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.”
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.”
Hey girlll, can you maybe make an Eric smut….. maybe like dirty sex and with tons of dirty talk, IM OVULATING SO DONT MINDE ME OKAY😭
Dirty mouth (Eric Draven X Fem reader)
One shot - NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Summary: After you've been a little distant lately, Eric decides to bring you back to him.
A/N - Sorry it's taken me so long to get to this request, I deviated a little because I got caught up in the plot, but I hope this is what you asked for!! Thank you for requesting 💓
Content warnings: oral (male receiving), female masturbation, some angst?, dirty talk (some degrading and praise)
Word count: 2778
“God you’ve got such a filthy mouth” Eric exhaled “do me a favour and put it to good use” the whisper had a thrill going up your spine.
The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you.
*some time earlier*
The mood in the Draven household for the past few weeks had been a stressful one and it was beginning to show up in the simplest of ways. The house had become a little messy, unfolded clothes, fast food packaging bulging out of the bin and dishes taking up space in the sink and space in your mind too.
Working from home was supposed to be easy, but the constant miscommunications and deadlines had actually left you with more stress than you’d ever encountered. Eric had begged you relentlessly to not get a job. He wanted to take care of you and he had the means to do so.
But relying on a man was a stupid idea, he could dump you and leave you high and dry. Then what? You’d be left with nothing. So for your own sake, you got a job. You didn’t chip in on Bills, Eric wouldn’t let you do such a thing.
You were beginning to regret your choice and Eric was getting fed up of seeing you this stressed. When he came home one evening it all came to a head.
“Hey baby where are you?” The exhaustion in his voice couldn’t be hidden even if he tried. When he got no answer he went to your office. And much to his annoyance there you were staring at your computer. You looked up at the sound of the door opening then looked back down straight away.
“I didn’t hear you come in, sorry” your mind was clouded with deadlines, you did not need Eric in your office right now.
“Come and eat, I got some take out” you could see the white bag but you had no interest in eating.
“I’ll eat later, thanks though” you heard Eric sigh as he turned away.
He sat in the living room alone, eating the food he had picked up for the both of you. When the realisation dawned on him, he didn’t have to take this. He walked back into your office again with determination.
“You’re coming to eat, you’ve probably been in here all day” you looked up and Eric looked exhausted, sounded it too now you bothered to pay attention. But you weren’t just going to do what he told you to.
“No, Eric I have to get this work done” you looked back down to your laptop disappointed in how much you still had left to do. Your hands came up to your temples. The work was due in less than 12 hours, every moment mattered if you wanted to keep your job. your independence.
“You’re not doing this to me Y/N, go and eat, it’ll still be waiting after you're done.” The laptop lid slammed shut and Eric’s hand was placed on top of it. He was sick of trying the nice way, you needed something firmer.
“Eric I don’t have time for this, please just get the fuck out!” The silence that followed was deafening. Eric’s eyes darkened and you knew you’d fucked up.
“What did you just say to me?” he leaned over the desk “think twice before you say it again” his low and menacing voice should have been a warning. You didn't take it as one. You’d grown sick of his pushing, now it was time to push back.
“I said, Get the fuck out.” you spoke through gritted teeth. Standing to mirror his pose. Eric walked round and grabbed your wrist. Dragging you out of the office completely. You tried to push the soles of your feet into the floor to stop him, but your stubbornness was no match for his effortless strength.
“Eric- Eric let go of me, I’m not just a doll you can drag around, get the fuck off me!” you shouted at him, not thinking of the repercussions. He stayed silent. Simply walking you to the bedroom, his large hand wrapped around your wrist.
When you got to the bedroom he flicked on the light, and practically threw you at the bed, where you sat, rage running through your veins. You saw Eric take a deep breath before he opened his mouth to speak.
“I’m asking as kindly as I can here Y/N, quit the damn job” Irritation still seeped into his words even though he’d tried to calm it.
“No Eric. I’m not quitting and you can’t make me” even while speaking to him there was a timer in your head thinking about that deadline and how much each section of work would take to write. Your eyes caught Eric’s watch and you felt the panic in your chest.
Eric watched as your breathing changed from anger to something else. “You don’t need the job, look I’m not trying to control you, own you or bribe you.” he leaned down in front of you on his knees and reached for your hand. “I just can’t stand to see you this stressed all the time, get a different job part time at a cafe or at the library. Just don’t keep this job” his anger had dissipated into something softer. He would deal with the way you spoke to him later.
“I’m smarter than working at a cafe or a library though, they don’t have a challenge behind them either, I don’t want to just be Eric Draven's girlfriend.” Your eyes flickered to Eric’s wrist again, 20 minutes had been wasted so far on this nonsense.
