I have a request for a Roman or Eric fic where he and his ex(reader) are able to coparent peacefully for a good amount of years even though they had a bad break up but feelings and past emotions come into play which causes a lot of drama, messiness ect…. Very toxic but with an equal amount of fluff and smut. Thank you in advance 🤞🏾🤞🏾🤞🏾🤞🏾
Trauma Bonding (Eric Draven x Reader)
Summary: You and Eric don't get on. You're civil because you have to be, because a broken condom and a reckless decision made you the proud parents of the best kiddo in the world. You don't let yourself remember how much you loved him until he shows up on the wrong day of the week with bleary eyes and a broken heart.
Word Count: 4934
Warnings: vaginal fingering, PiV sex, lots of angst!
A/N: Thank you so much for the request! We looooove a yearning, messy Eric over here and this was so much fun to write! I hope you like it <3
MDNI, fic under the cut
You squint at your phone in the darkness. Even with the brightness turned right down, your eyes sting as you try to focus on the words, but they don’t make any sense.
Csn o conr occer? Nwwd tp see he
Pleare
Pleaers
Pls
You sit up, rubbing your fingers over your closed eyelids to try and clear the sleep haze, but the messages made even less sense when you could focus on the words. What the fuck was he talking about. You sigh and close your phone. You’ll call him tomorrow, remind him that sending you strings of drunk nonsense at – four AM you realise with a groan – is not okay. And it’s not part of the arrangement, anyway. Co-parenting with your ex, your messy, stupidly hot, endlessly infuriating ex was hard enough without the rules.
Before the rules there had been too many fights ending in your face pressed against the couch whilst he fucked you hard and fast and hateful from behind. Not that you regretted those times, but they sure as shit made things more complicated.
The rules kept things in line. You only communicated via text, calls were for emergencies like sickness or an urgent, unavoidable change in the schedule. Outside of talking about Sammy, you didn’t communicate at all. And it had worked for six years. Six years of sharing the most perfect little kid in the whole world. Six years of civil handoffs, pleasant drop-offs, and only a handful of heated, hungry stares at birthday parties and parent’s evenings.
You’re thinking about the rules, and you can’t sleep. Because Eric knows the rules. He’d helped make them, and he hadn’t broken them. Not ever. But those texts… was he in trouble? You sit up, anxiety gnawing at your stomach as you pick up your phone and type back a quick reply.
Are you okay?
Three little dots appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear for a final time. And you can’t shake it, the creeping feeling of dread. So you suck in a breath and you drag your hair away from your clammy skin, and you press the little green phone icon.
Three rings, and you’re blasted with a wall of sound. Wherever he is it’s loud. Deafeningly loud. Clinking glass and thumping bass and then the shrill laugh of a woman. The anxiety in your stomach twists into something ugly and you hang up, throwing your phone down onto your bed and glaring at it like it’s offended you. Like the phone is responsible for waking you up, rather than the inconsiderate drunk asshole who texted you. Eric fucking Draven. It was bad enough that your kid shared his name, so you had to hear it every time you took them to the doctors or school or wherever. But the name did suit. Sammy Draven was a badass name for a badass kid. You reach for your phone again and slide the screen to turn the damn thing off, then you cover it with a spare pillow for good measure. Fuck Eric and his drama. You’d send him a strongly worded text tomorrow, something stern enough to scare him straight, and you could forget this whole thing ever happened.
Feeling reasonably back in control, you flop back down onto your mattress and close your eyes. Sleep comes eventually, though there’s a pair of green eyes in your dream that send skitters down your spine and slick frustrated arousal in your pyjamas.
THUD.
You jerk awake, heart pounding.
THUD. THUD.
There is someone trying to break into your apartment. You reach for your bedside lamp with shaking hands and pull the cord, illuminating your room. It’s still pitch black outside, and you scramble for your phone before remembering you turned it off. Shit. You slip out of bed and grab a robe, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armour before darting down the short hall to Sammy’s room. Still sleeping, little face pressed half into the pillow and eyes screwed shut. You hope it’s a nice dream and not a nightmare. You close the bedroom door as quietly as you can to muffle further sound and tiptoe towards the front door. It’s not shaking off it’s hinges, so that’s something. You lean up to check the peephole, and have to suppress an audible groan at the tattooed, dishevelled man slumped against the far wall of the corridor. Eric fucking Draven.
You consider leaving him out there, but he’s Sammy’s daddy and if he passes out in the hall and you have to see that tomorrow when you do the school run… no. You won’t do that to Sammy. Or to Eric, who despite everything you love in the deep, complicated way you can really only love someone you’ve created a life with. You open the door slowly, taking in the slump of his shoulders in his ratty, dark grey tee. His arms are otherwise bare, and he’s shivering. At the creak of the door his head lifts, and the anger you’d felt at seeing him outside your apartment gutters away into nothing at the watery pain in his big green eyes. “Eric?”
“M’sorry.” He mumbles. Slurs, would be more accurate. His eyes are bloodshot. He’s wasted for sure, but you can’t tell in the low light of the hallway if his pupils are too big or too small.
“You’re not supposed to… show up like this.”
“I know. I just… it’s been a bad night.”
“Okay.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest against the chill. “That doesn’t change the rules.”
Eric’s eyes close and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “I know that. I just… I need to see Sammy. Please.”
The texts. Realization clicks into place, and you sigh. “No. No way, not like this.”
The sound he makes rips right through you. It’s agonising, somewhere between a groan and a sob, his voice cracking at the end as his shoulders slump. “Please.” His voice is small and quiet. “Please. Just for a minute. I’ll be quiet.”
And you almost say yes. Fuck you want to say yes. Anything to fix the broken crack of his voice. It’s so un-Eric it hurts. “What’s got you like this?” You ask softly.
“I… you don’t wanna hear about it. The rules.” He spits the last word, head lifting and eyes resting on you like an accusation. Like they’re your rules and not something you’d decided on together.
“You’re off your fucking face.” You say. “Go home, sober up. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Sammy.” He repeats, pushing off the wall. He wobbles in place, but even unsteady on his feet you have to look up at him, your chin lifting to keep your eyes on his face. He’s so goddamn tall. And broader than you remembered, like he’s been working out more. A tiny sliver of fear runs through you. Because he could force his way in if he wanted to. He could do a lot of things if he wanted to. You take an involuntary step back, and Eric’s eyes widen at whatever he sees on your face. “Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I… yeah. I’ll go.”
You swallow, reaching out to catch his wrist. He turns easily in your grasp, eyes dropping to the point of contact as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Just tell me you’re okay, Eric.”
He sighs, releasing his bottom lip and shaking his head. “Not your problem. Sorry I woke you up.”
