moonlightstuffs

[moonlightstuffs]

i’m like if a pervert was a sweetheart

[moonlightstuffs]

beggars and choosers (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: angst, HOPE, backstory drop, mentions of abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, poor Roman:((

summary: some things are forgivable-- especially if one begs hard enough

word count: 11,187

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a/n: did I make Jackson Wang the party host? YES I DID AIHFBISFH RETIRED KPOP FANS UNITE AHAHAHHF SORRY!!! but omg this chapter has had SO many rewrites, one scene is literally something I wrote about a month ago and dissected because it was perfect, and... AHHH ENJOY!!!! get ready lol

When the doorbell rang, I couldn't help but glance at the clock-- could this possibly be the first event ever recorded when Letha was on time for something?

This morning, Letha had told me about this 'great' party that would supposedly get my mind off of things. I wasn't in the mood for partying, especially not leaving my apartment, but she had somehow convinced me over the phone with the kind of Letha-enthusiasm I could never deny-- ugh. 

Anyway, I decided this could be good for me. Maybe I could get really, really drunk and think of something other than the major loss I had to grieve? No more Roman Godfrey. No more games. No more tight skirts and spankings. No more incidents of him hacking into my devices and threatening my previous co-workers...

I hated how much I knew I was going to miss all that nonsense. 

Honestly, I had spent a big part of yesterday crying into my pillow after the whole ordeal where he took over my screen, unable to be soothed by any thought or thing. It was only until I went into the bathroom to wash my face at three in the morning that I spotted my hair brush-- and despite how embarrassing it was, I then folded myself over my bed, and hit the flat head against my ass, over and over, just to feel the sting, just to feel the burn. 

To my horrifying revelation, it was the only thing that calmed me down and made me stop crying. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Roman was right-- I needed it.

So, after all of that, along with the shame washing over me as I wondered how truly fucked up I must've become for me to miss this part of my relationship with Roman, the part where I needed him, Letha had called and convinced me. 

Ugh-- the door rang again.

I put away the hair brush once more, having used it for relief the third time today (was this about to be my new addiction?), and I moved to the door, stretching as I adjusted my robe. I hadn't gotten properly dressed since Letha was coming over to get ready together, and since I hadn't invited anyone else over, I opened the door without checking the peephole or thinking. 

I didn't have to, right? It was just Letha.

... But it wasn't. Just my fucking luck. When would I learn?

The second I opened the door, my body went cold. Two people stood on my stairs, strangers dressed as if they belonged somewhere more upscale. It was a woman in a pale trench coat, clipboard tucked under one arm like a weapon, and a man beside her, broad-shouldered in a blazer. I didn't recognize them, but I didn't need to-- I knew the type. These were people who made a living out of peeling things open, and I was about to be their test onion.

"Jehovah's?" was the first thing I said, sighing at the annoying intrusion. I knew how to scare these people away; "I believe in Satan. All hail Satan. And gay marriage, of course. Also, I'm a raging lesbian. Still wanna try to indoctrinate me?"

None of them twitched, ran, or said anything-- that should've been my first red flag, but I was too hazy from the hairbrush spankings and getting ready for Letha that I didn't pick up on it.

I folded my arms over my chest, huffing down at the people at my door. "Mormons?" I tried again, scanning them. "Nah, wait, you're not wearing those shirts... Scientology? If you're going to try to get me into that shit, you better bring Tom Cruise next time, or something. He's totally hot-- or, well, I'd think that if I wasn't a lesbian. Huge lesbian."

The woman finally let out a huff, polite yet mildly stunned. "No, miss. We're far from that," she said, her voice smooth, clipped, rehearsed. She shifted her portfolio in front of her like a magician getting ready to reveal a trick, showing me the logo behind it; "We're with Forbes. We were hoping to speak with you about your time at Godfrey Industries."

Oh, fuck. 

There was a pause-- one of those awful, cinematic pauses that sucked the air out of my lungs. My brain caught up half a second too late, and I just stood there like an idiot (and fake lesbian) in my robe, one sleeve slipping off my shoulder, still damp from the shower, having just proclaimed my love for Satan. My body buzzed with the chemical static of sudden exposure; I blinked at them. "You're kidding,"

They weren't.

"We've been interviewing former employees," the woman went on, cheerful now, like I had already agreed. "Personal assistants, interns, even legal staff. But your name keeps coming up--"

"Shocker," I muttered.

"--and we thought it would be valuable to hear from you directly. It seems you're Mr. Godfrey's most... enigmatic hire, let's say," She smiled again, this time with her teeth. "You've been harder to find than the others."

I stared. "Is that supposed to be flattering?"

The man cleared his throat; "We are just trying to find the real story here. We are under the impression that Roman Godfrey has been mistreating female employees for a while," He gestured vaguely at the folder the woman was holding. "We have testimonies from about four previous secretaries, and if you join in with a statement, then we have the golden number of five, which would allow us to run this story!--"

"Hold on," I said, cutting him off. "Mistreating female employees?" Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

My heart was racing, and I unfolded my arms to let one hand grab at the door-- I needed to hold onto something before I fainted. I found myself asking the question I had been dying to hear the answer to, yet had suppressed the wish to for ages; "What are they... saying?"

The woman seemed excited by my interest and nodded eagerly. "May we come in, miss? We'd rather enclose the details in a more private!--"

"No,"

She stopped, blinking up at me. "No?"

My jaw clenched as I shook my head. I didn't want these leeches inside my apartment. "That's not going to happen. Give me a quick summary,"

The woman's smile didn't so much as twitch-- she just blinked slowly, relenting with a short nod. Meanwhile, the man looked past me into the apartment like he expected Roman to appear shirtless behind me. If only.

The woman tilted her head slightly, glancing at her colleague as if silently asking permission to proceed. He gave a small nod, but it was the kind of gesture that didn't need discussion-- they had done this before. More than once. This was bad. This was so, so bad.

"Well," she said, clasping her hands together in front of her trench coat, voice smooth as cream. "There have been... patterns."

"Patterns?"

"Romantic entanglements between Mr. Godfrey and his female staff. Multiple accounts of blurred boundaries, inappropriate behaviours inside of working hours, emotionally manipulative conduct, and, in some cases..." Her voice dipped ever so slightly, the way people do when they're pretending to be delicate but can't wait to drop the bomb. "Power-exchange dynamics that fall under the BDSM umbrella."

My stomach dropped like I had missed a stair. Oh no, no, no. Still, my face remained stoic, not giving anything away, and I stared her down like she had trespassed on my Texas farm (which I certainly didn't own) and stolen one of my sheep.

"Does this ring a bell?" the woman tried, slowing her words as though that'd make me understand her better. 

My grip on the door faltered, and I realized I hadn't blinked in about half a minute. I knew that I had a lot to say about my time at Godfrey Industries, but... I wouldn't want to talk to the press about it. Why should I? What good would it serve? What would it do to my life, and my future prospects? 

Even though I was pissed at Roman for how we ended, and for everything that had happened in the timespan after that, he had never done something without my consent-- he was rather crazy about it, actually. He never went without it. I always knew I could say no, so what the fuck was this about?

"It does not," I eventually answered, letting go of my door as I glared them both down. "Are you people kidding me? Isn't Forbes supposed to be a serious business magazine? What the hell are you doing, chasing a fake story like this?"

"Miss, we are only!--"

"Only what? Creating slander!" I snapped, the heat in my chest erupting without warning. "Do you know how dangerous that is? Do you even care what kind of damage you're doing, chasing down these half-baked stories from bitter interns and people who lasted three weeks? How much have you even paid these supposed other employees?!"

I had no idea why I was standing here protecting him after everything he had done to me. But even though I was angry with Roman, raging, hurt beyond belief, this was betrayal of the biggest kind that I'd never ever commit-- over my dead fucking body. We'd had something special. I knew it in my heart. It was so deeply embedded in me that I was standing here, yelling at some poor reporters that definitely smelled like a Frederic Arnault hit job. Was this perhaps some staged revenge?

Also, if I told them that I had been in a BDSM relationship with my boss, I'd certainly never work ever again, and I had just sent in that application last night; I was not about to ruin my life even more than I already had.

The woman blinked like she hadn't expected me to fight back this hard. The man shifted his weight again, uncomfortable now, like he had realized this wasn't going to be the easy doorstep scoop they had hoped for-- I could see the way he scanned my face, as if looking for a crack to wedge his story into; but he wasn't going to find one.

"How much?" I repeated, my voice colder now. 

"It's about-- between one million and two million dollars," the woman said, her voice tightening like she was trying not to lose her composure. "We believe that is the appropriate amount to make up for their pain--"

"Two million dollars?!" I barked, making them both take a step back. "Anyone would make up some bullshit story for two million dollars!" My heart was racing, pattering, stuttering, kicking into my ribs-- I hadn't had to think on my feet like this since I was caught stealing pens back in the fourth grade (and gotten away with it). 

The woman's lips pressed into a line; her glossy professionalism was cracking, finally, and the man tugged at his collar like someone had turned up the heat.

"You're wasting your time," I finished, ears burning. "Because even though I was only a secretary, Roman Godfrey gave me work opportunities I'd never dream of in other companies, and if anything, that man went out of his way to make sure I'd never be hurt by Frederic Arnault, and risked a lot for my safety, so that's!--"

I hated the way my breath caught.

Hated the way the image of Roman hurling burning hot coffee at Frederic was ingrained into my brain. Hated the way the devastated look in his eyes yesterday when he had watched me get dragged away by Peter had tattooed itself to my very conscience.

But... Roman wouldn't beg for me. He hadn't done so yesterday, not even to get me back. I wanted to go back into my apartment and cry it all out before Letha arrived later, so I straightened my spine, locking my shoulders into place as I ended the conversation; "That's all I have to say. That's it,"

And then, because the universe loves irony, I heard it.

Click-clack, click-clack, click-- thud.

Oh no. I knew the sound of those heels. 

"Oh my God, bitch, I thought I was gonna die!" Letha gasped, breathless and cheery, turning the corner in six-inch heels and a puffy little dress like she had just escaped a Sephora tornado. "There was a guy following me down the street playing the flute directly into my skull, and I really regret not having my driver drive me directly to your front door, but these shoes from the Manolo Blahnik shoe sale I nearly missed need to be broken in!-- Wait, how late am I? Crap! I know I'm late, but girl, the guy on the flute was also kind of cute, and!--"

Letha stopped three steps up my stairs, her eyes landing on me, and then on the two strangers next to her.

She froze.

The woman's face lit up, gleeful as ever-- "Letha Godfrey?"

Letha blinked at her. "Um?"

And that was all I needed.

I yanked her by the wrist so fast she squealed, dragging her through the door like someone smuggling a pop star out of a press riot. She stumbled in with a spin and a puff of vanilla body spray, clutching her purse like it had betrayed her.

"Get off my property before I call the police!" I barked at the reporters. "Try to run the story, and you'll get sued to hell and back! Have a shitty day, and all hail Satan!"

I slammed the door shut behind us, sealing my apartment like a vault as I turned the deadbolt.

Letha blinked up at me, letting out a string of confused huffs as she straightened her dress. "Were those?--"

"Yes,"

"Since when do you believe in?--"

"Satan? I don't,"

"So-- okay, what the fuck, are we in?--"

"Trouble?" I sighed. "Kind of."

Letha blinked again, her face falling. "Why did that lady look like she was about to crawl into my mouth and steal my social security number?"

I pressed my palms to my face, groaning; "Because she was trying to bait me into talking about Roman,"

Letha paused, letting that sentence settle, and for once (miraculously), she didn't respond right away. I could see her brain working behind her fluttering lashes, trying to assemble the chaos she had just walked into. Her mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again with a faint, horrified gasp like she had just remembered a dream where all her exes were on a cruise ship together.

"Oh my God," she whispered, clutching at the neckline of her dress like she needed to shield her soul. "Did they say I was next?! Am I being subpoenaed?!"

"No, you're not being-- ugh, Letha," I put my hands to my face, rubbing my temples. This was giving me a headache before I had even managed to get a hangover. "But they did recognize you, which definitely made me seem beyond untrustworthy and sketchy, so you're welcome."

Letha was quiet for a beat, until she cracked under the serious atmosphere; "I brought Veuve Clicquot,"

I stared at her-- what?

"And I also forgot my fake lashes," she added sheepishly. "But I brought liquid liner in exchange for a pair of yours?"

"... Deal," 

I motioned for Letha to take her shoes off before making my way into the kitchen. I was vibrating, fizzing with fury, rattling from adrenaline, and my robe was sticking to the small of my back like I had just run a goddamn triathlon in it-- ew. I filled a glass of water from the tap and downed it in long, shaking gulps. My hand was still trembling, the kind of tremble that only comes after you've screamed at someone to get off your property and threatened legal action while barefoot in a bathroom robe; not that I was too familiar with that kind of situation, though.

Behind me, I heard Letha gracefully flop onto my couch. She was watching me with a little more focus than usual, with her knees tucked up, bare legs folded beneath her like a swan about to panic. She had opened her bag and pulled out her eyeliner, but she wasn't applying it-- just holding it like a stress ball.

"So, did you..." She cleared her throat, quieter now. "Did you say anything?"

I turned to Letha with a sharp motion of my head, glaring at her. "Do you really think I'd rat your family out like that?" I could've, though. I was two seconds away from it, for a moment. Your cousin is a dick.

Letha's shoulder shrugged in defence. "I don't know," she mumbled, voice soft but prickling with edge. "Who even were they? What did they want?"

"They were Forbes, believe it or not," I said, walking over to the coffee table and setting my glass down hard enough that it clinked. "They're running a story about Roman, and they wanted a quote from me to confirm he's a walking HR violation."

Letha stilled, her expression tightening. "Fuck,"

"They already have testimonies from four women, all former secretaries... allegedly. And they were looking for the fifth to run the story,"

Letha sat upright on the couch, her knees unfolding, eyeliner forgotten in her hand. 

"They basically offered me two million dollars," I mumbled, sitting down next to her. "They've paid one to two million per person. That's how badly they want this."

She looked at me again, and something flickered behind her green eyes-- something complicated. "So why... didn't you?"

I glared at her. "Letha,"

"I'm just saying, if someone offered me two million dollars to talk about my ex, I'd buy some cute bags with that money!"

Of course she'd only buy bags-- I had forgotten how rich this girl was.

Quieting down, Letha shrugged, glancing away, making herself smaller in a way I hadn't seen before. "Look, if you said anything, I'd understand. But I'd also rather you told me and didn't lie about it, so I--"

I grabbed Letha's hand, taking it into mine.

She turned, her green, glossy gaze staring back at me with worry.

I made sure I had her full attention before I spoke, slow and soft; "Roman is an asshole, but he's your family. We had a good thing going, which I'm very keen about keeping private, despite the ups and downs. Also, I love you, so believe me when I say I would never rat out your family. I wouldn't do that to you,"

Letha's eyes welled up with tears, glassy and sudden, and before I could say anything else, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight, trembling hug. Her perfume, soft and sugary, something citrusy and teenage, enveloped me instantly. I felt the eyeliner slightly dig into my ribs through the fabric of her dress, still clutched in her hand like she hadn't realized she hadn't let go.

Letha's breath hitched near my ear. "I know he's a mess," she whispered. "I know he fucks things up and pushes people away, and probably deserves, like, one slap a day, minimum--"

"Two, on Wednesdays," I added, hoarse.

That briefly made Letha laugh, a small, broken smile cracking across her glossy lips; "I really hope he wakes up one day and realizes you're it," she whispered, holding me close. "Soon, preferably, so I can still be around to go wedding dress shopping with you before he gives me a heart attack and sends me to an early grave."

I let out a startled laugh, choked and shaky, pressing my face into her shoulder. "Oh, please. Roman as a groom? I think he'd rather have a nuke dropped on him,"

She sniffled, pulling back with a dramatic flutter of her lashes. "He'd do it for you,"

"He wouldn't," I said, a sad smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. He wouldn't even beg. "First of all, he didn't even wait five minutes after sex before dumping me. Second, I dumped him back, rather brutally. And then, he saw Peter kissing the top of my head yesterday, Roman nearly beat the crap out of him, and then he hacked into my computer."

"Wait-- What?!"

Oh, oops-- hadn't told her about that last part.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

"This Peter guy sounds nice," Letha murmured, reapplying her lipstick in the back of the car as her driver got us closer to the entrance of the party. "Tell me why you didn't choose him again? Cause he didn't make you hump his shoe?"

I groaned-- I should've never told Letha that story. "Yeah," I mumbled. "Sue me."

The short black dress I was wearing had been her idea, of course-- midnight silk that clung to my hips and ribs like it was tailored to me alone, a low neckline that made it impossible not to stare, and a slit that nearly flashed my underwear with every step. Perfect armour. The fabric shimmered faintly under the car's overhead light, the kind of dress that felt dangerous to exist in. My hair was put up into a messy, a touch unruly in the way that made it look intentional, all thanks to Letha's magic hands.

We were ready.

The driver slowed, pulling into a street lined with sleek sports cars. Somewhere from the rooftop, bass-heavy music thudded faintly, a heartbeat pulsing through the walls of the tall building.

Letha smacked her lips and beamed as the driver stopped the car and came around to open the doors for us. "Alright, bombshell," she purred. "The host, Jackson, is an old friend of mine, so don't throw up anywhere. I know you want to get shitfaced, but do so with caution, and without sullying my good party-queen name."

Oh, you best believe I was about to get shitfaced.

I wasn't here to get with new guys, or go home with anybody. No-- I wanted to not remember a single thing. Not Roman, not the press, not Peter, not Frederic Arnault, not the hacking indecent, and certainly not that I had to go get ready for the interview I just got a mail about. I had no idea how that company had gotten back to me so quickly, but they wanted me to come in and have a chat with the boss as soon as possible. Ugh.

"You've got my word," I murmured to Letha, patting her glittery shoulder. 

Her green eyes narrowed at me; "And no humping any shoes, okay? Be a good dog tonight,"

"Letha!"

The moment we got upstairs, the air was warm with perfume and something darker-- expensive liquor, chlorine from the pool, and the faint green sweetness of hedges lining the entrance. The rooftop's glass doors opened into a crush of glittering strangers and low, seductive lighting, where people laughed too loudly with the kind of laughter that came from trying to impress someone richer.

Letha was already scanning for her flavour of the night, and I was scanning for the bar without any luck. "Where?--" With wide eyes, I turned to her, horrified. "Girl, there is no fucking bar here! What kind of a party doesn't have a bar?!" 

Letha grinned, eyes glittering under the fairy lights strung between the glass panels. "Darling... the bar is everywhere,"

And she was right-- a man in a white tuxedo jacket breezed past us, carrying a silver tray heavy with crystal coupes. Without hesitation, Letha plucked two glasses of something pink and sparkling, handing me one before looping her arm through mine. "See? We adapt,"

And we adapted hard.

It seemed that this Jackson guy was a building mogul, and hence owned the entire building, meaning the party spanned literally everywhere, on every floor. 

From the rooftop, we spilled into the elevator with our drinks still in hand, Letha hitting every floor button like she was starting a game of drunken roulette. The first stop was a wall of heat and music-- not the polite, curated playlist upstairs, but something filthy and bass-heavy that rattled the bones in my chest. Strobe lights flashed over a crush of bodies, and within seconds, someone shoved shot glasses into our free hands; fuck yeah. We downed them without asking what they were, cheering along with a group of strangers like we had known them forever, before Letha dragged me back into the elevator.

The next floor was no quieter-- just different chaos. A long marble bar stretched the length of the room, bottles glittering under gold lights while a DJ in a sparkly blazer worked a booth in the corner. Letha ordered something bright green and handed it to me before I could argue, the sugar hitting my tongue just as a crowd surged around us, pulling us toward a table where people were chanting over a drinking game that looked like it had no rules. 

By the time we hit the next floor, I had stopped keeping track. It was all just flashes now-- the burn of liquor, the glitter of lights in Letha's hair, the way my heels kept sticking to the floor in some rooms and sliding dangerously in others. Every door we pushed through was louder, wilder, like we were spiralling deeper into the heart of the party as my head buzzed with all the copious amount of alcohol, just as planned.

Somehow, Letha and I stumbled our way to the next floor, and we had collected a tray of shots from a passing server and were making friends with a group of people I was 90% sure were minor celebrities. I only knew one of their names because he'd been in a Netflix series I had binged last summer. Unfortunately for me, he also happened to totally be my type-- tall, broad shoulders in an outfit that probably cost more than my rent, with his dark hair falling into his eyes. Click, click, click. He had been watching me from the corner for a while, and when he finally stepped close, his smile was easy and deliberate.

I wasn't going to remember this Roman-copy tomorrow anyway, so why not enjoy? I saw Letha giving me a thumbs-up from the corner of my eye before she sat down in some guy's lap, pulling out her phone to probably exchange numbers or answer messages-- typical Letha.

"Enjoying yourself?" Mr. Netflix asked, voice warm, the kind of tone that made it feel like he had already been let in on a secret.

I lifted my glass in a lazy toast; "That's the idea," 

His eyes flicked over my dress, slow and appreciative. "I don't think I've seen you here before,"

"First time," I said, grinning like the champagne had made my mouth reckless.

He leaned in just enough for his cologne to thread through the air, rich and woodsy. "Well, I hope someone's taking good care of you tonight," he purred. "You here with your boyfriend?"

My grin only widened, drunk enough to let out a giggle. "Nope! Got dumped a week ago,"

With faux sympathy, the guy cooed at me, putting his hand on my forearm and caressing my skin with his thumb as though this was some sympathetic move, and not a ploy to get me keen enough to go home with him. As if. "You poor thing," he purred.

I pointed at him with my free hand, my sheepish smirk plastered on my face. "You're smiling," I accused, my finger wobbling just enough to make him laugh.

"Am I?" he said, not even pretending to stop. "Maybe I'm just happy to hear you're single."

"Oh, please," I scoffed, tossing back the rest of my drink and feeling the warm burn bloom in my chest. "Where do I know you from, though? Which series? I remember you very vaguely from somewhere."

He smirked, tipping his head like he had been waiting for the question all night. "Young Royals," he said, as if that explained everything. "I played August. Did you watch it?"

I snapped my fingers, the motion a little sloppy from the champagne. "Oh yeah, that's it! I watched it! Love me a Swedish guy,"

Before he could answer, Letha appeared at my side long enough to deposit another shot into my hand, her cheeks flushed, her lipstick slightly smudged. "Drink, and get up," she ordered, looping her arm around my waist and steering me toward the elevator without missing a beat. "We need to go. Now."

I blinked, stumbling slightly in my heels. "What? Why? I was talking to!--" I twisted to glance back, but Letha tightened her grip, pulling me away from Mr. Netflix whom I definitely didn't remember the real name.

"You'll thank me later," she said under her breath.

"What's going on?" I demanded, but she just shook her head, dragging me into the elevator. 

"First floor is better," Letha said, making sure that we were alone when the doors shut. "Easier to escape if it gets bad."

"If what gets bad?!--" 

"If you throw up or something,"

"Lee, you're just as drunk as I am?--"

"Promise me you won't be mad at me, okay?" Letha's green seared into mine as she grabbed my shoulders, steadying me as I nearly stumbled in my heels. "You'll remember that you love me and that I'm your best and hottest friend?"

I blinked at Letha, head spinning. "As long as you're not about to traffic me," I mumbled, hiccuping.

At that, she rolled her eyes, dragging me back out of the elevator when it finally opened. "I'm just gonna-- I'm gonna see if Barty is here," She said it with that airy, careless tone she used when she didn't want me to ask follow-up questions, but her grip on my arm lingered half a beat too long before she peeled away, vanishing into the crowd with the ease of someone born to party like this.

I stood there for a moment, blinking after her, the throb of bass wrapping around my head like a pulse. "Cool. Sure. Leave me," I muttered, swaying slightly in my heels as I realized that she hadn't mentioned Bartholomew being here all night. How did she know? Was he even here?

But before I could get to the bottom of it, a server in sequins swept past and handed me a flute of something golden without breaking stride-- I shrugged, grinning happily. Free fucking booze!

A massive dance floor dominated the center, lit in ribbons of blue and gold that shifted with the music, and I was gone enough for it to look inviting. The air was humid with body heat and the sharp tang of liquor, the kind of atmosphere that made you want to move even if you swore you hated dancing, which I did.

But honestly? At this point, I didn't feel like swearing off anything.

I drained half of my glass in one go, feeling the warmth seep into my skin, before sliding my way into the press of bodies. The bass pounded through my ribcage, and the world blurred into glittering silhouettes, sweat-slick shoulders, and fragments of laughter. Someone spun me playfully, and I laughed-- a bright, champagne-sloppy sound that didn't feel like mine, but I didn't care.

Somewhere in the haze, I thought about the fact that tomorrow I'd have to deal with reality again-- job hunting, rent, all the little humiliations I had been pushing to the edges of my brain. But... that was tomorrow. Tonight was just noise and lights and not thinking.

I closed my eyes for a beat, letting the music eat me whole.

... May it never spit me out. 

The beat dropped, and with it came a ripple through the crowd -- not enough to break the rhythm, but enough that I felt it. The bodies around me shifted, like a current changing direction; my back prickled, and for a split second I thought it was just the champagne--

Until a hand found my hip.

It wasn't grabby, not drunken and sloppy like half the guys here; it was deliberate, firm, sliding just enough to turn me toward the source. My breath caught before I even opened my eyes.

Oh holy fucking mother of fuck.

Tall and impossibly composed in the chaos, the dark line of Roman's suit cut a stark silhouette against the heat of the dance floor. His hair was pushed back like he had run a hand through it on his way in, his lips partially parted at the shock of actually finding me in this mess. Those green, almost predatory eyes were fixed on me now-- sharp, unblinking, drinking me in like I had just handed him proof of every suspicion he'd ever had about me.

The music roared on around us, but it was useless-- he was the loudest thing in the room.

Roman didn't say anything right away; he just leaned down so his mouth was near my ear, close enough that the heat of his breath cut through the chill from my glass.

"Having fun?"

It wasn't a question-- it was an accusation.

My jaw fell, and I felt myself freeze to the spot, too drunk to think a proper thought. 

Roman sighed at my wordlessness before taking another step closer, and now I could smell the faint trace of cigarette smoke clinging to his suit. "You think you can just quit, little secretary?" he said, eerily calm. "You think I wouldn't come and find you again? Told you that I'm getting you back."

Not so easily. 

"Maybe I--" I hiccuped, eyes big with the shock of seeing him. "Maybe I didn't want to be found," I managed, braving through my words. "How did you find me, though, Roman? Are you-- hicc,  tracking my phone with your little coding apps? Hacking me again?"

Roman rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well," he said, bitter; "You need to put up some firewalls, and not click on sketchy emails. Come back to me, and you'll be drowning in Dior by sunrise, with no need to click through scams."

My heart dropped straight into my stomach, and the memories of last night's coup d'etat burned hot and sharp in my chest-- I did everything in my power not to barf or stumble. My face flamed, a mix of rage, humiliation, alcohol, and something dangerously close to heartbreak clawing its way up my throat. I was not about to burst into tears in front of this man, and I was not about to give in to that little voice in my head that told me it was totally romantic of him to go to this length to find me. No, no, no, not today, not tonight.

"You're such an ass," I hissed, glaring up at him. "I don't care about Dior, you shouldn't have done that!-- hicc, it was an invasion of my privacy!"

Roman's mouth curved, but it wasn't a smile; it was sharper, crueler, like the edge of broken glass. He bent closer so only I could hear him, his voice dropping into that low register that made my stomach knot. "Don't pretend you didn't like it," he murmured, almost a purr. "I know you too well. I could've done worse, y'know? Could've opened your hidden folder, but I didn't. I was nice."

"Nice?" I snapped, my voice wobbling, drunk and furious all at once. "You went through my photos, Roman, you--" My words caught, mortification crawling over my skin. "You watched my porn!"

That actually pulled a laugh out of Roman, short yet real. His hand flexed at my hip like he was restraining himself. "Yeah," he murmured, his green eyes shimmering in the dark. "I could make a better playlist for you next time, though. It seems we have similar tastes."

I shoved against Roman's broad chest, but he didn't budge, not even an inch. His green eyes glinted down at me like he was daring me to keep going, daring me to try and wound him back.

"You're disgusting," I spat.

"And you're stubborn," he shot back, calm as ever, though his jaw ticked. "So here we are."

"Because you stalked me!--"

"Because Letha was a big help in finding you tonight," Roman cut me off, shaking his head, dismissing the way my eyes rounded out at the betrayal from her part. "I told her that you and I needed to talk, and she was happy to help," he explained. "And believe it or not, hadn't I kept track of your whereabouts these past twelve days, I wouldn't have known about your date." 

Roman basically hissed the last word at me, no longer smirking-- I saw the way his gaze changed, the way his eyes narrowed down at me like he was ready to tear me apart.

"My what?" I asked, blinking up at him, my voice thin over the throb of bass. Date? What date?

"Your date," he repeated, slow and venomous, like the word tasted foul in his mouth. "With Peter. Yesterday."

I stared at him, too drunk for my brain to keep up, like he had just accused me of having dinner with Putin. "Peter?" I echoed, somewhat dumbly. "That wasn't a date!"

Roman's jaw flexed, his gaze locking on mine like he was daring me to lie. "Don't play stupid. I know what I saw,"

Was this about the sidewalk incident yesterday? "I'm not playing anything," I said, my words wobbling between defensiveness and disbelief. "I haven't-- Peter and I are not?--"

"He came into my office this morning to tell me everything personally," Roman shot back, sharp enough to cut through the music. "How you can finally be together now that you don't work for me anymore, and that you're official, whatever that means." 

Huh? My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Was I hallucinating? Was this really happening? "That's not-- What?" I tried. "I have no idea what you're talking about?!--"

"Oh, spare me," Roman's jaw flexed once before he stepped in, closing the last of the distance. His arm slid around my waist in one smooth, unhurried motion, pulling me flush against him until the glass in my hand pressed between us. Like this, I could smell the faint trace of cigarette smoke beneath his cologne, feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine.

"Don't worry, though," Roman went on, his tone shifting into something almost mocking, each word pressing close to my ear so I had no choice but to hear them over the bass. "I'm not mad. Why would I be mad? It's not like Rumancek stormed into my office and ripped out my heart today. It's not like all of this confirmed what I thought you'd be capable of, which was hurting me." 

"I'm-- Roman, seriously!" I tried, feeling my voice turn into a squeak. "You have to believe me, I don't-- I don't know what you're on about!"

His green gaze swept over me, something unreadable flashing over his eyes, showing more than he probably wanted to. Was he maybe processing it? Was he scanning me for lies? Definitely. Roman's arm tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me I wasn't moving unless he let me. "Don't worry," he repeated. "It might've been a good thing that Peter told me. It made me realize a few things that didn't hit me when I saw you two together yesterday... Like the fact that I might not have that much time left to win you back before I lose you forever."

I felt my heart stutter. What?

Suddenly, in the midst of the fog of fragile masculinity, I saw the sincerity in Roman. His big, green eyes rounded out just a smidge, and the arm he had around me pulled me closer, like he wasn't sure if he was imagining me standing in front of me or not. "So I'll be nice, and we're going to do this the easy way, okay?" he said. "You're gonna come with me now, call Peter up and tell him you're done, and I'm going to forgive you for going behind my back, out of the kindness of my heart. I'm also going to forget how mad I am at you, and you're going to come back to me, so we can be together how we're supposed to be."

These were the words I had been waiting for for twelve days, but now that they were here, served to me like this... my blood started boiling so fast I thought I might actually combust right there on the dance floor. What the hell?!

"You're unbelievable! I'm not coming back to you!" I slurred, my voice cracking between a laugh and a snarl. "And Peter is lying to you, Roman. Lying! I'm not dating him, and we're not official?! But of course, you believe him over-- hicc, me, because God forbid I'm not the villain in your little martyr fantasy!"

Roman's smug expression didn't falter, like he knew he had me nonetheless, and it made me want to puke. I was too drunk to care about keeping space between us, pressing myself closer, feeling his breath fall against my lashes. "You are going to forgive me out of the kindness of your heart? Are you freaking nuts?!" I hissed. "What makes you think this is how to go about getting me back? What makes you think it'll be that easy?!"

"Because we're one and the same," Roman said, leaning down, his lips hovering just above mine. "You were right. And I know you'd forgive me for going behind your back, so I'm forgiving you for going behind mine. Isn't this what people do when they care for each other?"

Groaning, I pushed weakly at his chest, but he didn't budge. "I didn't!-- hicc, go behind your back! I don't know why Peter is lying like this!" I huffed. "And I'd never forgive you if you were with someone else, Roman, I'm not fucking crazy!"

That, of all things, made Roman laugh again, shaking his head as the sound of it mocked me through all the dimensions of the universe. "You are," he purred. "You're crazy for me, just as I'm crazy for you."

"That's not true! You're the crazy one, hacking me and stalking me and orchestrating all of this because you saw me at some graduation!--"

"It is true," Roman insisted, his smile hovering above mine, taunting as ever as his gorgeous green eyes swallowed me. "We're the same type of crazy, and I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it's not a bad thing. I'm sorry it got you hurt. So stop being so difficult, let's go and break you up with Peter, and then we can go be crazy together!"

"I don't want to be crazy anymore!" I yelled, my words tumbling out over the throb of bass. "Me being crazy about you has lost me everything, from my dignity, to my-- hicc, sanity, and I've lost my mind so bad that I turned down two million dollars for you, just this evening!"

Roman's smirk slipped just a fraction, his brows pulling in like he had misheard me; "... What?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, that Forbes puff piece? The journalists that came to my door asking to give a testimony along with your other secretaries?" I hissed, pushing at his chest again, but to no avail. Roman only held me tighter, his wide eyes urging me to tell him the rest. "I didn't take it, you prick, stop looking at me like that! Didn't do it! And on top of that, you barge in here-- hicc, accusing me of sneaking around with Peter, and then demand that I break up with my not-boyfriend, and act like a saint for 'forgiving' me? How dare you, seriously?! Where do you find the audacity?! Why the fuck?!--"

"Hold on!" Roman's voice came out a little higher now, his big, green eyes rounding out as he pulled away just a fraction to get a better look at me. "What Forbes puff piece?"

I blinked up at him, thrown by how quickly the edge in his voice had been replaced by something sharper, more alert. "The Forbes puff piece," I repeated, gesturing sloppily with my glass and almost sloshing champagne over my hand. "You know, your little PR nightmare? It's definitely Arnault's people that have started it, and they're dangling a fat paycheck to anyone who spills any of your dirty little habits."

Roman's eyes rounded out with worry, the pounding bass around us suddenly feeling like background noise instead of the main event. "I have no idea what you're talking about," 

That... stopped me.

"Seriously?" I asked, my voice pitching up.

"Seriously," He looked around, his arm still around me but tense now. "We need to talk. Somewhere quieter."

I opened my mouth to tell him absolutely not, but he was already steering me toward the edge of the dance floor, his hand warm and insistent at my back. "I'm not going anywhere with-- Roman, stop it!--"

"Just five minutes," he cut in, glancing back at me, his expression unreadable now. "Please."

I hesitated, the alcohol buzzing in my skull telling me this was a bad idea, but the curiosity gnawing at my gut refused to let go. "Fine," I muttered, lifting my glass to my lips as he pulled me through the dance floor like I needed the extra push. "But if you're just dragging me out there to accuse me of fucking Peter again, I'm-- hicc, leaving!"

The corner of his mouth twitched, but not quite into a smile. "Noted,"

When Roman got us outside, I put down my empty glass of champagne on the pavement, huffing and rolling my eyes to show my disdain-- why had I allowed myself to go anywhere with this asshole? Seriously? Well, I knew why, but... ugh. 