Your words hit Eric, he knew you were smart, it was one of the many reasons he’d fallen in love with you. He saw you as a future wife, future mother, your mothers daughter and a determined individual. But you were driving yourself crazy and he couldn’t see it continue.
“You’ll never just be my girlfriend, but if you keep going the way you are, you won't be anything to anyone, you’ll be someone who misses events, someone who's ruled by deadlines and work. Just get a less demanding job, please”
Your eyes snapped to Eric’s watch again, this time he noticed. Another 5 minutes had passed. Your breathing changed again.
“Look at you, you can’t even take your mind off the time and that stupid deadline” his hand left yours and moved to his wrist as he took off his watch, putting it under the bed.
“I’m done asking Y/N, it's my job to look after you and to love you, tomorrow you are quitting that job” his hand landed at the back of your neck forcing you to look at him. “You can get another job, an easier one, you don’t need to prove how smart you are by burning yourself out.”
That’s when the dam broke, your shoulders dropped, an exhale left you as you nodded whispering a broken “okay” as you reached for Eric. You stayed with your head on his shoulder, letting out a few tears you’d been holding onto since the deadlines started rolling in. After a few minutes you leaned back up and scanned Eric's face, the softness in his eyes, the kindness he always showed you. The apology poured out of you easily.
“Im sorry for speaking to you the way I did before, you were only trying to take care of me” Eric smiled a little as your hand landed on his cheek softly.
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that apology, since I have a better idea” he placed a tender kiss to the palm of your hand before leaning in to kiss you, your eyes fluttered closed as you relaxed into his touch. It had been a while since you had been in the mood to be intimate with Eric. That didn’t seem to be an issue anymore, the simple kiss gave you butterflies.
Eric released you from the kiss and from his gentle grasp, whispering against your lips. “God you’ve got such a filthy mouth” Eric exhaled “do me a favour and put it to good use” the whisper had a thrill going up your spine. Eric stood.
The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you. The height difference between the two of you had always been a trigger for arousal on both ends. But seeing him so clearly above you after weeks of stress made your mouth water.
Eric had been hard since you shouted at him in the office. It was rare you stood up to him but the moment you raised your voice he was hard. His exhaustion disappeared and he could only think of putting his cock down your throat to teach you a lesson. Hopefully one you’d both enjoy learning.
You sat patiently, hands on the tops of your thighs and eyes pleading with your mouth slightly parted as Eric took off his shirt, revealing his toned physique. He had never seen a prettier sight, until your eyes widened as he pulled his cock out of his boxers, tapping it gently against your lips. His pre-cum covered your lips, you opened your mouth without hesitation.
His cock slipped easily into your mouth, Eric gasped at the sensation and you kept your eyes on him and let out a hum as the tip reached the back of your relaxed throat, you started to move, slow and steady, occasionally swirling your tongue around Eric’s sensitive tip drawing out a hiss from him.
Your hand came up to rest on his tense thigh, gripping as you began to find a rhythm that had Eric breathing heavily above you.
“Fuck that’s it, thought you could talk to me like that?” he breathed “maybe next time you’ll think twice” it spurred you on, you sped up your movements. You could feel the dull ache of your jaw but it wasn’t important when Eric’s tattoos were tensing, his breath faltering and his hand tightening in your hair.
Eric came with a whimper, pushing his cock hard enough down your throat to almost make you gag, with your mouth so full some of his cum spilled from the side of your mouth but still you swallowed eagerly, willing to please. He reached down to your mouth after he pulled out, collecting the cum on his thumb and again you sucked happily.
“You look wrecked and I haven't even touched you yet” he tucked himself away. Then got back down to eye level with you.
This was the fun part for Eric, seeing how blissed out you were just from having his dick in your mouth, he knew if he tired to touch your pussy right now you’d be socked, ready and waiting for whatever he wanted to do with you, but this was supposed to be punishment wasn't it?
Without warning he lifted you up from the floor, his effortless strength on display again as he placed you on the middle of the bed, all the possibilities of what he could do rushed through your mind, your favourite being the idea of Eric fucking you into the mattress. Little did you know that wasn’t going to happen.
He began to take off your clothes, peeling off your comfortable clothing until you were left with only your bra. The relief of being free from stress meant your muscles were relaxed as you waited for Eric's next move.
He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were laid out in front of him, affected by the simplest touch, his hand ran over your thighs, he placed gentle kisses on your stomach stopping at your sternum. He inhaled the smell of your soft skin.
“Touch yourself for me” the words caught you off guard.
“What?” you asked in complete disbelief.