He’s walking away, and you hate it. It’s exactly what you asked him to do, it’s what the rules dictate, but you step out into the hall and chase him down, your bare feet slapping on the linoleum as you slide around his tall frame and spread your legs wide, blocking his path. He stops, his head turning to the side like he can’t meet your eye. You hate that, too.
“Wait. This isn’t what we do. This isn’t us.”
“It is.” He argues. You huff, lifting a hand to pinch his chin and turn his face back to yours. “You’re Sammy’s dad. We’re family forever, Draven. Don’t make me drag you back in there by your ear. You know I’ll do it.”
A tiny smile curves on his mouth, the first one you’ve seen all night, and it kindles something like relief in your chest. “Yeah, I know you’ll do it. Can’t forget the time you dragged me outta that bar in Chinatown. My ear was purple for like a week.”
You roll your eyes. It’s not a happy memory for you. He’d missed Sammy’s doctor’s appointment, and he’d promised he’d be there to hold the squirming baby down whilst the doctor administered shots because you just couldn’t face it. But you’d had to, alone, with Sammy screaming in anguish. And then you’d come home and Eric had text you to say he was going out for a drink with the boys from work, and you’d lost it. Dropped Sammy with your mom and tracked him down. You’d let your anger take the lead, but it had been hurt that chipped away at your heart. All that night, watching him sleep it off. All the next day, when he tiptoed around you waiting for an explosion that never came. And slowly, slowly, you’d detached from him. For the sake of your heart, you had to. Because Eric was a good man, and a devoted dad, and a sweet, loving partner. But all of that came second to his demons, the addictions and the depression and the mania. And that’s not how you wanted to raise Sammy. It’s not how you wanted to be loved.
“You wanna avoid a repeat, you’ll get your ass inside.” You say softly. You try to smile, but it won’t come without tears pricking your eyes and you very much don’t want him to see you cry. He nods, following you like an oversized, obedient puppy as you lead him back down the hall and into the apartment.
Eric’s eyes scan the hallway, taking in Sammy’s artwork pinned to the fridge and the polaroids of the two of you taped into a haphazard collage on the wall. His smile is soft and wistful as he scans your faces, wishing he was in even just one picture. Because he should be. He should be wrapped around you, his face nuzzling your neck whist his kid, his kid rests against his chest. It’s the worst kind of insanity that he isn’t in your life in the way he’s supposed to be, but that’s how you wanted it.
And Eric had moved on. He had. Many times, with many people. This time, this last time, it had almost stuck. Lisa had been nice. She had a good job and a golden retriever and a mortgage. A good choice for him. He’d been considering introducing her to Sammy, even. But then tonight had happened.
You push a bottle of water into his hand, your fingers brushing his knuckles for a moment as you step around him and head for the couch. He follows, unscrewing the cap and taking a few gulps of the cool liquid. It helps, helps him swallow around the lump in his throat and the dryness of his mouth.
“I tried to call you, after you sent me those drunk texts.”
Eric winces as he lowers himself to the couch beside you. He’s careful not to touch you, with the straight set of your spine and the way you’re hugging your arms over your chest. “I tried to answer.”
You think about the sounds on the phone, and you clench your teeth together. “Sounded like a party.”
Eric nods, taking another sip of his water. “For everybody else, yeah.”
You don’t say anything at all, waiting for him to go on.
“I… uh… I got dumped tonight.”
“Oh.” You blink at him in surprise. “I’m… sorry to hear that. It was… Laura?”
“Lisa.”
“Lisa.” You confirm, nodding. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.” You shake your head. “But you’re alright? I mean, you’re always alright.”
Eric bites the corner of his lip, his black painted, chipped nails worrying with the label wrapped around the bottle. “Yeah. I’m alright.”
You swallow hard. “I don’t mean to be an asshole, Eric.”
“No, I know. You’re not. I’m… I’ve fucked up your night.”
“I have to take Sammy to school in a couple hours.”
Eric nods. “I’m sorry.”
“And it’s… you get to go home after this and sleep it off, I don’t.”
“I know.” He puts his water bottle down on the coffee table and turns in his seat. “I wouldn’t mind taking the kiddo to school. I could crash here a couple hours and you could get some sleep.”
You groan, pressing your thumb and forefinger to the bridge of your nose. “You know damn well that’s a bad idea, Eric. We’ve talked about this at length, you-“
“I know, I know.” He cuts you off, his hand dropping to your thigh. “It was just an idea. Forget it.” You look down at his hand. Your heartrate picks up, and there isn’t enough oxygen in the room. His hands were always a weakness for you. They were so big, veins standing out prominently and tattoos blurring on his long fingers.
“You’re not being fair.” You whisper.
Eric’s brows furrow, before his eyes follow yours to the point where his hand is splayed over your thigh, and he drags his fingers reluctantly away from your skin. “Sorry.”
Your throat feels too tight, and you swallow against a hard lump of unshed tears. “You’re not being fair, Eric.”
And Eric is just… confused. His heart hurts, and he wanted to see his kid and he wanted to see you, and he’s here but he doesn’t feel better and somehow he’s hurting you now, too. “I don’t… what do you want me to do? Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
You breathe out on a shaky laugh. “What I want you to do? Shit. Fuck you, Eric. Seriously.” You’re lightheaded now, and your hands shake as you press them against the tops of your thighs hard enough to push the blood out of your fingers. “What I want? What a fucking joke.”
Eric bites his bottom lip again, reaching a hand out to brush through your hair. He can’t help it. He doesn’t want you to be mad at him, not after everything. “I keep hurting you. I don’t mean to, but I do, don’t I?”
You force your head up to meet his eyes. “Did you really come here to see Sammy tonight?”
The question hangs in the air between you, and Eric blows a breath out through his lips slowly. “Yes. And no.”
You lick your lips, and Eric’s eyes drop to your mouth. “To see me?”
“Yeah.” The word is out on an exhale without thinking about it. Eric can’t think about much other than your mouth, actually. “She has a husband.”
You lean back, blinking. “What?”
“Lisa.” He says softly. “She had some lame work drinks thing so I went to the bar to surprise her. She has a husband. Took him as her plus one.”
“Oh shit.”
“I was her, like, bit on the side? The mistress.” He laughs, humorless and bitter. “Didn’t feel good.”
You reach for him because you can’t help it. “You’re not… fuck, Eric. You’re better than that. You’re like… you’re the husband.”
He flinches. Because he isn’t your husband. You hadn’t wanted him either, in the end. He worries against a hole in the fabric over his thigh, tattooed fingers tracing over the frayed edge until it unravels another inch, exposing his skin. “I’m not. They all looked at me like… like I was some junkie. She pretended she didn’t even know me. Gave me five bucks and told me to move along.”
Oh God your heart hurts. “Eric, look at me.”
He doesn’t. He can’t. He can’t look at you and see pity there. Or worse, agreement. Because you’d had him completely, had his baby and it hadn’t been enough.
“Please.”
