman Godfrey had an endless bank account and knew some shady fucking people. That if Tyler were to call you tomorrow, they’d never find his body. But he doesn’t say any of this because he’s worried you’ll be furious. And he’s a bit worried that you’ll take it to mean something that it definitely doesn’t.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. Or there is, shit. I don’t know. I’m not the person to ask. Maybe this is something you should discuss with your guidance counsellor.”
You scoff, your hand returning to his stomach to slap against his flesh, before your nails dig into his skin and drag downwards.
“Stop.” He spits through gritted teeth, but you don’t. Your fingers keep trailing lower, lower, dangerously close to his cock, and Roman has to roll over and snatch your hand and pin it above your head. He fails to consider that doing this will have him pressing his erection into your thigh, and your eyes drop to the hidden parts of you both beneath the duvet as you flex your wrist against the hold Roman has on it.
“You’re hard.” You mumble, lifting your thigh from the mattress to butt against his cock as if proving your point.
“I was thinking about a girl before you came in here.” Roman lies seamlessly. “Was probably gunna jack off to get to sleep before you showed up.”
You swallow, dragging your eyes up his bare torso and biting your bottom lip into your mouth. “A girl, huh?”
“Yeah.” Roman grits out. “Cheerleader. Now look, I answered your question. Time to go.”
You blink doe eyes at him before relaxing your body, wrist going limp in his grasp. Roman lets you go as you flutter your eyes closed.
“Fuck are you doing kid?”
“I promised I’d go to sleep if you answered my question. So I’m going to sleep. I never said I’d leave.”
Roman’s mouth falls open, surprise warring with annoyance. Your lips curl into a victorious smirk and he decides annoyance wins. He shoves out of bed, bristling as your eyes snap open to watch him reach for a pair of sweats. His cock is a hard jut against his underwear, and his bare torso is illuminated perfectly by the moonlight, and your core throbs with desire for him. You’d wanted him to stay, to loosen off just enough for you to slide your hand into his boxers and feel the hot, hard silk of his cock, but this was okay too. He stomps from the room and you’re alone in his space, breathing him in off the pillows and wrapping yourself in his sheets and pretending, just for tonight, that he’s wrapped around you instead.
You find out about what Roman did two weeks later. He pisses off the wrong girl, and she drags you into the bathroom between classes and tells you that Roman’s put out a blanket ban on anyone pursuing you. Your rage is incandescent, filling you up and carrying you like a ball of pure fire as you sit through the rest of your classes. Roman’s leaning against the side of his jag, smoking a cigarette and half-talking to someone. He rolls his eyes when he sees you approach, and you decide you’re going to make him pay for his sense of entitlement. Your plan is simple by design, a little trickier on execution. The first part is to just be wherever he is, and this isn’t too hard because you were kinda doing that already. You’re leaning against the kitchen island when he comes in to get a drink, and you wait for him to reach up into the cabinet for a glass before laying your palm flat against his crotch and closing your fingers around the soft meat of his cock. Roman jumps away so violently he drops the glass, shards shattering over the countertop as he stares at you.
“Fuck are you doing?”
You bat your eyelashes at him, poking your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “My hand slipped.”
Roman’s eyes narrow. “Then you should be more careful.”
More careful just means more discrete, because you wait for him to have a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth before you stretch out your leg and splay your bare toes against his cock, kneading against him until you feel the tightening of the fabric of his slacks. You keep your eyes on your plate even though you can feel him staring daggers at you as your dad rambles on about some problem at the office.
“What happened in the kitchen?” Olivia’s voice snaps you out of your game and you withdraw your foot. “Roman?”
Roman stares at his mother dumbly. “Uh, I dropped a glass.”
“Ah.” She says, tenting her fingers over her mouth. “And we simply didn’t feel the need to clean up after ourselves? Do you not think about anyone else?”
“Your sister could have been hurt bud, there was glass on the floor.” Your dad mumbles quietly.
Roman’s face goes rigid. “Shelley’s got thicker skin.”
Your dad purses his lips, but says nothing as he returns to his food.
Olivia doesn’t let it go. “You know perfectly well he meant your stepsister. You need to be more responsible, she’s younger than you.”
Roman looks across the table at you, his gaze darkening in a way that makes you press your thighs together. “Yeah. Well maybe she should be more careful.”
Your fingers are a furious blur against your own clit, dipping into your arousal to soak the fabric of your panties as you think about the dark promise of retribution in his eyes and the soft press of his cock through his slacks. You pull your soaked panties over your shaking legs and drop them on his pillow, right in the middle. The shower cuts off just as you make it to his door, and you press your back to the wood and listen through the thundering of your own heartbeat as Roman’s wet footsteps cross the room and he sinks down on the edge of his mattress.