“You wanna be good for me don’t you?” you nodded eagerly “so touch yourself for me” his nose nudged yours as he captured you in a heated kiss, you gasped into it. While your hand began traveling down to circle your clit.
You let out a whine that Eric found incredibly sexy, your middle and index fingers collected some of your slick, you kept your movements slow, careful not to disappoint Eric in any way.
“You’re not gonna cum until I say you can, you understand me?” you nodded again, speeding up slightly as your need grew. Which was made worse when Eric began kissing down your body. First your neck, that one spot under your ear that made you gasp, then your collar bone, down to the swell of your breast where your nipples were hard and waiting for attention that Eric finally gave. His hands spread under your rib cage as his tongue circled your nipple. You arched into the touch letting out breathy moans. Your hand speeding up at its own accord.
“God I can’t get enough of you baby, put your index finger inside yourself” the authority he had over you needed to be studied but you listened anyway, your finger was nowhere near as good as Eric’s but it was this or nothing so you made do. But he noticed when your breath steadied and your moans seemed to halt.
“What is it baby? Are your fingers not as good as mine?” he kissed your stomach while looking up at you. You nodded again.
“I’m gonna need words baby, you used them earlier, you can use them now” he leaned up sitting on his knees between your spread legs watching you lazily pump your index finger in and out of yourself.
“Yours are better Eric, please” you whined again.
“Please what baby?” he smirked knowing exactly what he was doing.
“Please use your fingers on me” you choked out.
Eric wanted to resist, he really did, but your juices were on your fingers and you asked so nicely. How was he meant to refuse?
“Since you asked so nicely, fine, but you need to keep your fingers on your clit and never speak to me like that again, got it?”
You nodded “I swear” at this point you would have agreed to anything to have his hands on you properly. You removed your finger and dragged it back up to your clit, continuing your previous movements.
Much to your relief Eric’s middle finger entered you, you clenched around it thankful for the welcome intrusion. His hand was so much better than yours, especially when he curled his finger, gently prodding your most sensitive areas. A second finger promptly followed driving you closer to the edge.
“Fuck Eric I-”
“I know baby I can feel it, you drive me fucking insane, Fuck you can cum when you’re ready baby” he didn’t mean to give in to you so easily but you sounded so pretty beneath him you were making him hard again.
Eric watched you cum undone, you hand gripping the sheets for dear life, your thighs trying to close out of sensitivity but you only ended up with your legs around his hips. Your jaw dropped and ragged breaths left you. His favourite thing though was the way you clenched around his fingers like you never wanted to let him go.
Your breath began to steady and you stopped clenching enough that he could slide his fingers out of you, he very happily brought his fingers to his mouth and swallowed.
You laid on the bed, muscled exhausted, emotionally exhausted, mentally drained but free in your own way, the bed dipped beside you as Eric laid down.
“Are you doing ok?” his tone now back to normal, gentle, patient and kind.
“Yeah I’m ok, I just feel a little shit about talking to you like that” you took a deep breath out, attempting to steady yourself.
“Hey, look at me. You don't need to worry about it, we're all good. You're safe with me and a little outburst means nothing” his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb gently grounding you before you could dare to spiral.
“Eric, could you maybe help me finish off the work before I quit?” asking for help was the opposite of what you got a job for but maybe it was exactly what you needed.
“Of course I can baby, but at least 5 minutes of cuddles are mandatory after a sexual act so it can wait” you both let out a giggle, as he pulled you to his chest, safe and sound.
General tag list @thedevotchka @coryoslut @macynacym @kikibit @wiseyouthinfluencer @lunaskye999 @brightnessluvworld
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.
10 Things I Hate About You, Chapter 17 (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Fic Summary: When Peter Rumancek meets a literal angel at his new school, he decides he'll do anything to have her for himself. There's only one problem; Letha doesn't date, kept under the thumb of her possessive cousin Roman. Lucky for Peter he has a cousin of his own, and you're willing to help him with his plans... for a price.
Full fic under cut, 18+, MDNI
Word Count: 3967
The walls have been closing in on Peter Rumancek. He feels them more and more every day, even though he’s got an angel tucked under his arm and a tiny, featherlight angel kindling in her stomach. It’s all he’d ever wanted and twice as much as he’d ever dared to hope for, and yet his wolf rumbles like his skin is too tight and it’s too far away from the goddamn moon to feel like this.
Peter isn’t his father, but he’s got his shoes in his hands so he doesn’t make too much noise on the stairs as he creeps downstairs. He isn’t his father, but he winces as he starts the car and checks the windows of Norman Godfrey’s house for signs that he’s been discovered. He isn’t his fucking father, but he’s driving past the town limits and leaving his wife and his unborn baby and his cousin and his life in the rearview mirror as he tries to outrun the leash before it closes around his throat.