He still can’t, he shakes his head and glares at his thigh like a petulant child.
You huff a sigh and crawl across the couch, climbing into his lap and threading your fingers into the scruffy hair at the nape of his neck. You tug on his hair until his head lifts, lips parting around a hum as you settle over his thighs. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You don’t deserve it.”
“I always choose wrong.” He mumbles, hands dropping to rest on your hips even if it’s overstepping, because he can’t help himself. It’s been years since he’s gotten to touch you like this, and his dreams and his memories don’t compare, don’t come close to the soft heat of your skin under his palms.
“Not always,” you say softly, a teasing edge to your words. “You picked me, that was a good call.”
“We made Sammy.” He mumbles, a soft smile gracing his face. “Yeah. You’re the best choice I ever made.”
You almost kiss him. There’s so much unsaid, so much pain, so much want, so much awful, wasted potential. “I’ll always love you, Eric. We’re… there’ll always be an us because we made Sammy.”
Eric nods, his eyes dropping to your mouth. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone else.”
The air is sucked from your lungs as his mouth connects with yours. You didn’t lean in, but he kisses you anyway, his full lips pushing yours apart and licking his tongue into your mouth. He tastes faintly of cigarettes and beer, but nothing sharper. You’re painfully accustomed to the taste of cocaine on his gums, but it’s absent tonight. You let your spine curve as you press your chest to his, desperate to feel the hard planes of his muscular chest against your breasts as his hands squeeze against your hips and drop to your ass, lifting you higher. You gasp into his mouth as your core connects to his crotch. His grey sweatpants do nothing to conceal the rapidly hardening length of his cock, and he drags you back and forth over the considerable length as you scratch your nails against his scalp.
You’re not supposed to kiss Eric Draven. You’re not supposed to let him into your apartment in the middle of the night, and climb into his lap, and kiss him like you love him. Even though you want to. Even though you love him with a deep, unyielding part of your soul that can never erase him completely.
He moans into your mouth, lifting his hips to rut against you, and your eyes roll back at the jolt of pleasure that zaps through you. Your clit is rapidly swelling, and you answer his moan with a whine of your own. One of his hands leaves your ass cheek to push into the back of your pyjama pants, curving down around your ass and pushing your panties aside to rub teasing circles against your entrance. “Can I?” He gasps against your mouth. “Can I touch you, baby?”
And god, how are you supposed to say no? How could anyone, with this beautiful man spread underneath them? You nod, pressing your lips to his over and over as you lift your hips and tilt back, leaning into the press of his fingers.
He sighs as he pushes his middle and index fingers into your heat, feeling your walls flex around the stretch of the intrusion. “Shit. Shit, I missed this.”
Tears spring to your eyes and you don’t try to stop them as they track down your cheeks. “Eric,” you whisper.
He lets out a shuddering breath, pulling his fingers out of you and lifting his free hand to your face, cupping your jaw. “Did I… did I misread this? Are you okay?”
You shake your head, and then nod. “I… no, you didn’t. I am. I just… I love you so much. And I can’t… I don’t know how to… do this with you and be okay after.”
Eric swallows, a wave of self-loathing washing through him. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m such an asshole.”
You nod, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. “You are, actually.”
Eric laughs, a tiny chuckle followed by a caress to your cheek and a matching brush of fingertips against the clothed front of your pyjama pants. “I want you. I always want you.”
“I want you too.” You whisper.
“I’m not… I didn’t kick you out. You decided… and I know you…” he pushes the pads of his fingers against your clit through the fabric and your head drops back, baring your neck to him. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat. “You had your reasons, sweetheart. I know that. I know I’m…” he licks a stripe up your neck and slides his fingers into your pyjama pants, humming in approval a as he brushes through your slick folds. “I know I fuck up. A lot.”
You huff a breathless laugh, tilting your hips back to give him better access. Eric presses the calloused pad of his thumb to your clit and you whimper at the feeling. “Eric, please,”
“I know,” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I know, baby. Let me… Just let me make it better.”
You slump against him, the last of your resistance ebbing out of your spine as his thumb rubs rough circles against your clit and his finger probe lower, pressing in at your entrance.
“Okay,” you whisper because you know he needs to hear it.
Eric hums as he presses inside, the tight, wet heat of you clenching around him as familiar and welcome as coming home. His cock is leaking steadily into his boxers, pressing desperately against the fabric and begging for your touch, but he knows better than to ask for it. He’ll take this, he’ll take anything you’ll give him for as long as you’ll let him be here. “You’re so tight for me. And so wet,” he whispers, lips dragging against your mouth. “I wanna fuck you open. Can I?”
You whimper. What the fuck are you supposed to say? No? Are you going to say no to Eric Draven offering to make you cum so hard you forget your own name and why you can’t love him anymore? Unthinkable.
You nod, helping him lift your hips enough for him to thumb into his sweats and drag them down to his knees. He helps you resettle, the head of his cock pressing to your entrance with painful, throbbing desperation.
“I want it,” you mumble, letting yourself sink halfway onto his length. “Want you, Eric.”
The sound Eric makes is more like a sob than a moan, and you clench around him.
“God,” he whispers. “Fuck, you feel so good. You always feel so… fuck.” His hips drive upward, butting the head of his cock against you so deeply you can almost see the outline of his cock against your lower stomach. He wraps a hand in your hair, yanking your head forward so he can mash his mouth clumsily against yours, and you whine as you roll your hips forward, grinding yourself against his pubic bone. The rough thatch of hair at the base of his cock drags against your clit, and the sensation is so overwhelming and so familiar that you start crying again.
This time, Eric doesn’t stop. His tongue traces the tears as they track down your cheeks, his hands kneading soothing circles into your hips. “Love you so much. Always did, you know?”
It doesn’t help and it’s exactly what you want to hear. Your walls clench and flutter around him as he fucks up into you. “Don’t..” you breathe. “You can’t just…”
“I know.” He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it through the press of his teeth. “I know it doesn’t change anything but I do. I can’t…” his head drops back against the couch cushions, and you chase him, mouthing over the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I know, fuck.” He groans, hips snapping faster up against you as he reaches a hand between your bodies to thumb clumsily at your soaked clit. “I know it doesn’t change anything for you.”
You lean over him, encouraging him to put more pressure on your clit as your orgasm coils tightly in your abdomen. “It… shit, Eric. You can’t say stuff like that… when” you swallow hard. “When you’re like this. When we’re…” you break off, emotion choking the words out of you as the coil snaps inside you and you cum against his hand with a broken sob. Eric’s head lifts from the couch to capture your mouth, swallowing the whimpers and sobs and choked little gasps you make as you ride him. The pleasure is blinding, numbing your legs and shattering your heart as you tense around his cock.