The real question on my mind was how he had gotten Letha to agree to let him come here and scold me for supposedly dating his paralegal. I thought we were done when he said he didn't want to beg, but here we were-- in the middle of a war I thought I ended the second I quit my job.

It was quieter outside; almost eerily so after the throb of the bass. The cold night air wrapped around me, sharp and bracing, needling at my bare arms and the slit of my dress. I folded my arms tight against myself, more to hold in the warmth than to look defensive.

Roman didn't seem to notice, or maybe he was too wound up to care? He was already fishing in his jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes like the Forbes thing had lit a fuse in him. The lighter flared, catching the hard line of his jaw as he cupped it against the wind. "Start from the beginning," he said, smoke curling around his words, barely keeping his temper in check. "Who exactly came to your door?"

I shivered, and it wasn't just from the cold. "I told you. Two Forbes reporters. They wanted me to give a testimony, and they have testimonies from four others,"

Roman dragged in a breath from the cigarette like it might stop him from exploding-- it did. "And you didn't think to tell me the second it happened?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I shot back, my voice wobbling between sarcasm and the hiccup in my chest. "I must've forgotten between quitting my job, you constantly accusing me of screwing Peter, and demanding that I come back to you! Oh, and I'm not your secretary anymore. I'm not obliged to talk to you, and even less, tell you anything at all!"

That finally made him look at me-- really look. Roman's green eyes flicked over my bare arms, my shoulders, lingering a beat too long on the way I was hugging myself against the wind. His jaw twitched, and without a word, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and held it out to me.

I glared at it like it was an insult, ignoring the way my heart kicked into my chest. "I don't want that," I muttered, even as another shiver worked its way through me.

Roman's cigarette dangled between his lips, the faint ember flaring as he took a slow drag, narrowing his eyes. "You're shaking,"

"I'm fine," I lied, teeth already chattering. "I'll tell you the rest of this Forbes bullshit, and go right back in, okay? I'm not staying out here for long."

With a sigh, Roman stepped closer, the jacket still held out between us. "I've heard everything I need," he cut in. "I'll text my legal team, and they'll take care of it. Easy as that. But I didn't come here to fight with you."

"Then why?" I shot back, my throat tightening, my arms curling tighter around myself like armour. "Why are you even here, after how you pushed me away? Why aren't you letting me leave, like you wanted me to?!"

Roman exhaled, harsh and uneven, like dragging glass out of his chest. The jacket sagged slightly in his hand, forgotten, as he finally said it--

"Because I came here to beg,"

... Oh.

My breath stopped in my throat, champagne fuzz burning out of me in a rush of clarity. For a second, I just stared, my heartbeat stuttering, every muscle in my body locking tight as if bracing for impact. What?

"I didn't do it last night, but now you seem to be seriously moving on, so... it looks like I have to," Roman's mouth pulled into something like a sneer, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Happy now?" he asked, bitter, like the admission had cost him blood. 

Shocked, I swallowed hard, the sharp retort I'd been ready to hurl dying before it reached my lips. "No," I whispered instead, softer than I meant to. "I haven't been happy for a while."

Roman sighed, defeated. "Me neither,"

I looked from the jacket to his face, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove it, ready to tell him that he had made us both unhappy with his stupidity, but... he just stood there, watching me, cigarette burning low between his fingers now, the other hand still extended in the air with his heavy words.

Finally, with a huff, I snatched the jacket from Roman and shoved my arms through the sleeves. It was warm, too warm, and smelled like him, smoke and something clean underneath, and I hated how much better it made me feel.

Ugh. If I didn't love him so much, this would've been much easier. 

We were quiet for a while. I didn't really want to go, feeling like I was on stolen time with him, and Roman's gaze lingered on me as I settled into the jacket, his eyes flicking over my face like he was weighing his every previous decision. The ember at the end of his cigarette burned out, and he dropped it to the ground, crushing it under his heel without looking away.

"So," he mumbled, his tone quieter now, stripped of the bite he'd had earlier. "You're telling me Peter made the whole thing up?"

I glared up at him, hugging myself to keep the warmth of the jacket. This wasn't him begging. When would he start?

"I met Peter completely by chance yesterday," I said. "And we talked about how he's sad I'm leaving the job. I'm not dating him. I've never dated him. And the fact that you believe me only because I didn't take the damn Forbes money--" I shook my head, still stung, but his expression stopped me from finishing. 

"It's not only that," Roman said, meeting my eyes with a steadiness that almost made me forget I was shivering. "But... yeah. You turned down two million for my sake. If you were lying about Peter, you'd have taken the money and laughed all the way to the bank."

I stared at him, searching for the smugness that had been there on the dance floor, but it was gone now, replaced by something heavier-- something I didn't want to name, not after starting to build myself up from the blow of losing him.

"You should've sold me out," Roman took a small step closer, his hands still buried in his pockets like he was restraining himself. "Why didn't you?"

Fuck. "For... Letha,"

"Bullshit," he bit back. "Letha would be fine. I'd be ruined, and you know it." Roman tilted his head slightly, his eyes rounding out with his building confidence; "You still have feelings for me. You can deny that all you want, but you're protecting me even when you hate me, and that makes me feel even worse about what I did... I'm such an ass. You have no idea how guilty I feel, and you have to believe me, I-- I beg that you do."

My heart stuttered.

I beg.

The sincerity in Roman's voice made something in my chest twist, and I hated it-- hated that he could still do this, even after everything. Hated how this was happening after I had gotten accustomed to the thought of never seeing him again. I was so, so tired.

"I don't believe you," I mumbled, taking a step back. "You'll have to live with that guilt."

Roman's green eyes rounded out even more than I thought was possible. "Wait, I--"

"No, Roman!" I held up a hand, finally determined. "Nothing has changed about you, nothing ever will, because you're still the same guy that fucked me and left! I don't trust that you wouldn't do that to me the second I got too close again!"

Roman's jaw tightened, but he didn't move. The cold pressed in harder, the thump of the bass from inside muffled through the walls. "Am I not begging to your liking?" he asked, genuinely puzzled-- he had no idea how infuriating that question was. "Am I doing it wrong, or something? What about second chances? Are you just going to walk away?"

I hardened my heart and scanned Roman one last time. I'd miss him. I'd miss him more than anything in the world, but I gathered the strength to walk away from him one last time. "Watch me," I said, before I drunkenly turned on my heel so fast I nearly stumbled off the pavement. I couldn't look at him-- not when he had peeled me open like this and left me standing in my own humiliation.

Behind me, I heard his sharp exhale, and then his footsteps followed fast. "Wait!" Roman called out, clearly not having foreseen me dashing away. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, closing in on me; "You're fast as hell in heels, little lady, do you know that?"

"I don't want to talk to you!" I threw over my shoulder, keeping my eyes facing forward-- my heart would detach from me and run right back to him if I didn't. "Go away!"

Roman's longer stride caught up to me in seconds, his shirt brushing against my arm as he matched my pace easily, hands still shoved into his pockets. He didn't say anything at first, just walked beside me, his presence heavy and unshakable.

"Okay. I beg you to talk to me," he said, quieter now, clearly horrified that he was sinking to this level. "I know you don't want to hear me out, but it's late, and you're wearing that dress-- I can't let you walk away like this."

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper mixing with alcohol. I wanted to spit venom, to throw his words back in his face, but my throat was too thick, my heart too loud; "You walked away from me that night," I said. "Why can't I do the same to you?"

At that, Roman didn't answer. He kept walking, close enough that his shirt brushed my arm again, and I couldn't make out whether it was on purpose or not. "Because I'm sorry. Because I made a mistake," Roman tried. "But it's not exactly ideal to be having this conversation in the middle of a busy street... My driver is parked right down the road, so we could?--"

"I'm not getting in that car with you, and a simple little 'sorry' does not fix things!" I huffed, feeling my eyes burn. "I'm being so dead serious, this is not another one of our games, and I'm not going to let you drag me in there again to see what you're planning to stuff inside me next!--"

"Not so loud!" Roman hissed. He took a mortified glance at our surroundings, darting his gaze to the pavement to hopefully hide his face from the few people outside at this hour. "People know who I am when I walk by, can you keep that in mind?"

I didn't say anything-- I was afraid of what I'd say, what I'd let slip if I got the chance, so I pressed my lips tight, hugging myself tighter to keep the last of my warmth and dignity. 

For a few steps, all I heard was the scrape of our shoes on the pavement and the faint hum of traffic. It seemed like my silence unnerved him, and Roman broke it; "I keep telling you, that night, nothing you could've said could've gotten me back into bed. But the thought of you with Peter... With anyone else... It drove me nuts enough to go to this stupid party at three in the morning, can't you see? Just give me another chance!"

Roman's jaw tightened at my persistent silence, his nostrils flaring like he was biting down on every defensive instinct that wanted to come clawing out of him. He dragged in a slow breath, his hands curling into a fist at his sides like it took everything in him not to reach for me again. "I think about you all the time," he confessed, a slight shake to his voice. "And I haven't stopped thinking about that night, and how gorgeous you looked, how wonderful you are, and don't get me fucking started on the sex--"

"But that wasn't enough,"

My words lingered in the air between us, sharp and brittle, and I stopped up on the pavement, him following suit. 

Roman's mouth parted like he might deny it, fight me on it, but nothing came out. Instead, his eyes darted away, to the damp concrete at our feet, shame flashing over his features so quick it almost hurt to see. Roman Godfrey, the man who could tear anyone apart with a single look, couldn't meet my gaze.

"It won't ever be enough, no matter how many perfect things you say tonight, no matter how much you beg," I said, teary-eyed. "I thought it would be enough for you when you realized that nothing you could say would make me lose my feelings for you, but that only scared you. Do you have any idea what that did to me? I've bled all the blood I have to spare for you, so leave me alone! It's enough! Get yourself a new secretary and forget about me, because I'm done, Roman, I'm done!"

I couldn't believe those words left my mouth-- I knew I'd never be done. I knew it better than I knew my own name. But is it not better to doom oneself than to be doomed by others? In a sense, I felt like I was taking control and jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge at the same time.

This was my suicide.

And Roman knew it.

Stunned, his big, green eyes stayed on mine, steady and unblinking, and something in them shifted-- not sharp, not wounded, but open in a way that I had never seen before. It was like watching sunlight spill across still water, slow and quiet and impossible to look away from, and there was no urgency in it, no desperation, just this complete and unguarded certainty, as if he had always known how he felt and was only now letting me see it.

I had bled for him-- Roman knew it, now. My pain was my sacrifice, yet my pain for him was a gift he accepted; because pain, he knew. He knew what that was. He knew the consuming hours of struggle I had gone through alongside him, and I watched as it filled him with relief. 

We had gone through it together.

The noise from inside the party faded to nothing, the cold air between us suspended; his green gaze traced my face like he was committing each detail to memory-- the curve of my cheek, the line of my mouth, the way my hair moved in the breeze even though it was put up. Roman was finally warm, the kind of warmth that seeped in deep and stayed, even in the chill.

He didn't smile, he didn't speak-- he just looked at me like I was the only thing in the world worth looking at, and like I had been all along.

For a second, I almost forgot how badly he had hurt me.

And for another, I think he almost did too.

"You don't know how highly I regard you," Roman breathed, slow and soft. "I wouldn't have pushed you away if I didn't."

I sniffled, shaking my head. "That doesn't make any sense--"

"It has taken me so long to get here... because every time I want to pull you closer, I find myself remembering the last person who ever was. Dead. On the floor. With a bullet hole going straight through his skull,"

The words hit me like cold water, sobering me in an instant.

I stared at him, my mouth parting, but nothing came out. What?

Roman's gaze wavered-- saying this out loud cost him everything, but this was his last level of desperation. "Y'know, she used to beat me blue," he mumbled, vision fogging up. "My mother. When I made a mistake, she'd grab the belt, and when I cried, she'd use her fists, which was somehow way worse. Then one day, my dad caught her putting out a cigarette on my back, and I was what, five? He did his best, my old man. He put me to bed that night and turned up dead the next morning. And in the middle of all this blood and chaos, I... I find myself. So I'm sorry that I pushed you away. I kept him alive as long as he didn't know about what was going on, and... I think a part of me still believes everything is life or death. Even with you."

My eyes welled with tears all over again; "Roman," I breathed, barely audible, a mere whisper. 

The cold around us felt sharper now, the noise from inside the party becoming a faint, faraway hum. My heart broke for him as it kicked at my ribs, drunk and devastated. 

"You kissed the tip of my nose," Roman said, a faint smile painting his lips as his eyes glossed over. "When we were done, you... kissed the tip of my nose. He used to do that, too, when he put me to sleep. That's all I remember of him, and I haven't felt that warm since I was five. So when I felt that again with you that night, I thought that burning feeling in my fingertips meant danger, sickness, because I had forgotten it completely, but now I see..."

His eyes had never been so big-- they had never been so green. 

"I feel so warm when I look at you," Roman breathed. "And I'm always so cold."

My breath hitched before I could stop it, my tears now catching on my fingers. This was too much for one night. I was too drunk for this. My brain wasn't working. I could still feel the champagne in the back of my throat. "Roman, I... I can't," I started, feeling my vision blur as I took one step back. "I can't think, I-- I can't form a thought, this is--"

"I'm not asking you to think," Roman said, stepping forward, his eyes fixed on me like they could hold me there. "I'm begging you to listen, just one more minute. I beg. I beg of you! Are you hearing me?!"

I shook my head, hugging his jacket tighter, but Roman kept talking, almost tripping over himself; "Because I get it, after all this time!" he said, louder now, breathless like he had been running. "This-- this heat in my chest, my hands-- it's not sickness, it's you! It's what I feel for you! The way my heart beats when you're near, the way I haven't been able to sleep since I left your place, the way I couldn't get you out of my mind when I first saw you at your graduation!"

"Stop it!" I pleaded, squeezing my eyes to stop the tears from escaping. "It's too late, Roman, I can't!--"

"It's not too late!" Roman yelled, completely and utterly desperate. "It's not too late, because I finally understand what I've been feeling all along! I adore you! I can't-- we are supposed to be together! That date was perfect because you're perfect, and not because it was some cosmic ploy to destroy me for what happened to my father, I-- you're perfect, and I want to be with you, do you hear what I'm saying? I need you to forgive me, I beg of you to forgive me, because I-- I lo--"

And just as I was about to faint from the suspense, headlights swept over us, a low hum turning into a roar as a sleek black car barrelled down the street. I barely had time to register it before the tires sliced through a wide puddle, sending a perfect arc of icy water directly into me.

I let out a harrowing scream, probably making the whole neighbourhood wonder whether I was getting bludgeoned to death on an open street.

Oh my God. Oh my God!

Roman's delirious grin vanished instantly at the sound of my screams, replaced by a sharp, almost panicked focus as his eyes swept over me. "Shit," He stepped forward, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch me but wasn't sure I'd let him. "You're freezing."

"No shit!" I snapped, shoving my wet hair back and wiping water from my lashes, my voice trembling as much from the cold as from everything else. "This is your fault! If I had just stayed inside, and you hadn't said all those perfect things, then I'd be dry, and I'd still look good, and!--"

"You're beautiful. You always are," Roman said, too busy trying to figure out how to deal with me to notice he let that slip. "My penthouse's right around the corner," His tone was clipped now, decisive, like he was already moving to solve the problem, whether I agreed or not. "You can dry off there. My car is warm. I'll get you warm."

I instantly shook my head; "Absolutely not! I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Roman said, shrugging off my denials. "You're soaked through. You'll catch your death."

"I'll walk home!" I barked, hugging myself tighter and taking a step back toward the curb. "And I need to tell Letha where I am, because she probably thinks I'm dead in a ditch!--"

"Letha knows you're with me. I'll text her in five minutes to confirm," Roman followed after me, matching my pace with infuriating ease. "It's freezing, you're drunk, and you can't walk across half the city in heels while shivering like that. God knows what could happen to you." His voice softened, slipping under my defences like he knew exactly how to do it (and he did). "You can hate me all you want after, but right now? You need heat and dry clothes. I can give you that."

I hesitated, my teeth chattering, my brain scrambling for an argument that wasn't just I don't trust you with my feelings, you gorgeous man.

"Five minutes," Roman murmured, almost reading my pause as consent. "You can leave right after. No speeches, no touching, no games. Just... let me do this one decent thing for you. I beg you."

I beg you. 

I've come to beg.

My legs felt like ice columns, my dress clinging damply to my skin, and I hated, hated, how reasonable he suddenly sounded. "Fine," I muttered, glaring at him like I could burn a hole through his suit. "But if you so much as think about trying something!--"

"I wouldn't dare," Roman almost smiled again, but he caught himself, nodding solemnly. "Scout's honour."

(a/n: AJHSF YOU BEST BELIEVE THAT MOFO IS NOT GONNA KEEP SCOUT'S HONOUR LMAOOOO 15K CHAPTER INCOMING PURRR MWAH IF U GOT THIS FAR)

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lovely little taglist<3:

@grimoireskin @babyslilbee @jacks4lifer @turnmeintoaflower

@fish-eyes-png @muchwita @555-hya-kai @ohperiodtpoohhh

@lunaskye999 @tvdxstan @sn0wybowie-blog @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry

@succubustacy @scarledy @prismozo @kittydiarys

@melancuntly @likecherriesinthespring @voidpixies @kikibit

@immernixia @a-differentbrandof-beans @loushaw131460 @moonlightstuffs

@humongoussweetsengineer @babyslilbee @eugsposts @upirlover

@jacks4lifer @sickopsychosicko @iamslytherin0 @luverofmine

@ilovekazz @romangodfreyisbae @luverofmine @thecatempire

@sam--sara @ilovekazz

[moonlightstuffs]

— Peace, brother. Peace.

[moonlightstuffs]

may i request for somewhat of a aemond x wife!reader crackfic? i just cant get the thought of aemond's wife suddenly going "if you really love me, catch me" and she just randomly jumps off a window or cliff or smth, knowing fairly well how sturdy she is and that she'll survive with a few broken bones max. but aemond doesn't know that and so he prince-charming-style-on-a-dragon saves the stupid lump that is the love of his life and goes "i do not appreciate these tests to measure my loyalty and love for you. first the question of whether or not i would love you as a worm. and now this stunt? what's next? make me choose between you or something very absurd?" "now that's an idea."

The Test Of Love

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: There is a saying that people do crazy things for those they love... Aemond has come to terms with the fact you're simply crazy.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, mom!reader, exasperated!aemond, 'dear gods its genetic' -aemond, crackfic, fluff, typos, etc."

A/N: THIS IS SO SPECIAL BECAUSE THIS IS MY FIRST AEMOND REQ HIHIHHHIHIHI HI NONNIE TYSM FOR THIS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT NONNIE MERRY CHRISTMAS ps i didnt name the child cos it seemed like too much responsibility nvm i felt bad for keeping him nameless also i used a translator for the high valyrian dont come for me if its wrong i like to imagine this gif is the moment aemond realized his wife is crazy and he's like 'aw shit' HAHAHHA Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda

"Kepa, kepa!" a small voice calls, alerting Aemond, who had been in his study, going through some papers.

Aemond turns to the little boy, eye roving over his wide violet eyes and short, stubby legs, deciding in that moment, he was not injured or harmed.

"What is it, my love?" Aemond asks in High Valyrian. He straightens from his seat, lips curving into a soft smile as his son makes it to his side.

Aemond brings him to his lap. He brushes Aurion's hair back with one hand while the other is secured around the side of his soft belly.

"Mother is-"

The sound of his father humming cuts Aurion off. Aemond's brow quirks as he looks at his child.

Aurion sighs, placing his tiny hand on his tiny face, correcting himself, "muña."

"Kessa, muña," Aemond nods in confirmation, continuing in High Valyrian, "very good, my boy. What about mother? Is she calling for me?"

"Muña ivestretan nyke..." the boy starts as he racks his head, thinking of the next words to say.

Aemond hums, translating his Aurion's words, word per word, "mother told you..."

"Naejot ivestragon ao..."

"To tell you," Aemond trails off.

"...bona ziry's jumping hen se jimy."

"..."

Aurion turns to his father, watching his kepa's eye widen at the information he relayed. Aurion blows air out of his lips, making buzzing sounds as he shifts in his father's lap.

Aemond is tense as his Aurion places his clammy hands on his father's cheeks.

"Say that again, boy," Aemond knits his brows.

"Muña--"

"In common tongue."

Aurion stands on his father's lap, stroking his kepa's long hair as he mumbled, "she said she was going to jump out the window, papa."

Aemond grabs his son's hand, making the child draw his eyes upon his father's worried one.

Aurion is indifferent as he continues, "she told me you were going to catch her before she f-"

A loud fit of laughs rip through the room when Aemond grabs Aurion and practically teleports outside, exactly where their bedroom window would be.

He didn't need to see to know you were there, as there were a bunch of worried servants outside, looking up with worried faced, making him worry ever more.

Aemond does not miss how one of them says, 'thank the gods the prince is here.'

Aemond drops his giggling son as he cranes his neck up.

I break into a wide smile and look over my shoulder when I hear my name being barked out, "hello, my love!"

Aemond's breath is extremely taxed as he walks beneath the ledge I was standing on, "GET INSIDE RIGHT NOW!"

I roll my eyes, not even turning to the open window as I opted to hammer on the stone wall before me. It was a bit difficult, seeing as my breast was pressed against the surface, as I did not have much room to walk on. Still, I pressed on so I could hang the twig figure my son made in a place it would get the attention it deserved, "I'm busy."

Aemond clenches his jaw, arms going out to the side in fear, ready to catch, if ever his extremely poor in decision making wife falls.

Aemond calls my name out again, more worried, less threatening.

I release a sigh and hang my child's creation on the nail, "Aurion, what did you tell your father? He's worried sick."

"That you were going to jump," the princeling plainly, making the servants around him exclaim in worry and horror.

I furrow my brows and snap my head Aurion, "that's not what-"

Alas, I do not get to finish, as my quick movements make my feet slip. I helplessly descend from the height. I grip the hammer tightly, not wanting it to crash on my husband's head.

With a huff and a heave, I find myself in Aemond's arms, Aemond, who is incredibly relieved and livid all at once.

"Hello, my lo-"

"You told him you were going to jump?!" Aemond quips, eye narrowing.

I raise a brow, throwing my arm around his shoulders, discarding the hammer off to the side with a loud thud, "I did not. I told him that if I fell, you would catch me."

Aemond's nostrils flair as he turns to look at his son, barking out his name impatiently, "what is the meaning of this?!"

Aurion shrugs, "I wanted to see mama jump."

Aemond eye twitches.

I scold him for this, but Aurion is all but affected by it. I turn to my husband and snort, kissing him quickly on the lips before jumping out of his arm. Aemond is frozen in his spot.

I beckon my son over. When he does, I point a finger at him, "what did I tell you about distorting the truth?"

Aurion sucks in his lips as he rolls back and forth on his heels. He avoids the question by saying, "you jumped anyway!"

"She did not jump, she fell," Aemond quips, stern expression moving from Aurion to me.

I knit my brows at him, "I chose to fall, because I knew you would catch me."

Aemond feels his false eye rattle in skull as he words darkly, "chose?"

"Oh, please," I roll my eyes, "I used to jump down from trees much higher than this as a child, Aemond."

"Mmm, right!" Aemond says tightly, "and you landed on a field of grass, not cold, hard, concrete!"

I shake my head at his words, "what does it matter? All this proves is that I was right."

"Right with madness?!" Aemond raises a hand, "right with what?!"

"That you would save me no matter what." I raise my chin when I say this.

Aemond is practically vibrating in anger, his stomach wound tightly with worry. It all evaporates when a hand goes to his face.

I smile at Aemond, rubbing the scar on his cheek.

He sighs, utterly defeated. He opts to lean into the affectionate touch.

I utter causally, "this reminds me of the time I jumped off Vhagar."

"YOU JUMPED OFF VHAGAR," Aurion exclaims with excitement and wonder

Aemond grabs my wrist as he pulls away, "I still have nightmares of it."

"Oh, please, you told me it was okay for me to do it."

"I DIDN'T ACTUALLY THINK YOU'D DO IT!"

I huff, pulling my hand away, "that was your mistake."

"I WANT TO JUMP OFF VHAGAR!" Aurion calls, jumping up and down.

"NO!" Aemond barks, pointing a finger between the two of us, "no one will ever jump off anything ever again!"

Aemond grunts where I laugh when Aurion dashes over to him. The boy crashes against his leg; the man reels back slightly. I snort when my husband looks away, knowing he was not strong enough to behold the puppy dog eyes that was surely being thrown at him.

"Pleaaaassseeee, kepa!" Aurion whines, "I'll promise I'll study High Valyrian even harder!"

Aemond scoffs, then peers down, eye narrowed, "say that in High Valyrian then."

Aurion scrunches his face in thought. He begins to turn a shade of scarlet. He slams his head onto his papa's thigh, "no fair..."

Aemond huffs, crouching down, gathering the boy into his arms, "I will not hear of this nonsense again, child."

"Kepaaaaaaa!"

"Enough," Aemond dismisses, turning to me. He reaches his hand out and I gladly take it. He sighs as he pulls me close, placing a kiss on my temple. When I lean into him, he shuts his eye and mutters, "kepa will not know what to do if anything ever happens to you and muña."

Our son makes a sound in protest, "but you will catch me if I fall, just like mama!"

I smile at the sentiment, reaching out to my child's cheek.

Aemond turns to his son, leaning his forehead onto his, "do me a favor and not follow into your mama's footsteps."

I snort, pulling away from Aemond.

"But mama's fun!" the boy pouts, "you're not."

Aemond presses his lips into a line.

I break into a fit of giggles, stopping in my tracks to bend over in amusement. Aemond is snorts and swiftly grabs me, cutting my laughter off. I am, without warning, manhandled over his shoulder. I shriek when my stomach is folds over him. I grab onto his back without much else left to do.

Hearing my sons giggles makes chuckles find their way out of my lips again.

"Spank your muña's bottom," Aemond commands. My son does not hesitate.

"Aemond!"

"You have been naughty," he quips, beginning to walk off, "and deserve every bit of punishment I will inflict on you tonight."

I am silenced by his words.

"Papa no!" Aurion exclaims, "mama's a good girl."

I bite my lips at the defense of my child.

"Mmm," Aemond hums, "we'll see about that."

[moonlightstuffs]

system failure (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, spanking, fingering, physical violence, hacking, intimidation, stalking, angst

summary: people cope with heartbreak in different ways, but you never expected this from Roman-- is it heartbreak or possession, though?

word count: 9,479

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a/n: this gif was too fitting to not use it twice tihi (you'll see), and this chapter is so JUICYYYY OUFFFF one of my favs so far, hope u enjoy!!<33

The bell above the bakery door chimed softly as I left it, a gust of warm air laced with sugar and butter following me out onto the quiet Thursday morning, eleven days later. 

264 hours.

15,840 minutes.

Eleven fucking days without Roman Godfrey.

... I felt like I was on the brink of death.

The world felt muted ever since I left his office, like someone had turned the saturation down on everything but the pastry bag in my hand, warm and a bit sticky at the bottom from the fresh (last) croissant I had practically begged for. My coffee steamed in the other, my sunglasses perched high enough on my nose to hide the wreckage Roman Godfrey had left on my face-- puffy eyes, and a new hollowness in my body that no amount of sleep, time, or food could fix. 

I hadn't stopped crying. Not one day. This was torture.

It was over between us; I would never see Roman again. The man whom I had spent months pining for had discarded me like no one ever had before, and he had left me with the biggest emotional scar of my life-- no, emotional gushing wound. 

So... pastries. Pastries. Yes, pastries. I was going to eat my way through this, alone and isolated, until I somehow managed to dig myself out of this hole and get a new job with a normal boss. Wouldn't it be good to have a normal workplace-appropriate relationship with a new boss? Preferably someone who was a woman. That way, all of this could be avoided completely. I had to try to look at this positively-- now that Roman was gone, I was free to cross my legs and masturbate without permission. I didn't need anyone's permission anymore, and that was...

Horrible. 

Ugh.

I missed the nausea of waiting for him to come into work. I missed the burning feeling of his large palm striking my ass until I whined and squirmed in his lap. I missed the games-- our games. And worst of all, in the midst of all my grief and misery, I found myself taking comfort in the fact that I was the one going through it, and not some other woman. Me. He had hurt me. In the worst way possible, it made me feel special, like I had been chosen, and...

Holy mother of fuck, I needed a therapist. 

But I was yanked out of my misery for just a moment when I held the door open for a lovely elderly couple, braving a smile that didn't reach my covered eyes, and that was when I spotted something way too familiar when I closed the door-- no, someone. 

I squinted past the haze of steam rising from my coffee and felt my chest twist before I even registered who it was-- Peter Rumancek.

Oh my.

He was standing just outside the small health-food deli across the street, squinting down into a paper bag like he was trying to identify a sandwich he hadn't actually ordered. His tie was crooked, jacket open, a soft brown curl stuck to the side of his cheek like he had rushed out without checking a mirror. The sleeves of his blazer were pushed up to his forearms in that half-practical, half-hopelessly rumpled way he always wore them, like he was still getting used to life behind a desk. But even in a suit, Peter always looked like he belonged somewhere else-- like he'd be more at home barefoot in a greenhouse, or riding shotgun in some junked-out truck with the windows down.

I always wondered how Peter ended up a paralegal. In another universe, I bet he'd be some nomad werewolf type. 

He didn't see me at first when I approached-- he was just standing there, quietly trying to balance a sandwich and the awkward length of his limbs all at once, minding his own business. But when he looked up, like he felt me looking, his entire face changed and broke out into a trying smile as he started crossing the busy street. 

"Oh," Peter said at the sight of my sunglasses, soft as always, already piecing together why I wore them on this cloudy day. "Oh no. Hey, kid."

I never got space to pretend I was okay-- not with Peter. He was the kind of person who saw through everything, and that was the problem with kind people; they can always tell when you are about to fall apart, even when you don't want them to.

"Hey," I croaked, and I tried for a smile. 

"You resigned?" Peter asked, quiet and cautious, already drowning in sympathy. "I heard about it last week. Thought you were just off on sick leave or something, but then you didn't come in any of the days this week, so..."

I nodded, eyes burning all over again behind my sunglasses. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I should've called,"

"Oh, don't worry about it," Peter's brown gaze swept over me-- my glasses, the swollen silence in my face, and the way I gripped my paper bag like it was keeping me upright. He didn't push. He didn't prod. I loved that about Peter. Instead, he held out his deli bag with one hand; "I accidentally ordered two sandwiches."

"... Oh?"

"Yeah. And one of them's sad and has sprouts, so obviously it's mine. The other one has pesto and cheese, and I'm lactose intolerant, so... take it?"

A small sound cracked out of me, similar to a laugh, and Peter smiled, soft and proud of himself, like he had been aiming for that.

"Come on, kid, walk with me," he murmured. "I have a meeting in fifteen. Which way are you going?"

I hesitated. The coffee was still warm in my hand. My croissant was falling apart in its wax paper sleeve. Roman was still lodged in my throat like a shard of glass I couldn't cough up. But Peter? Peter was warm and strange and impossibly gentle in a way that didn't ask anything of me.

I sniffed, then cleared my throat, trying to sound less like a disaster; "I'm going nowhere,"

"That's lucky," he murmured, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. "I'm a big fan of nowhere."

We walked in silence for a while, the kind that didn't press for answers-- something told me that Peter already knew why I had quit, and what had happened to me. How similar had the other secretaries' cases been to mine? I didn't dare to pry. A big part of me didn't want to know.

"I'll miss you. I've missed you," Peter mumbled, glancing up at the sky. "You were a breath of fresh air in the office."

Ow. "Oh, Peter..." A lump formed in my throat as I forced a breathy laugh; "Look on the bright side, though. I was always crying about something, and now you don't have to deal with it anymore."

Peter scoffed, shaking his head. "Stop that. You had all the reason to," He glanced down at me, sighing. "But I know this is about Roman. He's never been normal with a single one of his secretaries."

I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know. I was aware that Peter had been hinting at wanting to tell me for a while, but now that it was over, I didn't want to stir it. I didn't want to hear anything about Roman's previous and future affairs; it was time to separate. "I've missed you, too. Will keep doing so," I said, nudging Peter as I avoided the subject. "You made it bearable to work at that dreadful place. I would've been dead meat without you, y'know?"

Peter smiled at that, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something heavier behind them, something he had carried with him for longer than I had probably noticed, tucked between quiet moments and the way he always checked in without making it too obvious. He looked at me now like he was turning over some decision in his mind, chewing on it quietly behind that soft mouth and tired gaze.

And then, like it was nothing, Peter said; "I always thought I'd get a chance to take you out after the banquet,"

My steps slowed, just enough to feel it. The street carried on around us-- the buses, distant shouting, and the morning rush of people going places, but everything inside me went still.

Peter shrugged a little, stuffing one hand into the pocket of his slacks, his other still clutching his sandwiches. "Not that I ever had the timing for it. And I knew you were..." His voice trailed, and for once, he didn't finish that sentence. "Nothing ever happened between us," he added after a beat, more gently. "But I wanted it to. So I'm just wondering whether it's really, really inappropriate to ask you out so soon after all your stuff with Roman, or whether it's best to call you up in a month or so."

I stopped. 

So did he.

Peter turned to me, his kind, brown eyes not seeking anything other than the truth. There was a faint smile across his lips, like he was proud of himself for finally saying it out loud, but bracing for the worst.

God, how my heart thudded. Would this pain ever leave me? How was I supposed to go out with anyone after what Roman had done to me? What I thought had been the best date in the world, had turned into... whatever this had turned into. And I also knew that if Roman found out about me actually having anything going on with Peter, he might... fuck, I wasn't even sure what he'd do, but I had a feeling it would be bad. Really, really bad. Unless, he wouldn't even care to go after me. Oh, that would be so much worse...

"Peter," I tried. "I'm... I'm really flattered, but I'm not the girl you probably think I am."

Peter slightly tilted his head, that quiet, perceptive calm never wavering. He didn't rush to fill the silence or save me from it, like other people might.

I swallowed hard, the weight of it all catching in my chest like a rock that refused to move. "I'm fucked up," I said quietly, finally, like a resignation. To some degree, Roman was right, and I knew it. "I am. I'm sick in the head. Pain, to me, is love. I chase that nausea you get when you're worried about something, instead of warmth. There's something wrong with me, and even the most twisted of the twisted, the most fucked up man I know, couldn't even stomach me, so how?--" 

My voice cracked.

"Whatever you feel for me, Peter... It'll pass,"

It'll pass. 

Whatever she's feeling, it'll pass.

Gosh, we were so alike, and every atom of my body burned with how romantic I found it. 

But I should've foreseen his reaction-- there was none. Peter blinked, his faint smile never faltering, his head tilting just slightly as if to get a better look at me. "You're still so young," he murmured. "You say one thing, and feel the opposite."

"What?--"

"You're clearly wrecked right now, and you're not enjoying it. You're in pain, and you're not enjoying it. You wouldn't be wearing those sunglasses if you were,"

I could only blink, my mouth opening and closing. "Peter," I tried. "You don't-- I don't expect you to understand--"

"No, it's simple," he cut off, shaking his head. "I understand you fully. You're in denial."

"What? I'm not!--"

"Okay, let's put it this way," Peter's voice got stern as he straightened up, and so did I. "You are hurt now, yes?"

"... Yes, but?--"

"Do you find pleasure in it?"

I stilled. Never had I ever thought I'd have this conversation with Peter, of all people. 

Peter stared at me, the sandwich wrapper making a crunching noise as his grip on it faltered, aware that he was clutching it too hard. "Do you believe that whatever has been inflicted upon you to hurt you is a blessing, because it has been inflicted upon you and only you?"