There’s a phone vibrating somewhere. You open your eyes, wincing at the bright light streaming through the gap in the curtains. You splay your palm on Roman’s bare back and he hums, muscles shifting under your touch as he reaches for you.
“Roman, your phone.”
“No thanks.” He mumbles into his pillow.
You tut at him, crawling over his body to slide his phone off the nightstand. “It’s Letha.”
“Tell her to fuck off.”
You roll your eyes, and the phone stops ringing. “Missed it.”
“Problem solved,” Roman mumbles, rolling onto his front and hooking an arm around your waist to lay you across his chest.
You press soft kisses across his collarbone, and he hums sleepily. “Roman?”
Roman groans. “What?”
“You should call your cousin back. It might be important.”
Roman sighs dramatically, finally cracking one eye open to look at you. “That’s what she has a husband for now. I’m off duty.”
You open your mouth to remind him that you can’t clock out of being family, when the phone in your hand starts ringing again.
“I swear to fucking fuck,” Roman growls as he snatches the phone. “Letha you better be fucking dying or-“
Roman cuts himself off, and you feel the shift in the air as his eyes open, fully alert.
“No, he isn’t here. No, no, don’t cry, we’ll… figure this out. Okay? Okay. Just stay put. I’ll come to you.”
“What is it?” You ask as soon as Roman ends the call and tosses his phone to the side. Roman doesn’t answer, instead gently sliding you off him and climbing out of bed. “Roman?”
He still doesn’t answer as he tugs on a pair of boxers and yesterday’s jeans. He doesn’t really trust himself to talk right now, when he’s so mad his hands shake with it.
But you’re goddamn relentless, and you slip from the bed and grab his hands where they’re trying to work the button on his jeans closed. “Roman. Look at me.”
Roman doesn’t want to, but his eyes drag up your pretty face to your concerned, pretty eyes, and he thinks about the blood in your veins and the same blood running through Peter’s useless fucking heart and he snaps.
“Your piece of shit cousin’s skipped town. Left Letha.”
“No he hasn’t.” The response is immediate. Peter wouldn’t do that. He just… wouldn’t.
“Yeah?” Roman asks, a nasty smirk curving on his mouth. “Left her a note. Packed a bag, took the car. What would you call it?”
Your mouth opens and closes, and the smirk on Roman’s face drops at the bewilderment on yours.
“I’m… I’ll call him.”
Roman scoffs, stepping out of your loose grip and snatching a shirt off the floor. “Yeah you do that. I’m gunna go pick up my emotional wreck of a cousin. My pregnant emotional wreck of a cousin.”
“Shit.” You run a hand through your hair. “Shit, I’ll come with you.”
“No, don’t bother. I don’t think seeing another fucking Rumancek is what she needs right now.” It comes out harsher than Roman really means it to, because he’s not mad at you. He isn’t. But Peter isn’t here to take the brunt of his fury. You flinch, your hands dropping to your sides, and Roman forces a slow breath out through his mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not… this isn’t your fault. I’m just worried about Letha.”
You swallow and force yourself to nod. “Go. We’ll talk later.”
And Roman’s feeling worse than he ever could have imagined as he pulls up at his cousin’s house and sees Norman standing on the porch. He’s supremely fucking glad that he didn’t bring you with him, but he wishes you were holding his hand as he ascends the steps and meets his uncle’s glower.
“Your gypsy bride skip town with him?”
“No.”
“This is unacceptable, Roman. It’s fucking…” Norman breaks off, shaking his head. “What the hell did you get her mixed up in?”
And Roman can’t beat the shit out of Peter Rumancek, and he can’t be mad at you for sharing his blood. So he squares his shoulders, and he looks at his uncle, and he says; “you know what? Fuck you. I don’t have to take this shit from you.”
You could have knocked Norman Godfrey over with a feather. For eighteen years, he’s been looking down at his nephew. He doesn’t know when Roman got so goddamn tall, but he sees it now. The man in front of him. And he takes a step back.
“We have to fix this.” He says it quietly. It isn’t a command, for the first time maybe ever. Roman’s shoulders sag. “Yeah, I know. I’m trying to.”
“Letha she…” Norman’s voice shakes with the effort of holding in his tears. He’s never felt so fucking helpless in his life as he does right now, watching his only daughter smother wails of anguish into her pillow with one fragile hand cupping the curve of her belly.
“I know. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“Roman.” Norman shakes his head. “I don’t know if… I’m not sure if she’ll survive this. I’ve never seen her in so much pain.”
There’s a moment of true understanding passing between the two Godfrey men on the porch steps. A mutual, devastating agreement. That Peter Rumancek will come back and fix Letha, or he will pay for his desertion with his life. Because if Letha doesn’t survive this, that gypsy piece of shit certainly fucking doesn’t.
