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Synopsis: In which one Roman leal spots his long term situationship doing lines at a dingy LA Halloween party- confrontation leads to something more.
W!: Oral (f), toxic! Roman, drug use, bathroom sex.
It was hot.
Too fucking hot for October.
Or maybe it wasn’t hot, maybe it was just the frustration ebbing at Romans fingertips, heat rising to his face.
Still, his makeup, some shitty skeleton face paint someone did last minute wasnt going to survive the night if it kept up like this.
The humidity of the party rang around him, half-drunk groupies and pseudo-influencers grinding up against each other clumsily while some bullshit hyper-pop song played in the background.
He had almost completely lost track of you, a petty argument about something- he couldn’t even remember- making you slam the car door in his face as soon as you arrived.
He was fucking frustrated.
His acrylics dig into his palm, some half burnt cigarette inbetween his fingers of his other hand. Hes effectively tuned out anyone, standing beside Hollis, half focused, half gone.
It wasn’t like he felt guilty. He really didn’t- he doesnt know what he expected, or even what you expected.
It seemed the both of you were just incompatible, incapable of genuine commitment- as hard as you tried to squeeze it out of him. It just never worked.
The music was fucking blaring in his ears.
He still tuned it out.
Or tried.
Hollis, not particularly really focused on Roman, nudges him, cocking his head towards the kitchen of whoever’s home they were in.
The obnoxious red tool of your tutu was peaking out of the doorway, faint laughs -both masculine and feminine- rang out through the music. Faintly.
He doesnt say much, the cigarette forgotten on the floor, Hollis left behind as he knocks against the shoulders of the people actually enjoying themselves. The faint curses of other party-goers following him as he makes his way to the kitchen.
Your ladybug costume, the one he fucking hated, was recognizable amongst the other people in there.
Slumped against the doorway, red solo cup of…something in your hand, staring off into space.
It doesn’t click at first.
Not until he looks at the kitchen island.
Messy white lines, vapid LA white girls taking turns throwing their hair up, and snorting whatever’s left from the previous person.
You stuck out like a sore fucking thumb.
It wasn’t like he was initially mad about the coke.
Moreso that he knew it was to spite him, specifically.
One look to him and he’s snatching you by the arm, nails digging into your arm as he drags you through the crowd, upstairs.
“Roman! Fucking-“ you try, miserably, to get him to let go. Even going so far as to jerk your arm away.
He doesnt let up, shoving you into the nearest bathroom.
“What the fuck are you doing.” He hissed, jerking his hand away, his brows are furrowed, white face paint creasing subtly.
The top of your lip twitches.
“Having fun. Fun at the party you dragged me to.”
“I didnt drag you to anything. Fuck.” He breathes loudly, head lolling back against the door, hands clenching and unclenching.
“Just- move. Im not doing this, especially not now.”
One step towards the door, intent on shoving him away gets you a shove back, now keenly away of how much of your personal space he takes up once he gets nice and close.
“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters, grabbing your cheeks. He wasn’t gentle about it. Squishing them together lazily while he looked into your eyes.
“Pupils are fucking blown. How much did you do?” He mutters. “Fucking dumbass.”
Blinking up at him, your eyes start watering. This, paired with the initial argument on the way here was taking its toll.
“Don’t act all worried- didnt seem like you cared all too much earlier.” You hiss, defensiveness hiding the hurt and vulnerability below the surface.
“This? Again?” He groans “I care. Okay? M’ not gonna let you snort coke off some SoundCloud rappers kitchen island. Get a fucking grip.” He mutters, letting go of your face roughly.
“Whats your deal tonight?” You say, irritation bubbling to the surface. “First it was about my fucking costume, and now you’re riding my dick over me doing what? Doing a single line? Maybe you need to get a grip.”
You knew he had a point. You just didn’t wanna admit it.
“I swear to god. Just shut the fuck up.”
“Or wha-“
Roman almost lunges at you, black face paint smearing on your lips as he kisses you.
Hes not gentle, but neither are you.
Teeth clack together, his nails dig into your ass, more face paint smearing onto you as he trails down.
He grimaces at the sight of your tutu.
“Take that shit off.” He hisses.
He doesnt give you a chance, tossing it off you as he shoved you onto the small, uncomfortable looking bathroom sink.
His acrylics dig into your thighs, traveling up to your flimsy red babydoll top, nails scratching you gently as he pulls down the front of it.
He groped you- roughly, kissing you as he slides down your underwear, the flimsy lace dangling at your ankle. The kisses trail down farther, teeth briefly biting at your nipples- his face twisting with delight as he watches you yelp.
“Be good f’ me, baby.” He whispers, kissing at your navel, then kissing down to your knee- and then infuriatingly close to your cunt- but not quite.
Your mouth snaps open, pride diminished enough to beg.
Sensing your desperation, he beats you to it.
A lazy slide of his tongue meets your sopping cunt. A small noise leaves you.
Hes not content with that.
His makeup is ruined, his nose nudging up against your clit- small groans leaving his mouth as you tug at his curls.
You can briefly see the state of your thighs, smudged with a mixture of black and white grease paint. That thought is interrupted by Roman wrapping his black-clad lips around your clit. A broken, desperate moan leaves you, momentarily arching your back in response.
“Fuck- s’ all too much- Roman!”
You moan pathetically, practically feeling his shit eating grin against your cunt.
“C’mon, baby- be good for me.” He mumbles, kissing your clit briefly. “Cum.”
He’s more aggressive after that.
He’s buried in your cunt, your legs caging him in. He doesn’t seem to mind, groaning contentedly against the wetness of your pussy.
A light suck to your clit is all it takes after that, needy, broken moans filling the now humid bathroom.
His face is soaked, and your thighs are covered in what was Roman’s makeup. He licks his lips, grinning like the asshole he is.
He lays a kiss to your thigh, standing up to then kiss your forehead.
He mutters a small
“Let’s get you home.”
And you can’t help but listen, nodding as he helps you off the sink, his hand on your lower back.
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I have never in my life felt about another fictional character the way I feel about Roman Roy. I want to strangle him to death, I want to dress him up in frilly ballgowns and put him on display like a porcelain doll, I want to study him in a lab and dissect his brain under a microscope, I want to go back in time and save him from all his childhood trauma, I want to punch him in the face, I want to tuck him in and read him a bedtime story, I want to keep him in a tank like a goldfish in a dentist waiting room and tap on the glass, I want to throw tomatoes at him, I want to protect him from harm, I never want to meet him, I love him, I despise him, I pity him, I'm fascinated by him, I want to fix him, I know he's a lost cause, he's sick, he's infuriating, he's heartbreaking, he's evil, he's pathetic, he's trapped, he could've been different, he was doomed from the start, he has so much love, it's not enough, he consumes my every waking thought