I swallowed.

Oh... God.

"Yes," I breathed, welling up with tears behind the sunglasses. "In a twisted way, I feel... chosen. Scorned, but chosen."

Peter's eyes widened a smidge at the revelation before he nodded, giving a defeated sigh. "Okay... Maybe I'm wrong, then," His shoulders slouched just slightly, the way they always did when he'd given too much of himself and knew it wouldn't change the outcome-- it twisted my heart. "But I'll say one more thing before I go to catch this meeting, alright?"

The sun caught in his tired brown gaze, round and kind. "You don't scare me, kid," he murmured, warm and honeyed. "And I don't want to fix you. I just want to be someone you don't have to heal from, for once."

My heart stuttered before it stopped-- I froze in my spot as the sun framed Peter's head, giving him a halo, just as he deserved. I felt myself smile, an unfamiliar warmth tingling in the tips of my fingers. "Thank you," I breathed, unsure what to say, flustered. What I wanted to say felt illegal, felt like it would have consequences, but that was until I remembered that my executioner had retired-- I wasn't Roman's anymore. I was free to ask, so I asked; "Maybe, like... when I've settled down a bit, I could give you a call?"

Peter smiled, wide and real, like I had only seen Roman do once or twice. This could be the better choice for me. Peter could be. Right? Or... 

"Yeah. Call me," he said, soft and sweet. "I'll be here."

He stepped forward and pulled me into a hug-- one of those long, grounding Peter-hugs that wrapped all the way around me and didn't care if I cried into his shirt. I sighed against his chest, and I felt his hand move gently up and down my back, like he knew I hadn't been held like this in a while. 

Before I could speak, before I could even think of how to thank him for not asking me to be anything more than I already was, Peter pressed a kiss to the top of my head-- tender and wordless. "Go eat your croissant before it turns to cardboard," he muttered, pulling away with that crooked smile I knew and loved, handing me his extra sandwich. "Enjoy the sandwich."

I watched as Peter stepped away and rounded the corner, leaving me stunned in the aftermath of his warmth, like someone had just pulled a blanket over my body. The paper bag in my hands was suddenly heavier with both meaning and the sandwich, and the kiss on the top of my head-- God. It lingered like a soft handprint across my skull, the kind of comfort no one had ever offered me without asking something in return.

I didn't want to move-- not yet. I just wanted to stand there for a second, in the wake of someone being kind to me without strings, without shame, and without it being Letha. 

But then, as I turned around, cheeks flushed with remnants of a somewhat happy outcome of my situation, I spotted someone familiar down the street. I had no idea what made my eyes squint through the darkness of my sunglasses, but I was sure I recognized this person from somewhere-- and when I did, my breath caught, and my spine shot straight.

Standing on the opposite side of the road in a long, black coat that somehow made him look even taller... was Roman. 

After 264 hours.

After 15,840 minutes.

He was beautiful as always-- black coat tailored perfectly to contradict his pale skin, dark hair slightly roughed up like he had run his hands through it too many times this morning, green eyes glinting like shards of glass under the weak sunlight.

My breath stalled, and my coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim of my cup, but my fingers couldn't seem to remember how to tighten their grip; I was just as big a mess with coffee in and out of the office. The warm, buttery smell of my food felt absurdly out of place against the sharp chill he carried with him, and more than ever, I wanted to disappear into the sidewalk and die. 

However, it wasn't just his looks that had my stomach bottoming out-- it was the look he was giving me. Roman's big, green eyes were stunned, his lips parted slightly, like he couldn't quite piece together what he had just seen, like it broke him a hundred times over. He caught onto the way I was looking at him back, the slight tremble of my fingers around my bag, and he avoided my gaze to now glare at the spot where Peter had just stood, and--

Roman looked... devastated.

Oh God.

Had he just...?

He had seen everything.

Every ounce of comfort I had scraped together from my meeting with Peter vanished. Now, I was left with dread, and only dread. I was aware that I had told Roman that I never wanted to see him again, but now that he was here... God, how I burned for him. Divided by a road, just as we were separated by life, Roman and I stared at each other-- a part of me hoped he'd cross the street, that he'd fight for me, that he'd apologize and beg me to give him one last chance. 

But Roman only knew anger. He only knew the pain I loved so dearly. How was he supposed to know that love was worth chasing?

However... he was here. 

Why was he here? Roman never walked around aimlessly outside. He had his driver. If he wanted something from the bakery, he'd call upon someone to get it for him. 

My eyes rounded out-- he had come looking for me, hadn't he? He somehow knew where I was. How? Had he coded his way into my phone and tracked me down? Had he gotten a private investigator? Or was this perhaps just a chance of fate? Something told me it wasn't.

Roman had come looking for me and seen me with Peter, whom he had begged me not to get with.

Roman... went out looking for me. 

Roman hadn't let me go. I was still on his mind. He was bothered enough to come looking for me. He went out looking for me. How many times had he followed me? How many times hadn't I noticed? Roman was sick. Sick like me. Fucked up. Roman wasn't over it. It hadn't passed. It wouldn't pass. It wouldn't. It wouldn't. 

It would never pass.

I froze where I stood, pastry bag cutting into my palm, heart battering at my ribs. Could this really be?

But just as my mind started catching up, Roman's head turned sharply over his shoulder, that beautiful profile sharpening into something lethal. His gaze flicked to me for half a second, green, wild, and searing, before it snapped toward the direction Peter had disappeared.

And that was when his face changed.

I knew Roman Godfrey in every mood; smug, cruel, sweet, and untouchable. But this? This was something else entirely. A raw, twisted fury carved across his features, like the sight of Peter walking away after having kissed me like that had finally struck his last nerve. Roman's lips curled just slightly, his jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jump from across the street, and I saw every evil nerve in him flare up in his green eyes.

My stomach plummeted.

Oh no. 

And just as I expected, Roman moved-- coat flaring, long legs carrying him in a reckless dash down the sidewalk, straight in Peter's direction.

Panic shot straight through my system; "Roman, wait!" His name tore out of me before I could stop it, cracked and useless across the street noise. I took a quick step forward, my coffee immediately sloshing, my croissant and sandwich now nothing but limp, butter-soaked weight in my hand, and I could only groan at my added baggage. People turned their heads at the sudden blur of Roman rushing past them across the street, the elegant young man in black barreling forward with the look of someone who had finally lost control.

Oh God. This was not good. This was so not good. I had to do something, didn't I?

By the time I managed to give my coffee and pastries to the nearby homeless person (they needed it more than me anyway), I almost lost track of Roman-- thankfully, I saw the edge of his coat swishing past a street corner, and I dashed after him without a second thought. 

"Roman!" I called again, but it was swallowed instantly by traffic and the grind of morning rush.

He was too far ahead, too fast-- his long strides cut through the crowd like a knife, his black coat flaring at every turn. People parted instinctively for him, startled by the sheer force of his movement, or probably because they also recognized him from TV interviews and magazine covers; me, on the other hand, stumbled after, with my breath burning in my throat and sweat breaking cold at the base of my spine.

Don't do it, don't do it, please, please, don't do it!

I pushed harder, nearly slipping as I skidded past a fruit stand, my heart hammering in my ribs. I couldn't lose track of him, I couldn't let him get to Peter first, couldn't let him unleash whatever it was that I knew he could unleash--

But I was too late, too slow, too small.

Because up ahead, Roman reached Peter. He didn't slow, didn't hesitate, just grabbed him-- a violent snatch of his fist in Peter's jacket lapel, a twist of his body, and then with one brutal yank, Roman dragged him sideways into the dark cut of an alley.

It happened so fast my stomach dropped out of me, my pulse roaring in my ears. 

I dashed after them, lungs searing, until I reached the mouth of the alley-- and then, I froze.

Roman had Peter pinned.

His tall frame towered over the latter, black coat flaring out behind him like black wings, one hand fisted brutally in Peter's jacket while the other shoved him hard against the graffiti-scrawled wall. His body radiated raw, vibrating anger, every muscle coiled tight, green eyes blazing like they could set Peter alight right there against the bricks.

They were both yelling-- Roman's voice sharp and furious, and Peter's rising in defiance, but the words tangled and broke against the walls, loud without being clear. I couldn't make out what they were saying, and I didn't need to-- the violence in Roman's stance said enough. The rage carved into his jawline, the curve of his lip when he shouted something into Peter's face, and it was both terrifying and beautiful-- God, Roman was so beautiful. Even now. Especially now. I had almost forgotten what it was like to see him in person and how it stunned me every time.

But I snapped out of it when Peter shoved back, his hands braced to Roman's chest, but Roman only pressed in harder, shoving him flat against the wall with the force of his body. His height eclipsed Peter completely, dark hair falling over his forehead-- they were inches from each other, teeth bared, shouting over each other like dogs fighting over bones, and I couldn't look at it anymore.

"Hey!" I yelled. 

Both their heads snapped toward me instantly.

And just like that, Roman let go.

His fist released Peter's jacket in a sharp, almost dismissive flick, as though the fabric itself had burned him. Roman staggered a step back, coat swinging with the movement, his hands falling to his sides like he could erase the last thirty seconds if he just stood still enough. His chest heaved, the sharp rise and fall of it straining against his shirt, but he made no sound now-- no barking, no fury, just silence and the green fire of his eyes locked on mine.

Peter coughed once, adjusting his collar where Roman's grip had wrinkled it, his back still to the wall, but Roman... Roman straightened, smoothed down the lapel of his coat in one slow, deliberate movement, and it was almost laughable-- the pretence that nothing had happened, like he could stand there in the dim light, immaculate, beautiful, untouchable, and pretend he hadn't just dragged Peter into an alley like some feral, gorgeous demon. 

But the tremor in Roman's jaw gave him away-- the quiver in his hands, just barely hidden by the way he flexed his fingers, betrayed him.

He was rattled.

He wanted me to believe otherwise, but I had seen him. I had caught him.

Peter finally shoved off the wall, his breath still uneven, his sandwich long forgotten on the filthy ground. His eyes narrowed, shoulders squared; "What the fuck is your problem, man?" he snapped, his tone echoing sharp off the bricks. "Did you not have enough with lunging that coffee at Arnault? Gotta assault your employees now, too?!"

Roman's head turned toward him in one slow, lethal swivel, green eyes glittering with the kind of fury that looked sharp enough to cut. "It wasn't assault," he huffed. "I barely fucking touched you."

Peter groaned, rubbing at the crease Roman's fist had left in his jacket. "Right. Because shoving someone into a wall and screaming in their face is just... what? Foreplay to you? You're out of control! I could have you charged before you even make it back to the office!"

Roman's mouth curved-- not into a smile, but into something crueler, thinner. "Charged?" he echoed, his voice dripping with disdain. His gaze sliced across Peter like he was nothing, already dismissed. "You won't do a fucking thing."

And then, suddenly, his green eyes snapped to me.

To say I was horrified was to put it mildly, but to say I wasn't turned on by this whole ordeal would be... a blatant lie. Fuck. 

Roman's jaw flexed once, hard, like he was swallowing down the last of his rage before it could detonate again. And then, God help me, his expression shifted-- the cruel curl of his mouth softened, the blaze in his eyes dimming just enough to look almost human again. I knew he had practiced this; it was obvious, unnatural. 

"Hey," Roman said, low and steady, like we were the only two people in the alley. "I didn't mean for you to see that." His voice dropped, almost gentle, his shoulders eased like he remembered he had to stop looking so threatening to seem believable. "You caught me at a bad moment, that's all."

A flicker of something (regret? longing?) crossed Roman's face when I remained too stunned to answer, and then he tried it; the faintest hint of a smile, small and crooked, like he thought it could smooth over the crack in the earth he had just opened. "It's been a while. You look..." He faltered, his throat working before he finished, softer now. "God, you look good."

... What?

Behind him, Peter scoffed, muttering under his breath, but Roman didn't so much as bat an eyelash his way. Every ounce of his energy was locked on me, like he could drag me back into his orbit just by standing there, softening the edges of his cruelty with charisma.

My throat tightened. I hated how my chest ached, how every part of me wanted to melt at the sound of his voice, but another part, the clever part, spoke instead. "Roman," I croaked, my voice cracking under the weight of my pulse. "Did you... follow me?"

For the first time, Roman's smile wavered. A muscle jumped in his cheek, and then, smooth and practiced, he shook his head, like a true American psycho. "No? Of course not. What do you take me for?" His tone was easy, dismissive, like the thought itself was ridiculous, but his gaze flickered too quickly, betraying him.

Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. "For the record, stalking is a chargeable offence. You want me to list the penalties for harassment, or should I go straight to calling the cops?"

That was it-- Roman's entire body shifted in an instant. The softness was gone the second his head snapped toward Peter, and he was back to the scary version of himself I had just witnessed.

"Call them," Roman hissed, green eyes blazing murder, his voice a vicious snarl that rattled down the alley walls. He took a step forward, predatory, his coat snapping around his legs. "You'll have a really fun time trying to lawyer up against Shapiro when I call him, and even more fun when you're in jail dropping the soap in the showers tomorrow."

Oh, of course Roman had access to the most notorious defence lawyer in American history. 

Peter's jaw locked before he steadied himself, but Roman only pressed harder, advancing another step, his height and fury swallowing the space; "Say her name in your statement when you call, too," Roman spat, pointing one long finger back at me without breaking his glare from Peter. "See how fast the cops start asking why you were running into her during the meeting you were supposed to be conducting forty minutes ago. See how fast they dig."

Peter practically gasped; "What the fuck?! You're such a liar, my meeting starts in ten minutes, you're just saying that to make yourself look good in front of!--"

"Enough!" My voice cracked down the alley, louder than I intended, the word ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot. With trembling hands, my pulse battering through my throat, I forced the words out; "Both of you, just-- just drop it! Roman, leave him alone!"

Roman froze at the betrayal where he stood, his hand still half-raised like he wanted to drive his threats into Peter's skull. 

But Peter, in turn, exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering a curse as he bent down to snatch his discarded bag off the ground. The air between them was a live electric wire, thrumming with all the things they hadn't said and wouldn't say in front of me, but my words had cut just deep enough to stall them.

Peter straightened, his brown eyes finding mine, softer now, urgent, as he stepped toward me. "Come on, kid," he said, voice low but firm. "Let's get you out of here and away from this psycho." His hand reached for my arm, gentle but insistent, tugging me like he thought he could simply peel me out of Roman's orbit and force me into safety.

I swayed toward him for half a second, the sanity of Peter, the steadiness-- but then my eyes snapped to Roman.

My heart bled for him.

He stood there with his coat still flaring around his long legs, his chest heaving, and his jaw set in that terrifying, beautiful angle that made every cell in my body burn. His green eyes locked on me like nothing else in the world existed, raw and furious and desperate, like he would never forgive me if I let Peter walk me away.

I froze between them, Peter's hand warm on my wrist, Roman's gaze searing into my skin without even touching me.

My stomach dropped, my throat went dry-- I couldn't move.

Peter's fingers tightened gently around my wrist, urging, coaxing. "Let's go," he murmured, tugging me a half-step closer to him, away from Roman, away from the danger still vibrating in the air.

But then, seeing that I was about to be swayed-- Roman took a desperate step forward, dropping every act in the book, his true feelings cracking through the sentence that seemed to roll off his tongue without a second thought; "It's been eleven days,"

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried, low and raw and reverent, cutting through the noise of the street and the clutter in my head until it was the only thing I could hear.

Peter stilled, and so did I.

He... kept count, too?

Roman's chest rose once, sharp, before he pressed on, eyes never leaving mine. "I can't do this. I can't think, I can't sleep, I... I'm going nuts. Can we talk?"

Oh my God.

The words tore straight through me, my lungs stuttered, my knees nearly gave-- this was it, wasn't it? This was what I had prayed for every night I had cried into my pillow, what I had whispered into the dying bouquet of roses he gave me like a secret spell; that Roman would miss me, that he'd break, and that he'd finally say it.

And now, here it was.

Hot, stinging tears blurred my vision behind my sunglasses. Every cell in my body screamed to go to him, to cross the space and bury myself in his chest and let him say it again and again until it stuck, until it made sense, but--

Peter's grip on my wrist tightened, yanking me back into reality. "Don't," he said, his voice low but fierce, the edge of steel I rarely heard from him cutting through. "Don't fall for it. He's an obsessed freak, kid. He'll destroy you."

"No, I--" I breathed, torn, shaking my head. "He--"

"He what?" Peter snapped, his voice breaking like he had already lost me. "He follows you around the city like some deranged stalker? That's not romantic, that's a nightmare. You deserve better."

My chest caved in on itself. Roman's eyes, green, glassy, and furious, burned into me, his lips parting like he wanted to shout but couldn't find the words. "Please," he tried instead, the quietest sound I had ever heard from him. "I'm not looking for trouble. I just want to talk."

That was it-- that broke me. 

A sob clawed up my throat, but Peter tugged harder, pulling me out of the alley, step by step, until I stumbled after him, too weak to resist, too shattered to choose.

And... Roman didn't follow.

He just stood there, watching me leave, vibrating with the fury and ache of someone who'd been gutted alive, just like he had gutted me. When the alley finally curved and I could no longer see him, the sharp crack of his boot slamming into a metal trash can rang out behind me-- violent, desperate, the sound of him breaking.

And then... silence.

Roman Godfrey, left alone in the wreckage of his own actions, while I was dragged away in tears.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it truly was. I shouldn't be with a man who stalks me, right? Somebody who attacks my ex-coworkers for being in my vicinity?

But... my heart hadn't stopped racing since I left Roman in that alley a few hours ago.

I decided to put the nauseating adrenaline to good use. I couldn't think, but I had to. I couldn't breathe, but I had to. And now that I was out of a job, and probably soon-to-be broke, I told myself I'd do something practical tonight, which was job hunt-- anything that proved I could exist without him. If I could get myself a job at another place, I'd forget Roman faster, right?

Maybe then, it'd pass.

Maybe then, I'd forget his quiet little please.

I sat hunched over the glow of my laptop, pretending the pale light on my face was enough to bleach out the memory of Roman's green eyes across the street, and the fury in them as they pushed Peter up against that wall. God, I wish I had that croissant right now, next to my mug of sweet Earl Grey tea that had gone cold hours ago. Still, I was sure that the homeless person would enjoy it more than I ever would. 

Still, me being the procrastinator I was, I had opened a few tabs I definitely didn't need; one of them being one of my favourite porn videos with a suit-clad man that I had just started putting on in the background when I did random things. Was this unhealthy? Definitely. Did it give me some sort of odd comfort to see him spanking the tiny woman in his lap in some fake office setting? Sadly, yes. Did I need this after the mess in the alleyway earlier? Yes, a hundred times yes. No matter how far I distanced myself from Roman, I was afraid this part of me would stick to me forever. 

The message app with Letha was also open in the corner, right next to the separate window I had created to read through Roman's latest interview with Fortune (with tears in my eyes, of course), and look at his new model campaign with Yves Saint Laurent.

My lazy job hunt didn't seem to bring me any fruition. I couldn't detach from Roman.

With a sigh, rubbing my glossy eyes, I opened my mail inbox, clicking through my old email back-and-forths with Roman. I read them sometimes before I went to bed, simply to remember an easier time, and this time was no different-- however, a new email caught my eye this time at the top of the page: NEW from Dior: Fall Limited Lipstick Collection!

I didn't even think-- I saw the word Dior and clicked like an idiot.

From: Dior Beauty <dior-news@exclusivepromos.no>  

Subject: Exclusive Preview – Fall Limited Lipstick Collection  

──────────────────────────────  

Dior Beauty Newsletter | August 27, 2025  

──────────────────────────────  

Introducing the new **Rouge Dior Fall Collection** — a limited release of bold, satin-finish lipsticks inspired by the season's Paris runway shows.  

Shades include:  

• *Nocturne Rouge* – deep wine red  

• *Ambre Satin* – golden amber nude  

• *Vertige* – daring forest green  

Be the first to experience the collection before it officially launches in stores worldwide! Available for 24 hours only.  

[ ► Click here to unlock your exclusive preview! ]  

Your personal code: **DIOR264HRS**  

──────────────────────────────  

© Dior Parfums et Beauté 2025 – 30 Avenue Montaigne, Paris.  

This is an automated email. Please do not reply.  

To unsubscribe, click here.  

──────────────────────────────  

Why the fuck would Dior be making a... what was it, daring forest green lipstick? 

Oh, well. Seemed legit enough, right?

With a shrug, I clicked on the link, deciding I could at least gift myself some new makeup for all my troubles before my money ran out. For a second, nothing happened-- just a white page loading, loading, loading. 

I was about to close the tab until my cursor suddenly twitched... without me moving it.

Horrified, I could only watch as a small, white box opened in the right upper corner of my screen, and a line of code appeared at unmatched speed until it all culminated into a sentence.

Cute. That was easy.

"Fuck!" I gasped, slamming my mouse into the trackpad. The cursor wouldn't obey me-- it just sat there, frozen, while I jabbed at it with my finger like an idiot. I tried the keyboard, every command I could remember; escape, control-alt-delete, force quit, anything. Nothing worked.

Oh my God. Oh my God. I had finally done it. I had given my poor, battered laptop a virus because of Dior, of all things. Fucking Dior lipstick. This was what I got for being a materialistic idiot.

"Shit... Shit-- shit--" I muttered, practically stabbing the keys now, panic rising so fast I could feel it in my throat. My computer whirred, the fan going haywire like it was choking.

And then, more words appeared.

Oh, what do we have here?

The cursor twitched, and my browser tabs were shuffled around. The window with Letha's chat snapped shut, the porn video was thankfully still hidden behind tons of other open tabs, and the Fortune interview I had been reading earlier slid into the center of the screen.

The text box popped again, letters spilling out in a measured rhythm.

You were quick to quit the job, but this?

A pause-- the words erased themselves, and the cursor did a slow circle around Roman's face before the words got replaced with ones that made my blood run cold.

You're not so quick to quit me.

Without a second thought, I slammed my laptop shut. 

The impact rattled the desk, my mug sloshing cold tea across the wood. My breath came in ragged gasps, palms pressed flat to the laptop lid as though I could keep him trapped inside. What the fuck?! Was I dreaming? Could this seriously be real?

Hot tears blurred my vision. I couldn't breathe. It wasn't malware, it wasn't some faceless virus-- it was Roman. How was this possible? I knew that he knew how to code and hack, but that he'd go this far? Was this him getting back at me for what happened earlier with Peter? I had no idea. I didn't know what he wanted, but I knew there was only one way to find out.

Slowly, with trembling hands, I reopened my computer, sinking into my chair with a shaky exhale, hating the way my heart raced with excitement at realizing... he was here. I had no idea what came over me when I reached forward and traced the cursor with the pad of my finger, holding my breath as I drew a faint heart around it.

But it didn't take long before it moved again, and I flinched back into my seat, watching as the last words got erased in that small white box in the corner, and replaced by new ones. 

Sorry, did I scare you? Didn't mean to. Just not in the best mood after letting you go with Rumancek earlier, that's all. Didn't I tell you not to see him? 

Why was he here? Why was he hacking into my laptop and telling me what to do when he wanted me gone? I couldn't piece anything together. I pressed a shaking hand over my mouth as the cursor twitched again, sliding across the screen like an invisible fingertip, and my folders flickered open one by one, everything from documents to downloads to photos.

"No, no, no-- don't--" I whispered, my breath catching. 

Against my will, my photo album bloomed across the screen. There it was; rows of my own face, my life, moments I had meant to keep private, splayed out for Roman to see. My stomach clenched as the cursor drifted over them, slow and deliberate, like he was leafing through them with a lover's care.

The box typed again.

I've missed this. You.

What? My throat closed as the cursor tapped a photo taken by Letha in college-- it was me in the sun, laughing at something stupid, wearing my varsity jacket. That was a version of myself I barely remembered being. My cheeks burned as the image expanded, filling the screen.

Pretty. Mine. 

And then, before I could even move or react, a small email window popped open. My photo was dragged into the message body, addressed to a long string of letters and numbers-- a ghost address. His.

"Don't-- Roman, don't!--" I whispered, useless as ever.

The subject line blinked once, then filled in as 'souvenir'.

And then it was sent.

I slammed my hands against my desk, frustration taking hold of my emotions. "Fuck!" I yelled, but the cursor kept moving toward the hidden folder, clicking it and opening the password input tab. 

In his window, Roman wrote a '?' before a pop-up notification opened up on my computer, saying I now had dual control over my computer.

What? My cursor twitched under my hand, but this time, when I dragged it, it obeyed. Finally, I could move again. My breath came hard and shallow, adrenaline spiking as though I had just been released from handcuffs.

The white box pulsed.

Well?

Oh, that fucker. Did he really think I'd give him access? Or was he just giving me the illusion that I had some control? I bet Roman could get through this password with no problem, but oddly enough, he was giving me a choice. 

I opened my message tab after finding out I couldn't write anything in his white box, not caring that he was seeing my previous messages with Letha, and wrote: No!!!!

Roman's reply came instantly. 

No? It's not like I haven't seen you naked already.

I pressed harder--

GET OUT. 

My fan whirred, the only sound in the room, as I waited in suspense for what he'd do. Then, his letters appeared, slow and deliberate.

Fine. Won't pry here. I see you have something interesting elsewhere, anyway.

My blood turned to ice as I watched the dual control disappear, and I realized my mouse no longer worked. With my heart in my throat, I gripped the table, scooting closer with my nerves firing all over. Something told me I already knew where Roman was heading. 

The cursor clicked out of the password tab, slid across my desktop like a predator scenting blood, and with horrifying precision, it zeroed in on the corner I hoped he wouldn't notice.

The hidden tab blinked into the foreground. Gasping, my voice broke into a strangled sob as the video player expanded to full screen; "No! No, no, no, Roman, don't!--"

The moans hit me instantly through my laptop speakers, obscene in the quiet of my bedroom. There it was, all out in the open-- the suited man, his palm cracking across the thigh of some tiny girl in his lap, spanking her until she whimpered, squirming in a way that made my stomach churn every butterfly.

My cheeks blazed hot as my hands clawed at the keyboard, but the video controls flickered grey, locked. I couldn't stop it, and I felt my eyes burn as I buried them in my palm. Was this really happening? Why couldn't Roman leave me alone, just as he had wanted to? Why was he doing his to me?

The white box pulsed again.

Oh, I've seen this one before. 

I went rigid, my pulse hammering so hard I swore I could hear it in my ears. Of course he had. My breath stuttered, hands trembling against the desk as though pressing hard enough into the wood might make the whole laptop dissolve. The moans on screen kept building, the suited man's hand snapping down in rhythm, the girl writhing in his lap like I used to in Roman's perfect lap. I couldn't watch, couldn't breathe, but I also couldn't close my eyes.

The cursor twitched, and more words rolled out with surgical calm.

He's too rough, though. It doesn't even hurt right. It's also missing something, I think. He's not touching her properly or giving her any relief. It's almost cruel. Poor girl. I wouldn't do that to you, and you know it.

I let in a shaky inhale, hot shame sparking through me. I hated how I agreed with him. I hated that I had thought those exact things before. My throat worked, desperate for air, as the cursor moved like it could see me blushing, see me squirm.

Remember how I used to touch you? I miss that. I miss you. I thought that would pass, but it hasn't. I'm starting to think it never will. 

I froze, every part of me locked in place like the sentence had reached out and wrapped around my throat. Why was he saying that he missed me? He was the one who ended it, who said I couldn't handle him, who said it was better this way? I hated the rush of heat that bloomed low in my stomach at his words, hated how my heart thrashed so violently in my ribcage, hated how much of me wanted to believe him.

The white box pulsed.

Let's watch something else. Saw this the other day and thought about how I wanted to do this with you someday.

The cursor moved again, out of the white box, and wrote a new website address. 

I felt my mouth go dry as a new video appeared within a few seconds-- I crossed my legs without a second thought, leaning closer to my screen as my eyes widened at the sight. It wasn't something dark, which I'd expect of Roman, but it was... nice? 

It was surprisingly intimate, with a girl splayed out in some man's lap, his fingers deep inside of her, moving in and out slowly as they kissed-- she whimpered into his mouth, her hips bucked softly up against his hand, and he held her tighter against him on the bed, holding her as she trembled against him and clutched his hair, pulling him closer. 

My lips parted, a soundless breath leaving me. What was going on? Did Roman really think about me like this? With softness? Why had he left me in the first place, then?! My thoughts were racing as my eyes darted to the new sentence he was typing into the top of my page. 

This is probably what you'd get with Rumancek. Is that why you were all over him today? Is that why you left with him? Are you really getting with him, as you said you would? Cruel.

I couldn't tell if the heat in my face was from shame, rage, or the echo of that sick, private thrill that he had seen me with Peter, that he had been stalking me. All over him, though? I certainly hadn't been. Peter had kissed the top of my head in a moment of comfort, and I hadn't kissed him back or anything?! Jealous bastard. He had no right to be. God, how I loved that Roman had gone to the lengths of stalking me, and I hated that I loved it.

I caught my eyes darting back to the video, watching as the girl arched of the bed, her legs trembling just slightly when the man took his fingers out of her, realizing she was close-- she cried out softly into the crook of his neck at the denial, and he teasingly bit her ear, cooing at her with words I didn't catch in this hazy state. 

The cursor pulsed again, and the new line came slower this time, like Roman was choosing the words with painful precision.

What will you do when you need him to snap you out of something, though? Like the time you went nuts about those models when I was gone in Geneva and needed me to spank it out of you? 

The words sat there, stark against the screen, as if he had carved them into me. Geneva. The models. That night. That was a whole lifetime ago. My cheeks burned with the memory before I could stop it, the humiliation and the heat braided together so tightly it made my skin prickle. He remembered every detail, every unguarded moment, and now he was using it like a weapon.

I dug my nails into my palms until it hurt, until the sting anchored me and cleared my head-- it was time to fight back.

My fingers started slamming against the keys, sharp and graceless, trying every command I could think of-- control-alt-delete, escape, command-Q, anything. I jabbed my mouse until the trackpad squealed under the pressure, clicking again and again, frantic, like maybe sheer force could break me out of Roman's technological grip. The screen flickered in protest, tabs jittering, my cursor twitching across the screen.

The white box pulsed.

What are you doing?

I gritted my teeth, pounding harder, ignoring the panic clawing at my throat. A menu appeared for half a second before he yanked it away. I hit another combination-- nothing. Another-- still nothing. My heart thundered so violently it made my fingers shake, but I didn't stop, not even when the fan wailed and the cursor seized like it was short-circuiting.

And then, as if he were... amused, or maybe impressed, the white box flickered again.

You really want to talk that badly?

My stomach dropped, but my hands didn't stop moving, clicking, slamming, forcing, until my cursor suddenly moved. Not frozen-- obedient and mine. I gasped, air tearing into my chest as the fan slowed, the controls unlocked, and the weight lifted from my screen like a phantom blanket.

A single notification bloomed at the bottom of the screen: "You now have permission to type."

I blinked, stunned, before my fingers raced over the keyboard, desperate, frantic, letters smearing across the message window like a scream held inside for too long--

YOU DON'T GET TO LEAVE ME AND CRAWL BACK INTO MY HEAD BECAUSE YOU ARE BORED. 

YOU HAVE NO POWER HERE.

The words blazed across the screen, jagged and uneven, but they were mine. Mine. My chest heaved, every inhale sharp enough to sting. The cursor blinked, waiting for his reply, but I didn't give him the satisfaction. I was already moving.

With a furious jab of the trackpad, I shoved the porn window back into the shadows where it belonged, and with another click, I opened another tab. A job search engine flickered open, its sterile white background staring back at me for the first time since I applied to my job at Godfrey Industries.

My fingers flew over the keys, half-shaking, half-steady, finding the job I had previously glanced at and deemed the best fit. My determination sliced through the haze of adrenaline as I dragged my CV into the last box, typing in the rest with speed I didn't know I had, afraid Roman would take control over the computer before I could submit it-- but I managed.

Name. Experience. Cover letter. Everything.

The way I smashed the button and clicked submit landed like a nail in the coffin. Let him watch. Let him choke on it.

I just didn't expect the way I choked on it, too. With a sudden sob, I leaned over my desk, squeezing my eyes shut in horror. I had put off sending in my CV anywhere because somewhere, deep inside my gut, I knew that'd make it more real that I didn't work at Godfrey Industries anymore, and that my life had changed for the worse. 

The silence stretched. My laptop fan spun, the glow of the confirmation page bleaching my tear-streaked face, but the white box remained still. For a second, I thought Roman had left, that maybe I had won... until the cursor twitched, hesitant, almost uncertain.

Three words appeared.

I miss you.

At that, my heart lurched violently, betraying me. "Liar," I breathed out loud, shaking my head in denial. 

The cursor blinked once, twice, before new words spilled into the box, sharper this time, stripped of hesitation.

It's enough now. I want you back, and I will get you back. You are mine, not Rumancek's, so come back to me. Forgive me already. I don't want to be without you anymore.

My mouth fell open in disbelief, my tears drying hot on my skin as my chest burned with fury. Did Roman really think he could hack his way into my machine, claw through my privacy, dangle a confession like a bone thrown to a starving dog, and then order me back like nothing had happened? 

I slammed the heel of my palm against the desk, rattling the mug that had already bled tea across the wood. My hands shook, but I forced my fingers to steady as they found the keys again, pounding them until the words screamed across the box:

I can't forgive you. 

The sentence pulsed on the screen like a wound, raw and ugly, and I hated how my vision swam the moment I was done typing. I couldn't go back to him. I really couldn't. Not on these terms. What would happen if I did? Nothing would change. Roman wouldn't. Maybe he couldn't? He'd still flinch at intimacy, and he'd probably run the next time he saw something in me that he recognized in himself. 

The cursor sat still for a long, unbearable moment, until the letters rolled out:

Don't make me beg. 

... What?

I stared, frozen, blood roaring in my ears. The words landed like teeth on my skin, sharp and intimate, a threat and a plea in one. Roman Godfrey didn't beg. He ordered, he consumed, he ruined-- he didn't beg. And yet...

Before I could stop myself, my fingers pressed to the keys, shaky but deliberate, like I was stepping off a cliff with my eyes open.

Beg.

The cursor blinked. Once. Twice. The pause stretched so long it felt like my heart would split in two, until Roman slowly opened... my Spotify? My account had been logged out of, but I watched as Roman typed in my Spotify username and password like he had done it before-- he definitely had. That meant that he had seen the playlist I named after him, and... ugh, that was mortifying. 

But as I waited in suspense for some sort of pleading from his side, he simply clicked into a playlist I made back in college, and put on the most gutting song ever made like it was second nature-- something told me he also put it on for himself before.

The haunting intro to Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley played as his white box vanished, snapped out of existence, leaving only the sterile glow of the job site, the confirmation email blinking in my inbox, and my own reflection in the dark glass of my screen, tear-streaked and hollow-eyed.

Roman was gone.

I had been right. Nothing had changed. He wouldn't beg for me. He wouldn't, no matter how much he claimed to want me back. 

I hated the way my heart stuttered with the pain of being left again. Roman didn't love me-- he wanted to possess me. It was confirmed for the nth time, and I put my head down against my desk, letting my tears fall as I clutched my chest, feeling it seize with the pain.

No matter how much he missed me...

Roman Godfrey would never beg, and that was the difference between us both.