Roman isn’t thinking about you as he hooks an arm under his cousins legs and lifts her out of her bed. Letha sobs into his shirt, staining the cotton with salt and snot, and Roman’s stomach churns with helpless anxiety as he holds her close to his chest and presses his lips against her damp hair over and over.
It takes a long time for her to stop crying. Roman’s back is screaming from the angle and his hands are numb where they hold her, but he’s so relieved she’s calming down that he doesn’t care about any of it.
“He’s gone,” she whispers, and Roman releases his hold on her just enough to let her sit up.
“We’ll find him.”
“I don’t think he wants to be found, Roman.”
Roman had of course come to this same conclusion. Peter’s note had been pretty clear on the matter.
Leth
I’m so sorry. I can’t stay. I love you, but I can’t do this. You deserve someone who can.
Peter.
Roman had the words memorized, he’d read them so many times. Searched every scrawled letter for signs of hesitation. He’d wondered, briefly and dangerously, whether Norman had made him disappear, but the genuine helpless misery on his uncle’s face made that pretty unlikely.
“I’ll fix this, Letha. I promise.”
Letha sniffles, lifting her head enough to look her cousin in the eye. “I don’t need you to fix it, Rome.”
Roman frowns. “I can do it. I’ll do whatever it takes to-“
“Roman, it’s not… it’s not your job to fix everything.”
Roman’s frown deepens, a crease forming between his brows because of course it is.
“You can just do what you’re doing now. You showed up, you let me snot all over your shirt. That’s enough. And I love you for it.”
Roman swallows hard around a lump in his throat. When did his sweet, naive little cousin get so goddamn wise?
The mansion is too quiet when Roman gets home, and he doesn’t have to call out to know you’re not going to answer. He has to work extremely hard to keep the panic from clawing up his throat as he heads upstairs, eyes searching for the cases of your clothes that he’d pretended to burn when he’d killed you and then presented to you on your return with a very apologetic smile.
His heart slows a little when he sees that they’re all still there, and it doesn’t look like you’ve taken anything. But then he sees a folded piece of notebook paper on his beside table, and why do you fucking Rumancek’s insist on writing things down instead of just sending a text like a normal person? His feet are lead weights as he settles on the edge of his bed, reaching for the note slowly like he’s afraid it’s going to detonate.
He can hear the words in his head on a loop. I’m so sorry. I can’t stay. I love you, but I can’t do this. You deserve someone who can. And if that’s what your note says, Roman will lose his goddamn mind and hunt you to the ends of the earth. He’d get on his knees and beg for a third or fourth or fifth chance. He’d promise you anything. He’d beg you to cut out his heart and put him out of his misery, because he has no interest at all in living without you.
Roman – going to get Peter and kick his ass all the way back to Hemlock Grove. Don’t worry, back soon. Love you.
The anxiety seeps out of Roman like a punctured balloon, and he drops onto his back against the mattress with a sigh. He categorically does not deserve you.
If he’d been at the window at that moment, he’d see the moment the woodshed doors creak open and a ragged waif of a girl staggers out into the early afternoon. She’s half mad with dehydration and terror, but she takes in the big house, the grounds, and the first few digits of Roman’s license plate on the back of his jag as she makes a break for it, the chewed remnants of a rope still tied around her bruised ankles.
The last few drops of whiskey land on Peter’s tongue and he glares at the empty bottle like its betrayed him. Everything is hazy now, and his vision blurs as he sees his cousin walking towards him with a second, wobblier version beside her. It’s weird, and Peter’s eyes roll uncontrollably as the world tilts to the side and he vomits the meagre contents of his stomach onto the packed earth.
You sigh, stepping around the puddle of bile and potato chips, hauling your cousin up by the front of his shirt so he doesn’t faceplant into the vomit.
“Peter Rumancek you are so fucking dead.”
Peter groans, his eyes refusing to focus as he looks down at the fist balled in the front of his shirt. “How’d you find me?”
You scoff, releasing his shirt and dropping into a squat in front of him. “This is where you always go when you wanna drink yourself into a coma. You’re predictable.”
Peter nods, his head feeling too loose on his neck. “I fucked up big time, cuz.”
You whistle. “Yeah, you really did. You wanna tell me what happened?”
Peter does, actually. He thinks maybe, out of everybody, you might understand. “It’s a cage.”
You ease down onto the ground beside him, pulling a stolen pack of Roman’s cigarettes from your jean pocket and handing it to him. Peter slips a stick into his mouth and lights it with shaking fingers. “Waking up in Norman Godfrey’s house and going to school and getting a job and raising a kid.”