It’s this, the tensing and the whimpering and the needy, hot press of you that undoes him. Eric cums with a moan, grinding his hips against yours and burying his release as deep inside you as he can get it without hurting you. He holds you, pins you to his lap as he grinds upwards, cock pulsing ropes of cum against your walls. And Jesus, for a second he hopes you’re ovulating. He hopes he’s getting you pregnant again. Because if you love him for giving you Sammy, how much more will you love him for another kid?
You slump against him, boneless and empty. Eric wraps his big arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and pressing kisses to the sweaty mess of your hair. He’s still inside you, softening cock pulsing with the flexing, tight tension of your walls as they milk the last residual drops of his arousal from him.
It’s a long time before either one of you works up the courage to speak. As the responsible adult, you suck in a breath and pull away from him, lifting your hips and wincing only a little when his cock is dragged out of you, a squelch of cum dropping onto the couch in the process. “We shouldn’t have…”
“Please don’t.” He cuts you off, and you force yourself to look into his eyes. “Please don’t say we shouldn’t have done it. Even if you mean it.”
“Eric,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna give you the impression that this means…”
“I know.” He mumbles. “I know it doesn’t mean anything. I was lonely, and you helped. That’s all. Don’t… I don’t expect anything from you.”
You swallow around a lump of guilt and words you can’t say out loud. “We have rules.”
And Eric nods, because he knows. Even as his thumbs knead circles on your hips, and he can smell you and taste your mouth on his tongue and his heart beats for you, he knows. The rules keep you safe. They keep your heart safe from him. From the demons in his head that he can’t control. “I’d… I’d go to rehab. If you wanted me to.”
You freeze. “You… what are you saying?” You don’t dare to hope. You can’t.
“If there was even… even the slightest chance that you’d consider taking me back. I’d go. I mean, even if there wasn’t. If you wanted me to, I’d go. Get clean, take the meds. I’d be… I’d do whatever for you.” Eric doesn’t look at you while he says it, but he hears the sharp intake of breath and feels your body coiling tight.
“Do you mean that?”
He does look at you then, because your voice sounds different. When he looks at you, into your eyes, his breath is stolen from his lungs at the shining, devastating hope in your eyes. God, he wants you to keep looking at him like that. He doesn’t wanna be the reason that light goes out, not ever. Not ever again.
“I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll go now.” He lifts you off his lap, carefully depositing you onto the couch beside him, and you scramble to follow him as he strides with newfound purpose towards the front door. You catch him before he opens it, hooking your fingers around his wrist.
“They’re not open now, love. But if… if you mean it, I’ll take you tomorrow.”
Eric’s smile is soft as he turns, dipping his head to press a kiss to your mouth. “I mean it. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be here.”
You should let him go. You should let him go now, and see if he shows up tomorrow like he says. But you don’t. You lace your fingers with his and tug his hand gently, and Eric’s eyes darken as he looks past you, up the hall to the bedroom you used to share. “Traffic’s a bitch in the morning.”
He nods, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth in the maddeningly sexy gesture that he doesn’t know is so goddamn attractive. “I could stay on the… couch.”
But he’s following you down the hall, stripping off his ratty t-shirt and stepping out of his sweatpants before he reaches your room. His body brackets yours like a comforting blanket, and you trace the patches of ink on his chest and his stomach and lower as Eric reaches for the lamp by your bedside and presses his lips to your own.
Tag list: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @loushaw131460
would you be willing to do a roman x stepsister one shot?
You Make Me Sick; You Make Me Like It (Roman Godfrey X Reader)
Summary: Roman has been throwing parties all summer, and when you finally get tired of your stepbrother’s bullshit and decide to take matters into your own hands, he retaliates in ways that change everything between you.
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, foul language, explicit sexual depictions, step-cest, fingering, rough sex, dubious consent, edging, themes of hate, slut shaming.
Word Count: 5,718
A/N: okay besties just throwing out a lil disclaimer that cest of any kind is not usually my thing, BUT I’ve had SOOO many requests for this topic lately, and I’ve been struggling hardcore with feeling even remotely creative, so this prompt weirdly felt like the perfect thing to push myself with. (Not to mention it’s very Roman coded, which makes it… intriguing, to say the least lol) And before anyone asks: I don’t think this will be a fic I’ll continue, and I’m not sure it’s a topic I’ll ever revisit. But for the little freaks (affectionate) who do enjoy this trope—consider it a gift. I stepped way out of my comfort zone just to make you happy 🫶🏻
*Not proofread*
“That fucking asshole.”
My words were mumbled under my breath as I slammed my charcoal pencil down on my desk, and a smear of dark dust bled across my sketch, which only pissed me off more. The bass from downstairs blasted loud enough to shake the floor beneath my feet and rattle the picture frames on my walls, the vibrations pounding deep in my chest—or maybe that was just the irritation coursing through me.
Another one of Roman’s ridiculous parties, no doubt. He’d been throwing them all summer while my father and Olivia were off gallivanting around Paris, leaving him free to treat our home like a frat house, and leaving me stuck dealing with more of that spoiled, insufferable prick’s bullshit than Olivia ever would’ve tolerated.
Pissed off and wanting nothing more than to finish my drawing in peace, I ripped my bedroom door open and stormed down the spiral staircase, jaw tight, pulse hammering. By the time I reached the last step, it was exactly what I dreaded: crowds of kids from school swarming the foyer, loud and invasive, acting like they owned the place—just like Roman did. Of course everyone he invited would be just as selfish and insufferable as him. I mean, why bother telling me he’d planned a party tonight? Why bother thinking of anyone but himself? That arrogant, self-absorbed douchebag.
“Excuse me! Puhleeease get the fuck out of my way.” I shoved my way through the sea of bodies flooding the house, kids slipping in and out of rooms like intruders with zero shame. Jesus Christ, did Roman actually go out of his way to invite half the teenage population of Pennsylvania, or was I trapped in the most vivid nightmare imaginable? I silently hoped for the latter as I pushed toward the billiard room, ready to rip him a new one for the endless, obnoxious parties he’d been throwing all summer.
I know what you’re thinking—why not ask Roman to turn the music down? Or better yet, just leave? Well, A: I already tried that after the third or fourth party he threw. He laughed in my face, actually grabbed my shoulder like I’d just told the joke of the century, and informed me how “funny” it was that I thought I could move into his house and tell him what to do. So yeah, that killed any chance of a civilized conversation real fast. And B: I may not have grown up in this house like that silver-spoon prick did, but ever since my idiot father married his manipulative bitch of a mother, this place is just as much my home as it is his—and I’ll be damned if I let him push me out of it.
Once in the billiard room, my eyes found Roman instantly. He was sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, that lazy arrogance radiating off him as he lounged with a blonde on one side and a brunette on the other. Of course this is where Roman would be—center of the room, center of attention—like some Eric fucking Northman knockoff, just waiting to be worshipped by a pair of way-too-eager bimbos.