(a/n: I'm just gonna...... leave this one here for y'all)

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lovely little taglist<3:

@grimoireskin @babyslilbee @jacks4lifer @turnmeintoaflower

@fish-eyes-png @muchwita @555-hya-kai @ohperiodtpoohhh

@lunaskye999 @tvdxstan @sn0wybowie-blog @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry

@succubustacy @scarledy @prismozo @kittydiarys

@melancuntly @likecherriesinthespring @voidpixies @kikibit

@immernixia @a-differentbrandof-beans @loushaw131460 @moonlightstuffs

@humongoussweetsengineer @babyslilbee @eugsposts @upirlover

@jacks4lifer @sickopsychosicko @iamslytherin0 @luverofmine

@ilovekazz @romangodfreyisbae @luverofmine @thecatempire

@sam--sara @ilovekazz

[moonlightstuffs]

withdrawals (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: angst, fluff because Letha is an angel, and REVENGE!!

summary: now that you are left with a Roman-shaped hole in your heart after your perfect date, you have to navigate how to heal it-- you might have to stand your ground and... leave. will he let you, though? is that even possible now that you know you are both perfect for each other?

word count: 10,062

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a/n: this chapter has been rewritten about seven to eight times, this has been HELL, but I'm so happy w how it turned out!!! a big part of this chapter is rlly satisfying if you narrow ur gaze!! also, this gif is how I imagine Roman in the last scene here oop, enjoy!!!<333

Click, click, click, ticked the clock. 

It's 12:04, it said. Get out of bed, it said. 

Click, click, click, ticked the clock.

It's 14:37, it said. Get out of bed, it said.

Click, click, click, ticked the clock.

It's 15:23, it said. People have called. You didn't go to work. You might get fired, or even worse, get in big trouble, it said. Are you not worried? Have you no fear anymore? You have loved, so you will love again. That is the way of the earth. Get out of bed, my child. Get up, it said.

... Fuck off, I said. 

And just like that, the day passed by as I stayed in bed, face down into the pillow where Roman's head had briefly lain last night, dropping tears into the scent of him. It was a quiet resignation-- no trembling sobs, no all-taking heaves of air, but simply my body emptying itself as I stared at the wall to my side, hoping I would decompose faster.

Like this, I hoped to soon be one with the earth. I hoped I'd rot quickly, and maybe let a willow tree push its roots through the waste of my being-- maybe then, something beautiful would have come of my existence. Maybe the tree wouldn't inherit my sickness; maybe the tree would be breathtakingly gorgeous, in the name of the spirit I once had? That was a soothing thought. 

I hadn't moved since I woke up around eleven. Not a muscle. Not one. 

My body didn't even flinch when I heard keys jangling in the distance; my body didn't care when it heard the front door open. There was only one other person in the world who had a spare key, anyway. 

Quiet and gracious as ever, Letha appeared in the doorframe of my bedroom. Perfect, blonde Letha-- how many nights hadn't I stayed up back in college, wishing I'd wake up and be her? 

She didn't say anything; the first thing she did was to sit down by my side, her weight slightly indenting the bed as she bent over my body, pressing her newly manicured fingers to my neck, checking my pulse, just in case I was as dead as I looked. With a sigh of relief, Letha got up, reaching for my blinds and pulling them apart with one quick, rash yank.

At that, I hissed like a nocturnal vampire. It was pure instinct, and my body got yanked out of its hibernation-- every part of it hurt, now that it finally moved. I realized I didn't have any blood in my right arm, a sensation I hadn't felt since I fell asleep on my couch back when I was thirteen, and I moved to let it hang off the bed, hoping the blood in my body would travel faster to my fingers. 

"You absolute gremlin, I've been calling you since ten!" Letha huffed, worry coating her voice. I couldn't quite see her, as my eyes were still drowning in sleep, my vision blurring over her silhouette when I tried to look at her. "I stopped by work to ask you how the date went, only to find the receptionist filling in for you today, and Roman yelling at some poor intern by the copy machine. What the hell is going on?"

"I'm sick," was all I managed, hoarse, voice coated by a layer of sleep. "Go away."

Letha put her hand on her hip, slightly bending down to try to meet my unfocused eyes. "If you're sick, then I'm staying," she huffed. "You obviously can't take care of yourself, and I have nothing to do today, other than getting to a Manolo Blahnik shoe sale before they close at ten."

How was I supposed to explain this to her? Another tired, lonely tear joined the rest of them commemorated on my pillow, and I let out a shaky sigh. "I'm sick," I breathed. "Go away."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time, dingbat," Letha's voice was careful yet light, and there was a faint edge of confusion beneath it, like she couldn't quite place what she had walked into. "But you're usually not... crying like this when you're sick. God, what happened to you?" she muttered, half to herself. "You were glowing yesterday! I've never seen you like that before, y'know? You couldn't stop smiling when you said you needed to go meet Roman at your door... Please don't tell me he did something to you?"

My chest seized like Letha had reached in and ripped something raw and ugly out of me.

Roman.

The name alone cracked something deep inside my ribcage, and before I knew it, my breath hitched hard, and my throat burned. I tried to swallow it down, but it was useless-- the tears that were already spilling went faster as they were joined by many more, hot and fast, and my face contorted with the effort not to sob. A broken sound escaped me, pathetic and desperate, and I curled in on myself like I could hide from it.

Letha froze, stunned for a beat before she slowly sat down beside me again. "Oh,  sweetheart," she whispered, putting her hand on my back. "Please talk to me. You're scaring the crap out of me, here."

"I..." My voice cracked on the first attempt, the word becoming more air than sound. I squeezed my eyes shut, another sob shaking through me as I fought for breath. "I can't--" I hiccupped, my chest caving in on itself. "I don't... know how to--"

"Hey, hey..." Letha murmured, rubbing small circles on my back now, her voice soft but urgent, like she was trying to pull me out of whatever hell I had fallen into. "Breathe first, darling. Just breathe. I've got you."

I didn't want to breathe, didn't want to keep existing. With every breath I took, it served as a reminder that I had to go through another inhale, another exhale, and another second of conscious torture. "He--" I managed, my lips trembling. "He left." My eyes squeezed shut again, hot tears soaking the pillow as the words tore out of me. "He-- God, Letha, he left me."

"Left you?" Letha echoed, her green eyes rounding out. I couldn't look at them; she looked exactly like him. "Did he leave early, or something? Was the date that bad?"

... Bad? 

"No," My body curled tighter, like maybe if I made myself small enough, the pain would stop consuming me; "It was-- it was perfect."

Letha's brows drew together in a look of confused concern I hadn't seen before. "Then... why are you crying?" 

I let out a sharp, shaky breath that almost turned into a sob halfway through. My fingers dug harder into the sheets, twisting them like they might hold me together when I was splintering apart. "Because it was perfect," I choked out, my voice raw, uneven. "And it still wasn't enough. Nothing-- nothing will ever be enough for him. I won't be. He won't let me be."

For a long moment, Letha just stared at me, stunned into silence. "What do you mean, Roman won't let you?" she asked, low and hesitant. There was no certainty in her tone this time, no wisdom to offer-- just genuine confusion that mirrored my own.

I dragged in a shaky breath, my chest hitching as I tried to speak. "He told me how he planned everything," I whispered. "He-- He told me everything, how he had spent all this time planning how to get me to-- to work for him, because he saw me at our graduation, and I... found it kind of romantic? I didn't care? But that freaked him out, and now he thinks we're too alike, and he says-- he says I'm fucked up, Letha! Fucked up!"

Letha stayed frozen for a long, painful moment, like my shocking ramble just wouldn't compute. But then, slowly, she sat back a little, pressing a hand to her forehead like she needed to physically hold her thoughts in place. "Okay," she breathed, trying to keep her voice steady and failing. "Okay... I mean... Roman doesn't really know how to want things like normal people do, and we can both blame my aunt Olivia for that. But you're not fucked up, honey, you know that, right? He's taking his feelings about himself out on you, and that's not fair. You don't have to stand for it."

I buried my face deeper into the pillow; it still smelled like Roman. Horrifying, damning consolation. I hoped it would never fade. "But I am!" I cried. "And I know I'm fucked up, and-- I know he is too, so I just-- I said so many stupid, humiliating things, because I wanted us to be sick together, just me and-- me and Roman!" 

Letha's hand found the back of my head, fingers slipping gently through my hair, nails grazing my scalp in the comforting way only she ever managed to do right. "Oh, baby..." she breathed, her voice soft and raw, breaking just a little. She shifted closer on the bed, curling toward me until her lips were brushing my temple-- she placed a kiss, light and lingering, before she whispered again; "You poor thing..."

I hiccupped, humiliated, aching, yet clinging to the warmth of her touch as tears streamed down my face.

"I know you want him. Believe me, I see you," Letha tried, as her hand kept stroking my hair, rhythmic and soothing. "But I can't have you walking around thinking you're sick in the head because of my stupid, piece of shit cousin. Just because... you hump his shoe from time to time, or whatever it is you do, doesn't make you sick or fucked up. Him neither. People are different, people like different things... It's completely natural. You just found someone you clicked with, that's all, and you will find someone like that again."

"I won't," I cried, shaking my head. "I wanted him! And I just wanted him to stay... Just this once, I wanted someone to stay!"

Letha sighed softly, not in exasperation, but in that heart-deep kind of sadness that comes from watching someone you love crumble in front of you. She shifted closer, her arm sliding under my neck until she was half-cradling me, pressing another soft kiss into my hair like she could anchor me to the world with a small act of tenderness.

"Here's the good news," she murmured, rocking me slightly, the bed dipping with our movements. "I'm staying. I'm not going anywhere. Not even to that Manolo Blahnik shoe sale, so you best believe that means I love you to death. And before you protest, I count as someone who won't leave you in this instance, because I'm a person, and you are going to let me stay. Alright?"

All I could do was nod. My throat felt scraped raw, like every word I had said had been dragged out over glass, and there was nothing else to give. I truly had nothing else to give-- I had given every bit of myself to Roman last night. 

Letha smoothed my hair back, her touch featherlight as though I might shatter if she pressed too hard. "Okay," she whispered, like she had been holding her breath waiting for that one nod. "Okay, baby girl, let's get you up, yeah? My diva ain't going down. You'll feel better once you've showered. C'mon."

She moved slowly, careful not to jostle me too much as she coaxed me upright. My body felt like lead, every joint stiff from lying still too long, but Letha's hands were steady at my back, guiding me to my feet. I swayed once, twice, but she didn't let go, just hooked an arm around me like she was tethering me to gravity. Thankfully, my arm had gained all its blood back, and it wasn't prickling painfully like before.

The hallway felt strange, like walking through someone else's house, my bare feet dragging over the floor. My head was heavy, my eyes raw and swollen, every breath uneven as I remembered how I had stumbled through it with Roman last night, barely able to detach from our kisses long enough to speak. I held myself together, but that was until we passed the small console table by the door, where a vase stood, holding a massive bouquet of long-stemmed roses.

Roman's roses.

My breath stuttered. He must've put them there himself after he left me. Even now, after everything, he had cared enough to do that? Or maybe it wasn't care at all-- maybe it was guilt, penance, something to absolve him of what he had done to me, to us, before he walked out the door?

I stared at the flowers as we passed, my chest aching so sharply I thought I might fold in half. Letha glanced at me, at the way my eyes lingered, but she didn't say anything-- she just tightened her hold on my arm, steering me toward the bathroom like she knew if we stopped, I'd crumble all over again.

The tiles were cool under my feet when we reached the bathroom, the soft sound of Letha turning on the water filling the small space. Steam began to curl upward, fogging the mirror, but I just stood there, empty, watching it rise.

Letha didn't say a word. She just glanced at me once, Godfrey-green eyes soft but firm, before she stepped right into the shower, fully clothed, and tugged me in with her. My feet skidded a little on the tile, but that wasn't my biggest concern for long-- the cold spray of the shower hit my skin like an electric shock.

"Ah!" I yelped, a strangled, startled scream ripping out of me as icy water soaked through my shirt and hit my scalp. "Letha, I-- fuck!"

"You stink," she huffed, blunt in true Godfrey fashion. "Like you haven't moved all day."

Letha didn't flinch at the temperature-- her hands were already on me, moving with brisk efficiency, pushing my hair back, making sure the water hit my neck, my arms, my chest. My thin shirt clung to me instantly, heavy with water, and I shivered hard, hugging my arms to my body.

"I haven't," I rasped, my voice wrecked from crying. The cold was shocking, almost unbearable, but maybe that was good? Maybe I needed it to feel something other than the hollow pit Roman had left in my chest? Yes. Certainly.

Letha ignored my further protests and tilted my head forward, running her fingers through my hair as the water cascaded down. She didn't care that her own clothes were plastered to her skin now, dripping, cold-- she was entirely focused on me, on washing the grief off me by sheer force of will, even if it meant drowning herself in it too. "It's okay," she murmured, half under her breath, as if more to herself than me. "We're just getting clean. That's all. Just clean."

I squeezed my eyes shut, water streaming down my face, unsure whether it was more tears or the shower soaking my cheeks. My chest cracked on a sob, louder this time, ragged, desperate, but Letha just kept her hands moving through my hair, steady, like she'd hold me up forever if she had to.

... And something told me she would. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This must be how addicts feel, to some extent. 

Knowing I was losing Roman made me itch like I was going through withdrawals, and it only made my grip tighten on the sandwich Letha had bought me at the bougie kiosk by the park we were currently in. Later that same day, shoulder to shoulder, we sat together on a bench which had (very romantically) been commemorated with a large inscription in metal.

To Hannah, my beloved, my best friend, in crime and in death.

The sandwich sat untouched in my hands as I wondered how nice Hannah must've felt when she found out she had gotten a bench like this in her name. Still, I couldn't help but wonder whether Hannah had died, and maybe that was why she had gotten this bench-- would she have been commemorated like this if she were alive? Did I have to die for Roman to realize we were meant to be together? That'd be awfully dramatic, but on brand for me, to some extent. 

Letha hadn't said anything in a while. She would sometimes bat her green eyes down at my sandwich and nudge me as a reminder to eat, but when I kept on staring out into the distance, she'd sigh and take another bite of her own. Something told me she knew what it felt like to be in this state, seeing as she had a rather long and excessive dating record herself, and she knew what I needed, which was peace.

However, she broke it after about five minutes or so;

"Ever tried it up the ass?"

I didn't need to bite into my sandwich to choke. I did so all by myself, on air, out in the open, in the park. 

Letha laughed, nudging me once again. "What? Don't be so outraged!"

I whipped my head toward her, eyes wide, words sputtering out like I had been doused in an ice shower for the second time today. "Letha!" My voice cracked halfway through her name, horrified and, for the first time today, a little alive; "What the hell kind of question is that?"

In normal Letha fashion, she simply shrugged like this was casual brunch talk-- her glossy hair swayed over her shoulder as she took another bite of her sandwich, completely unfazed. "I'm just saying..." she mumbled around a mouthful of lettuce, before swallowing and licking a bit of mayo off her thumb. "First time I tried it, I cried for three days. Felt filthy. Sick, too, which is your favourite word of the day." She tilted her head toward me, eyes sparkling a little with mischief but soft underneath. "And not even in a hot way. I wasn't crazy about him like you're with Roman, so I just waddled around with a sore ass for no reason other than wanting him to think I was cool."

I blinked at her, stunned into silence, my grip tightening on the sandwich like it might save me from the direction of this conversation.

Letha leaned back against the bench, crossing her legs with a dramatic sigh. "Moral of the story is," she said, turning her head to look at me properly, her tone shifting quieter, gentler; "Men are disgusting. Waddle away from them with pride." She reached over, brushing a tear track off my cheek with her thumb. "At least you tried. You have a lot to be proud of. I'm proud of you."

Only Letha Godfrey could give this kind of a pep talk. Only Letha.

A tiny, choked laugh escaped me despite the ache still rooted in my chest. "Thanks, Lee, but... who even was this guy?"

"... Barty," Letha grinned as she bit into her sandwich again. "The one and only Bartholomew."

Had I not felt heavier than a rock with grief, I'd have rolled off the bench with laughter. But now, all I could give Letha was a small smile, accompanied by the first bite of my sandwich. "I love you," I mumbled, mouth full of lettuce and bacon. "You're kinda sick, too."

Letha had a wicked glint in her eye as she watched me eat for the first time today. "The best people are," she said, almost smugly, before her gaze softened again. She glanced at me sideways, chewing slowly, as if weighing her next words.

Then, like she couldn't help herself, she asked; "So... not that I want to know every detail, because he's my cousin, and I'm already traumatised from the shoe-humping, but... did you sleep with him?"

I froze, mid-bite, blinking at her in confusion. Why did she want to know? "I, uh... yeah. Why?"

She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug, but there was a flicker of real concern behind her nonchalance. "I mean... he didn't... do anything you didn't want, right? That's not partly why you're so wrecked today?"

"No!" I said, the word breaking out of me in a rush. "God, no, Letha, that's-- he didn't hurt me. Everything on that front was nice." My throat tightened, a wave of conflicting feelings washing over me, sharp and overwhelming. "He was nice... Not too patient, but very nice," I admitted, voice barely above a whisper, like confessing it out loud made me pathetic somehow. 

Letha let out a soft breath I hadn't realized she'd been holding, leaning back slightly on the bench. "Okay, good. Because I swear, if I had to kick his ass for traumatizing you, I'd do it, cousin or not," She glanced at me, her tone teasing but her eyes still sharp and searching. "And I'd win, by the way."

A tiny, humourless laugh slipped from me, more like a shaky exhale than a real sound. "You'd lose so bad," I murmured, trying to picture that fight. Roman and Letha in a brawl? God, I was losing my mind. "He's Mount Everest, and you're... Smurfette."

Letha smirked, picking at her sandwich. "Fuck you," Then, with a faint wrinkle of her nose, she muttered; "Ugh, this is so weird to ask because... family, ew-- but judging from your face right now, I'm guessing it was good, then?"

Heat crawled up my neck, my stomach twisting painfully as I stared down at the barely-eaten sandwich in my hands. The best sex ever, that's what that had been, but Letha didn't need to know that about her cousin. When I kept quiet, not saying a word, that alone seemed to give Letha her answer.

"Yeah?" she said knowingly, her grin creeping back softer this time, almost fond. "That good, huh?--"

"Shut up!" I wasn't about to talk about this. The more I thought about my night with Roman, the more I felt the urge to cry, and I had only just started to feel a smidge lighter. 

However, just as I was halfway through chewing the next bite of my sandwich, I heard the obnoxious ringing tune of Do You Believe In Life After Love by Cher coming from Letha's purse. With a slow turn of my head, I deadpanned her with my eyes, watching as her ears reddened. 

Letha froze mid-bite, her sandwich halfway to her mouth, gaze darting to her purse like it had just betrayed her deepest secret. "Don't," she warned, voice tight, already fumbling for the phone. "I like Cher."

The second she pulled her phone up, I was already choking on my half-chewed bite of sandwich, panic lurching through me like a violent wave. My stomach knotted so hard it made my throat seize, and suddenly I couldn't swallow or breathe properly. "Oh my God," I gasped through a gag, my voice strangled. "Is that him?"

Letha's green eyes went wide, then flicked to mine in full-blown alarm. "It's him," she whispered, like Roman himself might hear her plotting through the void.

"Oh my God-- oh my God, oh my God," I babbled, my chest constricting, the lettuce in my mouth turning to sandpaper. I lurched forward over my knees, gagging hard, trying not to throw up into the grass. "I can't-- I can't!--"

"Breathe!" Letha hissed, though she looked just as freaked out, fumbling with the phone like it was a live grenade. "Don't puke, okay? We're not doing public puking, that is so not chic!" She shoved her sandwich back into the bag, wiped her fingers hastily on a napkin, then pressed the screen.

Before I could scream, she put it on speaker, holding the phone out in front of us like it might bite.

Roman's voice spilled through the tiny speaker, and my mind couldn't comprehend that he was a screen away. "Letha," he huffed, like he hadn't just wrecked my entire existence less than 24 hours ago. "Why the fuck aren't you answering? I've been trying to get a hold of you for two hours!"

I froze, a horrible sound catching in my throat. 

Letha's posture went stiff, but her voice came out surprisingly light, breezy even. "Relax, cousin," she said, holding the phone away from her face like he was yelling directly in her ear. "What's your deal again? Why are you blowing up my phone like a psycho? I saw you just this morning yelling at that intern, so you better not be about to take anything out on me! I'll chop you up like lettuce!" At that, Letha pointed to the piece of lettuce that had fallen into my lap, and with trembling fingers, I threw it to the ground.

There was a low exhale on the other end, sharp but restrained. "Because you've ignored six calls," Roman said flatly. "Which doesn't make sense, because you're always on your phone. Are you with someone?"

My breath hitched violently at that, and Letha shot me a quick look that screamed do not make a sound. I froze, clutching the sandwich like it could keep me from collapsing.

"I'm not always on my phone," she bit back, tilting her head. "And I'm alone in a park, Roman. Very glamorous. You'd know, had you ever walked outside." Letha shot me a thumbs-up, but the only thing I could feel going up was the one bite I had managed to take of my sandwich. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, a faint crackle of static filling the space where Roman's voice should have been. When it finally came, it was lower, almost hesitant-- or, at least hesitant by Roman's standards. "I just... ugh, this is stupid," he mumbled. There was something embarrassed about his voice that he couldn't quite sand down. "Remember I told you about that girl? That I was sort of... seeing?" He trailed off like the word was foreign to him. "I think it's over now. Just wanted to tell you, since you thrive on gossip, or whatever."

Letha's gaze darted to me, worried and searching. My nails dug into the bread of my sandwich, knuckles white, heart hammering loud enough to drown out the birdsong around us. At least it was confirmed now, wasn't it? I was about to burst into tears, but I held myself together by a thread. 

"That's weird," Letha pried, as though she had no idea. "Why? Did you do something?"

I could almost hear the grimace on Roman's face, the way his brows drew together, and the way his mouth pulled like he was smiling, but he most certainly wasn't."Why are you immediately accusing me of being in the wrong?"

"Because you usually are...?" Letha muttered, sending me a look.

Roman groaned on the other end of the phone; "You're the worst cousin ever, do you know that? I don't even know why I called you,"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Letha huffed. "Just tell me what happened, I don't have all day."

There were a few seconds of silence-- I could recognise the sound of an office phone being put down on a desk, and that was when I realized he was calling from the analog phone in his office, having just put it on speaker mode. The short pling that followed gave it away. "I told her I couldn't see her anymore. It was the right thing to do,"

Letha scoffed, crossing her legs tighter and gesturing at the phone like he could see it. "And where is this coming from? You were all nervous last night, trying to figure out what flowers to show up with, and now it's over?"

... Nervous?

Had Roman seriously been nervous? About me? How much of this hadn't Letha told me? The word kept bouncing around inside my skull like a trapped wasp, smacking into bone.

But Roman sighed on the other end of the line, sharp and short, like he wanted this over with; "Something about it seemed off. I couldn't quite put my fingers on it,"

Ow, ow... ow. 

Click, click, click. 

Letha didn't respond right away-- I didn't know if it was out of shock or consideration. Maybe both? She glanced at me, watching as my nails dug half-moons into the soggy sandwich, and then back toward the phone like she was about to make a very careful incision.

"What does that mean?" she tried, shifting. "What was off about what?"

"She wasn't running," Roman said, and his voice had settled now into something disturbingly even. "No matter what I said, what I told her about me, she wasn't budging, and she wasn't put off by anything, so... she can't have been real with me. Anyone of sound mind would've been turned off."

My breath caught.

I felt this slow, creeping nausea that crawled up my throat and made everything around me blur, like I had just been tilted off-axis and the world was trying to right itself-- anyone of sound mind would've been turned off. Roman's voice came through the speaker like icy water poured straight down my spine once again-- calm, cruel, and unmistakably sure of itself, like he wasn't trying to figure it out anymore, like he already had.

Letha blinked-- and then, very slowly, her entire expression shifted.

Gone was the casual tilt of her head, the teasing glint in her eyes; it was replaced by something sharp, and hot, and unmistakably furious. Her mouth opened, then closed again as if she needed to physically hold back the first wave of whatever she was about to say just to stop it from setting the phone on fire. Her whole posture straightened, spine snapping into something solid and unrelenting, and she was no longer interested in playing nice.

"What the fuck, Roman," she said, the words curling like smoke from her mouth.

There was a pause on the other end of the line-- he hadn't expected that.

"I'm sorry," she continued, each word now deliberate, slow, like stepping over broken glass barefoot. "She can't have been real with you? Because she didn't run screaming the first time you got a little emotionally constipated?"

"She was too calm," Roman said, with that same maddening certainty. "It didn't add up."

"No, you don't add up!" Letha snapped, eyes flashing. "Jesus, Roman, do you even hear yourself right now?! You're spiralling because someone gave a shit about you and didn't immediately bolt? You think that makes her unstable?"

I was still frozen beside her, clutching the sandwich like it might dissolve all the noise, like the shredded lettuce could somehow muffle the sound of him dissecting me.

"She wanted me to stay after I told her all the fucked up shit I could manage to squeeze in throughout the night," Roman muttered, the words low and bitter like they disgusted him. "That's not normal."

Letha made a sound between a laugh and a snarl, completely devoid of humour; "You know what's not normal? Projecting your entire festering pit of self-loathing onto this poor girl!"

Roman didn't answer-- the silence was smug. It was one of denial, like he had crossed his arms over his chest and pointed his nose up to the moon, like he was sure he was right and refused to hear anyone telling him he wasn't. I watched as it got to Letha, how she ran her hand down her face in the same manner as he always did, before she pinched the bridge of her nose like it might soothe her headache. 

Finally, she got to a conclusion, but I could see it was one that pained her. 

"Roman... Here are some words for you that I will only say once, and probably regret for the rest of my life," Letha closed her eyes, sighing before her voice lowered with venom; "You're becoming just as rotten as your mother."

... Oh no. 

I sat there beside Letha, the remains of my sandwich sliding off my lap and onto the bench like it was trying to leave, too-- I wanted to run. I knew how deep that comment ran, and I went from being focused on my actively breaking heart, to not making a sound.

The silence was deafening. The birds practically stopped chirping. The world had stopped, for just this moment. 

"You don't fucking mean that," Roman finally said, quiet. "Take that back."

Letha didn't flinch. "No,"

"Letha,"

"No, Roman," She reached over, grabbing my free hand, squeezing it to get the strength to continue. "I love you. I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't, but the way you're treating my best friend right now is how your mother treats you. Cold, devoid of emotion, and unforgiving. What's the next step? You're gonna put cigarettes out on herback, too, like the good old family tradition?"

"Letha!" Roman barked, clearly shocked. "Fuck you! You don't get to bring that up!--"

"Then stop acting like your cold-hearted bitch of a mother!--"

"I'm not acting like her! I'm simply being rational!--"

"Nothing about pushing away people that love and care for you is rational! You're just a scared little boy in a suit, and aunt Olivia made sure you ended up exactly like this!" Letha hissed into the phone, gripping my hand harder. "Don't you think it's easier to run the company through you when you're alone and isolated? Why the fuck do you think you're programmed like this?!--"

"Wait, wait, hold on just a fucking minute!" Roman barked. "How do you know who?-- You just said I'm treating your 'best friend' the same way my mother treats me? How do you?--" He took a big breath, and I could hear the creak of his office chair as he leaned back, possibly dragging a hand across his face. 

Then, quiet-- "I never told you who the girl was,"

The silence that followed cracked like ice across a lake.

Letha froze.

So did I.

My entire body went stiff, like I had been caught in the middle of a crime I hadn't meant to commit. Letha's fingers tightened around mine, just once, like she could pass me strength through skin, but even she wasn't immune to the shift in the air-- I could feel her pulse jumping under her wrist.

It only got worse when Roman finally spoke again. His voice had dropped to that dangerous, low register that always made my stomach twist; "She's there?"

Letha winced, glancing at me like she knew she had just lit a fuse she couldn't put out. "No," she mumbled, quick as ever. "But girls talk, and you fucked up bigger than anyone has probably ever fucked up in the history of mankind. I don't know if you'll get her back after this, Roman."

A long pause followed. For a second, I thought there'd be an apology-- I hoped for one, at least. But eventually, Roman sighed, long and tired. 

And then--

"It'll pass,"

My whole body seized. No, no, no, no, no. My head whipped back and forth in frantic refusal, my hand gripped Letha's like a lifeline, tears threatening to fall again just from the sound of his voice.

"Whatever she's feeling, it'll pass," he continued, quiet and ominous. "We'll have a conversation about this when she comes in for work on Monday, and... it'll pass."

Letha only nodded-- and then, she lifted the phone again, and spoke with eerie calm, like she knew; "And how long are you planning to tell yourself it'll pass?"

Her eyes found mine, apologetic and sad.

I couldn't breathe. Everything hurt too much.

Roman sighed, just as defeated by Letha's words as I was. "As long as it takes," he admitted. "Cause it will, right? You're always... dating people. Feelings pass, don't they?"

A silent tear rolled down my cheek, and my free hand caught it, rubbing it into my skin. So this chaos wasn't caused by his lack of feelings for me? It was... the opposite? That was somehow worse. This was about fear. This was all him and his cowardice dragging me through the mud-- it set my anger alight, but I drowned it with the thirteenth teary breakdown of the day.

As I buckled over, pressing my palms into my eyes to hide my sorrow from the others in the park, Letha's hand went to my back, rubbing soothing, sad circles. 

Then, quietly, Letha answered him. "For her? They will, yes,"

She sighed, shaking her head at the sight of me falling apart, at us falling apart. 

"For you, Roman?" she mumbled. "No. They won't. You're about to regret this for a very, very long time."

As Letha ended the call, she scooted closer to me on the bench, embracing me as the tears rolled out of me, burning through me like all-consuming fire and ache. It was over. It was so, so over, and now I dreaded coming into work on Monday more than ever. I wasn't ready for him to be mean and cold. How was I supposed to work for him now? I couldn't. I really, really couldn't.

It had to end. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

After spending the weekend rolled up in my apartment, swaddled in a blanket, not moving, not breathing, not showing any signs of life, I had come to the ultimate conclusion. 

No matter how many times I thought it through, no matter how I tried to spin it, continuing to work for Roman was impossible. I knew what awaited me-- the cold shoulder, followed by tons of verbal abuse I wouldn't be able to get away from unscathed. It wouldn't be bearable now that we didn't have our little thing going on; the reason I had stayed through it all, my undoubting devotion, had been slammed down like a hard, Soviet fist against a table. 

In the same elevator Roman and I had once collided in agreement and in our want for one another, I now stood, grey folder in hand. My gaze stayed on the stop button he had once pushed to keep me there long enough to hear him out. 

You can't leave me. I won't let you. 

Oh, well. 

Who'd have known he'd push me away like this, full force, after having opened the door to my heart and kissed my naked body? If I could kill him, I would. 

But for now, I had to make do with walking to my desk, heart hammering in my chest as I realized this would be the last time I was here-- it had to be. 

The office looked different. Not physically-- God no, the same soulless glass walls and diffused lighting hummed overhead like always, but something in the way I moved through it made it feel foreign. I walked past the reception desk with the same quiet nod I gave every morning, but today it didn't mean hello-- today, it meant goodbye. No one knew; that was the thing. No one knew what I was about to do, and least of all, him.

I wasn't wearing my usual armour, and it felt weird walking through the office without it. There was no white blouse, no tight skirt that hugged my hips just enough to catch Roman's gaze and make him say something unrepeatable in a murmur at my back, and surely no So Kate's to announce my arrival. Like pure blasphemy, I wore my casual soft sneakers, which I knew would have Roman hanging both himself and me the second he saw them. These were the kind of clothes someone wears when they don't care anymore, or worse, when they do-- just not in the way they used to. 

My pass still worked. This was so fucking weird.

When I reached my desk, I hovered. I knew I'd miss this place-- there was something unapologetically classy about Godfrey Industries that I knew I wouldn't be getting anywhere else. Still, I didn't have it in me to pretend. I wasn't going to log in to my pc and click through the reminders of our flirt, or whatever the fuck it had been.

My lungs felt full of rocks, yet I gathered the courage-- with bold knocks I had never dared to knock before, I knocked on Roman's door.

There you go.

I didn't even wait for him to open up; the knocks had merely been a warning. 

I stepped into the lion's den-- uninvited, unannounced, and wearing fucking sneakers, of all things. The perpetrator, my executioner, was mid-conversation, headset balanced carefully over his dark hair, half-leaning against the windows that spilled light over his gorgeous profile. Of course he was on the phone. Of course he was pacing, one hand in his trouser pocket, brows drawn in tight concentration while he fired off some clipped, deadly sentence to whoever had the misfortune of being on the other end.

It wouldn't be me, though. I was planning on getting the fuck out of here as soon as possible. Partially, also, to not burst into tears at the sign of any eye contact. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice how puffy my eyes looked-- I had spent quite a while putting on makeup this morning to combat exactly this. 

But then, Roman saw me. 

It didn't hit him that I had stepped inside without permission. He blinked like I was a trick of the light, something conjured by lack of sleep or a glitch in reality, and his mouth parted slightly, his words stalling into the next sentence as his gaze dropped-- first to my shoes, then slowly, painfully, up to my face. 

I stood there, holding the grey folder, and my silence was heavier than any speech I could've given. 

And just as I prepared for my emotions to take hold at the sight of him, I was beyond relieved to realize my first emotion wasn't sadness or tears-- it was anger. Wild, furious, and unstoppable. I went for Roman's desk, placing the folder down on the desk he had once bent me over, and stepped away without a word.

Goodbye, asshole. 

Roman's voice slowly faded mid-sentence at the sight of the folder-- he knew what it was, and he knew what it meant. For a long, stretched beat, he didn't move, didn't even blink, until his hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose, and he sighed. "I'll call you back," he muttered into his headset before turning it off, pulling it free, and placing it on the windowsill next to the dying orchid. Who would secretly be watering it now that I would be gone?

He didn't look at me when he crossed the room-- he slowly reached his desk, his long, slender fingers brushing the edge of the folder before flipping it open and pulling it up into his hands. As he always did when he got a bit caught off-guard, Roman chewed invisible gum, brows furrowing as he continued reading the first page; I concluded that he had probably gotten to Letha's signature, which was signed at the bottom, following a statement that she, with the power she held as COO, gave me a full release with zero litigation-- signed and acknowledged, effective today.

I held my breath; Roman didn't skim it, didn't pretend not to care. I watched as his jaw tightened with the flip of the page before he exhaled through his nose, heavy and audible. 

"Right," he muttered, reading on. "You're aware that you're not getting the release package money since you're resigning?"

Was that... really the first thing he had to say?

My words left me before I could think them through, bitter and bitten back; "I don't want your money,"

Roman's eyes lifted at that, slow and steady, green as glass in the cold light. When he saw that I was meeting his gaze, challenge burning in mine, his flickered away with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "And you're sure you want to quit?" he asked, quieter than ever before. "You've thought this through?"

"Is that a threat, Mr. Godfrey?"

I watched Roman's breath still in his chest- he clearly hadn't expected the polite barrier I had just put in place. His shoulder twitched in discomfort. "No," he muttered.

His answer hung there, small and unsatisfying. Roman's fingers tapped once against the folder, absent, like he needed something to keep them busy. "No," he repeated, steadier this time. "Not a threat." He closed the folder with care, pressing the edges together as though neatness could disguise the finality of it. His hand lingered on the cover, palm flat, before he slowly slid it back onto the desk.

"I just..." Roman's eyes briefly cut to me, then away again. "I saw this coming. I've dreaded it all weekend."

Um?

"You dreaded it?" I blurted out-- my words came out harsher than expected. "As if this wasn't what you wanted out of this situation? You wanted me gone, so I'm leaving."

Roman's jaw worked, the faintest twitch of a muscle at the hinge, but he didn't rise to meet my fury. He didn't bark back like I half-expected him to, either. "You have no idea what I want," he mumbled, planting his knuckles into the desk on both sides of my resignation. "But it doesn't matter. This will be good for us in the long run."