“Fuck.” You hear him hiss, and then the door is wrenched open like he knew you were there, like he could smell the arousal still leaking between your bare thighs. He’s the picture of sin, towel slung low on his hips and bare chest streaked with droplets of water. His hair hangs damp and messy in his face, and he’s got your panties balled up in his fist. “What the fuck.”
You widen your eyes, reaching for your underwear. “You know I wondered where those had gotten to.”
“You’re sick. You know that, right? I should tell your daddy how sick you are.”
You bite your lip into the corner of your mouth, turning your eyes up to him. “Oh no, please don’t tell on me, big brother. You wouldn’t want me to get in trouble, would you? Oh I’d do anything you say, you know.” Your eyes drop to watch as his cock hardens, lifting his towel into that prominent jab of arousal you’d been thinking about since the night in his bed.
Roman groans, shoving his wet hair out of his eyes before connecting his open palm with your sternum, walking you back across the hall and pressing you hard against the wall.
“What is this?”
“What’s what?”
“You fucking know what, why are you doing this?”
You huff a laugh, wriggling against the wall under the pressure of his hand. “Brooke told me something.”
Roman frowns. “Yeah? She tell you I’m a good fuck? Cuz I am but that’s not for you.”
You scoff. “She told me what you did to Tyler Lane.”
“I didn’t do shit to him.”
You run your tongue deliberately over your bottom lip and Roman’s eyes drop to your mouth like he can’t help himself.
“You’re the reason I can’t get a date, Roman.”
Roman releases his hold and you deflate, slumping a little against the wall. Your breath huffs in and out rapidly, and he can see the peaks of your stiff nipples through your shirt. It makes everything worse.
“Alright, I scared him. Told him to spread the word, that you were off limits.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re…” he trails off, swallowing the words he wants to say. “Because you’re young and fucking stupid and you’d get yourself knocked up or worse if I didn’t.”
You grit your teeth, a muscle in your jaw ticking under the strain of your own fury as you lift your hands to his chest and push against him with all your strength. He actually stumbles back, the towel around his hips shifting over his cock with painful, dry friction, and he lets out a tiny, surprised moan.
“You must really believe I’m stupid if you think I’m buying that. Really.” You shake your head, dismissing him, and Roman’s throat feels too tight. He watches you walk away, watches the curve of your ass, and his hand tightens around the panties he still has in his fist. As soon as he’s sure you’re out of sight he brings them to his face, inhaling the warm, wet scent of you, and he slams his bedroom door with a resigned sigh as he drops his towel and wraps his fingers around his aching cock.
He’s completely still when you slip into his bedroom that night. You’d waited hours, needing to be sure he was completely out before you executed the next part of your plan. “Roman?” You whisper from the doorway. He doesn’t stir, his exposed chest rising and falling in the low moonlight. His lips are parted and his hair is a messy sprawl around his head, like he didn’t even bother to comb it before he passed out. His sheets are twisted around his hips, hands resting at his sides. You swallow around a lump of anxiety as you approach, easing onto the mattress at the foot of his bed as slowly as possible.
A spring creaks, and you freeze, but Roman doesn’t move. Dragging the sheet off his body is an exercise in patience, revealing his naked flesh inch by agonizing inch until he’s completely naked in front of you. He looks sweet and vulnerable like this, face smoothed into gentleness by sleep and soft cock nestled against his balls. His apparent vulnerability doesn’t change anything though, and you wriggle onto your stomach between his legs and lean in close, breathing in the scent of him. Slightly musky from the sweaty tangle of his sheets mixed with the clean, warm smell of his soap. Enough to make your mouth water.
You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and squeeze gently, lightly, testing his reactions. His hips lift a little, shuffling as though he’s trying to pull away from you, but then he settles and you let your hand tug on his shaft, up and down.
A puff of air slips from his parted lips on an almost moan, and you lean in further to let the tip of your tongue trace the rapidly swelling head of his cock. Here he tastes exactly as you expect, salty and rich, and you lave your tongue over his slit greedily. His length is thickening in your palm, twitching as it fills with blood and his hips lift off the bed to push his tip into your open mouth. Roman does make a sound then, a quiet whimper in the back of his throat, and you feel your clit throb with arousal at the sound as you relax your throat and take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks around his length as the fat head of his cock bumps against the back of your throat.
Roman’s hips lift mechanically, fucking up into your mouth as your fingers collect the drool seeping out from the seam of your lips and jerk it down his length, the slick sound of your fist on his flesh drowning out the little whines spilling from Roman’s lips. His cock pulses against your tongue, his precum sticking to the roof of your mouth as he thrusts down your throat. You feel the moment he pushes too far, past the barrier of your tonsils and into your throat properly. If you reached up and touched your neck you’d be able to feel him fucking in there. Your eyes roll back as you gag around him, sending a fresh slick of spit down his length as your throat spasms around him.