I inhaled slowly, forcing my jaw to unclench, forcing the fury in my chest to settle into something colder, more controlled before I stepped forward—only to walk straight into a wall.
A fucking brick one at that.
What the hell?
I stumbled back half a step, my gaze dragging upward, confusion bleeding into irritation as I tried to figure out what—or rather who—had gotten in my way, only to meet a pair of amused bourbon eyes I knew all too well.
Tyler McConnell.
“Damn,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth lifting into a cocky smirk. “Looks like someone’s already hitting the tequila pretty hard tonight.” A soft chuckle slipped out of him, and there it was—that stupid dimple. The same one that had half the girls in school throwing themselves at him like he was God’s gift to the female population.
Unfortunately for him, I was immune to blond douchebags in letterman jackets.
“Actually, I’m sober,” I said coolly, moving to step around him. “You just apparently don’t know how to get the hell out of someone’s way.”
He shifted with me instantly, blocking my path again. Of-fucking-course he did.
“Oh yeah? Well, why don’t we change that?” His gaze dragged over me, lingering on the necklace resting against my cleavage, and it was all I could do not to rip it off and pelt it in his smug face. “C’mon, have a drink with me. Maybe it'll help you loosen up for once.”
“No thanks.” I tried sidestepping him again only to have him block me from going around him yet again. “Seriously, Tyler I’m not in the fucking—”
My words died abruptly on my tongue when he stepped closer and I instinctively stepped back, my spine hitting the wall beside the entryway. Before I could react, he planted his arms on either side of me, effectively caging me in.
“What?” he asked, voice dropping lower. “You think you're too good for me or something? I've heard the rumors about you. Always wondered how good that tongue ring would feel against my—”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Roman’s voice sliced between us, and for the first time since our parents got married, I'd never been happier to see my stepbrother's smug face.
“Trying to get laid,” Tyler replied lazily, his gaze dragging over me again before finally looking at Roman. “And you're kind of cockblocking right now, man.”
“Oh, am I?” Roman’s voice dropped lower, turning lethal in an instant. “Here's the thing, Tyler—I don't give a fuck.” His green eyes slid to where Tyler still had me pinned against the wall, and something dark flashed across his face. “That's my sister. So unless you want this night to end with me breaking your jaw, I suggest you get the fuck off her.”
I resisted the urge to correct Roman and tell Tyler I wasn't actually his sister, but in that moment I was so relieved Roman had shown up when he did that I didn't care what he called me as long as Tyler stayed the hell away from me.
“Oh, shit.” Tyler backed off me instantly, both hands lifting slightly in surrender as a nervous laugh slipped out of him. “Sorry, man. Didn't know you had another sister.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed, his stare sharp enough to cut. “Well, now you do,” he said coldly. “So fuck off.”
Tyler muttered another apology before disappearing back into the crowd so fast it would've been embarrassing to watch if I wasn't so relieved to see him leave.
But the relief didn’t last long.
Because the second I looked up and met Roman’s blazing green stare, shame crashed over me. My stomach lurched at the thought of what could’ve happened had Roman not shown up when he did.
“Roman, I—”
“Shut up.” He barked, grabbing my arm and yanking me forward. “What the hell are you even doing down here?” he demanded as he dragged me through the crowded foyer, steering me toward the staircase like I weighed nothing. “I thought you hated my parties. And now I look over and find you throwing yourself at one of my guests?”
“That's not what I was doing, asshole!” I yanked against his grip, but it was pointless. He was too strong, barely slowing as he hauled me up the stairs.
“Oh, really?” Roman let out a humorless laugh, his grip on my arm tightened, and the heat from his touch seared me to the bone. “Then what exactly would you call parading around half-naked in front of other men?”
“Oh, I wasn’t fucking parading around, and I am not half—” wait, what? His words clicked fully into place as we stopped at my bedroom door. “Other men?”
Roman dropped my arm, like even touching me had been an inconvenience he no longer had patience for, his expression turning glacial in the process. “Go back to your room and play with your little crayons and colored pencils or whatever the fuck it is you do.” His gaze sharpened. “Just stay the fuck away from my friends and out of my party.”
It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but his condescending tone made my spine harden into iron, and an angry flush scalded my face. I wasn’t a stranger to that tone of voice coming from Roman. It was the same one he always used when he saw me doing something he considered embarrassing to his image, like I wasn’t good enough for him or his douchebag friends.
Sharp. Judgmental. Self righteous.
And suddenly I didn’t care about decoding the meaning behind his words.
“You're not the boss of me, Roman.” I planted my hands on my hips. “And for your information, I wasn’t throwing myself at Tyler. I was looking for you, asshole!” My chest rose and fell, fanning the embers of my anger until they burned hot beneath my skin. “Which reminds me—turn the fucking music down, or I swear to God I’ll find a way to ruin your precious fucking party.”
Roman’s lips curved slightly, not enough to classify as a smile, but enough to tell me what I said somehow amused him. And that only pissed me off more. “Yeah?” A low chuckle slipped from his throat, lazy and infuriating. “Because all your other attempts to shut down my parties have worked out so well for you, right?”
Oh, fuck him.
Fury swelled in my chest, and before I could think better of it, I shoved past him, shoulder-checking him hard enough to make him stumble half a step before storming toward the banister overlooking the foyer, and screamed.
“COPS!”
A few people downstairs paused, looking around in confusion.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and doubled down. “Cops! Cops coming in through the back! Everybody get the fuck out! Run!”
I was almost surprised by the level of commitment I managed to summon to pull this off, but apparently desperation was a fantastic motivator, because it worked. Holy shit. It actually fucking worked!
Pandemonium erupted on the floor beneath me. People scrambled in every direction, drunken panic spreading through the house faster than wildfire. Bottles crashed. Half the crowd bolted for the front door while the rest nearly trampled each other trying to escape through windows.
It was beautiful.
Absolutely beautiful.
The front door slammed shut behind the last partygoer, and I twisted around to meet Romans blazing eyes, triumph gleaming in my own. “Aw, what’s wrong, Ro?” I mocked sweetly. “You were laughing five minutes ago.” Satisfaction coursed through me at the sight of his fury, because for once, I’d actually managed to ruin his night instead of letting him ruin mine.
The harsh overhead light in the hallway slashed across Romans face, throwing his already razor-sharp features into something beautiful and terrifying all at once. The muscle in his jaw pulsed with anger, and I hated the uneasy flip my stomach gave as anticipation kindled low in my gut, the slow-building sparks burning away the satisfaction I’d felt only seconds earlier.
I was sure he would yell at me, but to my shock, Roman's face relaxed into a hint of a smile. It was unsettling, really, the way his features smoothed out so suddenly, like whatever storm had been brewing in him had gone quiet—but I could still feel it there, lingering in the space between us, the electric charge of his rage, crackling just beneath the surface. The calmer he looked, the more dangerous he felt, like the rage hadn’t disappeared at all, just gone still in a way that meant it could snap at any second.