I nearly laughed, and my suppression turned into a snort; "As if you could possibly know that!"

Roman's head lifted at once, green eyes locking onto me. His lips parted, then pressed thin again, his jaw shifting like he was chewing on his words before spitting them out anyway.

"I do know," he snapped, his frustration with me shining through. Roman's knuckles whitened against the desk as though holding himself together required force. "What the fuck do you think I did all of this for? You think I enjoyed pushing you away?" His voice climbed, rougher, angrier; "Don't you see that I'm doing this for you?"

The audacity of it hit like fire in my veins. My head reeled back, a disbelieving laugh tearing out of me. "For me?" I demanded, my voice shaking with fury. "If you saw the state Letha found me in on Friday, you wouldn't be saying that! I'd rather you fucking gutted me alive, Roman!" 

At that, he straightened, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "It's for the best," he breathed, almost like a mantra to mainly himself. "It'll pass."

Oh, that shit again?

My mouth fell open, a bitter laugh threatening, but all that came out was a breath so sharp it burned. It'll pass, like I was nothing more than a fever to sweat out. I swiped at my cheek, furious at the angry tear that escaped despite my best efforts, leaving my skin raw. "Fine. Keep telling yourself that," I hissed, voice splintering, though I forced it steady enough to land. I took a step back, chin high. "Maybe you're right. Maybe this is for the best, so that I can go find someone who doesn't think gutting me is mercy. Maybe that someone will be Peter. He took good care of me when you were in Geneva, after all."

And just as I had intended, the name landed like a grenade.

Roman went very still, like I had just pulled a gun on him. His jaw snapped tight, his nostrils flared once, twice, until his head tilted-- slow, sharp, and predator-like. "What?" The word cracked out of him, low and dangerous.

I almost faltered, but the fury in my veins kept me upright. "You heard me,"

Colour rose hot across Roman's cheekbones. His hand slowly dragged down his mouth like he needed to gather himself, and when it dropped, the mask he had been wearing all morning was gone-- shattered to pieces. "So you did sleep with him when I was in Geneva?" His voice was hoarse now, splintered with something uglier than rage. "You let him?--" He cut himself off, his breath ragged at the thought of Peter ever touching me that way.

I stared at him, stunned. I saw the way all the possibilities flashed before his eyes, thoughts of me with Peter, and the way it affected him, the way his fists clenched harder, skin turning white over his knuckles. But Roman had been ready to let me go two minutes ago, ready to box me up as a mistake and move on, so what was this? It seemed that the second Peter's name crossed my lips, it was like I had ripped the floor out from under him. Had he not foreseen that, perhaps? That I was up for grabs, now that he was done with me? Had he not thought about that when he discarded me like I was some easy fuck?

"I didn't sleep with Peter," I huffed, trying to keep my calm through the tremors going through my heart. "I'm just saying that now that I'm not waiting around for you, there are a few contenders that are waiting for me."

And for the first time, I saw it hit him-- what it actually meant to lose me.

Roman's breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a curse and a denial, but it never made it past his lips. He just... stilled.

All the tension that had been rattling out of him a moment ago drained into something heavier. His chest hardly moved, his breath constricted, and his green, green eyes fixed on me like he was staring into a future he couldn't undo.

It was written all over his face before he even spoke; the realization. That in pushing me out, he hadn't carved out space for himself-- he had carved out space for someone else. For Peter. For anyone.

There was something satisfying in watching Roman crash and burn after he had poured gasoline all over me and set me alight. Now, we were in hell together. Now, we'd perish together. Maybe now, we could be together as dust particles in the air, as fragments curling together in the flames of smoke?

That was it. It was done. Now, I just had to will myself to leave-- and somehow, I did. With all my strength, I turned around and took sure steps toward the door with my heart in my throat. 

But--

"Hold on!" Roman called out, abruptly pivoting away from the desk so fast it looked instinctual. His voice had gone hollow; "That's not?-- Wait, just hold on!--"

I was halfway through the doorframe when it happened.

My hand had just curled around the metal handle, breath held like it might keep me intact for another second, when the air behind me shifted. I didn't need to look to feel it happening; in my peripheral vision, I saw the blur of Roman's suit, the flash of sudden urgency as he crossed the office faster than I had ever seen him move. And then--

Thunk.

Roman's leg shot out in front of the door like it had a mind of its own, one expensive dress shoe jamming itself between me and my escape. When the rest of his body caught up, oddly and almost awkwardly, he slammed the door shut before placing his whole body in front of it, blocking my escape. 

Roman's green eyes were all over me, wide and frantic, scanning me, and one lock of his brown hair had fallen out of his up-do, kissing his forehead as his chest fell and rose in an attempt to calm down.

I could feel my jaw tightening with the burn of my building tears, holding them back for dear life as I challenged his gaze. "I'm done, Roman," I said. "I've resigned. Move, please."

For one long, breathless moment, he just stood there, frozen in that ridiculous position-- too tall for the doorframe, shoulders hunched slightly, tie askew from the sprint, eyes darting between my face and the folder on the desk like he could somehow make this moment make sense... but he couldn't.

Because Roman knew. He knew he had done something he couldn't reverse.

Still, the silence he gave me was heavy-- so heavy it hurt. It pressed into the hollow of my chest, into the cracks in my composure, in the way only silence from someone who used to touch you like you mattered could.

"Move," I tried again, voice breaking. 

But Roman didn't. 

"Not Peter," The words sounded like they'd been ripped out of him, raw and unwilling. "Not him, just-- Not him. Not Peter."

It wasn't the declaration I wanted. It wasn't an apology, or even anger-- it was desperation, dressed up in Roman's usual arrogance, a man staring down his sentence and begging for the terms to be changed.

I couldn't place or understand him, no matter how many times I tried. Why was he holding on like this when he had wanted me gone so badly? "You have no say in that anymore," I said, feeling my lower lip quiver. "If I want to be with Peter, then I'll be with Peter."

Roman stood still-- absolutely, unnervingly still with anger. His chest barely rose, his jaw locked, eyes burning into me but not moving, not blinking. He looked like marble-- polished, cold, and carved into silence, but I could see the faint tremor in his hands, betraying him.

And something inside me, something petty and furious, wanted to test the limits of his silence.

"Maybe I'll let Peter touch me the way you never could," I went on, slow, deliberate, my voice brittle with venom. "He'd probably be gentle, don't you think? Or maybe not. Maybe it's time to check that out, just to see what it's like to be with someone who treats me like a person and not some fucktoy?"

Roman's eyes flinched, just slightly, but he didn't speak-- he looked petrified to stone.

That only spurred me further. "I bet he'd take his time," I continued with a low hiss. "Maybe he'd even let me be on top. Bet that'd feel good, right? But since Peter's nice, I can probably just lie down when I get tired, and he'll wrap his arms around me and fuck me from beneath?--"

"Stop it," Roman breathed, constricted.

No. 

"I wonder how long I would have to train him to do all the things you did," I added, cruel now, drunk on the power of his horror. "Probably not too long. He's gone through law school, so he's smart, he'll catch up. I know his hands are a bit softer than yours, so it'd probably feel nicer to be put across his lap instead of yours?--"

I didn't get to finish.

Roman looked so nauseous and horrified, I couldn't process it fully when it all came lunging toward me.

His cologne filled my nostrils, and like the anger and jealousy in him had boiled over and stripped him of reason, like this would give him his control back, he leaned forward, wrapped one arm around my waist, and yanked me flush against him before crashing his lips to mine.

It wasn't slow, it wasn't sweet-- it was desperate, the kind of kiss someone tries when they're out of options, when logic fails, when the body kicks in like muscle memory and tries to fix what can't be fixed. His other hand reached for the side of my face, his whole body turning me, now pressing me up against the door.

And I... I froze.

Roman's mouth pressed against mine over and over like it had a right to be there, like all the damage could be undone if he just kissed me hard enough, if he just held me the way he didn't get to that night. There was nothing careful about it, nothing tender-- it was all panic, all heat, all refusal to let go. The kiss wasn't about me; it was about control, and about Roman grasping for the last thing he still thought was his.

And for one terrible, breathless second, I let him.

Because my body hadn't caught up to my mind yet. Because my instincts still remembered what it was like to be wanted by Roman, to be chosen, even if it was only temporary. His mouth moved against mine with that same gorgeous, selfish ache that had once made me weak, and I felt the press of his palm on my cheek, the slight tremor in his fingers, the way he kissed me like he was falling and didn't know how to land.

But then my hands came up-- not to hold him, but to stop him.

I shoved at his chest with both palms, breaking the kiss like it had burned me; in a way, it had.

Roman didn't move far. His lips hovered above mine, and his eyes were full of some frantic thing he probably didn't even recognize. We were breathing into each other, me seething, and him silently panicking. What the hell was happening? Why had he done that? With my back still pressed firmly against the door, I couldn't make sense of anything that was happening right now. 

"No, you-- you don't get to regret it now," I said, hurt glassing over my eyes. "You wanted me gone, so I'm leaving. It's done. I'll replace you before you even get a new secretary."

Fuck, how I hated that thought. I never, ever could. 

Roman's mouth still hovered just above mine, ragged with breath, green eyes wild and broken open. "You don't get to talk like that," he said, voice scraping low. "And you don't get to fucking taunt me with Peter. You think he could touch you the way I do? You think he could even see you the way I--" His words cracked, drowned in anger. 

The sheer arrogance, the childish fury in him, slammed into me harder than the kiss had. My tears finally broke free, hot and humiliating, but I shoved at his chest again, harder this time. "I can talk however the fuck I want!" I yelled. "And I will be with whoever I want, because you threw me away, Roman! You called me fucked up, and you threw me away like I meant nothing!"

Roman caught my wrists before I could shove again, holding them tight against his chest like he could pin me there, make me stay with the force of his grip alone. His grip was iron, his chest heaving beneath my pinned hands as though he could will me to stay with the beat of his frantic heart alone. Oh, how beautifully painful-- I hadn't been allowed to touch him for so long, and now he held me close like it was all he had left to steal from my warmth. I strained, I writhed, but Roman wouldn't release me. I saw the way he looked at me with those wide, beautiful eyes, saw the guilt swimming in them, but it only hurt me further.

"You have no right!" My throat tore with the words, my body burning against his. "You have no right to even look at me like that after what you did to me! I never want to see you again, Roman! I never--" My voice broke apart into sobs. "I never, ever want to see you again!"

At that, for a breathless second, Roman just stared. 

His grip faltered, but not from kindness; it was the shock of me saying it and meaning it. Something shifted in his eyes, the flare of anger giving way to something worse, something heavier-- the knowledge that this time, I wasn't bluffing.

I tore my wrists free in that instant, stumbling back a step, gulping air like I had surfaced from underwater. 

Roman didn't reach for me again. He didn't move at all.

He just stood there, shoulders heaving, green eyes wide and stricken, the kind of silence wrapping around him that wasn't strength but surrender, and I realized that he wasn't coming back from this-- that in all his self-destruction, he had cut himself out of my life so cleanly that now the world was open again, hungry, waiting, and someone else could have me when I belonged to him, and only him.

Roman knew it too. I could see it dawning in him, see the panic curl behind his eyes as though he'd just unleashed me into the hands of someone else-- Peter, maybe, or whoever came next. He had slammed the door shut, and now he was locked on the wrong side of it.

"Goodbye, Roman," I breathed, angrily wiping away my tears as I turned the handle to the door.

But they were so, so green-- those eyes of his.

Green like summer.

Green like the salvation I thought he was.

His eyes might be green like the brightest of trees, but Roman Godfrey would rather burn down the entire forest-- he'd rather burn it down in the middle of summer, just so that he wouldn't have to watch the leaves rot off their stems in autumn.

The difference was that this time, he was burning down with them when he thought he'd get away with such destruction unscathed. 

I slipped through the door with no confession or plea from him-- only his silence dragging after me like chains, and the image of the great Roman Godfrey standing in his office, alone, just like he had wanted.

I wondered whether he thought it was worth it.

But I suppose I'd never know.

In some twisted way, I truly hoped he was right-- I hoped it truly would pass.

(a/n: omg who'd have thought our girl would quit?? not me when I started this story lol but HERE WE ARE, and Roman did it ALL to himself!!! but I just want to say that it's not going to be this angsty for any longer, this was the worst it gets, because in the next chapter... Roman is going to take some actionnnnn;) MWAH MWAH to everyone that's been following this story, I have been eating ur comments UPPPP ILYYY!!!!)

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[moonlightstuffs]

harrenhal, king's landing, and volantis are all metaphors for the same thing, that the structural injustices which led to the creation and maintenance of these places will eventually result in their collapse. harrenhal is a symbol of the worst of feudalism, i say 'worst' because the books do romanticise certain aspects of it, oathkeeping as fidelity is clearly intended to be beautiful and moving in brienne's storyline and "the north remembers" but what harren the black did was exploit the riverlands and the iron islands and employ slaves in its construction, thousands dead for one man's monument to power and dominion over others. it was a castle built on fear, not fealty. in a non magical sense, the curse of harrenhal is hubris. it was intended to be the height of feudual power because it was virtually impregnable - impervious to 'normal' medieval warfare, but ended up being destroyed by yet another king, this time in possession of a more fantastical means of power - dragonfire (the hubris theme is strong in the main series, the castle is awarded to scheming, ambitious, and amoral political players who either engineer their own downfall or are eventually pushed off the board by someone who can scheme better them).

but the thing that interests me is that the burning of harrenhal also positions the targaryens as capable of status quo upsetting, radical change. they can disrupt existing power structures because what are walls in front of a dragon? dragons fly. the visionary bit here is the unification of the realm, which is definitely framed as an admirable thing by the narrative because of the upcoming threat of the long night—what aegon invades westeros for. i don't think the targaryens are, like, evil for being conqueror kings, that's a disingenuous reading, but i do think this is a somewhat corrupt idea of 'unification' as it is primarily focused on the dynastic interests of this one family. because the other thing he did was make the iron throne, something that's currently the biggest obstacle to the possibility of the realm uniting in the face of a common enemy. it's significant that a fight over the throne is what kills their dragons, that's a very blunt way of saying that the the iron throne is what ultimately smothers their ability to enact any wider social change, by the end they weren't any different from the other houses. so king's landing is no longer a symbol of targaryen rule, both their dragons and their dynasty died there and any vision of radical change that they began the conquest with was consumed by the iron throne. kl as a whole is symbolic of the game of thrones, the city's geography is modeled after the iron throne with the king within the red keep on top of aegon's hill and the smallfolk left to rot at the bottom. and the inheritors of 'the game' are the lannisters, the ones who swindled the city and the throne from the targaryens. tywin continues aerys's legacy of violence, aerys would burn a city out of 'madness', tywin would do it out of pragmatism ("Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search. He would have burned that town and every living creature in it"), so it makes sense for tywin's philosophy, that of exploitative and dehumanising violence in the pursuit of power, to be the cause of its destruction. several posts have been made about why joncon and cersei are the ones haunted by the memory of tywin's crimes with reasons to want to emulate him, so i'm not going there, but i feel it's also really important for king's landing to go out because of purposeful grasping over the iron throne and without any dragonfire (even accidental) involved. king's landing is doomed in a very apocalyptic sense because 'the game' is unsustainable. nothing new will come out of the city's destruction and dany's use of fire is always transformative, she creates life out of death. wildfire only destroys.

the city dany will bring fire and blood to is volantis, not king's landing. volantis is the final remnant of the freehold's imperial legacy. a society built on systemic evil, on the backs of slaves cannot go on. the cyclical story here is obviously that of the dragons being redefined and redeemed as symbols of liberation after they historically helped the freehold perpetuate the evil of imperial expansion and slavery. i think the error lies in assuming dany has a personal connection to king's landing but she really doesn't. it used to be their seat and then the targaryens doomed themselves in westeros because of the iron throne. dany is not here to repeat those same mistakes. where she must go instead, is harrenhal. aegon burned it on the first day of his conquest, a conquest he began because of the prophecy of the prince that was promised. the castle is left in a half ruined state so it's not allowed to, like, die. the targaryens kept returning there and got involved in events that altered course of their rule forever - the council of 101 which led to the dying of the dragons and the tourney at harrenhal that led to their line almost ending. i think the narrative 'curse' at its heart is that the castle is the site of unfinished business. it was a result of excessive feudal violence and the conquest was supposed to lead to a different, better model of governance, i do think the targaryens came close to achieving that at certain points in their history because it was a reign of both splendour and horror, but they also ended up being responsible for the perpetuation of that very feudal violence in king's landing. as the last targaryen, dany's destiny lies in unifying and protecting the realm during the long night, this is what they survived the doom for. and i think to do that she has to go to this castle that's a place of both narrative beginnings and endings but also in stasis, and finish what her ancestors began—what aegon and rhaegar wished to achieve at harrenhal but couldn't, one too motivated by conquest and the other by prophecy. because only then will the curse break and the song end.

[moonlightstuffs]

rating: 18+. mdni.

pairing: bully!regulus x nerd!reader

content: noncon, bullying

regulus had taken to bothering you even when no one was around to see. what had started as a tactic to get people to fear him turned into some odd act of comfort for him. you didn't matter. you were a nobody. you both knew no one was going to stop him from the very first time regulus made you cry. and to this day, nobody ever has.

spewing cruel words at you served as a replacement for the words he wished he could say to those who truly deserved it. those who hurt him or underestimated him. petty insults, really, but still as cruel as a child could be.

as you grew older and regulus's mind began to picture you in other ways, as much as he hated you, he couldn't deny that you were beautiful. it was a look that lingered too long or a touch that pushed boundaries just enough to keep you quiet about it. but, his hormones could only be suppressed for so long.

one day, as you stumbled to the ground as he gave you a harsh shove, he caught sight of your pretty cotton panties, and blood had rushed downwards faster than he thought possible. his hand moved, slapping the globes of your ass hesitantly, groping the flesh quickly before letting go, his face red and scorching. when no punishment ensued, he realized you would never speak a word, no matter what he did.

regulus had only gotten worse, unable to contain himself. the face you made when you cried went from a comedic sight to an arousing one. regulus felt a shiver run down his spine, the very second your waterlined brimmed with tears, the second your lip slightly wobbled. without fail, his trousers tightened, his heart sped up, and his fingers itched to touch you again. strike you, pull you, grope you. he couldn't get enough of the feeling of your skin, your warmth, no matter the things he had to do to feel you.

today was different. regulus was angry, which, while not uncommon, his anger was different. he was furious, having expected the girl he had been pursuing to let him into her bed as she promised. regulus had angrily left her apartment, seething as his cock throbbed with need. you, unfortunately, happened to be around, forced to attend yet another dinner in his home.

it was easy for regulus to get you alone. a charming grin and level voice as he expressed his want to speak to you following his abrupt arrival. and soon enough, regulus had his cock in your mouth, both hands roughly yanking your hair as he brutally fucked your face. regulus had almost cum immediately as your hot mouth wrapped around his girth.

"merlin, fuck," he said through gritted teeth, shoving your face against his pelvis. you hit his thighs, gagging and spluttering as he held you there. his muscles trembled as he groaned deeply, his toes curling in his shoes as his balls tightened. your body instinctively tried to pull away.

"oh, stop. stop moving," he panted, pulling cruelly on your hair as he forced your head away from him.

he leaned down to your level, his hand meeting your cheek in a cruel slap. "what the fuck did i just say?"

"sorry," you croaked. "i'm... s-sorry."

regulus scanned your face, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your now smudged lipstick and swollen lips. his eyes met yours, the redness of yours, the pain inside them made his cock throb as he spoke, "then put your hands down and keep that fucking mouth open."

[moonlightstuffs]

lost in translation (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Mattheo Riddle has never confessed to anyone, which is why his first attempt went so badly

credits to @/saradika-graphics for the divider!

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t exactly known for his considerate nature. In fact, he was notoriously lacking in it.

He was well aware that nothing at Hogwarts stayed a secret—honestly, he was part of the reason why.

In second year, the moment he caught wind of Lorenzo’s crush on that Ravenclaw, he practically sang it up and down every corridor, playing matchmaker with the subtlety of a drunken Hippogriff.

In fourth year, when Draco admitted—in passing—that Granger was “sort of hot in a terrifying way,” Mattheo nearly hexed him into the next era. Still, he whistled and hummed the Wedding March every time they passed each other, just to make Draco suffer.

And just last year, he’d personally tortured Theo over his crush on that Hufflepuff—publicly, relentlessly—until she finally caved and started dating him.

So yeah. Now that he had a crush, there was no way in hell he was letting anyone find out. Especially not Theo.

Because if there was one thing Mattheo had earned in life, it was karma. And this? This would be brutal.

Well… that. And—

“Fratellone~” (big brother~)

Mattheo’s entire nervous system short-circuited.

Your voice floated into the common room like smoke and sugar, playful and sweet—and there you were, head poking in, eyes wide and sparkly, looking right at Theo.

He sat lazily on the sofa with Mattheo beside him, but Mattheo would’ve been lying if he said the sight of your big, pleading doe eyes didn’t make him swoon just a little.

He also tried not to react to the way you were fluttering your lashes like you were auditioning for a Veela commercial.

Theo chuckled, rolling his eyes, "What do you want?"

"Will you promise to say yes first?" You asked sweetly, lips pursed in a pout, rocking on your heels with your eyes wide like a tragic fairytale character.

Theo scowled at you—but there was no real malice in it, "Like hell. What do you want?"

"Some allowance." You replied, tilting your head just slightly—and Merlin help him, Mattheo almost pulled out his wallet for you.

Theo, however, was unmoved. He scoffed, "Yeah, right. What happened to all your allowance? I’m not giving you a single knut."

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you flopped right between the two of them, your shoulder brushing Mattheo’s as your scent flooded his brain.

He stared straight ahead. He did not inhale. He definitely did not imagine himself burying his nose into the crook of your neck and taking in your scent.

"Theoooo," You whined, stretching his name like syrup, "I want to go to Hogsmeade this weekend with my friends. Pleeeease?"

He narrowed his eyes, grimacing again, and you let out another pitiful whine.

A beat passed before he finally sighed, "Fine. Go get my wallet from my dorm."

You grinned, victorious, as you pulled the wallet straight out of your robe pocket.

Theo let out a scoff of disbelief, "Unbelievable."

You merely gave him a smile.

"You know," He grumbled as you pocketed the money, "when I ran out of allowance, I didn’t have anyone to scam with big eyes and fake innocence. You’re lucky you’ve got such a good big brother."

You huffed, smug, "That’s your job as my big brother. If you wanted the special treatment, you should’ve been born second."

Mattheo very calmly decided that if Theo ever found out about the state of his crush, he would simply have to fake his own death and transfer to Durmstrang under a new identity.

After a couple weeks of hopeless, spiraling, late-night-scribbling-his-name-next-to-yours-on-scrap-parchment kind of pining, Mattheo had finally made up his mind.

He was going to tell you. Actually confess. Like a proper idiot in love.

It was stupid, really—how nervous he felt. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what was worse: the actual feelings, or the fact that he was handling them like a fourth year with his first crush.

Honestly, he felt like he was in over his head—and Mattheo Riddle never felt that way. His comfort zone was massive. He wasn’t the type to second-guess himself, or get shy, or blush when someone looked at him a second too long. If anything, he was usually the one making other people uncomfortable with how confident and shameless he was.

He had always been the type to take charge of any situation. If he wanted something, he said so. Gave the time and place. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No vulnerability.

But with you?

With you, it was different.

You made him feel like the floor might disappear from under him at any second. Like rejection from you wouldn’t just sting—it would wreck him.

And maybe that was dramatic, maybe even pathetic, but he’d take pathetic over regret any day. At least if he confessed, he could say he’d tried. Even if it went horribly. Even if you laughed in his face.

(Which he was only mildly worried about. Okay, more than mildly. He’d had an actual dream where that happened. Twice.)

Still, he figured he had to try. At least this way, if it all fell apart, he’d know he hadn’t kept his mouth shut like a coward. And, of course, he owed Theo the basic respect of asking you out properly.

So he waited. Bided his time.

And when he saw you one night alone in the library—half-asleep over your Charms essay, ink smudged across your fingers—he figured this was it.

Game time.

You looked up at the sound of his footsteps, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Mattheo Riddle?” You teased, “In the library? Are you lost?”

He tried to fire something back. Something snarky or clever or Mattheo-ish.

Instead, all he managed was a breathless smile.

Your teasing faded instantly. You sat up straighter, “Are you okay?”

He exhaled through his nose, nodded once, “Yeah. I just… I need to tell you something.”

Your expression softened, open and patient, “Okay. Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

He blinked. Swallowed.

Then immediately began spiraling.

“It’s just that—I think you’re a—no, wait. That’s not how I wanted to start. I’ve been feeling like this for a couple months—shit, no, that sounds stalkerish—”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in concern. Mattheo Riddle, Hogwarts’ most sarcastic menace, was stammering like a first year. You’d never seen him like this.

“Mattheo?” You asked gently, “Just say it. I promise I won’t judge you.”

He ran a hand through his curls, letting out a breath.

“It’s not you judging me that I’m afraid of,” He muttered, “It’s just… I’ve never had these feelings before. Not like this. And it’s been driving me insane, not saying anything. I’ve wanted to for weeks. But there’s Theo—you know he’s my best mate—and I didn’t want to make things weird or screw it all up. But honestly, I don’t think I care anymore. Not when it feels like this.”

He looked up at you finally, eyes wide and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen on him before.

You looked upset. Maybe even heartbroken. Mattheo felt his stomach drop.

A beat passed.

Then you smiled. Slowly. Brightly.

“I think I understand what you’re saying, Mattheo.”

His heart nearly stopped, “Y-You do?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes shining, “Yeah. And—wow. I mean—this is amazing news.”

A smile bloomed on his face, stunned and almost disbelieving, “Wait. Really? You think so?”

“Of course I do!” You laughed, standing to wrap your arms around him in a tight hug, “This is great. I’m so happy for you.”

He froze for a second, then melted into it, arms winding around you with relief pouring through his chest. He tucked his face into your hair and breathed in the scent of your shampoo.

Finally.

He’d done it. He’d told you. And you—Merlin, you felt the same. You really—

You pulled back, still smiling, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. His brain short-circuited.

“Listen, I should get to bed,” You said, gathering your books in your arms with a small smile, “But we’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”

Mattheo nodded, eyes wide and glassy, like he wasn’t entirely sure what dimension he was in, “Y-Yeah. Okay.”

You gave him a wink—light, teasing, completely unaware of the emotional earthquake you’d just caused—and turned, heading down the corridor toward the dorms. Your footsteps echoed gently, fading into the stillness of the night.

The second you turned the corner and were safely out of sight, you bolted into the nearest empty hallway, nearly tripping over your own feet as you pressed your back to the wall, books clutched to your chest, heart pounding.

Your thoughts were a blur.

Mattheo Riddle.

The guy you'd been lowkey—okay, not so lowkey—crushing on for weeks. The one who made your stomach flip every time he so much as looked at you. The same boy who’d just opened up to you with flushed cheeks and fumbled words and a nervousness you never thought you’d see on him.

You blinked rapidly, breath caught in your throat, replaying the entire conversation in our head.

You groaned, sliding down the wall until you were sitting on the cold stone floor, completely humiliated.

“I can’t believe this,” You whispered, “I was this close to asking him to Hogsmeade.”

The next morning was a blur.

You hadn’t slept.

How could you, after what happened in the library? After Mattheo Riddle—a boy you’d been quietly losing your mind over for weeks—had looked you in the eye and told you, with a trembling voice, and broke your heart.

You were the main character in an absolute tragedy.

You spent all of night thinking it through, picturing the next couple years in your future. You'd undoubtedly be around Mattheo for a lot of those years because of his closeness to Theo. Could you really survive that?

I mean, you had to, didn't you?

Just as the morning rays of sunshine began to flitter through your curtains you had attempted to strengthen your already flimsy resolve.

You were happy.

Really.

You were.

Fucking hell.

So when Mattheo found you in the Great Hall that morning and slid into the seat beside you with the most relaxed, pleased-with-himself smile you’d ever seen on his face, your heart sank.

“Morning,” He said, nudging you playfully, “Sleep okay?”

You blinked, “Um. Yeah. You?”

“Best night of my life.” He said, completely sincere.

You stared at him.

God, he must really be happy.

You cleared your throat and focused very, very hard on your scrambled eggs.

Mattheo, meanwhile, was thriving. You were a little quiet, sure, but he figured that was just nerves. Shyness. Maybe you were still processing the fact that he liked you. Really liked you. That he’d finally said it out loud.

He nudged you again, dropping his voice slightly.

“So, uh… when do you think we should tell Theo?”

Your soul left your body.

Tell Theo. Tell Theo?!

He wanted you to witness him breaking your heart in person?!

You slowly lowered your fork, “You want me to be there when you... tell him?”

Mattheo’s smile widened like your reaction was exactly what he was hoping for, “Yeah, I mean, obviously he’s gonna be weird about it at first—but he’ll come around.”

You stared at him, a strange buzzing in your ears, “Right. Um. I don’t think I should be there for that.”

His brows lifted, “Oh?”

“I just… I think it’s something you should do on your own. You know? One-on-one. No distractions.”

Mattheo nodded slowly, lips pressed together in thought, “Yeah. I get that. ”

“I just don’t think my presence would help.”

He chuckled softly, “You’re seriously adorable when you’re anxious.”

You blinked.

Mattheo tilted his head, confused for a split second… then smiled.

“Alright,” He said, nodding seriously, “I’ll talk to him later.”

You nodded back, forcing a smile, while internally screaming into the void.

There was a sharp knock on the door to your dorm room.

You sat up in bed, startled, textbook sliding from your lap. Your roommates all told you they were staying out late to finish their joined project in the library. You had been expecting to have the dorm empty for at least another hour.

“Who the hell—?”

The door creaked open, and Mattheo slipped inside, curls a little messy, eyes shadowed and stormy, shoulders slumped.

He gave you a little smile when he entered though it did little to betray his crestfallen expression as he trudged over to your spot on the bed before he threw himself on the mattress beside you. His arms immediately went around your waist in a hug as he hid his face into the side of your thigh.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

“Mattheo?” You whispered, brushing his curls away from his eyes, “What—what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

He looked up at you like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or just collapse into your lap and stay there forever. A part of him didn’t want to say anything. He knew how much you adored your older brother. If you found out Theo wasn’t supportive of your relationship, it would wreck you.

But the way you were looking at him, gentle and concerned and so you, cracked him wide open.

“I told him.”

You blinked, “You told Theo?”

He nodded slowly. There was something behind his eyes—hurt, confusion, frustration. And something else too. Shame.

“How did he take it?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

Mattheo let out a bitter breath and ran a hand down his face, “Not well. He looked at me like I’d lost my fucking mind. Told me I was sick. Said I needed to back off before things got weird.”

Your chest caved in. Horror filling every pore and vein, inching itself into your bones. Yesterday, you had kind of hoped for this. But today? You were utterly mortified by your brother's actions.

“He said that to you?”

Mattheo sighed, closing his eyes and just enjoying the way you carded through his hair, “Yeah. I mean, I guess I get it. I didn’t exactly ask for permission before anything happened—”

“Permission?” You echoed, getting increasingly angry.

He kept talking, “I just thought he’d at least be annoyed, you know? Or at least not act like I committed a sin. I mean, I don't really give a shit about what he thinks but he's my best mate.”

You stood, furious, “I can’t believe him. That’s so unfair.”

Mattheo looked up, slightly startled.

You were pacing now, barefoot, fury radiating off you like heat.

“I mean, what century are we living in? If you like someone, you like someone. He doesn’t get to make you feel wrong for that.”

Mattheo blinked, “Wait—what?”

“I’m gonna go yell at him,” You snapped, already marching toward the door, “He doesn’t get to treat you like that. He should be grateful you were honest. Gods, I’m so mad right now—”

“Wait, (Y/N), wait—” Mattheo followed, hands raised like he was trying to calm a charging dragon, “Sweetheart, it’s really not that big a deal. He’ll cool off, and I’ll talk to him again—”

“That’s not good enough!” You snapped, throwing open the door, “God, if Mama saw what a heartless bastard he turned into—ugh! I’m gonna hex his balls off!”

You stormed out, slamming the door behind you so hard it rattled on its hinges.

Mattheo stood in the silence that followed, staring at the now-closed door, stunned.

A long pause.

Then, very quietly:

“…I fear for my safety when we have our first fight.”

You stormed through the Slytherin common room like a woman possessed, your footsteps echoing furiously through the stone corridors.

People scattered. Literally scattered.

You weren’t sure where Theo was, but your rage must’ve acted as some kind of tracking charm, because the moment you shoved open the boys’ dorm door, there he was—lounging at his desk, reading some smug little book with his legs kicked up like he owned the castle.

“Theodore. Fucking. Nott.”

Theo looked up, startled—just in time for you to march over and yank him up by the ear.

“OW—WHAT THE BLOODY HELL—!”

“Don’t ‘what the bloody hell’ me, you absolute tosser,” You snapped, dragging him upright like a furious mother catching her child vandalizing a sacred artifact, “Mattheo tells you how he feels—he opens up to you—and you call him sick?! Are you completely deranged?!”

Theo flailed dramatically, “Let go of my ear! Have you lost your mind?!”

“Have you?! You’re supposed to be his best friend! Do you have any idea how hard that must’ve been for him?! He came to you vulnerable—and you rejected him like he was diseased!”

Theo stopped struggling. His face twisted in confusion.

“Okay, what the actual hell are you talking about?!”

You jabbed a finger into his chest with your free hand, “Don’t play dumb. Mattheo told me he has feelings for someone, and yesterday he went to confess. Then he shows up to my dorm crushed because you turned him away like he didn't mean anything to you!"

There was a heavy pause.

Theo blinked.

“…He told you he had feelings for someone?”

“Yes!” You snapped.

“And you thought he meant…” Theo trailed off, narrowing his eyes.

You squinted right back, “…You?”

Theo stared at you. You stared at him.

Then he grabbed your ear.

“OW—HEY—WHAT THE HELL—!”

“You utter moron!” He hissed, twisting slightly, “You thought Mattheo was confessing to me?!”

“I WAS TRYING TO BE SUPPORTIVE!”

“SUPPORTIVE?! OF ME DATING MATTHEO?! ARE YOU HIGH?!”

“STOP TWISTING, YOU GOBLIN!”

You both stood there like absolute lunatics, yanking on each other’s ears, realization dawning in slow-motion horror.

And then— The dorm door burst open. And Mattheo came in.

His eyes landed on Theo gripping your ear.

His entire face shifted.

“Oi! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Mattheo barked, “I don’t care if she’s your sister, Nott—get your hands off my girlfriend!”

You froze.

Mattheo took a step forward, jaw clenched, “Seriously. Let go.”

You blinked, “…Girlfriend?”

Silence.

A very heavy silence.

Mattheo turned to you, suddenly uncertain, “Yeah? I mean—you don’t mind, do you?”

You gawked at him, “Wait, hold on. I must’ve missed a few chapters—since when am I your girlfriend?”

Mattheo’s brows drew together, “Well… we didn’t officially say anything, but I thought… I mean, yesterday—”

“Yesterday?!”

“Yeah! You said it was amazing news. I thought that meant you liked the idea!”

“I did think it was a good idea! I mean—at the time I did! But then today happened—”

Mattheo stiffened, voice dropping, “So you don’t want to date me because Theo doesn’t like it?”

You stared at him, completely flabbergasted, “Mattheo… aren’t you gay?”

Theo, who had been suspiciously quiet up until this point, snorted.

Then he wheeze-laughed.

Then he bent over, dying, gasping for air like the world’s most dramatic mime.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” He cackled, “You two deserve each other. You're both idiots. I can't breathe.”

Mattheo’s face went red, “What?! What on earth gave you that impression?!”