“Okay.”
“They have a literal white picket fence out front.”
“Okay, right.” You take the cigarette from his mouth and suck in a long drag. “And you don’t love Letha anymore, either.”
“What?”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “You don’t love Letha. Wish you hadn’t married her, don’t wanna be a dad.”
Peter frowns, plucking the cigarette from between your lips and flicking the ash from the end. “No, I do. Want that, the kid and Letha. Of course I fuckin do.”
Peter sees what you’re doing before you get to point it out to him. “Ah, fuck.”
“You’re a goddamn genius, Rumancek.” You deadpan. “Throwing it all away over a picket fence. If that’s the cage you’re so worried about just step the fuck over it, those things are like two feet tall.”
Peter barks a laugh. “Ah, fuck.” He flicks the cigarette away into the bushes and you link your arm through his. “What the fuck do I do now?” Peter asks quietly.
You rest your head on his shoulder. “Now, dearest cousin, you learn the ancient art of grovelling.”
The drive back to Hemlock Grove is quiet. You’d come in an expensive cab that Peter promised to reimburse you for, and driving Peter’s fancy rental car is taking pretty much all of your focus.
“Wait, wait, stop.” Peter’s words are slurred, his face pressed against the cool glass of the passenger window. “Stop!” He says again, and you jump as you hit the breaks and the car jolts to a standstill.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” Peter straightens, his eyes narrowing as he looks out at the road. “There! Look, in the trees.”
You squint, and you see the little flash of colour on the edge of the treeline.
“You see it?” Peter asks impatiently. “Hey, do you-“
“Yes! Shit, yeah. I see it. Just… uh, wait here. I’ll go see.”
Peter scoffs as he shoves his door open and spills out onto the road. “Get behind me.” He mumbles, and you roll your eyes as you approach the side of the road. Peter stumbles along behind you, completely useless and making altogether too much noise.
“Hello?” You call into the forest, scanning for that slip of blue against the bleak backdrop. “Is… do you need help?”
There’s a sound like breaking twigs, and then you see the blue of her thin satin nightdress stretched torn and damp over her skin. “Please,” she whispers, and you only just make it in time to lurch forward as her bruised legs fold underneath her and she slips into unconsciousness.
“Peter!” You hiss, and he’s there immediately, some of the bleariness fading from his eyes as he takes in the state of the girl.
“What the fuck happened to her?”
“I don’t know. We need to get her to the car, she’s freezing.”
“Need to get her to a hospital.”
“I know,” you say, smoothing her hair out of her face as you hand her to Peter. He’s a lot stronger than you and picks her up easily. “But that’s on the other side of town. We’ll take her to Roman’s first, get her warmed up and some fluids in her at least. We’re less than a mile from the house.”
And Peter has a terrible feeling in his balls that has nothing to do with the booze or Letha or anything. The girl curls up in the backseat, head resting on Peter’s chest as you drive up to the gates and wave a little key fob that Roman must have given you and the gates creak open, and Peter’s balls ache with a sense of impending something that he’s still too drunk to quantify. Until the car stops, and the girl wakes, and her eyes go as wide as saucers and her mouth opens and she screams, and screams, and screams.
Roman is so stupidly happy to see you that he doesn’t register the whole scene at first. You don’t smile when he comes into the dining room, and that sends a little skitter of anxiety through his guts. He takes a step towards you and you take a step back and Roman freezes. That’s when he inhales, the sharp scent of fear permeating his senses and filling his throat with fire. There’s a tiny whimper, and his head snaps to the side and hones in on the girl tied to a dining room chair. She’s shaking so hard that the only thing keeping her upright are the strips of fabric pinning her to the seat, and Roman swallows hard as he scans the bruises littering her body and the livid, deep gouges on her ankles.
“What the… fuck is going on?” He asks. His voice doesn’t sound like his own, gravelly with the effort of talking through the burning hunger in his throat.
“Is it him?” You ask, and Roman flinches at the sound of your voice. But you’re not looking at him, and you’re not talking to him either. The girl whimpers again, lifting her big dark eyes to look at Roman, and he swallows down bile at the misery and terror on her face.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe, I promise. I just need you to tell me.” You say again, taking a step towards the girl.
She looks away from you, across the room, and Roman’s spine straightens as Peter pushes off from the wall and hurries to her side. He looks worse for wear too, bleary-eyed and unsteady on his feet, and Roman can’t process a single thing that’s happening in this clusterfuck. Then Peter cups the girl’s jaw, and Roman sees red because what’s he doing touching her like that when Letha is suffering the worst pain of her life less than ten minutes from here?