“You just can't help yourself can you?” Roman took a step toward me. A tiny one, just enough for the tips of his shoes to kiss mine. The point of contact acting as a channel for his anger, which funneled into me and sent sparks of indignation igniting in my stomach. “Always have to be the fucking center of attention.” He scoffed. “The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, heat rushing straight to my face as pink bloomed across my cheeks and down my chest before I could stop it.
“It means you're nothing but a pathetic attention whore, just like your mother.” His nostrils flared and a dull red painted his cheeks. “And I normally wouldn’t care to say anything about what you do, but tonight? You made it my problem. Your desperate need for attention ruined my entire fucking night. Not only did I have to deal with Tyler because you can’t stop yourself from spreading your legs for whatever validation you’re chasing, but what did you do to repay me? Cleared out my fucking party.” He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the mix of whiskey and cigarettes on his breath as it fanned over my skin, feeding the heat already crawling up my spine. “I don’t know exactly what went down between your parents, but I’ve heard the rumors—mommy left because daddy didn’t pay enough attention to her, and now he doesn’t pay attention to you. It doesn’t take a genius to see that deep down you’re just a scared little girl chasing attention any way you can get it just so you can feel like someone—anyone—finally fucking cares. Classic fucking you.”
Deep, bone-rattling hurt stole the breath from my lungs and stung my eyes.
Any semblance of sibling-like camaraderie Roman and I had managed over the past few months went up in flames, reduced to nothing but ash by the inferno of emotions scorching between us.
It wasn’t just about tonight. It wasn’t just about the parties, and it wasn’t just about what he’d said. It was the past six months—all the snide remarks, the sneers he’d throw my way after every insult, the way he could be so nice to me sometimes, only to catch himself and ruin it by treating me like shit again. It all built and built until it finally boiled over, hot and violent, like lava from a volcano. A crimson haze washed over my vision, and the only thing I could focus on was how angry I was.
Instead of trying to calm down, I reveled in it.
Anger was good. It kept me from thinking too hard about the truth in his words, and when I spoke again, anger coated every syllable in venom.
“You’re one to talk.” I tilted my chin up, my eyes searing into his storm-green ones. “Roman Godfrey, Hemlock Grove’s resident bad boy. You want to talk about being desperate for attention? How about all the ways you act out trying to prove you don’t care—while secretly praying everyone else will? How about the reckless driving, the drugs you snort to fill that hollow little void inside you, and how about this party, Roman?” My nails dug tiny crescents into my palms. “Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t throw this party just so, for once, you could feel like people care about you—like you’re the coolest, most loved guy in the room. You say I’m a pathetic attention whore?” I mimicked his voice, slow and mocking. “Well why don’t you take a look in the fucking mirror? Because from where I’m standing all I see is a fucked-up rich boy who’s spent his entire life begging to be loved.”
It was a low blow for a low blow. He wanted to make my life hell? Fine. I’d drag him down with me.
Part of me recoiled at my own words, disgusted by how easily they slipped out, while another part was singing with a mix of satisfaction and exhilaration. I’d just unloaded months of animosity for my new “sibling” and there was nothing more freeing than finally letting it all out.
Fury flashed across Roman’s face, sharp and unfiltered. “Fuck. You.”
“You. Wish.”
Our chests rose and fell with heavy breaths while the air around us fell unnaturally still, like it was holding its breath, waiting for our next move.
“Oh, I don’t need to wish.” His voice dropped, dark and smoky. It slithered past my defenses and kindled a heat in my lower belly that had both nothing and everything to do with my anger. “I could fuck your brains out right here, right now. Make you take back everything you just said and have you begging for more before I’m even finished with you.”
It was a warning, not a seduction—and that only made the embers in my veins burn hotter.
“Well, you know what they say about guys who talk a big game, Ro.” Anticipation prickled up my spine as the tension between us thickened. We were one step away from crossing a line we couldn’t come back from, and I was so high on the thrill of it all, I didn’t care. “It usually means they’re overcompensating for the smallest packages.” I said while holding my pinky up, just to really emphasize my point.
A smile slashed across Romans face, vicious enough to send tiny pinpricks of unease crawling over my skin.
“Oh, you’re about to find out just how wrong you are.” He said softly.
He moved so fast I didn’t even get a breath in before he yanked me against him and slammed his lips against mine.
And my world as I knew it cracked wide open, shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces.
Shock kept me frozen in place. I’d suspected there’d come a day when I finally pushed Roman past his breaking point—I’d goaded him into it, after all. I just never expected this to happen when he finally snapped.
But now that it was happening, I couldn’t form a single response. No words. No movement. Just pure disbelief—and a dark, dangerous heat that tore through my veins like wildfire.
The heat from earlier had reached a boiling point, spilling over until every nerve ending screamed with sensation. My heart thundered with the force of a sonic boom, the pounding spreading until it throbbed in every part of me—my head, my throat, and the suddenly agonizingly sensitive spot between my legs.
Roman curled his hand around the nape of my neck, pinning me in place as he claimed my mouth.
He kissed the way we fought. Harsh. Relentless. Explosive. I hated how much I loved it. Having my step-siblings tongue in my mouth should’ve made me feel sick—should’ve made me want to shove him off me like he was something repulsive, something filthy I never should’ve touched in the first place.
But it didn’t.
Because the moment I finally regained control of my limbs and lifted my hands to push him away—to end it before it went any further—my fingers curled into his shirt instead. I gripped the gray cotton, pulling him closer until we were pressed so tight against each other that I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.
A small moan slipped past my lips when Roman shifted, lifting his hips just enough to feel his hardness press against my core.
“I bet you just love having all of my attention on you, don’t you?” His mocking whisper ghosted over my lips, its softness a sharp contrast to the force with which he nipped at my bottom lip.
Tears sprang to my eyes at the flash of pain, though the throbbing between my legs intensified. “You always need someone to stroke your fragile little ego, don't you, Ro? Well, fuck you,” I hissed.
“I already know that's what you want.” He tangled his fingers in my hair and tugged hard enough to send another twin frisson of pain and pleasure spiraling through my body. “No need to beg for it.”
A low groan rose from my throat, irritation flaring through me. I finally shoved him off of me, my lips and pussy pulsing in equal measure. “I will never beg you for anything, douchebag.”
Roman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the movement so slow and deliberate it became more sexual than it should've been. A faint flush of arousal colored his high cheekbones, and the way his green gaze dragged over my face, down to where my tank top dipped and exposed my cleavage, felt like it seared into my flesh.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.” The embers in his eyes flared brighter. “You act like you hate living here—like you hate me.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “But I bet if I bent you over and got those little fuck-me shorts off you, I'd find you fucking soaked for me. And I bet I could have you begging for my cock, for me to make you come so hard you'll see fucking stars before I’m through with you.”