“You said it yourself!” You shouted defensively, “You went on and on about your feelings—how hard it was to express, how you were scared, how it could ruin your friendship—with Theo! I thought you were coming out and telling me you were in love with him!”

Mattheo looked absolutely offended, “YES—because I didn’t know how to tell my best friend that I was in love with his baby sister!”

You blinked, “You never said my name! Not ONCE in that entire meltdown did the words ‘(Y/N), I like you’ come out of your mouth!”

“I thought it was implied! You kissed me on the cheek!”

“I’M ITALIAN, WE KISS EVERYBODY!”

Mattheo cleared his throat, “Okay. Um… let me try this again.”

You looked up at him, still a little dazed, “Please do.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking far too nervous for someone who once set a broom closet on fire in third year because, in his words, it was “for shits and giggles"

“I like you,” He said, voice low but steady, “You, Y/N Nott. Not your brother—despite his sparkling personality.”

From the bed, Theo flipped him off, “I hope you choke.”

Mattheo took a step closer, his tone softening as his eyes searched yours, “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks. But I didn’t want to ruin things with Theo, and then I panicked—and started rambling—and then you kissed me and walked off, and I thought that meant yes. So I spent the last twenty-four hours floating around like a smug idiot thinking I had the girl of my dreams.”

You flushed, smiling despite yourself.

“I’m not gay,” Mattheo added quickly, glancing sideways at Theo, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, obviously. I just—look, I probably shouldn’t say anything else. Every time I open my mouth, you come up with a new wild theory and I nearly get accused of seducing your brother.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

Mattheo stepped closer again, “So now that we’ve established I’m not secretly in love with Theo… would you want to be my girlfriend?"

He looked so earnest. Like he’d hand you his heart and a backup heart just in case something happened to the first one.

Your own heart skipped. “I’d love to,” You said softly. Then, with a sly smile, “I’d kiss you right now if my brother weren’t staring.”

“And for that, I’m eternally grateful,” Theo deadpanned, still sprawled on his bed, “Also grateful that as of today, you are officially his problem. You want money? You hit up your boyfriend. You set something on fire? Talk to your boyfriend. I am washing my hands clean of you.”

He dramatically mimed wiping his hands in the air.

He then added, “To think I was worried your pathetic, lovestruck, gay ass was going to break my baby sister’s heart.”

Mattheo groaned, “Not gay. Just want to emphasize again how not gay I am. Not that there’s anything wrong with it! Just—Merlin’s beard—I’m shutting up now.”

Theo smirked, “Smart move.”

Mattheo sighed and looked back at you, “...Still want to kiss me?”

You grinned, “I wouldn't be opposed.”

Theo froze, "Wait a second."

“Don’t wait up.” Mattheo said smugly to his roommate, taking your hand.

“Mattheo I swear to God—”

You pulled him toward the door, laughing, while Theo yelled curses behind the two of you.

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[moonlightstuffs]

date night (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, missionary, prone bone, spooning sex, oral sex (female receiving), clit rubbing, teasing, mocking, dom/sub dynamics, Roman as a kind of soft dom, creampie, orgasm denial, thumb-in-mouth, FLUFF!!, flirting, backstory drop lol, and um... angst. sorry. so sorry.

summary: you finally manage to get your boss out on a date, fulfilling your biggest dream-- but does it stay a dream throughout the evening? as a wise man once said, fuck around and find out.

word count: 17,378 (EEK I'M SO PROUD) (AND SORRY LOL)

← previous chapter |

a/n: FINALLY!!! oh my god. fucking finally. after 118k words, it's finally happening. and you best believe I inserted my classical music trauma in here, along w some personal easter eggs, and AHHH I AM SO PROUD OF THIS MONSTER, I worked day and night and had so many fucking versions of the ending, so... MWAH, ENJOY!<333

Sooo... phase four was probably the least planned part of my revenge-scheme. An actual date hadn't been on my schedule at all. 

Some part of me hadn't thought I'd have the balls to actually go through with any of the things I had done earlier today, including sucking my boss off under his desk while he was in a meeting, and yet here I was; standing in front of my mirror, very much alive, very much unsued, and very much trying to decide whether I should go for a sultry-but-classy look, or romantic, or just... slut.

My phone was propped up on a chair next to my mirror, tilted just enough so Letha could get a full-body view over FaceTime. She was cross-legged on her bed in a tangle of lavender bedsheets, eating instant noodles straight from the cup, her long blonde hair pushed back with a silk headband like some modern-day Diana who happened to subscribe to Vogue. "Okay, no offence, girl," she said around a mouthful of noodles. "But that dress is not it."

With a gasp, I turned to Letha. "What do you mean? It's sweet!"

"Yeah, but where are your boobs? You can't wear a neckline that high, you're not auditioning for a convent! Push 'em up, girl!"

This was the second nun comment of the day-- I could only groan, shimmying out of the dark-green dress. I let the dress pool around my ankles and kicked it into the pile on the floor, which was starting to look like the aftermath of a very expensive hurricane made of silks, satins, and rogue sequins. "I liked that one," I muttered, stepping over a heel to grab another hanger from the back of my closet. "It had a feeling."

"Yeah... the feeling of a third-grade choir recital," Letha huffed, slurping her noodles. The way she was kicking her legs right now made her look like she was in the middle of watching her favourite episode of trashy reality TV, and she was getting more invested than she should; "You're not going to confess at church! You're going on a date with my crazy cousin, whom I've known since birth, so trust me. I'll know the perfect outfit when I see it."

I rolled my eyes, slipping the next dress off its hanger. It was a soft champagne silk, backless, and entirely unlined. I held it up with both hands and watched Letha's expression change through the phone. Her chewing slowed, and her eyes lit up; this episode of Say Yes to the Dress, date-night edition, seemed to get even better, in her opinion. "There she is!" Letha squealed. "That's the girl I knew in college!"

"... Lee, dear, it's see-through,"

"Exactly!"

"He'd literally see my nipples through this,"

"I repeat... exactly,"

Oh, there was no way in hell.

As I shook my head and started putting the dress away, I heard Letha groaning like I had shut off her TV. 

"That dress was a public indecency lawsuit waiting to happen," I muttered, carefully tucking the hanger back in like I hadn't just contemplated going full femme fatale with no bra. "I don't want to look like a slut! This is the one opportunity for him to see me as something other than..." I couldn't say submissive-- not in front of Letha. "Other than a fuck-buddy, or whatever."

Letha sighed, nodding as she slurped her noodles. "Okay, I get your point," she murmured, letting out a content sigh. "But we still have, like, half an hour until he picks you up. Take your time. No need to panic just yet."

I sighed and scanned the racks of dresses crammed inside my closet, my fingers skipping over the different fabrics; too shiny, too juvenile, too wedding guest-- until I reached the far end, and something black caught my eye. It was tucked between a blazer I had worn twice and a crushed leather robe I had forgotten I owned.

I pulled it out slowly.

It had that low square neckline that sat sweetly just above cleavage level (no one would mistake me for a nun, that's for sure), and a fitted waist that flared slightly at the hips, like it wasn't trying to seduce you-- it just did.

Letha leaned forward through the phone, squinting. "Ooh, wait! Wait. Show me the back!"

I turned it around and held it up. The back dipped into a low scoop that almost touched where my waist began, a tiny satin bow at the base of the spine.

Letha gasped like she had seen God. "Yep! Girl, that's the one!"

"It's kinda... romantic," I said, holding it against me. I could already imagine the way the fabric would fall, soft and slinky, but structured, with just enough movement to catch in the air if I turned too fast. "This doesn't scream corporate slut."

"Exactly! Try it on, bitch!"

Huffing, I stepped into it, careful with the delicate fabric as I tugged it up my waist and over my chest. The straps settled against my shoulders, and when I turned to face the mirror, something in me stilled.

Oh. 

Now, I remembered why I bought this dress in the first place. I stood there, barefoot in my bedroom, staring at my reflection like I didn't quite recognize the woman I saw in the mirror-- but I liked her.

I turned toward the phone again; Letha was quiet for once, her Godfrey-green eyes soft with approval. For all her theatrical eye-rolls and fashion bitchery, she sure knew how to recognize a moment when it showed up unannounced.

"Yeah... this is it," I breathed, smoothing my hands down my sides.

"Fuck yeah," she replied. "He's gonna like you in this, I'm sure of it."

I smiled, but it didn't quite reach all the way-- the high of finally finding the dress settled too fast. The swoop of excitement in my stomach was already beginning to rot a little at the edges, and I sat down on the edge of the bed, still in the dress, still looking like I had stepped out of a perfume ad, and dropped my chin into my hand. "But... what if it doesn't matter?" I mumbled. "What if I do everything right, like the dress, the makeup, the hair-- what if I try my absolute best, and he still only sees me as... the secretary who crawls under his desk?"

Letha blinked, the smug grin slipping off her face just enough to make room for something real. She sat up straighter, pushing her noodles aside.

"I feel so stupid," I continued, a cloud of gloom appearing above me. "Roman isn't going out with me because he wants to... I basically invited myself out against his will. Now I'm just some idiot playing dress-up, or something taken straight out of a failed version of Pretty Woman."

Letha squinted at me through the screen. She looked as if I had just spoken a foreign language, and she was trying to process it. "Okay, first of all? Bitch, no. You didn't invite yourself out," she said, pointing a chopstick at me like it was a weapon. "You cracked open the door he was too emotionally constipated to even knock on, and he walked through it. I know my cousin, if he didn't want to go out with you, he wouldn't have. He'd have scoffed, or given you the same look he always gives me when I ask him if he wants to spend the day shopping with me."

I tried to say something, but she ironed right over me like I was a wrinkle in her shirt-- classic Letha. "You think Roman Godfrey does things he doesn't want to do? Please," she huffed. "And second, he wouldn't have dared to ask you out himself, no matter how much he liked you. This sort of shit is borderline terrifying for that donkey. Remember when he started gagging when you said you thought about him, or something?"

I looked down at my hands, still smoothing over the fabric like I could rub the anxiety out of my skin. "Oh, don't remind me..."

Letha smiled, but it wasn't her smug, teasing smile-- it was soft, yet also a little sad. "Yeah, maybe you made the first move. So what? You had to. Because if you waited for him to do it, you'd be married to someone else with three kids before he ever got the balls to properly look you in the eye,"

I looked down at my hands in my lap, still curved over the folds of the black dress, as if holding it close would anchor me to something. My throat tightened; "I just..." I hesitated. "I keep thinking that if I look pretty enough, or say the right thing, or wear the right amount of perfume, that he'll finally see me as something more than just his... horny secretary, or whatever."

Letha was quiet for a second. "He already sees you as something more,"

I looked up.

"Trust me. He just doesn't know what to do with it," she said. "That fucking baboon..."

That earned the faintest laugh out of me, and Letha caught it, pouncing like a cat. "There she is," she grinned. "There's my hot mess in couture!"

I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt a little lighter-- wiping under my eyes, I tried not to smudge my liner; "Oh, Letha, how I love you,"

"I know you do," she purred, reaching for her noodles again. "Now, go drench yourself in perfume, put on those strappy murder heels, and go ruin my stupid cousin."

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time-- I didn't feel like a girl playing pretend anymore. "Okay..." I breathed. "Okay."

Now, I just had to put on the garter set again.

Time to strap in. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I should've known Roman would be the type to show up exactly on time-- honestly, after working for him for a few months, I knew full well he had a peculiar obsession with punctuality. Time, to him, was a currency he never wasted.

Still, when I heard the knock at exactly 20:30, I felt my knees turn to jelly. Tonight, the punctuality felt different-- and with my heart thrumming in my chest, pumping blood to the tingling tips of my fingers, I opened the door.

Oh, Lord, have mercy.

Roman was leaning against my doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other resting casually against the wood, like he had been there forever, like he belonged there-- the low porch light kissed the sharp line of his jaw and faintly grazed the tops of his cheekbones, catching in his hair where it curled slightly at his temple. The rest of him was cast in shadow, but his eyes (God, his eyes) glinted down at me, that green-gold colour impossible to pin down, impossible to ignore.

He was wearing a black shirt, which was simple in theory, yet devastating in practice. The collar was open, the top two buttons undone, and the sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing skin and lean muscle, veins subtly visible where his hands relaxed at his sides.

This was Roman trying to be casual, and failing beautifully-- he looked like someone who had been styled for an expensive cologne ad and gotten annoyed by how well it worked.

I stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, suddenly unsure what to do with the rest of my body. My heart was hammering as Roman's gaze dropped, lingered, then flicked back up like a match catching flame.

His mouth curved, just barely-- a slow, secret smile. "Are you trying to kill me?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but it didn't happen. Words? Forgotten. Vocabulary? Gone. "I-- No?" I managed, hating how breathless and stupid I sounded. Why couldn't I have said something else?

Roman chuckled, smirk curling. "I'm saying you look gorgeous," He leaned in just slightly, just enough for me to feel it-- his height, his heat, the weight of him standing there so still and composed, with his scent filling my every atom. "You gonna let me in?" he asked, voice low.

My lips parted. "You're-- We're not staying,"

His smile widened by a fraction. "No, I know," he murmured. "Just teasing 'ya."

Roman straightened, pushing off the doorframe with easy grace, and tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging down the length of me like gravity. A flicker of heat passed behind his expression, but he didn't let it stay-- he blinked it away, mouth twitching like he wasn't quite ready to let me see how affected he actually was. "Shall we?" he asked, motioning to his car with a nod of his head.

I expected the car from yesterday, but no. Parked under the amber glow of the streetlamp like something summoned, there it was-- a vintage red Jaguar. A deep, glossy cherry-colour, long and low, and growling faintly. 

Oh, I should've known he owned expensive old cars; he definitely seemed like the type of billionaire to do so.

Roman's eyes trailed mine. "Seemed like a nice night to drive myself," he explained, not even trying to suppress his glee as he stepped aside. His hand gently brushed my lower back to guide me down the stairs, and I followed him like I was under some kind of spell, heart beating too fast, air feeling too thin.

Was this a dream? It sure could be. 

"You seem like you're in a good mood," I said, hoping he didn't notice the slight shake in my voice. "I was sort of expecting you to be pissed all night."

Roman glanced over at me as he opened the passenger door. The corner of his mouth lifted-- wry, a little crooked. "I was," he said. "Until I saw you."

And I would've responded, had my heart not detonated in my chest the second I spotted what had been laid out in front of me in the car. There it was-- a massive bouquet of roses, sprawled across the passenger seat like they had been dropped there mid-opera. Deep red, almost black in the shadows, dozens of them; no filler, no bow, just pure, dramatic intent.

My breath caught somewhere in my throat as my brain tried to make sense of it. Roman had left that for me. For me. But the scale of it, the sheer deliberate un-Godfrey-like grandeur, made something uneasy twist in my stomach.

Because... he had said he would get me back. "I'm going to ruin you," were the exact words. Oh God. Was this that?

My pulse spiked. "Wait-- this isn't-- Roman, are these like... are these revenge roses?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I mean-- are you messing with me? Because I know you said you were gonna get me back and this is all so beautiful, it's very beautiful, but also kind of-- terrifying, actually, and I just need to know if this is part of some psychological chess game you're playing with me because honestly that would make a lot of sense for you and I really need to know if I'm supposed to accept them or if I'm about to be arrested for emotional trespassing or--"

"Jesus Christ," Roman muttered, half laughing. 

He stepped closer, one hand still on the open door, the other reaching for the bouquet. He swept it up from the passenger seat and held it out to me; the roses looked almost ridiculous in his grip-- too romantic, too sincere for a man who usually spanked me raw. 

"Take the flowers," he said, voice low.

I stared up at him, wide-eyed. "But?--"

"They're not revenge roses, whatever the fuck that is," he said, sharper now, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. "They're just... roses. Don't people do this shit? If not, then my cousin set me up. She said girls like roses, or whatever."

... Letha?

Oh, Letha was going to get the biggest smooch the next time I saw her. That girl was an absolute angel. I felt myself melt to my spot, my smile cracking brightly across my face as I stared up at Roman, eyes round with affection and awe. "They're lovely," I breathed. "Thank you."

Roman inhaled slowly, like he was trying not to lose face or patience-- then he leaned down, green eyes catching the porch light again, and said, just above a whisper; "If I wanted to punish you, you'd know. And trust me, you'll know when I do,"

All I could manage was a faint noise of acknowledgment, holding onto my smile for dear life. Couldn't let it slip, not now. Still, Roman (damn him) just smiled, lazy and infuriatingly pleased with himself. "Get in the car," he said, still close. "We have a reservation to get to."

Okay, okay.

I sat down, and the door closed behind me with a heavy, expensive thunk, sealing me into the Jaguar's plush leather interior and the thick, dizzying scent of roses. The flowers were a full-body experience-- perfume and drama and colour, pressed against my lap like they knew they were too much and dared me to say so. I smiled down at them, brushing the pad of my index against one of the rose petals, praising myself in my head to the high heavens for somehow stumbling through life on the exact path that had led me here, right now.

Roman slipped into the driver's seat a moment later, his scent curling into the cabin-- spice and something woody, almost cold? It reminded me of the scent he wore during my job interview; did he know that this was a psychological trick? Was he aware that wearing the scent you wore the first time you met someone could evoke stronger feelings? I doubted it. It couldn't have been intentional. Could it? Not unless Letha mentioned that to him in passing, too, that sneaky minx. 

Roman didn't speak right away, and adjusted the mirror with one ringed finger and shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. "And you're not as murderous as you were this morning,"

My gaze darted up to meet his in the mirror. "Pardon?"

"You said you thought I'd be pissed," he said with a shrug. "And I thought you'd be out for blood again."

I blinked at him. "I wasn't out for blood,"

"You were a little out for blood," he said, grinning as he reached for the gear shift lever. "I still remember the look in your eyes when you got under my desk. Never seen you like that, that's all. Cutest blowjob ever."

I nearly choked on air. My spine snapped straight against the seat, heat crawling up the back of my neck so fast I was genuinely surprised steam wasn't coming out of my ears. Cute? Was it only that, cute? Not... hot, or whatever? "Roman," 

"What?" he said, all innocence, easing the car away from the curb like he hadn't just casually drop-kicked my dignity into oncoming traffic.

I stared at the dashboard, cheeks blazing, hands folding around the roses like I was at church. "Don't say it like that,"

He flicked on the turn signal, smug as hell. "Would you rather I lie?"

"No-- God, no, I just-- cutest?"

Roman glanced over at me, brows lifting. "It was, though,"

I huffed and stared stubbornly out the window; "You make it sound like I brought you an apple and a love note written in crayon,"

"You kind of did," he said, grinning. "You were all flustered, mean, and mad at me, and then suddenly very... helpful. It was cute."

"Stop saying it was cute! It wasn't cute!"

Roman laughed, an unexpected warm sound-- he was still smiling when I glanced at him, but it wasn't smug this time. "Okay," he murmured, tapping the steering wheel with one ringed finger. "Fine. You want complete honesty?"

I didn't answer-- mostly because I wasn't sure. Did I want honesty from Roman Godfrey? That felt like asking a loaded question with a trapdoor underneath it. 

However, he didn't wait for me to respond; "It was hot," he said, quieter now. "Obviously."

The words landed with more weight than I expected. They settled between us, warm and heavy, and I found myself staring at him-- at the curve of his mouth, at the clean line of his jaw, at the way his throat moved when he swallowed. I swallowed too; "Then... why'd you call it cute?"

Roman shrugged, eyes fixed on the road. "Because I didn't expect it. It got to me," He paused, his fingers flexed once on the wheel, then stilled--

"You get to me," he mumbled. "More than I like."

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe. My heart did something strange in my chest-- it skipped a beat and then made up for it all at once. The air inside the car felt warmer, denser, like the windows were fogging up even though I wasn't moving.

Roman didn't look at me, but I could feel the tension in him too, the way his shoulders pulled just a bit tighter, like he knew he had said too much and wasn't sure what to do with it.

Then, he broke the silence I had loved to swim in for the few seconds he had let me.

"Anyway," he said, slipping back into his teasing voice like armour. "I stand by it. Cutest blowjob ever. Five stars. Would receive again."

"Roman," I huffed, scandalized, as I clutched the roses tighter like they might shield me from the sheer audacity of this man.

"What?" Delight bloomed on his face again. "I'm being nice, am I not? I'm really trying, here."

I opened my mouth to snap something back, some cutting, a witty little retort, but nothing came out-- because the truth was, Roman was being nice. In his own weird, maddening, emotionally catastrophic way. And despite how much I wanted to pretend I had the upper hand, I didn't. Not even close. He had it (he'd always had it), and it was getting harder and harder to pretend I didn't notice the way he looked at me like I was something that lived under his skin. He was trying. He was really trying.

So instead, I shifted slightly in my seat, stared ahead for a beat, then mumbled;

"You get to me, too,"

The words hung in the air for a moment, soft and terrifying. I didn't dare look at him-- my hands were suddenly too still over the roses, my fingers twitching like they wanted to pull the words back before he could really hear them.

But he had.

I felt it more than I saw it-- that  stillness that passed through him like a ripple in deep water. Roman's large hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his veins pulling over his knuckles. However, I knew him well enough by now to recognize that the silence wasn't disinterest. It was the opposite. It was tension. It was held breath. It was something he didn't allow himself to feel or revel in. 

Because for him? Emotion was pain. Always was, always would be.

And then, just as I was about to say something silly to lighten the mood, Roman exhaled. Slow and controlled, his voice came back, low and careful; "Let's just hope no one from corporate or HR sees us. That'd be a lot of explaining that I'm not in the mood for,"

Had I spoiled his mood? I had no idea, but I wanted to beat myself up for it till I bled. "I doubt it," I mumbled, staring straight ahead on the road. "If anything, we'll say you're thinking about giving me a raise, and... I had no other available time to discuss it."

Thankfully, after a beat, Roman briefly tilted his head toward me, one brow arched as he huffed a laugh. "Was that your very subtle way of asking for a raise?"

I blinked. "What?"

He gestured loosely with one hand, his smirk sliding back into place like it had just been waiting for an excuse. "Your whole scheme? You getting back at me for stealing your underwear?" He paused, eyes gleaming. "God, you're good. I've figured you out now."

I let out a disbelieving giggle; "It was never about getting a raise, no," Did he really not know it was about him going down on me? And here I thought he had pieced it all together earlier today.

"You sure?" Roman teased. "Because if it was... consider it approved."

Well, that was a nice change of events? Wouldn't say no to that. Could probably go shopping with Letha more often if I had some extra money in my pockets. Win-win! I turned to him, beaming. "Great! I'll have your assistant draft the paperwork,"

His grin deepened; "You are my assistant,"

"Exactly. That's why you should be worried,"

Roman laughed, low and genuine, and the sound washed over me like warm water. Just like that, the tension unraveled. It didn't completely fade, no-- it just tucked neatly beneath the surface again, traded for the rhythm we knew, and the flirtation we could hide inside.

... For now.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had dreamed about this restaurant-- quite literally.

It had been in one of those Vogue catalogues that Letha had thrown all around her room back in college, and I had added it to my mental locker; I was definitely hoping to visit this place someday. However, when I had searched up the prices of the food, and searched up who usually attended this place, I very clearly remember sinking deeper into my bed and willing myself gone. Some things were just supposed to be out of reach, right? Or, well, I held onto the hope that I could get Letha really drunk on cosmopolitans one day, and that she'd then take me here and pay for everything-- that would've been my ticket.

But now? 

Now, Roman Godfrey had his hand on the small of my back as the hostess led us to our seats. What even was life? He didn't even need a surname check, they didn't even ask his name-- no, his fingers had been dipping into the low back of my dress, drawing a teasing circle into my skin as he walked up to the hostess like he wasn't doing anything of that nature at all, and she had simply nodded. She knew who he was. Of course he didn't need to announce who he was. Fucking hell. 

I was also quite sure we had just passed by the mayor of Pennsylvania, who was swirling his drink as he spoke to his very, very stylish deputy mayor-- weren't they accused of having an affair just a few weeks ago? I wasn't sure. I remember skimming past that part of the magazine, and going directly to page six to gawk at pictures of Roman instead. Still, what got to me was that no one batted an eye at any of the people at this restaurant-- of course they didn't. Not at the mayor, and not at Roman, because neither of them was out of place here, in the midst of the elite.

I was the anomaly.

But I certainly didn't look like one. 

The hostess led us to a tucked-away table at the edge of the dining room, semi-enclosed by frosted glass and real vines suspended like art. It was private, dimly lit, and humming with warmth. When Roman pulled out my chair for me, I felt my cheeks burn as I gave him a breathy thank you, trying not to show how wide my eyes had gone. Seriously, who was this guy? Where was my boss who had made me hump his shoe?!

God, the menu was heavy. The napkin was embroidered. The glasses were so thin I was afraid to touch mine-- Vogue knew what they were talking about, back in the day.

"Still thinking about the raise?" Roman asked once we were alone, eyes glittering from across the table.

I smirked, slipping into our familiar rhythm like I wasn't floored by this place-- there was no way I'd let him know that I was. "I'm mostly thinking about what I'm going to wear after you give it to me,"

He leaned back, clearly pleased. "Good. Think lace,"

I shot him a look.

"Lace, and easy to get out of," Roman added, grinning. "The stuff you wore today was hot, but impossible."

"Is that right?" Oh, someone's been thinking about that. I shrugged, chin high, like I wasn't about to floor him; "Sadly for you, I'm still wearing it."

Roman let out a quiet, dramatic hiss before slowly, deliberately, sinking a little into his seat, visibly happy about it. One hand rested casually on the table, his fingers brushing the base of his wine glass, not bothering to dim his broad grin. "Cruel," he murmured. "Cruel thing to say to a man trying to behave himself."

My pulse jumped, and I could only smile softly at the menu, dismissing him (mostly for my own good). I'd melt if I didn't, I was sure of it.

Roman tilted his head, studying me like I had become something entirely new in the last few seconds. "You know that you're making this hard for me, don't you?" he went on, lazily dragging his thumb along the rim of his glass. "You sit there looking like that, talking like that, and expect me to what? Order steak and talk about traffic?"

"I expect you to try," I said, sweet as pie, before putting down the menu and folding my hands on the table like I hadn't just wrecked him on purpose.

Roman huffed a short laugh, shaking his head once. "See, this is the problem. You used to get flustered when I so much as looked at you,"

"I did not!"

"You did. You've even confessed to it. And now?" He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table, eyes heavy-lidded and burning. "Now you're saying shit like that and sitting here like you're not doing it on purpose."

I arched a brow, matching his tone, bite for bite. "Maybe I am doing it on purpose,"

Roman's grin sharpened--"Then I guess I'll take that raise off the table,"

"Or under the table," I countered. "I distinctly remember you like that."

He blinked, just once, and then let out a low, half-scoff of disbelief. "Jesus Christ,"

Thankfully, the waiter chose that exact moment to appear, asking if we were ready to order.

Roman didn't look at the menu. Didn't need to. He waved a hand, said something in French (of course he spoke French, that little aristocrat), and then nodded to me with a devil-may-care smirk like you're in good hands, trust me.

And just like that, the waiter vanished, and we were alone again.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was thick, almost luxurious, like the candlelit restaurant had settled in around us, happy to let the tension simmer and stretch. Roman sipped his wine, eyes hooded-- I felt like a goddess every time he looked at me like that. So, with a light blush, I traced a finger along the rim of my glass, pretending to be absorbed in the movement, even though my entire body was still buzzing.

Then, finally, I said; "So..."

Roman's brow raised, amused. "So?"

I shrugged. "I realize I don't actually know anything about you. This is the perfect opportunity," The perfect opportunity I had so perfectly stumbled upon while crafting my revenge. 

"You know plenty," Roman said, shrugging back at me with a teasing mimic. 

"Sure," I murmured. "I know you're rich, emotionally unregulated, and deeply committed to corrupting your employees."

Roman smiled-- slow and lazy. "All true,"

"But I mean... outside of that. What do you do when you're not emotionally destabilizing me in the workplace?"

He leaned back a little, watching me like he wasn't entirely sure if this was a trap. "You're asking what I do for fun?"

"Yes," I said. "Or at the very least, what you pretend to enjoy in public."

Roman was quiet for a beat, his expression unreadable; "I didn't take you for the type to make dinner feel like an interview,"

"I'm not. I just..." I hesitated, then shrugged again. Was this my go-to nervous tick? "I'm curious, that's all. All I've seen of you is, well-- this. The office. The flirting. The mean days. And, of course, the power plays."

Roman was still for a moment, watching me over the rim of his glass. Then, he set it down gently and said, almost too easily-- "I read,"

"You read?" I repeated. Of course he did. 

Roman nodded; "Yes. Books. Pages. Sentences,"

"Funny,"

"I thought so,"

I squinted at him. "Are we talking Wall Street Journal or French poetry levels of reading?"

Roman's grin returned, slower this time. "I'll let you imagine whatever version of me you want,"

"No, don't do that," I leaned a bit closer over the table, crossing my legs (no fishy business, I promise), and dropped my voice a little. "Be real with me, if only just for one night."

Roman stared back at me, a bit confused perhaps, and the stem of his wine glass caught between his fingers as he watched me from across the table. Candlelight flickered softly against the deep angles of his face, his eyes unreadable but alert, like he was weighing something in silence. I knew it was probably a little much to ask him to open up, but I so desperately wanted to know him, just a little bit, and--

"You're gonna laugh," he mumbled.

My brows raised; "I wouldn't,"

"You would,"

"You don't know that. I might find it cool,"

Roman sighed, giving up, giving in. He didn't look at me when he spoke. "I know how to code. I read about that, new softwares, and so on,"

There was a beat of silence as the words hung in the air-- dry, understated, almost absurd in the candlelit glow of one of the city's most expensive restaurants.

I stared. "You... code?" What was so embarrassing about that?

Roman finally looked up, and the expression on his face was equal parts sheepish and annoyed. "Yes," he muttered. "Code. Python, Swift, JavaScript. Y'know... nerd shit."

I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. It was ridiculous to me that he seemed so horrified by it. "You code," I repeated, grinning now. "For fun? For work?" Hot, hot, hot. 

He groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose; "No, not for fun. I don't sit around hacking into the Pentagon for sport. It's... I don't know, calming sometimes? It's mainly logical, and it makes my brain buzz. Everything's either broken or it works, there's no in-between. There's something satisfying about that,"

My grin softened, and so did my eyes. I steepled my fingers and put my head on top of them, feeling my heart thud with warmth. "Roman Godfrey," I purred. "You're actually kind of cool."

Roman narrowed his eyes at me, but he didn't look away; if anything, something about the way I said his name made him hold my gaze longer than usual. His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a warning; "Don't get carried away," he mumbled.

But I didn't have to-- he was already softening. I could see it in the way his pupils dilated that he was relieved, and maybe even flattered. 

Roman leaned back a little, the flickering light catching in his cheekbones and the gold edge of his irises. His fingers traced a coy circle against the base of his wine glass, and he let out a quieter sigh-- less annoyed now, more... reluctant affection. "I used to build little apps back in boarding school. Dumb shit, mostly. But my greatest work was when I made one that could replicate teacher log-ins,"

My jaw dropped. "Roman!" Little cheater!

"Relax," he said, lips curving into something slow and wicked. "It ended up being a good thing, believe it or not. My friends and I used to joke that our history teacher was a pedo, and when I got his passwords... I also got hold of his Google searches. Incriminating stuff, let me tell you."

A cold chill crept across the back of my neck-- that took a turn. "What did you... do with that?"

Roman shrugged like this was the most casual story ever; "I printed the searches, and mailed them anonymously to the headmaster. No note. Just a USB and a folder, and the teacher disappeared from campus a week later. Administration didn't even ask questions. Quiet investigation, quiet settlement. All of it got swept under the rug, but he never came back... So, yeah, I felt like Batman for a good few weeks after that. Good times,"

My chest tightened, not out of fear, but out of some breathless, involuntary awe. Not just because Roman had done that, but because I could tell by the way he told it that no one had ever thanked him-- no one had even known. I stared at him, and for a long moment I forgot where we were; the restaurant, the flickering candle, the impossibly thin wine glasses, all of it.

"You're..." I exhaled, pulse fluttering. "You're not who I thought you were."

Roman gave a one-shouldered shrug, like it didn't matter, like he hadn't just revealed one of the most private, morally complicated things about himself. "No one ever is,"

"Yeah," I breathed. "You're Batman."

Roman blinked at me once, and then let out a low, startled laugh that pulled straight from his chest. It was that rare kind of sound I had only ever heard from him a handful of times; unguarded, full-bodied, and warm. He tipped his head back slightly as it escaped him, as if even he was surprised by it. "Christ," he muttered, smirking as he brought his hand to his mouth. "You're going to dine out on that forever, aren't you?"

"Damn right I am," I said, grinning now, my voice soft with delight. "Roman Godfrey, brooding CEO by day, Gotham vigilante by night."

"You're ruining the brand," he warned, still smiling.

I leaned my chin into my hand and blinked at him, faux-innocent. "I like learning about the real you,"

"Oh, I take it back, now,"

"Nope. Too late. I already like him,"

That made Roman still again-- but this time, the tension was different. Subtler. It was in the flick of his eyes as they searched mine, the slight parting of his lips, the way his fingers stilled against the wine glass like he had forgotten it was there. The candlelight caught the edges of his face, carved them softer now.

Mercifully, just on time, the waiter returned. The plates were set down with delicate precision; our steaks, sides in tiny, glimmering copper bowls, steam curling into the space between us. Roman thanked him with a nod and a quiet ça ira, and then we were alone again.

The air was warmer now from the plates, the pause, and the quiet simmer of my words still hanging in the air-- I wasn't taking them back. No, he'd have to sit with them, and let them sink in. I liked him, and he had better get over that soon enough. With a shaky sigh, I picked up my fork and knife, eager to redirect all this... weight sitting in my chest. I didn't want to break whatever thread had been strung between us, but I didn't quite know how to sit in it either. I sliced into my steak, slow, pretending my fingers weren't trembling just a little.

But then, just as I was about to take the first bite, knife halfway through the cut--

"You have a minor in music, right?"

I looked up, startled. He remembered? 

Roman was watching me with a different kind of intensity now-- not flirty, not teasing, but perhaps a bit... curious? "It's in your CV," he said. "We discussed it during your interview. It was for extra credits, right?"

"Yeah," I breathed, feeling my eyes soften. "I play the piano. Or, played is probably the better term. Haven't touched it since I graduated."

Roman didn't say anything at first-- he just watched me with that unreadable look, silently slicing into his steak. His posture was deceptively casual, elbow on the edge of the table, shoulders relaxed, but something in the set of his jaw gave him away; there was a flicker behind his eyes, like a thought that almost surfaced, then didn't. Was it interest?

"Shame," he finally said, voice low. "Why?"

I was surprisingly on guard, more so than he had been when it was his turn. "Um," I mumbled, my shoulder doing that nervous tick thing again. "I never particularly liked it. I was forced to take lessons because everyone in my family plays, and I was also forced to practice on the weekend my whole life, so... it didn't form a particularly healthy bond. I've loathed it my whole life."

Roman wasn't eating the steak. Why wasn't he eating? Why wasn't I? Why were we staring at each other like children lost in a forest, unable to look away?

"But you did it in college?" he asked, not blinking.

"Yeah," I breathed, not blinking either. "For the credits."

"Right... What made it bearable, then?"

Oh, what a question. "It felt cool when I finally finished learning a piece," I mumbled, a bit quieter than intended. Why was I so timid, all of a sudden? "And I like this composer, Rachmaninov. His pieces were too hard for me to play, but it was fun to explore sometimes."