“No one’s gunna hurt you.” Peter murmurs softly. “I’ll protect you. You just need to tell us if it was him, so we can fix it.”
The girl sniffles, turning back to look at you. “It wasn’t. I haven’t seen him before. It... It was the lady. With the black hair.”
Your shoulders sag with relief, and Peter pets the girl’s hair soothingly. “You did good, kid.”
“Roman. Can you… you know.” You don’t look at him as you ask, and Roman’s heart thumps uncomfortably against his ribcage.
“Right.” He takes a step towards the girl, who looks up at him with wide eyes. She isn’t scared of him, and that’s a fucking relief, but it does nothing to soothe the hurt of your downcast eyes or the ticking in Peter’s jaw as he gets close. Roman drops carefully to one knee, ducking his head until the girl’s eyes catch on to his. “You got lost in the woods. You were never here, you’ve never seen any of us before. There was no woman with black hair. You got lost in the woods, and you stumbled onto the road and we found you.”
The girl’s pupils expand as her features soften, and her shoulders slump forward. “You found me… lost in the woods.”
Roman pushes to a stand, brushing his fingers very lightly over the girl’s bare shoulder before stepping back. He doesn’t look at Peter and he certainly doesn’t look at you as he retreats to the door. “I’ll drive her.” Peter says, holding his hand out for the keys to his rental. You pause, your hand halfway to your jeans pocket. “You sober?”
Peter shrugs. “Sober enough.”
And that fucking does it for Roman. That Peter Rumancek had been drinking, that he wanted to get behind the wheel with this kid in the passenger seat because he’s sober enough like that’s a fucking measurement of competency. That he’d maybe wrap his car around a tree and leave Letha a widow, leave his unborn kid without a father. Roman doesn’t think, he just crosses the room and punches Peter right in his stupid fucking face.
Peter isn’t expecting the hit, and Roman has a couple of inches on him. He goes down hard, head cracking backwards and spine bending unnaturally as he falls onto his ass and his bottom lip explodes against Roman’s sharp knuckles.
The girl at the dining table screams, and Roman turns his head at the sound. It’s all Peter needs to find his footing and throw himself at the taller boy, knocking him onto his back and straddling his hips. Peter gets a single punch in to Roman’s face, crunching his nose into a bloody pulp before your fingers wrap around a fist of his hair and drag him up to his feet.
“Shit, shit, ouch!” He hisses, prying your fingers away from his hair as he stumbles after you, around the dining table.
With the expanse of wood between them, the boys glare daggers at each other, but there is no more lunging or idiocy.
“Fucking children.” You spit.
“He started it,” Peter whines.
“You ditched Letha. I should fuckin kill you!”
And the fight leaves Peter like air from a burst balloon, because how had he fucking forgotten the terrible decision he’d made this morning? The decision that he’d regretted almost as soon as he’d finished penning that fucking note, but that he’d followed through on anyway? Shit, Roman should kill him. Roles reversed, if Godfrey had knocked you up and then bailed? Yeah, Peter would have shredded him to pieces.
“Fuck. Letha.” Peter runs a hand over his mouth, smearing blood over his jaw. “Shit.”
“Yeah. You’re not driving the kid to the hospital. You’re gunna drink a fucktonne of coffee and then you’re gunna go and beg your wife for forgiveness. Claim temporary insanity, blame it on the gypsy blood bullshit, whatever. Don’t fuck it up again.” You run your thumb over the smear of blood on Peter’s chin, and he sighs.
“She isn’t gunna forgive me, cuz.”
You hum. “Maybe not. But you’re gunna apologize anyway.”
You turn to Roman, rounding the table to kneel by his side. He’s sitting up now, elbows resting on his knees as blood streams steadily down his face, staining his shirt. “You okay?” You speak softly, but Roman still flinches.
“Peachy keen.” His voice is monotone and flat, and unease crawls in your stomach at the sound of it.
“You should stay here. Clean up. I’ll get her to the hospital.”
“No, I’ll go.” Roman’s firm as he pushes to a stand and crosses to the girl again, tilting her head up with a finger under her chin. “You’re gunna forget the last ten minutes happened. We found you on the side of the road, lost in the woods. Never saw any of us before.” His thumb grazes over her jaw, and her eyes flutter closed, a little sound loosing from the back of her throat.
An ugly spike of jealousy flushes through you at the gentle touch. “I’ll come with you.”
Roman shakes his head, his eyes still on the girl. “No thanks.”
“Roman.” Your voice catches in your throat, and he does turn then. It isn’t exactly warmth in his eyes when he looks at you, but his mouth pulls into a half smile. “I just need some time.”
