I just had the most unsettling rich man I’ve ever met as a client. Like, Buffalo Bill levels of unsettling. And when he was leaving, he said my full legal name in the most “I know things about you that I absolutely should not know” voice imaginable 😭
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.
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