And suddenly, it felt like everything that had frozen started moving again-- because suddenly, Roman let out a loud scoff, half a laugh, as he finally took the first bite of his steak. He chewed, nodding to himself as though processing how to say what he wanted to without being rude. Then, when he was done-- "Rach is a menace,"

My brows drew together, and I let out an incredulous laugh. "Rach?" I echoed; only people that knew music called him that. 

"Oh, yeah," Roman said, casual as ever, before nodding to my food. "Eat."

Confused, I finished cutting my steak, taking a rather disoriented bite of the best steak I had ever had. I would have melted and complimented it, thanked him for ordering it, but I couldn't shake the inkling I suddenly got. "What, you don't like Rach?"

At that, Roman chuckled. "You need hands the size of Russia to get through the second page of anything he writes, that's all," he said, matter-of-factly. "It's beautiful music, you will never catch me denying that, but that man made it impossible to play if you don't have massive hands. Menace, I tell you."

My eyes were probably wider than the plate before me. "You play, too?"

It was as though he hadn't heard me for a few seconds-- Roman proceeded eating, humming in delight. "My family is Slavic," he said when he finished chewing. "If you don't play the piano, you're a bastard child with no right to eat. Of course I do."

It was comical, the way he delivered it-- so deadpan, so dry, as though the words hadn't just cracked the entire night open. "You play!" I beamed, my steak momentarily forgotten on my fork. "You play the piano and you've been sitting there this whole time letting me monologue about it like I'm the only tortured soul at this table?"

Roman tilted his head slightly and took another bite, chewing slowly, deliberately. "I was enjoying myself,"

"You're the menace," I breathed, stunned. "Not Rach!"

"Says the woman who just tried to gaslight me into thinking she never got flustered around me," he shot back, then nodded toward my plate again. "Eat. You're embarrassing me."

We stared at each other, utterly ridiculous and beaming. The flickering candlelight made his cheekbones look even sharper, his grin even more boyish in his gorgeous black shirt. I couldn't believe I was sitting here across from Roman Godfrey, of all people, trading war stories about Romantic-era composers like it was casual.

I tilted my head, beaming. "Do you still play?"

Roman hesitated for the first time-- not guarded, not evasive, just... hesitant. "Sometimes," he mumbled. "My mother sometimes pressures me to play when I come over. She always falls asleep when I do, though, so I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

I snorted, probably a little too loudly for this fancy restaurant-- that earned me an echo of a snort back from Roman, and it rolled out into a short, shared laugh.

"What do you play?" I managed, feeling my cheeks rosy.

"Debussy. Always Debussy,"

"Oh, of course you do," I whispered, and I couldn't stop the warmth that bloomed in my chest. "That makes sense."

Roman didn't respond at first-- he just looked at me. Really looked. Then, slowly, he put down his cutlery and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You talk like you've done this your whole life,"

"Well," I said, smiling into my wine glass. "It seems you have, too."

"Touché," he murmured, but he was still watching me, eyes darker now, more thoughtful, like... maybe, for a moment, he saw something in me that he didn't quite know what to do with-- then, he turned it into something he knew very, very well. "You know what they say about piano players?"

I knew what was coming. I could see it in the way his green eyes gleamed with mischief. I sighed, unable to suppress my grin; "Hands?"

Roman's lips curled like he had been waiting for the bait. "Mm," he hummed, eyes never leaving mine. "Fast hands. All that repetitive motion..." He dragged the sentence out slowly, almost lazily, as if the words themselves were meant to touch me. "A lot of discipline. Lots of control, they say."

I swallowed around nothing. "Sounds exhausting," I said, trying to keep my voice steady-- still, it came out lower than I meant it to. God, how I wanted his hands on me again. They were surprisingly addictive. 

Roman smiled wider, sinking a little further back into his chair like he could feel the air between us change, like he wanted to watch me squirm with a better view. "Depends who you're playing for," he murmured. "But if you tire quickly, you're in luck. I'm always happy to take the lead, and... finish the piece, per se."

There it was, hanging between us, heavy and undeniable.

"We shouldn't be talking like this in public," I teased, barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" Roman murmured, voice dropping. "You're the one who wore that dress."

I let out a small, breathy laugh. I hadn't even remembered what I was wearing until that moment, until his eyes dragged lower like he was picturing how it clung to me when I stood, and how it would feel bunched up. Wrinkled. Peeled off, perhaps.

Roman's fingers ghosted along the rim of his glass again, and he added, quieter now-- "You're doing that thing again,"

"What thing?"

His thumb pressed against the glass, slow. "Making me wonder what you'd do if I stopped behaving,"

I blinked slowly, heat pulsing just under my skin. Oh my God.

Roman leaned forward again, just enough to tip his shadow into mine. His voice was soft, and deadly calm; "I'll find out later,"

My heart thudded so hard I felt it in my throat.

"Eat your steak," he said next, eyes glittering with victory. "You're going to need the energy." ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Phase five, the last phase, was about to be in motion.

But... God, I hadn't been this nervous since I handed in my bachelor's thesis. What was wrong with me? Why did I feel like a virgin all over again?

The night was dark and honey-thick, warm in the way only a summer night could be after the world had already fallen asleep-- the darkness reminded me of how long we had stayed at the restaurant. We wouldn't have stayed there so long had we not had a good time, though, right? My brain was going into overdrive, and I suddenly had a hard time swallowing. Fucking hell. The city had quieted down to a soft hum, and Roman's Jaguar purred low at the curb outside my building, headlights off, heat still curling from the engine like breath.

I hadn't moved to get out yet. Neither had he.

Roman was half turned toward me, one hand lazily ghosting along the steering wheel, and the other draped along the back of my seat, his ring grazing my shoulder without touching it. His collar was still open, and his hair had fallen slightly out of place since dinner. It made him look looser, younger, and impossibly hotter. How was that even possible? There was a low sort of satisfaction in the set of his mouth, like he hadn't planned to enjoy himself tonight but somehow ended up doing just that.

The streetlamps spilled gold across the windshield. I didn't want to leave, not yet.

"I know I made a fuss earlier today, but you don't have to do anything," I blurted out, softening my voice-- not because I meant to, but because I felt unbearably guilty. Suddenly, my whole plan felt ridiculous; so what if he took my underwear? Why should I corner him into going down on me just cause he pissed me off? Not only did I feel childish, but also... embarrassed. This wasn't how proper adults behaved, right? 

Roman didn't answer right away-- he let out a short, quiet scoff of a laugh. "Do what?" he murmured.

"Prove a point," I mumbled. "That you go down on women, or whatever. Forget all of that. It all feels really stupid, all of a sudden."

The silence that followed was not quiet-- it was charged. I briefly glanced at the roses in the back seat before my fingers curled in my lap, gripping the hem of my dress to keep from saying something even worse.

Roman shifted, just slightly, and the arm behind me slid lower, grazing the edge of my seat. I felt the weight of his stare before I met it-- his green eyes cut to mine like a slow exhale. "You don't want me to anymore?" he asked, voice low and steady. "I thought we had a good time."

I looked at him, startled, but not because of the words. It was the tone. He sounded... genuinely puzzled. Not offended, like I had expected. There was something grounded and adult about Roman right now that threw me off my impression of everything going on. 

"We did. I just... " I dropped my gaze, focusing on my hands and how small they looked in my lap. "I feel like I turned it into a game. It feels a bit wrong, now that you've sort of... become a person to me."

At that, after a breath, Roman leaned back slightly against the leather, the fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest as he shifted. "I get it," he said, glancing away, his fingers grazing the edge of the steering wheel again. "I do. The games make it easier. If it's a game, then it doesn't have to matter. Doesn't have to get close." His voice dropped a little lower. "But it does get close. I think that's secretly been the point all along."

My pulse stuttered-- "Oh?"

Roman turned back to me then, the shadows of the night dancing softly across the sharp line of his jaw, and for a moment, he looked younger again-- like he didn't have the burden of being my boss, or a CEO, just in this minute. "Look," he murmured. "You don't have to apologize for playing along or for creating your own games. That's why this works. That's why it's still working, whatever this is between you and I."

He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching like he could barely keep himself from smiling. "I've never met someone who... truly understood how to play my games before. I've felt like a freak imposing myself on willing girls all my life because of it, too. But you play along, and you get it," Roman's pupils had somehow dilated, and I could almost see the way his pulse beat up along the side of his throat-- "Or... am I wrong here?"

My breath caught.

God, I could feel it, the way he was looking at me-- he wasn't asking for sex, or permission, or even forgiveness, but recognition. For confirmation that he hadn't imagined it, that the electricity between us hadn't been a product of his own private delusion, and that we were both just as sick and twisted as the other. 

I was fucking burning now, and there was no way to help dim the fire, not even as I spoke; "You're not wrong," I breathed. "I haven't felt so... free to be me before. With you, I make sense."

... That did it.

Roman let out a breath like he had been holding it for hours. The tension in his jaw eased, and his hand, the one still draped along the back of my seat, finally dropped, brushing softly against the bare skin of my arm.

I watched his lips part, ready to speak, but before he could impose his attachment issues on me and pull away, I spoke before he could, just to catch him to it; "I know it scares you," I blurted out, anxiety rushing through my veins. "I know. And also I know I should keep quiet, but if you could just give this a chance, I could?--"

"Invite me up,"

The words stopped me cold. My breath caught, literally stopped mid-inhale, and I scanned Roman over and over in search of a teasing smile, smirk, anything.

But... I could only find sincerity. Maybe a hint of want. The night had fallen so dark I could barely see him, yet the green in his eyes found mine with unwavering certainty. What he was certain of, I wasn't sure-- but it was convincing as ever. 

I swallowed. "You sure?"

"Yes," he said.

"I promise you won't have to--"

"I've been waiting to kiss you all night, and I need to get you alone to do it the way I want to. Invite me up,"

"Okay," I squeaked, unable to suppress the smile that crept up my face. 

I didn't need night-vision to know Roman was smirking down at me through this darkness. "Good girl," he murmured, before retreating his hand to kill the engine. 

When I got out of the car, the air met me like a wall, humid and summer-sweet. The street was still empty, quieter than ever before, with the moon tucked somewhere high above us. 

Roman rounded the front of the car without a word and met me on the sidewalk-- he didn't touch me. Not yet. But the way his eyes moved over me made my pulse stutter, and made my knees feel weak, like his hands were already on me in every place I wanted them most. The night wrapped around us, thick and honeyed, holding its breath the same way I was.

He stopped just close enough that I could feel his heat, the faintest brush of his sleeve against my bare arm as the breeze shifted. His jaw was set, sharp in the glow of the streetlamp, but his mouth... God, his mouth looked so fucking soft.

"This way," I whispered, because anything louder felt like it would shatter the moment. My voice sounded strange to my ears, thin and tight, laced with all the wanting I couldn't hide; I started walking toward the building entrance, fumbling for my keys with hands that wouldn't quite stay steady. Stupid, stupid girl.

Roman followed, silent but not absent-- I could feel him behind me, every step a shadow pressed close to my spine. It was unbearable, knowing he was there and choosing not to touch me yet, like he was dragging out the anticipation on purpose, savouring it, savouring me.

When I reached the door, I paused to unlock it, but my fingers slipped once, twice. Oh, you fucking idiot. My pulse was thrumming too, drowning out everything else. 

I felt Roman step closer, just behind my shoulder now, his presence a slow, deliberate pressure. "Relax," he murmured, his breath grazing the curve of my neck, low enough that no one but me could hear. "You're shaking."

"I'm not," I managed, even though the key definitely trembled in my hand. "I'm fine."

Roman's mouth curled, the ghost of a smile I didn't dare look at directly. "Yeah, that's right... Lie to me, sweetheart, go on," 

His voice was dark velvet, sinful in how much it seemed to like my denial-- and before I could even form a reply, before I could process what he had just called me, Roman's lips were on my neck.

They were soft at first, just the faintest brush, a whisper of contact that sent lightning down my spine; but then his mouth opened against my skin, warm and deliberate, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch, sharp and needy, and fucking hell, how my knees wobbled.

"Roman--" I gasped, not even sure what I was asking for, or what I was warning him about.

He hummed low in his throat, like he had been waiting for that sound all night. Then, in one seamless, impossibly smooth motion, his hand came around mine-- his long fingers plucked the trembling key from my grip like it belonged to him, like I belonged to him. A flick of his wrist, a turn of metal, and the door clicked open before my brain caught up.

And then he had me.

Roman's hand found my hip, firm and possessive, guiding me forward with effortless strength. The next thing I knew, I was inside, the cool air of my air conditioner coming toward me like a saviour of a breeze. The door swung shut with a heavy thunk behind us, and before I could even think about flicking on the light, of excusing the small size of my apartment, Roman pressed me back against the door, hard enough to make it rattle softly in the frame.

Roman's body closed in on mine like water filling a glass, deliberate, all-encompassing, leaving no escape as he was pulled me under, drowning me sweetly in his gravity.

His hand slid to my jaw, tilting my face up, and then his mouth was on mine.

It was a passionate, molten press of lips that stole every thought from my head, all heat and inevitability, like he had known exactly how this kiss would feel long before it happened-- this was the kind of kiss you'd give when you've been thinking about someone for hours, for weeks, for longer than you'd ever admit.

I sighed into him, helpless, my hands lifting to his chest, clutching at his shirt just to stay upright. And then, God help me, his tongue brushed mine-- just a tease, a slow, deliberate glide that pulled a sound from me I didn't even recognize, quiet and desperate against his mouth. Roman tasted like wine and salt and something darker, something entirely his; he deepened the kiss then, angling my chin with his fingers, his lips moving with devastating precision, coaxing me open, drawing me closer, until every nerve in my body was crying out for more.

Roman breathed against my mouth between kisses, low and rough, like it cost him something to not have me up against the door right in this moment. "Fuck..." he murmured, lips brushing mine with the word. "Been thinking about this all night..."

My head spun, every nerve lit up and tuned to him, my body melting like it had been waiting for this exact moment, this exact kiss, all my life. "Roman," I whispered, voice shaky and small against his mouth. I kissed him again, because breathing felt impossible if I didn't, and when I pulled back just barely enough to speak, my confession slipped out before I could stop it; "Me too. Think about you-- like this, all the time."

A beat of silence passed between us, heavy and thick, and then, in that low, cocky tone that always managed to undo me, Roman murmured, "I know,"

My pulse stuttered, heat flooding my chest, my stomach, my thighs, because somehow, hearing him say it so certainly, so damn sure of himself and me and us, made something inside me ache in the sweetest, most dangerous way.

Roman kissed me again, slower this time, as if to underline his point, his hand sliding from my jaw down to my neck, my shoulder, skimming over my arm until his fingers laced with mine. He didn't let me think, didn't give me a second to overanalyze the moment-- just pulled me forward, away from the door, his lips brushing mine as he spoke, voice rough with want; "Bedroom?"

I nodded, quick and breathless, my heart hammering like it might break free of my ribs. "Down the hall," I whispered, holding back a girly, delirious giggle. "Last door on the left."

Roman's mouth curved, just barely-- a dark, satisfied shadow of a smile. "Take the lead,"

"That's a first with you," I mumbled, unable to hold back the joke. 

Roman's laugh was low as he followed close behind, clutching my hand. "Don't get used to it," he murmured. "I'm only letting you lead because I like watching you walk ahead of me. Your ass is fantastic in that dress."

Heat pooled low in my stomach at that, and I swore my knees almost buckled. My fingers tightened around his, where they were still laced with mine, pulling him with me like he was the only thing keeping me upright. "Pervert," I purred, glancing at him over my shoulder with that playful look I knew he loved. "And here I thought you were being a gentleman."

Roman's grin sharpened, wicked as ever, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the hallway. "Oh, no, I never claimed to be a gentleman," he drawled. "I want to be a little nice to you tonight, that's all."

The words landed low in my heart, molten and heavy-- fucking hell, I wasn't going to survive this night without permanent heart damage, was I?

I pushed the door to my bedroom open, and before I could even breathe, Roman's hand slid from mine to my hip, his mouth dipping to my ear. "Your room's cute," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of it, the heat of his breath making me shiver.

With the way my cheeks burned, I was sure my face was about to melt off. "At least it's not a red dungeon, like I fear yours is,"

Roman made a low, pleased sound in his throat, pushing the door shut behind us with his foot. "Good guess," he muttered, before turning me toward him, his hand cupping the back of my neck.

He didn't waste another second-- the moment my body turned to his orbit, his mouth was back on mine; urgent, like the kiss earlier had only been a preview and now he couldn't hold back.

Our mouths collided with a need so sharp it felt like real, true hunger-- think cannibalism. I had no idea what came over me when I moaned against him, and Roman seized the moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding in to meet mine like he knew exactly what I needed, like he'd been dreaming of this as long as I had.

It was messy, wet, overwhelming-- desperate.

After all this time of not touching each other, of being starved, of depriving ourselves of one another, it had culminated in whatever this moment was. Roman's hands moved with purpose, one at the base of my neck, the other already sliding down the curve of my spine to grip my ass, pulling me into him like he wanted to feel every inch of me. I clung to him, tugging him closer like I'd fall apart if there were even an inch left between us.

Roman groaned against my mouth, low and raw. "Fuck, you're--" His voice broke off like he didn't have the language for it. "This--"

He kissed me again, bruising now, shoving me back a step. Then another. He was walking me backward, and I didn't even care where we were going, bed, floor, wall, whatever-- so long as I could keep kissing him like this.

When the back of my knees hit the bed, I gasped ever-so-slightly, and Roman finally broke the kiss, only to trail his lips down my neck with a hunger that left no room for teasing with open-mouthed, hot kisses at my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. "You don't even know," he murmured, dragging his mouth back up to mine. "How bad I've wanted this. Wanted you. In that dress, which is stupidly short on purpose, like what the fuck, you're--"

"Wrong," I panted, tilting my head back for him as his mouth found that spot just beneath my ear. "Not-- on purpose."

Roman's laugh was breathless, shaky, like he couldn't believe I was real. "Liar," he growled. His hand properly groped my ass now, just firmly enough to make my breath hitch.

"Roman--" I gasped, already off balance. 

"Down," he said. "Now."

I thought that had been an order, something for me to obey once again, but that was way before I realized it was a warning. 

Because suddenly, we were both a bit off balance, too taken with each other to properly think-- however, somehow, Roman used the momentum to wrap around me, throwing me down to the mattress with one rushed, gentle push. 

I landed on the mattress with a shocked squeal, and he followed, his body moving over mine like a tide he could barely hold back. Roman loomed above me as I giggled from the shock, and he straddling me without fully settling his weight, his hands bracing on either side of my head, and I swore the room shifted around him, like the heat between us warped the air-- my giggles died down with the next beat of my heart, feeling it swell with want. 

Roman leaned down-- closer, lips ghosting mine, but not kissing me just yet. "Say it," he whispered. "Say you wanted me to snap."

I blinked up at him, dizzy and impossibly turned on. "I--"

"Say it,"

"You know I did," I whispered, barely more than a breath.

And then his lips met mine-- no warning this time, no slow burn; just hunger, full and unrestrained, all tongue and breath and need. Roman's large hand slid down, pushing my dress higher, fingers bunching the fabric at my waist before moving to the clasp of my garters-- that was when he groaned. Frustrated, exasperated, and delightfully wrecked, he broke the kiss, panting slightly against my cheek. "Jesus Christ," Roman muttered, like he was scolding me and himself in one breath. "I forgot about these. Do you know how long this is going to take?"

Fuck. My garters. 

I let out a breathless laugh, my eyes fluttering open to catch the wild look in his-- Roman looked like he was barely holding it together. "I thought it would be harder for you to steal anything like this," I managed, voice tight with laughter and lust. "What did you think was holding the stockings up?"

"I didn't think," he bit out, dragging his palm down my thigh like he might rip the whole thing off. "I didn't plan on losing my fucking mind tonight, thank you very much."

"You're doing great, sir," I whispered, grinning, too drunk on the sight of him undone to realize my slip-up.

The word hung there, thick and electric in the space between us, and I realized what I'd said a second too late. It hit me that he was still my boss, still the guy on the cover of Forbes-- fuck, had I hidden that magazine well enough? Where was it?

But... Roman smiled. Slowly. Darkly. Like the word alone had just tipped him over the edge of something he didn't even realize he'd been standing on. 

He shifted, hovering lower, before he bent down to kiss right above the garter belt around my waist. Soft and reverent, right below my ribs, lips brushing my bare skin-- his hands found the garter clasp and worked it easier than expected, the earlier frustration melting into something quieter, more focused, like the sound of a man undoing a present he'd been waiting too long to open. He kissed his way down with each snap and release-- my waist, my hipbone, the inside of my thigh, burning a path down my body with his mouth, his breath, his want.

"This," Roman murmured, between kisses. "This is the problem."

I was breathless now, fingers tangling in his hair without thought. "What is?"

"You," he said, teeth grazing the skin just above my stocking. "Thinking that this contraption will keep me from stealing this pair of panties, too."

I would've groaned, had I not been too horny to think. "Don't you dare," I whispered. "What the fuck did-- did you even do with the last pair?"

Roman's mouth curved against my thigh. "Don't think about it,"

"I will,"

"Don't,"

"I'm assuming the worst,"

"... Do," 

With the most wicked smirk known to man, Roman peeled off my underwear, his dark eyes darting up to meet mine with glee. He held it up, almost like a trophy; "That wasn't too hard?" he purred. "Gonna add this to my collection of souvenirs, now. You get the Birkin, and I get the panties."

I let out a shaky, breathless laugh. "Roman, I swear to God!--"

"What? You're going to threaten me while you're lying here half-naked? That's not how it works, sweetheart,"

My pulse was hammering, my fingers curling tighter in his hair. "Then how does it work, sir?" 

The word made him groan, low and amused, and he dropped the panties onto the floor with a deliberate flick of his wrist, his smirk deepening as he met my gaze. "It works--" he said slowly, dragging his hands up my thighs, spreading me wider under him. "--like this. I get to make my point, and you remember it the next time you think you can play with me and not pay the price."

"What point?" I asked, voice breaking halfway through the words, my breath catching when his mouth lowered, lips brushing my hipbone. I was sure my cheeks were unrecognizably red.

Roman let out a low hum, as though he was thinking, while guiding my legs over his broad shoulder; "That I eat pussy,"

... Oh my God.

His green eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense, his gaze challenging me to look away-- I couldn't, not when his mouth hovered so devastatingly close to the most sensitive part of me. My heart was pounding wildly, blood rushing to my head, the anticipation making my muscles quiver with each shallow breath. "You really don't have to--" I started, trying to regain some dignity, even as my voice broke embarrassingly high.

"Stop talking," Roman said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my inner thigh. "Unless you're begging, of course."

I gasped as his teeth grazed my skin, a teasing, possessive bite that sent sparks racing up my spine. My fingers tightened desperately in his thick, brown hair, a gentle tug earning me another dark chuckle as his mouth traced higher, achingly slow, making my hips twitch impatiently beneath him.

"Oh, God-- Roman," I whimpered.

His grip on my thighs tightened, spreading me even wider, making me feel utterly vulnerable and exposed to him. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he cooed, breath hot against my skin. "Poor girl. I'll be nice, now."

Then, without further warning, he laid his tongue flat against my sex and dragged firmly along my slick folds, from bottom to top, and I arched off the bed with a choked moan. My breath stuttered, eyelids fluttering shut as his mouth settled around me, hot and insistent, his tongue working deliberate, slow circles around my clit, making me writhe helplessly beneath him.

"Fuck," I choked out, grasping blindly at his hair, tugging instinctively. 

Roman pressed a teasing kiss to my clit before lifting his head for just a second, voice mocking and wicked; "I've barely done anything yet, y'know?"

Oh, that tease. I forced my eyes open, gazing down at him. The sight nearly broke me apart-- his lips glistened, and the arrogant smirk on his face was pure torture. I let out a breathless, shaky laugh, forcing back my pride. "Maybe. Though one demonstration isn't exactly-- oh, fuck--"

My teasing got cut off into a desperate moan as I felt Roman's smooth skin against my inner thighs again, and he leaned back down to repeat the motion-- tongue flat, dragging even slower up along my aching sex, making my breath stutter into a series of soft moans. Once his tongue reached my clit, he swirled around it in slow, teasing circles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against me.

And just as I thought I got used to the soft rhythm, to the sweet, gentle motions in which he ate me out, Roman sealed his mouth around me fully, sucking firmly at my swollen clit. My hips bucked instinctively, but his strong hands pushed me down, holding me exactly where he wanted me as he buried his face deeper, humming softly against me as he sucked me with the most devastating, pleasurable rhythm.

"Oh God--" I gasped, fingers tangling desperately in his hair, pulling him closer. The pleasure was almost too intense, the pressure of his mouth overwhelming, each sucking pull of his lips sending electricity racing through my body. My legs tightened around him involuntarily, muscles trembling, as my cries turned breathless and frantic. Was this seriously happening? I felt myself starting to whine, trying to kick him away for no reason at all-- thankfully, Roman was way bigger than me, way stronger than me,  and he held me down while he batted my clit with the tip of his tongue, sucking it swollen. I was long gone when I noticed that he moaned, sloppy, wet noises filling my head as I tried not to completely lose it.

And just as I felt myself tipping toward the edge, Roman pulled back abruptly, leaving me gasping, dizzy, and confused by the sudden denial. "What-- Why did you stop?" I breathed, voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading.

Roman looked up at me with a wicked, triumphant grin, licking his lips deliberately slowly as he sat up. Christ, how I shivered at that. "Because we're not done yet," he purred, his voice dark with promise. "Are you on the pill?"

Um? I nodded, barely able to think straight. "Yeah, but why?--"

"Good," His hands swiftly moved to his belt, undoing it in a fluid motion, eyes never leaving mine. "Then we're finishing this my way."

No question-- it was complete and utter control. Roman knew what I wanted. He knew what was best for me. Roman knew me. Honestly, I was too blissed out, too happy, and I nodded again, my hands reaching out for him. Come to me. Come hold me. 

It didn't take long before he complied, his wet lips kissing mine with no care for where they had been previously-- not that I cared, either. Roman's large hands moved to my dress, which had been bunched up around my waist, and we had to break the kiss to get it over my head. "You taste nice," he purred, grinning down at me as he impatiently tossed it aside. "It's a shame you're my secretary... 'cause that was some damn fine pussy."

My breath hitched, and I was on the brink of simply just smacking him and his foul mouth. "Roman!" I hissed, watching as he laughed before leaning down to kiss me, probably to shut down the incoming trail of cuss-words threatening to spill from my lips. "Seriously, I-- Roman!--"

"What?"

"You're-- ugh, wearing too much," 

For once, he didn't protest. 

I sat up halfway as Roman refused to break the kiss-- I worked my fingers over the buttons of his shirt, and he somehow got out of his pants. His clothes hit the floor moments later, joining mine in a heap, and when he pushed me down to the mattress again, no longer hovering, but putting his weight on me, it truly hit me-- the man who had refused to let me touch him, the man who had built all the walls in the universe around himself, was suddenly naked with me.

There was nothing between us now, not a layer of clothing, no walls of protection; Roman couldn't keep away any longer. He has used his last strengths, run the last mile, and now he wasn't hiding any longer-- neither was I. 

My heart soared as it beat against Roman's, and for the first time, I could feel his beating back at mine. My body was practically on fire as my fingers ran along the muscular range of his back, feeling his skin, reminding myself that he was actually here and that this wasn't a figment of my imagination.

In this moment, it was only him and me. 

Roman Godfrey, his hard cock poking at my stomach, and me. 

"Please tell me you're not a virgin," he murmured roughly against my lips, his hands caressing and claiming every inch of skin he touched, squeezing my tits like he couldn't get enough of me. "I really, really want to fuck you properly."

I couldn't stop the small giggle that was drowned in the following kiss. "I'm not," 

Roman let out a relieved sigh as he guided my legs to crease at his thighs, then looping his arms under me, resting his head in the crook of my neck-- his aching cock was prodding my entrance, wetting the head on my soaked sex with repeated strokes up along my sex. I watched him hold back a hitch of his breath, covering it with an airy laugh; "Good girl... Not a nun after all, then,"

"Roman, you little!-- Oh, a-ah, I--"

My words died out as his thick, hard cock pushed into me, stroking me open with a reverent care I hadn't expected after being told I was about to be fucked. I wrapped my arms around him as well, letting out a stuttering breath at the sensation-- I heard Roman hissing under his breath, cursing, before pushing deeper, like he couldn't get over the feeling of being enveloped by me.

His cock was seated as far as it could be inside of me, and I shuddered, embarrassingly enough-- I hadn't felt anything pulse up against my hilt before, and it was... I couldn't put my finger on it. It made my brain buzz. However, it was all made worth it when I heard Roman let out a... moan? Quiet and braced, like he had to sigh it out. "Tight," was all he said, pressing a kiss to my neck to shut himself up. 

"Sorry," I breathed, like the biggest idiot on the planet-- what was I sorry for?

Roman chuckled softly, mockingly tender, his lips brushing lightly against my ear. "Oh, don't be,"

Before I could respond, Roman slowly withdrew his cock from inside of me, deliberately teasing me with the emptiness left behind. I whimpered, unable to stop my hips from rising to chase him, and he let out a silky, wicked laugh; "Aw, poor little thing," he cooed in faux sympathy, his voice dripping with gentle mockery. "You want my cock that badly, sweetheart?" As if to make his point, he wrapped one hand around his shaft, tapping the tip against my clit to make me moan and flinch-- fucker. 

"Roman," I whined, trying to sound annoyed, though we both knew I was utterly helpless beneath him. "Just-- fuck me."

He laughed softly, accepting that for now, before easing himself back inside with slow, deep strokes, each thrust dragging against every sensitive spot inside me. My nerves were on fire, my breath was hitching-- how was I this worked up already? "Careful," Roman purred. "Someone might think you're desperate. Me, especially."

"Shut up," I whimpered, clinging to him tighter-- I think some part of me thought it would keep him from pulling out again. Every movement felt unbearably good, slick and silky, his cock pulsing and throbbing within me despite his calm composure.

"No, no," Roman teased sweetly, pulling out again, his voice honeyed and cruelly playful. "That won't do. Ask nicely."

I whined, frustrated, empty-- that bastard. "Roman... please,"

"Please, what?" He leaned in, brushing his lips feather-light against mine, his voice devastatingly gentle, mocking my desperation. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"I--" I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. "Fuck me," I finally breathed out, surrendering to his teasing, heat flooding my cheeks even further.

"Good girl," he cooed, grinning as he pushed his cock into me once more, deliberately grinding his hips to amplify the friction, listening to me sigh. Roman's pace picked up slightly, still careful, still smooth, his cock sliding wetly, perfectly inside me. "See how much better it feels when you behave?"

My body responded instantly, tightening and trembling around him, pleasure coiling tighter, sweeter, overwhelming me. I shook my head, trying to hold onto my pride; "I hate you,"

Roman chuckled, warm and condescending, before pressing gentle kisses along my jawline, each tender touch contrasting his filthy words. "Mhm, sure you do... You're so good at lying to yourself, aren't you?"

I didn't respond, glaring up at him. Excuse you?

Roman's eyes flashed with something dangerously similar to intrigue-- it didn't take long before I realized I had annoyed him with my refusal to answer. He gripped my jaw, firm, forcing me to meet his gaze as he listened to my bitten-back moans. His voice became mockingly sweet, dripping pure, filthy intent; "Oh, don't tell me I hit a nerve, sweetheart? Did I hurt your pretty little feelings?"

"Roman," I muttered, glaring up at him in defiance despite the shiver running down my spine. 

His expression hardened into a wicked smile, eyes gleaming mischievously. "Wrong answer,"

In one swift movement, Roman pulled out of me, before he flipped me onto my stomach, pressing me firmly against the mattress as I whimpered and whined. I felt the weight of him on my back before I could properly process what was even happening, and I could only moan as he sank his cock into me from behind, sinking deeper than before, making me gasp at the intrusion. My breath hitched as he leaned close, caging me in with his height, and I shivered against him as his thumb slipped between my lips, muffling any protest.

"Now," he whispered in my ear, his breath warm, voice silky, dripping with cruel amusement; "You're going to lie right there and take it, okay? No more talking back. You don't want to piss me off now, believe me."

Roman's thumb stroked gently over my tongue, his voice thick with mock sympathy. "Poor baby... you thought you had control, didn't you? That's adorable," He sank even deeper into me from behind, his cock smoothly stroking into me, each thrust perfectly angled to steal the breath from my lungs. "You're gonna lie still and take my cock like the good secretary you are, yeah? Yes, you are... Poor baby, poor girl... You hear how wet you are?"

I could only whimper against his thumb, clenching around his cock as he thrust into me, harder now, to really let me hear it too-- with every stroke, I could hear the filthy noise, the sound of me being properly fucked. Something about it made that familiar coiling burn in my stomach intensify, and I tried to push my hips into the sheets beneath me, tried to get the small friction against my clit that'd make me cum, but at that, I heard Roman sigh. With his free hand, he slithered it between the bed and my body, gripping my pussy like no one ever had-- he spread out his hand, placing two fingers on each side of my folds, his thumb digging into my lower abdomen, to stop me from grinding anywhere, before using it to lift me just slightly off the bed and rocking me back to meet his thrusts.

My moans were muffled, helpless beneath Roman's denial, and I felt my eyes well with tears at. I should've know he'd do this.

"No, sweetheart," he cooed softly, voice sickeningly sweet and mocking. "Behave. Are you really that horny, huh? Need to get off immediately? Nuh-uh. I've spoiled you enough."

I whimpered, shaking beneath him, clenching around his cock, but Roman only laughed softly, cruelly tender.

"Patience," he whispered against my ear, sending shivers across my skin. "Gonna fuck you just a bit more, okay? You're so tight and wet around my cock, I need a little more time to enjoy you... You make such pretty noises when you're on the edge, too. Wonder what noises you're gonna make when I tell you I might not let you cum at all."

What? No, no, no! I whimpered louder, trembling beneath Roman, desperately clenching around his cock-- my brain buzzed as I realized I was helplessly melting at the idea that I was here for his pleasure, that I was the only one making him feel this good; when I heard him groan, giving my shoulder a faint kiss as he buried his head in my neck, I felt my cheeks burn. I loved making him feel good. No one else could ever do this for him, no one else could unravel him like I could, and knowing that thrilled me even as frustration and desire blurred my thoughts.

Roman seemed to sense my surrender, gently pulling his thumb from my mouth with a content sigh, only to grasp my chin and tug me back-- I made no form of resistance as he smoothly manoeuvred us until we lay spooned together, his body pressed intimately along my back, his cock never leaving my depths. 

I recognized that Roman wasn't mocking or teasing me anymore, and with a blooming blush painting my cheeks, I turned my head just slightly, hoping to meet his green eyes. I didn't expect the teasing bite to my ear that followed when Roman realized I wanted contact, and I could only whimper in shock as he pulled me closer, laughing softly against my cheek. As his cock continued pushing into me, in and out, in and out, his lips slowly brushed mine, softer than expected, more intimately than expected, and I instinctively I kissed him, needy and desperate, claiming whatever tenderness I could steal.

Roman groaned softly against my mouth, and his hand slid down between my thighs to rub slow, torturous circles around my clit. "See? Good girls get rewarded," he teased between kisses, his voice dripping with wicked sweetness. "And you're being such a good girl for me right now, aren't you?"

I nodded frantically, moaning into his mouth, utterly helpless as pleasure began to spiral beyond my control, trembling under his slow, careful strokes and the insistent circles he drew over my clit. Roman pressed his forehead against mine, breathing raggedly as he kept his movements deliberate and firm, knowing exactly how to push me to the edge and keep me there.

And I had no idea what he did, how he did it, but with a tiny shift, my back came arching off him. 