Roman wakes up to the blinding feeling of shooting his load down your throat. His hands seize in your hair as he pins your face to his crotch, hips jerking violently against you as he cums. He looses a string of profanities all the while, eyes blinking into focus in the half-light of his bedroom. It takes him a full minute to process what the fuck he’s woken up to, and then you’re moving, sliding his softening cock out of your mouth with an obscenely wet pop, and you’re lifting your head and his eyes meet yours, his fingers still buried against your scalp, his cum dripping from your lips.
“What are you… we can’t oh, holy shit.” He groans, head dropping back against the pillow as the clusterfuck of thoughts in his head narrow down to just one. You. You did this. He feels your weight settle on his bare thighs, the soaked, bare press of your cunt against his skin, and he squeezes his eyes shut like this is a wet nightmare he’s going to wake up from.
“We can, Roman. You want me, and I want you.” Your voice is liquid poison as you shift your hips, grazing your clit against his thigh. “And if you don’t give me what I want, I’ll tell everyone at school that you want to fuck your baby sister.”
Roman groans, feeling his abused cock stirring back to life because you’re blackmailing him and you’re riding his thigh and he’s absolutely, royally fucked.
You don’t expect the hands slapping down on the backs of your thighs to draw you closer, but they do. Roman lifts you easily, dragging you up his torso and depositing you on his face. You squeal as his fingers drag low between your thighs and spread you, his nose bumping against your clit as his tongue delves into your folds, tasting, probing.
“Shit!” You whimper, feeling the tightening in your abdomen as Roman’s tongue finds your clit and flicks against it. His hands drag you back and forth, encouraging you to ride his face as his tongue dips into your hole and you grind your clit against his nose. Your arousal floods into his mouth and he groans, the sound sending vibrations through your core. Your hands reach for his headboard, nails digging against the wood as you propel yourself over his slick face again and again. “Roman, please,” you gasp, feeling his tongue drag up through your folds as he suctions his mouth around your clit and sucks hard. You come with a sob, your clit pulsing erratically in Roman’s mouth as you grind and buck against his mouth.
Roman can feel his cock leaking, beads of precum slipping down his shaft to mingle with your spit, and he’s so out of his mind turned on that he just keeps eating you, teeth grazing against your folds as he sucks you into his mouth over and over. You’re crying properly now, he can hear it and feel it in the way you shake above him, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip on your thighs is tight enough to leave bruises, and he thinks about what those purpling marks will look like as they fade to yellowish green as his tongue takes every last drop of your arousal, prodding into your entrance again before he presses a final kiss to your clit and lifts you off his face, flipping you onto your back beside him.
You look absolutely wrecked, completely fucked out with tears tracking down your face. Your lips are swollen, partially from sucking his cock and partially from biting them so hard to stop yourself screaming. It wouldn’t do at all to have your parents come running and find you riding your stepbrothers face, after all. You look so small and so cute and so innocent, and it’s all Roman can do to press his cock against your sensitive core and pin your hands above your head.
“You want this?” He hisses, breath hot on your mouth as he nudges the fat head of his cock against your entrance. You can only gasp in response and he pushes inside, just an inch. You wince at the tight stretch, the sting of it, and Roman’s hips still, cock pulsing thick and heavy inside you. He wants very badly to shove into you until he bottoms out, wants to feel you clench around him.
“Wait…” you mumble. “I mean… I’m a virgin.”
Roman pushes in another inch, and the pain is so electric that fresh tears spring to your eyes even as your muscles contract around his cock.
Roman forces himself to smirk as he pulls out. His cock cries in protest, his balls pulling so tightly he thinks he might lose consciousness. But he has to finish this. “You’re not ready for this. You’re a fucking child.”
Your lips wobble and you press them together to suppress a sob. “I… if you just…”
“Get out. I don’t play with stupid little girls.”
You don’t stop the tears then, the waves of humiliation crashing over you as you slip boneless from his bed and run. You’re naked, slick and spit dripping down your thighs and a burning ache between your legs, but you don’t stop until you’re in your room, buried in your sheets, your face pressed to your pillow as sobs wrack your body. You don’t know how long it takes to fall asleep, but your body is exhausted from cumming so hard and eventually you drift off, tears still tracking silent and warm down your cheeks until long after you’re dreaming.
You don’t hear the creak of your door as Roman closes it. You’re not at all aware of how long he stood there, heart clenching and stomach sick as he listened to you cry. You don’t know, and you can’t know. Because then you’d know how sorry he was, and how much he’d liked being with you. And he’s a bit worried that you’d take it to mean something that it definitely doesn’t.
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