And you have to respect that. It isn’t easy, watching him walk out with his arm around the girl’s shoulders. It sucks to see him buckle her into the passenger seat of his SUV, to rest his arm on the back of her chair as he reverses around the courtyard. But he had the right to time, didn’t he?
contents: 18+, mentions of alcohol, loss of virginity
Tony was on his way to discuss Sid’s “problem”, his problem being that he was still a virgin. Sid promptly tried to defend himself on the phone explaining how his sister was still a virgin as well. This however gave Tony an idea. He quickly hung up on Sid and dialed his sister.
“ Tony? What do you need, ” I asked on the phone as I made my way to college.
“ There’s a party tonight, want to come? Hang on other line, ” he spoke before clicking off to talk to Sid once more.
You contemplated going to the party for a moment until you heard Tony’s voice again.
“ Are you still there? Are you coming or not? ”
“ Yeah I’ll be there, just text me when and where, ” I said quickly into the phone before hanging up and walking into my class.
Tony began to come up with a plan for how to get you alone at the party tonight. He knew Sid was his best mate and he’d go absolutely mental when he found out that he shagged his sister, but he’d deal with that problem later.
After his classes, he decided to ring you and make sure you were still coming tonight. He rang your phone and let out a groan when you didn’t answer.
Once you were finished with your classes you saw Tony’s missed calls, and dialed him back.
“ Hey Tony, what’s up? ”
“ You’re still coming, right? ”
“ Yeah I’m still coming, ” I said as I giggled.
“ Alright, I’ll see you tonight, wear something sexy, ” Tony said before quickly hanging up.
You laughed at his comment as you went up to your room. You began to get ready for the party, soon after Tony spoke to you. You had settled on a short red dress with black heels before heading out to the party with Sid.
“ Why are you dressed like that, ” Sid asked as he scanned you up and down.
“ I- I dunno I thought I looked nice, ” I said softly as my fingers fiddled with the edges of my dress.
Sid rolled his eyes as he huffed while shaking his head. Once you reached the house where the party was we met up with Tony, as none of our other friends could come. You smiled as Tony took your hand and brought you inside leaving Sid to follow behind you. Tony kept supplying you and himself with drinks until you were clinging to him as you flirted with one another. Tony helped you upstairs and into one of the bedrooms as you held onto him. You sat on the bed together as Tony’s hand slowly moved up your thigh as he leaned in closer until he pressed his lips against mine. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he pulled you into his lap.
“ Mm’ Tone- Tony this wrong, ” I said as I pulled back from the kiss.
“ It’s not wrong babe, you want this as much as I do, ” he said as his hand trailed under your dress letting his fingertips graze against your panties.
You sighed softly as he slid your panties to the side and pushed his fingers inside of you while his lips trailed down your neck. You let out soft moans as you tugged on Tony’s hair.
“ Fuck Tony ” I moaned his name over and over again as he fingered me while covering my neck in hickies.
As you got closer to reaching your high he pulled his fingers out of you and licked them clean. You let out a whine before he smashed his lips back onto yours while pulling your dress off and over your head. You watched as he pulled off the striped polo he was wearing before he pushed off his jeans and pulled you back into his lap. He slid off your bra before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and kneading my other breast with his hand. Your fingers tugged on his hair pulling him away before kissing him again as he laid you down on the mattress.
“ T- Tone I’m a virgin, ” I whispered softly against his lips.
“ I know. ” He grinned as he slid your panties down your legs followed by his boxers letting his hardened cock spring out between your legs.
You blushed a deep red as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your entrance. You let out a soft gasp as he pushed his cock fully inside of you without warning. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he slowly moved himself in and out of you.
“ F- Fuckin’ hell you’re so tight, ” he moaned your name as he thrusted into you harder.
You pulled him closer as you begged him to go deeper. You moaned against his lips as his thrusts became harder and more urgent. You cried out his name as you came around his cock before he pulled out of you and shot his cum all over your breasts and stomach. Tony kissed your forehead gently before rolling off of you and laying down beside you. Once you had caught your breaths Tony cleaned you both off before exiting the bedroom leaving you to get dressed. Tony walked down the stairs seeing that the party was still going he found Sid sitting by himself on the couch. He flashed Sid a cocky grin before taking a sip of Sid’s drink.
“ What’s got you so happy, ” Sid questioned as he looked at Tony’s disheveled clothes, before he saw his sister stumbling down the stairs with her hair a tangled mess with hickies covering her neck and her shoes in hand.
“ Tony- you didn’t.. ”
“ Looks like you’re the only virgin, ” Tony laughed as he threw an arm around Sid’s shoulder.
kinda obsessed reader @coryoslut - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
dailybridgerton
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
areudirty
vaporwave
titsay
kaledo-art
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