My teeth ground together in aggravation. I hated his ego, his cocky fucking smirk—everything about him. And yet I was so wet I could feel myself dripping from the filthy images his words painted in my mind.
“Nice try, Roman, but I’m not taking the bait.”
It was the coward’s way out—I knew that. But I was one touch away from giving in completely, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of being the one to push me there.
“I knew you’d pussy out,” he taunted. “What, you scared you might actually like it?”
“Can't take a hint, Roman?” I shot back, holding his green gaze without flinching. “Or are you just that desperate to feel wanted?”
We glared at each other, our anger thickening in the air like fog, until the space I’d put between us disappeared and our mouths crashed together once again. Harder this time. More desperate. Our tongues fighting for dominance while our hands dragged over every inch of skin, gripping hard enough to leave marks.
Roman didn’t give me time to think about what we were doing—about what it meant. He pushed me through my half-open bedroom door and kicked it shut behind us without breaking the kiss.
Our fingers moved in a frantic rush, impatiently working to remove our clothes. His shirt. My bra. My shorts. His pants. They all fell to the floor until we were naked, our skin heated with the hum of electricity surging between us.
“Get on your knees.”
My skin prickled with goosebumps at Roman’s rough command, but instead of obeying, I lifted my chin defiantly. “And what’s your plan if I just… don’t, hmm? You gonna make me?”
I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth before he closed the distance between us in one stride and twisted me around. He dug his knee into the back of mine, forcing me to the ground. I struggled half-heartedly, knowing I was no match for Roman’s strength.
One hand locked my wrists together behind my back in an iron grip, pressing my back against his chest, while the other slipped between my legs, stroking my now-swollen clit.
The jolt of pleasure tore from my throat, wrenching a half gasp, half moan from me.
“Well would you look at that?” Roman mocked, sliding a finger inside me while his thumb pressed against my clit. I was so wet I didn't feel any friction, even with his fingers curling deep inside me. “Just like I thought. You're fucking soaking.”
My hands curled into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms as I fought to stop myself from panting, so turned on I could barely think straight—and we'd barely just begun.
“Beg for it.” He curled his finger and hit my sweet spot, drawing out another moan, before he slowly dragged it out and shoved it back in. His breathing quickened. “Beg me to fuck you. To make you come all over my cock like I know you’ve been dying to ever since you moved into this house.”
“You. Fucking. Wish.” I bit out, nails still tearing into my palms as I tried to steady myself. I knew this was wrong. So, so fucking wrong.
Roman let out a soft laugh. “You always have to be such a fucking brat.” He let go of my wrists and fisted my hair instead, jerking my head back until I could feel his hot breath in my ear. “But I love a good fight.”
My response died on my tongue when he shoved another finger inside me—slow at first, then in, out, in, out, faster and faster, until the telltale tingles of an impending orgasm pooled in my lower belly. His other hand found my nipple, pinching sharply, and a full-body shudder rolled through me just as the—
He ripped his hands away from my core.
Fuck— no!
Without his support, my body slumped forward on all fours, and I let out a small yelp of frustration at the ruined orgasm. I whipped my head around to glare at him. “You fucking asshole!”
My only comfort in this entire fucked up situation was that I wasn't the only one suffering. Roman’s chest heaved ragged breaths, and his cock was so hard it honestly looked painful.
“You know what to do if you want to come.” His mouth curved into a triumphant smirk as he pushed my legs further apart. “Look at you. You poor thing.” He mocked. “You're a fucking mess.”
I didn't have to see myself to know he was right. My juices slicked my thighs, and my clit was so swollen it was practically pulsing with the need to be soothed.
Still, I clung to what little sense I had left, and twisted the situation back on him.
“Scared you can't live up to your promise, Godfrey?” I purred. “What happened to fucking me so hard I see stars? You talk a big game, but like every mediocre man, the second real action is required… you can’t seem to follow-through.” My gaze dipped pointedly to his dick.
Despite my taunt, my pussy clenched at the sight before me. Roman’s body could have been ripped straight from Michelangelo’s imagination. Broad shoulders, perfectly carved abs, sculpted arms...and a long, thick cock that looked like it could make me come with little effort.
Fuck. My mouth felt so dry all of a sudden.
He leaned forward and, without breaking eye contact, and slowly wrapped one hand around my throat. He squeezed hard enough to cut off my breath for several beats before he loosened his grip. I gasped in a lungful of air, my head spinning from the brief lack of oxygen.
“One of these days,” he said, “that sassy little mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.”
I didn't get a chance to respond before he slammed into me from behind with a savage thrust. A rather ragged breath tore from my throat at the painful stretch of his size. Tears sprang to my eyes, but the pain eventually morphed into pleasure as he pounded into me.
“What was that?” Roman’s breath grazed my cheek. “You always have so many bitchy things to say to me. Where are your words now, hmm?”
“Go. To. Hell,” I panted. It was the only sentence I could manage before another sharp thrust scrambled my thoughts.
A low, almost amused chuckle rumbled through him. “Hell, huh?” he murmured, teeth grazing my ear. “Do you even realize what fucking hell it was, holding back all these months? Knowing I wanted you... needed you... and couldn't fucking touch you?” He gave my hair another sharp tug. “And now... finally—hah... feeling you like this? Fuck, it’s worth every second of hell you put me through.”
Before I could wrap my head around his words, he flipped me around so I was on my back. He kept his hand on my throat, pressing me into the ground while he propped my leg on his shoulder. At this angle, he hit spots I didn't even know existed.
My nails dug into his skin, partly because I needed something to hold onto and partly a payback for his mind games. A small, satisfied smile spread across my lips at his pained hiss when I raked them down his back. In retaliation, he fucked me even harder until our moans and the furious slap of our bodies against each other drowned out the music blaring from downstairs.
I purposefully constricted around his cock until Roman let out a low hiss. I didn’t miss the sweat beading on his forehead or the way his lip curled, like he was fighting himself just as much as he was fighting me.
“Aw, looks like I'm not the only one who needs to come,” I taunted.
“And to think I was going to let you off easy too. But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You just had to fucking push me.” He pressed harder against my throat until specks of black danced across my vision and the heat blazed hotter in my body. “So now I’m gonna make it even harder on you.” His next thrust was so brutal I lost whatever breath I had left, and a string of moans and mindless whimpers poured out of me.
We fucked like it was our catharsis, a purge of every dark, twisted thought that had been festering since the moment our parents got married. There was something dangerously freeing about finally giving in to that sick little voice in the back of my head—the one I’d been ignoring for months. Because Roman was right. I’d fantasized about fucking him from the moment I’d first met him.
But as good as it felt, my orgasm remained out of reach. Every time I got close, Roman would slow down, drawing out our session with furious, exquisite torture.
“I said. Beg. Me.” Roman's hand slid between us, his fingers circling my clit with precise, merciless pressure, sending another sharp burst of pleasure through my body. “Tell me how much you need to come.” His teeth scraped against my neck and he sucked hard enough I thought he might leave a hickey. “How much you need me to make you come.”
Normally, I’d have made a snide remark about his obvious self-esteem issues, but I was too far gone to think clearly.
“No.” My refusal sounded weak to my own ears. I was too desperate for relief, too close to giving in—but I still held on, clinging to the last scraps of control I had left, if only to make it harder on him.
“No? Come on... let your big brother make you feel better,” Roman taunted, easing his thrusts just enough to make a scream of frustration form in my throat.
Fucking sick, sadistic asshole.
“You're not my fucking brother!” I gasped, hips rolling desperately for friction to no avail. “Aside from marriage, we aren't even related. I—fucking—h-hate you,” I moaned, even as disgust wrapped around my gut and squeezed.
“And thank God for that,” he breathed, eyes sparkling with dark amusement. “Now… use your words, sis, or we'll be here all night.”
Don't say it.
He sank back into me with torturous slowness, every inch of him stretching me wider. Pathetic whimpers tore from my throat as he toyed with me, edging me over and over until I was about to lose my damn mind.
Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't—
“Please.” I choked out, my voice breaking from the restraint.
“Please what?”
“Please let me come.” The words faded into a breathless moan as Roman picked up the speed of his thrusts.
“Aw, come on. You can do better than that.” Sweat gleamed along his skin, and the vein in his forehead pulsed with barely contained strain. Holding back tortured him as much as it did me—but that knowledge gave me little comfort when I was teetering on the razor's edge of insanity.
A sharp jolt of pleasure tore through me when he hit my sweet spot—pure, overwhelming sensation flooding through me until I couldn’t hold myself together anymore.
“Roman... please,” I sobbed, no longer caring about how desperate I sounded. “I... I can't—I need... please!”
Me saying his name must’ve broken something in him, because the teasing stopped, and he slammed into me with relentless force. The world shrank to the pounding of his cock inside me, the wild, frantic rhythm with which he fucked me driving every nerve in my body to the brink of shattering.
“You feel so... f-fucking good,” he panted against my ear, his hot breath sending a shudder straight through me. “You love it, don't you? Love having your stepbrother's cock wreck that tight little pussy of yours.”
“Yes,” I gasped, my voice trembling, shame and need tangling together. “Yes… God, please… I’m going to—oh, I’m—oh God! Oh fuck!” I screamed as white-hot pleasure seared through me, incinerating every thought, every doubt, until all that remained was this mind-numbing pleasure that consumed me whole.
Roman kept fucking me, each orgasm ripping through me and chasing the one before it. They rolled on endlessly, wringing me out until I was nothing more than a boneless, trembling mess on the floor.
After my third—or was it fourth?—orgasm, Roman finally came, and we lay there in the sudden quiet, breaths ragged, before he pushed himself off me and tossed his condom into the nearby trash can. Huh. I hadn't even realized he'd used one.
The lust-fueled fog finally cleared from my brain. Thank God Roman had the forethought to use protection. Fucking my step-sibling was already bad enough—if I'd gotten pregnant from this whole fucked-up ordeal... fuck. I couldn't even think about it.
I watched him dress in silence, the weight of what we'd just done finally sinking in.
Oh God. I’d just had sex with Roman Godfrey—my stepbrother, and the one person I couldn’t stand most in this world.
And it wasn’t just sex. It was angry, primal, toe-curling sex. Sex that I begged him for and came so hard my body was still reeling from it.
My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick.
𓏲୭ brian bruises your insides feat. his big biceps ⠀ 𓂃 w. he’s not that sweet, but he’s sweet in his ⠀ own way ♡ and that’s all that matters!
the neighbors are going to complain again. they’ve already knocked multiple times—sometimes more than once a night—because of you and brian, and every time, you promise, “swear i’m gonna be quieter this time.” but, as always, you fail miserably. no matter the time of day or night, your moans pound against the thin walls, loud and desperate, because it’s not your fault he keeps hitting that sweet spot inside you, the one that makes you shake and whimper about how it’s too much—only for him to keep pushing deeper.
“brian, brian, brian.” his name spills from your lips like a chant, dripping with need, mindless and pleading.
his arm is locked tightly around your shoulders, keeping you pressed close as he sinks into you, impossibly deep. you’re shivering from the stretch, from the way his cock pulses inside you, his breath warm and heavy against your ear. he’s still—so still it makes you ache, his only movement the slight twitch of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and you don’t hesitate to push back against him, rolling your hips, fucking yourself on his cock with greedy, eager movements.
brian watches, amused, as you work yourself up. your ass ripples with every desperate grind, your voice breaking into needy little moans that don’t even ask for anything—just mindless, pathetic noises spilling from your lips. he adores it.
“come on,” he encourages, voice low and smooth. “just like that.”
you try, putting all your strength behind each thrust, but it’s too much—too deep, too intense—and your pace starts to falter. he tsks, the hand resting on your stomach sliding to your hip, fingers stroking over your skin with a softness that contradicts his teasing.
“tired?” you whimper, nodding, barely able to keep moving. brian hums, sharp eyes flicking to the part of your face he can see, something unreadable glinting beneath the amusement. “want me to take care of you?” you nod again, eyes fluttering, too lost in the heat of it all to notice the way he’s looking at you. “yes . . please.”
his grip tightens. before you can process it, brian takes over, pulling your hips back with an unforgiving force and slamming you down onto his cock. your body jolts forward from the impact, but his arm around your shoulders keeps you locked in place—keeps you exactly where he wants you. a choked-out moan rips from your throat, high and broken, and he doesn’t give you a second to recover before he’s setting a ruthless pace.
the sound of skin slapping fills the room, mixing with your sharp, gasping cries. you’re shaking from the intensity, from the way he fucks into you without hesitation, without mercy, hitting so deep it borders on unbearable. every thrust has you unraveling further, has your hands grasping uselessly at the sheets, at his arm, at anything to ground yourself, but there’s no escape.
“too much—” the words barely make it past your lips, voice weak, cracked. brian huffs out a laugh against your ear, “thought you wanted me to take care of you?”
his hips roll forward, dragging his cock against that spot inside you that makes your mind go blank, and you sob, vision going hazy. his grip on your hip softens just enough to stroke over your skin, his amusement never fading. “you take it so well,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your neck, voice dark and filled with something you’re too fucked-out to catch. “every single time.”
you can barely form words, barely think past the relentless pleasure coursing through you. your moans are shameless, bordering on a wail as he keeps you exactly where he wants—bent, used, ruined.
and the neighbors? they’ll just have to deal with it.