"Roman--" I gasped, my voice breaking into a moan when his angle shifted, hitting a spot inside me that made my whole body jolt. "Oh God--"

"That's it, isn't it? Right there?" His hair hung over his forehead, his lips kiss-bruised, his grin dizzy and unsteady; "Feels good here?"

I whimpered, nodding again. "Yes," I choked out, barely breathing. "Right there, Roman, please--"

"That's it baby, take it," His thrusts were precise, deliberate, his forehead resting against mine as he fucked into that spot over and over. "That's my girl," he rasped, lips brushing mine between words. Roman pushed into that perfect spot again and again, the tip of his cock nudging it with every thrust as his fingers worked my clit, rubbing over and over and over--

"Roman-- oh my God-- I'm close, I'm so close--"

His forehead brushed mine, his breath hot on my lips as our gazes locked-- God, those eyes. Those green, green eyes. I whimpered, my smile curling against his, helpless and delirious as I dared to pull an arm around him too, fingers weaving into his hair to weave him closer. 

Roman smiled against my mouth-- this was perfect. "Cum for me," he whispered, a filthy sweetness in his voice as his cock filled me over and over. "Show me how good I make you feel."

And with two more thrusts, my world shattered. My cries caught in my throat, and my whole body seized around his cock as the pleasure ripped through me, white-hot and overwhelming. I clung to Roman like he was the only solid thing left, pulling at his hair without meaning to, sobbing out his name as wave after wave dragged me under.

Roman swore, low and guttural, his forehead pressing to mine like he couldn't stand the thought of even a breath of space between us. He kissed me through every shudder and aftershock, groaning softly as my climax triggered his own, spilling deep inside me, marking me as his completely.

The breath punched out of me at the sudden weight of it-- hot, thick, filling every part of me in a way that made my toes curl and my head spin. Roman's body shuddered against mine, his hips pressed flush as if he could keep himself there forever, his groans spilling against my mouth, low and broken, like he'd finally lost a battle he had been fighting all night.

And God, I felt it-- felt him throbbing inside me as he emptied himself, his release painting me full until it was too much to hold, every pulse sending a fresh wave of dizzying heat curling low in my belly. My breath hitched, a high, helpless sound escaping me as I clenched around him, like my body didn't want to let him go, like it wanted to keep every drop where it belonged.

But slowly, inevitably, when Roman finally stilled and softened, I felt it start to slip, hot and slick between my thighs, a reminder of just how wrecked he had left me. I whimpered softly at the sensation, at the overwhelming evidence of him spilling out of me, coating my skin, the mess of us undeniable.

Roman rolled over on his back, landing next to me with a soft groan, similarly to a rough sigh-- his body felt warm, yet lax with exhaustion. 

He didn't stay like that for long; after a few shaky breaths, he turned toward me, dragging a heavy arm over my waist, and to my surprise, pulling me in. The sheets tangled around our hips as he shifted closer, until we were nose to nose, his forehead brushing mine, his hair a little damp and messy, his lips still kiss-swollen. 

I had no idea what came over me when I shifted, pressing my lips to the tip of Roman's nose, giving it a quaint, shy kiss. Forbes nose. Oh my God. Stunned by my actions, I retreated, swallowing meekly. 

To my surprise, Roman didn't protest. He slowly opened his eyes and searched my face in the dim light, his green eyes glassy but focused entirely on me. It wasn't the sharp, teasing look I had grown used to-- it was quieter, stripped bare, like he was trying to read me.

"You okay?" he finally murmured. His thumb brushed over my hip lazily, almost absent-mindedly, but there was tension in his gaze, something cautious that made my chest ache.

I wasn't about to tell him that'd been the best sex of my life. The denial, the dirty-talk, the way he moved me around like I weighed nothing? Holy absolute mother of fuck. Nothing would ever top this. "Yeah," I whispered, small as ever as I curled closer, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against mine. "More than okay."

Roman exhaled slowly, like he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. He dipped his head just enough to press his mouth to my temple, not a kiss, but more like a grounding touch before he rested his forehead there. "Good," he murmured, barely audible. "That's... good."

For a few precious seconds, I let myself believe this was our new reality-- that we'd stay here, wrapped up in this stolen quiet, and that it wouldn't have to end. Roman's arm was heavy around me, his breath ghosting warm against my temple, and I felt safe in a way I hadn't... maybe ever? My heart swelled, foolish and fragile, and I curled even closer, memorizing the shape of him in the dark.

Maybe he'll stay. Maybe we'll change.

Roman's green eyes fluttered shut. Had I had more confidence, I'd trail my fingertips over his lashes, just a gentle touch, just a reverent kiss of a touch. They were long, dark, and surprisingly elegant. Was he even aware of how gorgeous he was? Hopefully not.

Something told me he was thinking about something, deciding what to say, because he wasn't saying anything at all. And then, with a heavy sigh, like he had ran out of time to enjoy our moment, he spoke--

"Who'd have known..." Roman mumbled. "I wouldn't have imagined we'd end up here, like this, when I first saw you at your graduation."

... Huh?

For a moment, I thought I had misheard him. We didn't meet at my graduation, what was he talking about? My breath stalled in my lungs, and I blinked into the dark, pulling back just enough to see his face; "... What?"

Roman's eyes stayed closed, lashes brushing his cheeks as though he hadn't just lodged a bomb into the middle of my ribcage, and like he didn't want to see the result of his words on my face. "Your graduation," he said. "Letha's ceremony. You were there, next to her. You kept chewing on the end of your tassel to make her laugh, 'cause she was crying like I've never seen her cry. It was ridiculous, sweet... You looked so happy, I wanted to break you in half."

My stomach flipped rather violently, like the floor had dropped out from under me. "You.. you?--" My voice cracked, my mind racing through the day in a haze. He'd known that I knew Letha all along?! I remembered our graduation, remembered barely paying attention to the speeches, remembered feeling so small in a sea of strangers. Roman had been one of those strangers? Well, that made sense, considering he was a part of Letha's family, but... he had seen me doing that? 

"You had that stupid boyfriend at the time, too. The one majoring in computer science," Roman continued. "Your personal information is scattered all over your Facebook, by the way. You're gonna need to put up some walls there. Too easy to hack. Took me five seconds and a sigh."

I went still, every nerve in my body prickling with something I couldn't name. This was... "You hacked me?" My voice came out thin, strangled; what could I say to that? The room suddenly felt too small, and the air felt too thick to breathe in. Is this what he was using his coding skills for?

Roman hummed, dragging his thumb in a slow line along my hipbone like he was trying to somehow soothe me and himself indirectly. "There's also this picture of you in Letha's room... You're showing your nails and pulling a face. French tips. Lilac," 

My chest tightened with a thousand emotions at once. Oh my God.

"I told Letha there was a position opening up at my office. Told her to mention it to her friends, specifically those she could recommend, someone close to her, and the rest..." His lips brushed the corner of my jaw, a whisper of a touch that made my stomach knot. "I just didn't expect you to turn it all around, like the pain, and then ruin me, too."

For a long, dizzy second, I couldn't speak. My thoughts fractured into jagged shards that made no sense, every memory from the last few months cracking under the weight of what he had just confessed. My job. My proximity to him. This whole damn thing-- it hadn't been chance. It hadn't been fate.

It had been him.

He had seen me and wanted to squeeze the life out of me. Sadist. Sadistic asshole. 

I tried swallowing over and over, my mind wandering to the feeling of his cum still seeping out of me, leaking down to my thigh. I should've been scared, I should've ran, but instead... 

I felt like the world's most special girl. 

"That's really romantic," I breathed. "You've... gone to this extent to be with me. Me." 

At that, Roman finally opened his eyes, a puzzled look about him. "That's what you got out of this?" he breathed, searching me for traces of fear and lies. 

"Well, I know what you're doing," I shifted closer, cupping his face before pressing a kiss to his lips. "You're telling me this to scare me off. You can't," Another kiss. "You won't." Another. 

Roman sighed into the kisses, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. "Just want you to know--" he murmured against my lips; "--need you to understand that it's not romantic. I'm screwed in the head."

Why were we having this conversation right now? I kissed him again, soft, lingering, trying to quiet the tremor in my chest. "Roman..." My voice was barely there. "You're not screwed. And even if you were, I wouldn't care."

His jaw flexed, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale against my lips, like he didn't know what to do with that. "You should,"

"I don't,"

"You should,"

"Don't give a fuck. Stay the night, get a cute five-star blowjob again, whatever,"

Roman let out a low, frustrated sound, his hand coming up to cradle the back of my neck-- not rough, but firm, holding me close. "I can't," he breathed. "I'm getting hard again at the thought of that. I should go. I'm trying to tell you what I am, and you're not listening, so I-- I can't."

What? My chest tightened with hurt, heat curling low in my stomach despite the sting of his words. "I hear you just fine," I whispered, my breath mingling with his. "And I know what you are, because I'm just like you. We're one and the same. Don't go." Don't leave me, don't go, please don't go. Let's be sick together. Stop pushing me away.

Never had I ever begged a man for anything, naked at that, but here I was-- pouring myself out to him as he poured out of me. This was fucking humiliating, and not in the way I liked.

I tilted my head up, catching Roman's mouth in another desperate kiss to stop the hurt from blooming in my chest. "I don't care that you hacked me," A kiss. "I don't care," Another. "I'm here, I want you, and nothing will change that," Another, to his right cheek. "Why is that so scary to you, if you've wanted me all along?" Left cheek. "Stay, Roman," Between his brows, reverent and pleading. "Please stay. I'll even make you coffee in the morning, just how you like it. Not too much milk, one cube of brown sugar, and stirred three times."

Roman lashes fluttered, a slight rosy hue appearing in his cheeks from all the kisses, but his expression remained unreadable in the dim light. His grip on my face softened, faltered, and his thumbs brushed once over my skin before he let go completely-- the warmth left with him. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "But if we're one and the same... that's not good. That's not romantic. I'm not a good person, I get off on hurting people, can't you see? If we're the same, then you're just as fucked up as I am, and you could hurt me in ways I'd never recover from, and-- I can't do this. I'm sorry."

"What?" Fucked up? My throat tightened, clogged with all the things he had just thrown at me, assumed about me, and accused me of being. "What just happened? I'd never-- Roman, please, this is me?"

He didn't answer-- he was already halfway gone. Roman pulled his shirt over his head, clasped his belt, and shook his head like he could shake off what we had just done. "I'm trying to spare you," he bit out, brittle and frustrated. "I told you I can't do this, and you're not listening."

After... all of that?

Scorned, I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, my anger finally breaking through the devastation clawing at my ribs. It hit his shoulder with a soft thud, hardly satisfying, but it was all I had. "Spare me?" I spat, chest heaving. "You think saying that shit after you've fucked me is noble? That's not sparing me, Roman, that's fucking gutting me! Was this all you wanted, to get laid and leave?!"

Roman froze for a second, his hands hovering over the buttons of his shirt. His jaw flexed once, twice, but he didn't turn to face me. "No," he mumbled.

My throat burned as my words kept spilling out, ragged and furious, fuelled by the hurt sitting like a stone in my chest; "Okay, so-- so you've spent the whole night getting to know me, telling me you wanted me, making me believe you actually saw me-- and now you stand there and call me fucked up? How dare you!" 

Roman's shoulders tightened, the fabric of his shirt stretching under the strain, but he didn't turn-- he didn't give me anything to hold onto except his back and the sound of his shallow breath.

"How long have you known me now, Roman? Months! Fucking months of us being involved, of us doing all kinds of filthy things, and you didn't have a problem with us being alike until now!" I cried. "You know me better than anyone ever has, and now you turn around and tell me I'm fucked up? I'm fucked up?! You're killing me!"

My vision blurred, hot tears spilling over before I could stop them. I swiped at my face, furious that he had made me cry, furious that he was standing there acting like this was some kind of mercy instead of what it really was-- cowardice in the face of connection, love, and security, which he had enjoyed just some minutes ago.

"Look at me!" My voice cracked on the words, torn somewhere between a plea and a command. "Roman, look at me!" 

Finally, Roman's green, green eyes landed on me clutching the sheets to my chest, trembling with tears I couldn't stop, and for a flicker of a moment, his face wasn't unreadable at all-- it was wrecked. Whatever armour he had thrown up between us was splintering, a mess of guilt and fear and something else I couldn't name.

"I would never hurt you!" I cried, the words falling out like glass, cutting my throat on the way up. "Not ever! You're the one hurting me right now! And you're standing there telling me I'd destroy you? After tonight?" My breath hitched, ragged, choking on its own grief; "How could you even think that about me?!"

Roman's lips parted like he wanted to answer, the ones that had kissed me so tenderly just minutes ago, but nothing came. He just stared, eyes too bright in the dim light, chest rising and falling too fast. For a second, I thought maybe he'd come back, that he'd drop everything he had just said and crawl into my arms where he belonged...

But then he dragged a hand over his mouth, trembling like he hated himself for doing this, and whispered; "Because if you're anything like me... you could," 

Roman's eyes flicked over my face he knew he wasn't being fair, like he wanted me more than anything-- but terror won. With a sharp shake of his head, he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him, leaving me in the dim light with nothing but the echo of what he thought I was.

After all of that... the date, the sex, after giving him everything I could offer...

It still wasn't enough to make him stay.

Fucked up. 

While I saw potential for connection, Roman only saw a reflection of his darkness.

The soft click of my apartment door closing sounded louder than any fight we'd ever had-- and I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the empty space where he had been mere moments ago stretch wider and wider until it swallowed me whole.

I sat up with a low hiss, not caring that Roman's cum was still seeping out of me, and the ache in my thighs burned, reaching my eyes and filling them with tears once more.

Roman had found me, orchestrated the sadistic downfall of my psyche, ruined me for anybody but him, gotten me accustomed to my sick and twisted desires, and now... he was pulling away from me for liking it? I had never met anyone as cruel and as lost. I felt filthy. Used. Discarded. Rejected. How did he dare to make me feel like the monster, like I was crazy for accepting him, for loving all of him, only because he couldn't stand himself? And for what fucking reason?!

Pulling my thighs up to my chest, I hugged my legs as I sobbed, hoping to keep some of the remnants of Roman inside of me for as long as I could. In that sense, he'd stay. Some part of him would.

And as I pushed my legs tighter, hugging myself, clenching to make sure nothing would escape me like he had just done...

I realized this might be an exact demonstration of the sickness in me that he had been referring to all along.

(a/n: AAGHHH I CRUSHED MY OWN HEART W THIS:(( but I promise with all I have that you guys have nothing to worry about!! dw!!! kingkat will deliver, and kingkat will fix!!! call me Bob the fucking builder, cause I placed this brick w PURPOSE💜 anyway omg this was way too long, so thank u to the absolute WARRIORS that got through this!!! thank u so much for all the love and support!!<333)

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Tormented Spirit | 29

Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, death, emotional constipation, domestic violence, rape, pregnancy, miscarriage, postpartum, depression, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: WE DID IT! Final chapter FR FR. Thank you to everyone who has followed this fic up until this point, especially those who take the time comment and reblog. Im so luv u all | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching

There is a tension no one names between you all. It flared further when when the Velaryons joined the table. You were glad to see Laenor, yet you could not shake the image of his son, Lucaerys, maiming Aemond as you spoke to him. You kept looking at the dark haired boy, and his two other brothers, feeling your stomach twist at the violent scenario that unwillingly played in your mind.

"It is possible that I'd be glad you are here now," Leanor takes your hand from across the table, "yet understand why you could not come to my sister's wake."

You nod as he slowly releases you. Of course he'd written about it already, but it is different hearing it from himself directly.

Daemon, who was sat beside you offers you a smile.

You smile back at him.

His smile brightens further when he looks to the woman beside Laenor. "How old is Aelina again, uncle?" Rhaenyra asks.

You turn to your girl, who decided she wanted to sit next to Aemond tonight. There is an ache in your heart for some reason.

Daemon chuckles, "she just turned four.*

Rhaenyra and Laenor smile. The latter speaks, "enjoy that age," he eyes Jacaerys on the other side of the table, "soon they will be 10 and 6 and spiteful."

Daemon snorts, "as we're you."

Laenor raises his brows at him, "was I not a good soldier under your fleet, commander?"

"Were you?"

Rhaenyra snorts.

Viserys, who was sat beside her, chuckles though he was struggling to breathe.

Alicent, who was sat beside him, raises her brows and sighs.

"I am offended, uncle," Laenor mutters as he scoops some potatoes onto his plate.

Rhaenyra grins, "perhaps when your daughter comes of age," she leans on her elbow, "you might match her with one of our sons."

Your ears ring.

Alicent turns to the woman, mouth watering in disgust of her greed.

You pull your head back, "what?"

"Yes, wouldn't it be go-" the princess's words go dry when she sees your horrified expression. She turns to Daemon for support but his brows are raised. She shakes her head, "I mean..." she waves a hand, "do you mean to have married to some," she laughs, "Lyseni noble?"

Your feel the room darken as your breathing shallows, "she just turned four."

Rhaenyra nods slowly, "yes, I-"

"There was a time you were reluctant to the idea of marriage, princess," you snap.

Rhaenyra realizes her mistake then. She lowers her gaze then shakes her head, "forgive me," she looks back at you, "I was only thinking it would be good if your daughter would choose one of my boys in the future."

"Good?" Alicent cannot help but blurt.

Rhaenyra turns to her, her mood souring, "I beg your pardon."

Alicent chuckles, "it would be very good for you to have one of your sons wed Aelina, wouldn't it?"

Rhaenyra's jaw tightens, "I'm glad you agree."

You gulp and try to slow your breath.

"But she would want to speak to your sons first," Alicent wipes her lip on a napkin, turning to Aelina, "she seems to only care for Aemond."

You look at Aemond, who was listening to your daughter babble while slurping. He raises a hand at then points to Aelina's meal. The girl takes a bite of food and tries to speak through a mouthful. Aemond reprimands her and she sighs, leaning back on her chair as she chews her food in silence. Your heart aches.

Seeing this too, Daemon chuckles to himself.

"I'm sure she'll come around," Rhaenyra offers a smile.

Alicent turns back to her, "or she'll chose my son instead."

Your stomach drops.

Viserys speaks up, "I'm-" heaves- "certain she'll be an excellent bride-" sigh- "come the day."

"A day far, far away," Daemon adds, raising his cup before downing the contents.

You stare at Alicent, feeling your hands begin to tremble at her passing remark. You feel like you're about to burst. You cannot help yourself. You will not have your daughter be spoken off to fickly, "when the day does come, I do hope you'll maintain your enthusiasm when she choses none of your boys."

You feel their eyes fall on you. Your hear your pulse in your ears.

Daemon shifts and leans towards you, "my love, calm yourself."

"Calm?" you quip, eyeing him hotly, "they speak of your daughter like she's a piece of—"

"MUMMY."

You look behind your chair and see Aelina. Daemon watches your spine slowly begins to relax.

Her innocence is a balm. When she touches your lap, you feel your chest immediately loosen. You sigh heavily and clutch her cheeks. She leans into your touch, "I go see Sunfyre!"

Your brows furrow, "Sunfyre?"

"Kessa, kessa, kessa!" Yes, yes, yes!

Your expression contorts, "but that's-"

"Aegon kessa gūrogon nyke naejot se ripo!" Aegon will take me to the pit!

As if on cue, Aegon comes up behind your daughter.

Daemon narrows his eyes at him, "gaomas aōha bride daor jorrāelagon ao?" Does your bride not need you?

Aegon ignores him and explains to you, "we shall be quick."

"Kostagon īlon maghagon aōha lēkia?" Aelina asks Aegon, tugging the hem of his shirt. Can we bring your brother?

Aegon's face sours at her. He furrows his brows and quips, "what?"

Aelina points to her chair, "kostagon īlon maghagon—" Can we bring-

"You want to get something?" Aegon asks, pulling her hand off him, "go get it."

You furrow your brows at Aegon as Aelina grins and runs off to grab Aemond. Aegon paces in his spot, avoiding your gaze. You tilt your head at him, "issi ao sȳz?" Are you alright?

Aegon does not turn to you.

"Aegon."

He tenses as his eyes lock with yours.

"Issi ao sȳz?" you repeat.

He stares blankly at you.

Your forehead curls, "are you alright?"

He shakes his head, "why wouldn't I be?"

Just then, Aemond is dragged by the hand by tiny Aelina. Aegon's jaw tightens at him, "what are you doing?"

Aelina takes Aegon's hand as well, "gaomagon!" Ready!

Aegon tenses at the girl's touch. Still, he eyes his brother, quipping under his breath, "sit back down."

You hear it though and your brows knit, "Aegon-"

"Aelina wants me to join you in the pit," explains the younger prince.

"You want the one-eyed freak to join us?" Aegon asks Aelina.

You expression falls, "Aegon!"

Aelina looks up at Aegon, "one eye?"

"A jest," Aegon dryly explains to you.

Aelina turns to Aemond, "what freak?"

Aemond clenches his jaw.

"Aelina, daor," you shake your head at her. You turn to Aegon, "she is not very good at common tongue, so it would be better if you spoke to her in High Valyrian."

Aegon's brows raise. He chuckles dryly, "of course she isn't." He nods and turns to the girl, "I guess I'll just have to teach you."

Before you can respond, Aegon is pulling her away and she innocently jogs off with him. Aemond releases her hand, much to her displeasure. She turns back and reaches out for him.

"I'll take care of her," Aemond tells you.

You stare at the boy and feel your chest tighten, "thank you, my darling."

Aemond nods and quickly catches up with his brother and cousin.

"Skoros ēnka iksis aōha zaldrīzes?" Aelina asks as she swings Aegon and Aemond's hand whilst making it down the hall.

Aemond stares at Aegon. Aegon ignores Aelina.

Aelina turns to Aemond. Aemond speaks, "she asked you a question."

"Yeah," Aegon glares at his brother, "and what did she fucking ask?"

Aelina gasps, "bad word!"

Aegon looks down at her, "oh? But you know that, don't you, you little fuck?"

"Mummy said no!" Aelina tugs on his arm.

"Well, guess what, fucker," he leans into her, "I learned that from your daddy."

She raises her brows at him.

"Aegon," Aemond quips.

"What?" Aegon laughs a bit too loud, "are you going to pretend like Daemon doesn't curse worse than a fucking sailor?"

"Daddy?" the girl recognizes her father's name.

"Yes, your fucking daddy."

Aemond decides that's enough and pulls Aelina out of Aegon's grip, moving her to his other hand. Aegon notices and scoffs, "what? Are you getting protective? You still think Daemon gives a fuck about you?"

Aemond tightens his grip on his baby cousin.

"He didn't even tell our beloved older sister off for what her son did to your eye," Aegon leans in, "and neither did our aunt."

"I told her not to."

"Ha!" the elder prince looks front, "of course that's why they sat idly."

Aemond feels a great tension loom over him the moment they reach the dragon pit. Aelina remains innocently excited and clings on to his hand as she repeatedly hops on her spot.

When Sunfyre finally emerges, the girl gasps, "gevie." Beautiful.

Aemond looks down at her, tensing when she looks back at him, "hae Vagar!" Like Vhagar.

His heart squeezes at her smile.

"Se Caraxes," she jumps. And Caraxes.

Aemond nods, "se ao." And you.

She jumps again, repeating his words at him, "se ao!"

Aemond looks away. This girl is far too innocent.

Sunfyre leans into Aegon the moment he sees his master. Aegon relaxes in his company. For a moment, it's just them, and he forgot all about the ill feelings he's been harboring inside. That its, until he hears the voice of that wretched girl.

"Kostagon nyke renigon zirȳla?" Aelina asks. Can I touch him?

Aegon turns to her, jaw hardening at the purple eyes that stare back. What's so special about her? Was it the fact she had Daemon's face? Or was it because she was a pretty little princess? Had he been born a girl, would you have loved him more? He lowers his gaze, thinking it must be true, because you were so gentle with Helaena. He lifts his gaze— but then again, so were you with Aemond.

"She asked if she could touch him," translates his brother.

Aegon shifts, one hand remaining pressed against his golden mount, "you cannot if you keep speaking that stupid language."

Aemond feels Aelina's gaze. He looks at her and explains, "ñuha lēkia ēza mīvojughagon Valyrio Eglie." My brother has forgotten High Valyrian.

Aelina furrows her brows in confusion.

"Ēza daor ȳdragon ziry pār aōha muña geptot." He has not spoken it since your mother left.

The girl frowns, "skoro syt?" Why?

"Īles olvie mundagon," Aemond mutters. He was very sad.

"SHUT UP!" Aegon snaps, making Sunfyre grunt and huff.

Aelina watches the dragon. She recognizes his agitation and raises a hand, "ziry ik-" she corrects herself, "it's okay."

Sunfyre does not care for the girl's words, but Aegon hates her more for it. His nostrils flare, "you want to meet my beast?"

Aelina stares at Aegon, reluctantly nodding.

"Come here then."

Aelina understands that much and walks off, pulling Aemond along.

"Not you, pig," Aegon raises a finger.

Aemond tenses. Aelina looks at him and raises her brows, "not you?"

Aemond releases her hand.

"You're not pig," she frowns, confused and conflicted.

"Faster!" Aegon quips.

Aelina looks forward and scowls at him, "don't scream."

Aegon pulls his head back, "what?"

Aelina slowly walks over, "don't you scream at us!"

Aegon scoffs, blood boiling.

Aemond balls his hands to fists, readying to spring into action if need be.

"Oh. You think you can tell me what to do?" Aegon slowly marches over to the girl.

The girl stops in her tracks but her defiant expression does not fade.

He fumes, shoving her by the shoulder, "you don't get to tell me what to do-"

"Aegon."

"Never-" he shoves her harder, "fucking," and again, "you."

Aelina whines as she falls to the floor.

Aemond grits his teeth and charges at him.

Sensing his hostility, Sunfyre immediately growls and bares his teeth.

Aemond stops in his tracks.

Aegon chuckles through his nostrils, looking down at the girl that his brother helps up. He looks back at his dragon, "good boy."

Before he can gloat any more, the princess snorts and quickly stomps her heel into Aegon's foot.

"AH!" he shoves her away, making her shoot past his brother. She falls on her back, her head thumping against the stone floor. "YOU FUCKING BITCH!

Aelina wails, her voice echoing in the room as tears immediately flood her face.

Aemond shoves Aegon before he can do any further harm to the girl, causing him to reel back into his dragon. Sunfyre screeches but Aemond cares little as he dashes towards Aelina, bringing her back to her feet.

Aegon fumes, "STOMP HER, SUNFYRE!"

Sunfyre roars, jaw opening to its biggest capacity, obeying the command. He marches over, but Aemond is too nimble for the beast. The prince grabs the girl and yanks her behind him to safety. He moves away but Sunfyre chases, growling in displeasure.

And though his heart races, Aemond grits his teeth and points, "STEP BACK!"

Sunfyre hesitates.

"BEGONE, SUNFYRE!" Aemond steps forward.

The dragon finds himself unable to deny the command.

Aegon, in all his wrath, charges at his brother.

Aelina screams and runs back, watching the violence play out before her. It is then that the lone dragon keeper, who had been asleep, is alerted. He runs towards the squabbling princes, realizing he ought to handle the princess first.

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU TOO!" Aegon hisses, pinning his brother down before punching him.

Aelina screams, agitating Sunfyre into screaming too. She decides not to wait and lunges at Aegon to rip at his hair. Instead however, she is caught in the cross hairs and hit on the nose as Aemond manages to overpower his older brother.

Aemond soon has Aegon's arm painfully curled behind his back, his knee forcing him down on the cold floor. The latter coughs as the former whispers, "you can fucking try."

Aelina wipes her lips, finding red all over her fingers. She is horrified but does not cry at the sight of her blood.

The dragon keeper pulls her away and deals with the agitated dragon that was about to strike any second. He pants and drives Sunfyre off, turning to Aemond, "ñuha dārilaros! Ivestragī zirȳla jikagon." My prince! Let him go!

Aemond's nostrils flare, "not until he's cooled off."

Aegon groans, "fuck you."

"Aemond," Aelina mumbles, eyes watery, "jaelan naejot jikagon arlī." I want to go back.

Aemond looks back at her. His expression softens, "go wait for me at the entr-"

"Aelina?"

The girl gasps and immediately sobs, "MUÑA!"

Your face falls as your daughter runs towards you with a bloodly nose. You look down at her, feeling your heart leap into your throat as she embraces your legs, "what happened?"

"Aegon ōdrikagon nyke."

Your breathing shortens as you repeat her words in common tongue, "Aegon hurt you?" You lean down and clutch her cheek, heart racing at the blood that was trickling down her neck, "he did this to you?"

Aelina sobs as she looks up at you.

"Aegon?" you whimper, looking out at your nephews that now pull away from each other.

Aemond looks at you and Aegon turns to his restless dragon. He hisses at him, "GET BACK, YOU IDIOT!"

Sunfyre whines.

"GO BACK TO THE DAMNED PITS!" he screams in frustration, allowing the dragon keeper to lead him back into the darkness.

"Aegon," you cry out, reaching a hand to your boy, "why is my daughter bleeding?"

Aegon turns to you, as does Aemond. The latter tenses and the former walks over, "how the fuck should I know?"

You wince, clutching your belly and your daughter's head, "Aegon."

"I showed her my dragon!" the boy- the man snaps, "she would not fucking listen!"

You tense, your throat constricting tightly, "I do not believe yo-"

"THEN DON'T!" Aegon snaps.

You are so taken off-guard that you flinch and step back. Aelina even runs behind you in fear. You were so used to having someone raise your voice at you, you hardly ever flinch. You are deeply disturbed by him.

Aemond feels like a helpless child as he sees you weep the way you did when he was a child. But then he remembers he's not a child anymore, or at least, he was stronger than his half-wit, drunken brother. He comes between you and Aegon, "that's enough."

Aegon's anger makes him forget his brother just subdued him. After all, he was still older, even if the fuck was as tall as him now, "and what are you going to-"

Aemond punches him in the gut.

"Aemond!" you whine, reaching a hand to him.

Aemond looks back, face clouded with worry and confusion.

Aegon, who had lurched forward in pain, growls as he straightens.

You scream. Once more, they are upon each other, fists pounding into flesh, splitting skin, spilling blood.

You whimper and tense in horror. You're about to scream again, tell them to stop, but then you feel a warmth spread across your legs. You lift your skirt and find yourself screaming for an entirely different reason.

This scream, unlike the first, is so terrible the brothers cease their quarrelling. It is so horrifying, Aelina screams too.

You step back, finding wetness on the floor beneath you. You scream again.

The darkness does you no favors and you find red again where there was none. You cannot look away from the floor, "AELINA!"

Your daughter stares at you in mortification.

"CALL YOUR FATHER!"

Aelina trembles, her feet barely even lifting from the ground as she steps back.

Aemond shoves Aegon off him and runs to your side, "muña."

Your knees begin to give in as you manage to turn to your daughter, finding Daemon's worried face staring back at you, "D-Daemon."

Aemond catches you as you begin to lose your balance. He turns to his brother, who was stupidly lied on the floor, staring at you with a busted lip. "HELP ME!"

Aegon is stunned momentarily, but finds himself pushing his body off the floor, coming to your side.

Your breathing grows shallower by the second. You see Viserys on Aegon's face as he calls for guards. You think of the terrible horror that's happened to you once before. You shudder, "please, no."

"There's no time," Aemond tells his brother, "we have to carry her to the maester's."

"W-what?"

"I can't carry her on my own," Aemond growls under his breath, not wanting the pressure to get to him.

"Yeah, and what if we FUCKING drop her-"

Aemond slaps him into silence.

Aegon is stunned.

"Do as I say," he commands, beginning to lift you off the ground.

Aegon is left little choice but to comply.

"Come, Aelina," Aemond says as they begin to carry you off.

Aelina is the one who opens the door to the maester's room. She is also the one who alerts the maester's with her loud wailing.

It's all a blur from this point moving forward.

Aemond does not remember when his uncle or his grandfather arrive, or where his brother went after. He does not even remember how he managed to go to his chambers, with Aelina at his hip, no less.

There, upon his bed, the girl weeps as he wipes the blood off her face. He freezes when she speaks amidst her shaky sobs. His brows tense and he tilts his head, "what was that?"

"Is she going to die?"

Aemond's face falls, "what?"

"She's sick," the girl mutters.

The boy clenches his teeth and clutches her cheeks, "muña is very strong, is she not?"

Her only response is the tears that streak down her face.

Aemond feels helpless as she looks upon her. You were not his mother, yet in a word you were, and the thought of you dying haunted him. He can only imagine how one as young as she would feel at the thought of losing her own mother. "Whatever happens today," he takes her hands, "you must know you are just a girl that wanted to see a dragon."

Aelina looks at him.

He realizes then that he ought to translate his words, and so he does.

She scratches her eyes as she begins to sob some more. "Īlin jāre naejot iderēbagon rūkluni hemtubis," she shudders and shakes her head. We were going to pick flowers tomorrow.

Aemond nods, "and you will."

Her lips wobble, "Aemond."

"Yes?"

"Issi ao pirtir?" Are you lying?

"Nyke..." he starts but cant continue as he begins to tear up himself, and his eye patch begins to grow uncomfortable on his face, "nyke gīmigon ziry ōdrikagon," he clutches her neck, "yn kessa rēbagon." I know it hurts, but it shall pass.

"Nyke-" she heaves, "gōntan daor nūmāzma naej-" I did not mean to-

"Hush," he squeezes and shakes her gently, "you did nothing wrong."

But to Daemon, everyone was doing everything wrong. He was restless as he watched you scream. It was just as bad as it was with Aelina, if not worse, because Otto was there, praying over your body as if you were already dead.

Neither of them were supposed to even be here, but neither of them were willing to leave as both of them were united in the same fear that they would never admit to: this might be the last time they see you.

"It's alright princess!" one of the midwives encourage, "you're beginning to crown!"

Another midwife unceremoniously shoves the praying Lord Hand away when you begin to slip out of consciousness. It must have been, what, the eighth time? She clutches your cheek and repeatedly slaps you firmly. She loudly calls out your name and rubs your chest.

Yet another midwife comes to your other side and rubs your arm. You feel cold and yet she has to wipe sweat off your forehead, "princess, you're almost there. Don't give up."

Daemon feels sick as your eyes open only to roll back and close again. He paces around the room before deciding to come to the side of your bed, calling out your name.

It grounds you, and you fight for consciousness, even through the harrowing pain, "Daemon?"

One of the midwives moves away, encouraging him to take her place. He drops to his knees as he grabs your hand. It is icy against his burning one. He kisses your knuckles as he watches your face contort.

"Is it-" you whimper, "is it a girl?"

Daemon clutches your cheeks, "the babe is not here yet. You need to push for me, one last time."

You whine, tears streaming down your cheeks, "I cant."

"Y-you can," he whispers hotly, "you must."

Otto watches the exchange. He feels bile rise up his throat and decides to exit the room. It is there he then sees the Cargyll twins, waiting restlessly with their helms on their hips. The come to attention when they see your father, "my lord."

"Why are you here?!" he snaps.

Erryk clenches his jaw, "we were summoned, lord."

"By whom?!"

Arryk turns to the door when he hears your scream. He gulps, "by the princess."

Otto scoffs and motions vaguely, "do you think she is in the state to be seeing anyone?!"

The twins lower their gazes, "no, my l-"

"Then bloody leave!" he snaps, pointing a finger to nowhere.

"With all due respect, lord," Erryk lifts his gaze, "I'd rather be punished for disobeying you than misheeding my princess."

Otto's eyes twitches.

Arryk nods, "as would I, my lord.

"Fine," he barks, "then expect a punishment most severe."

The twins nod as the Hand decided to circle around the hall. They speak in unison, "my lord."

"THE BABE'S COMING!" announces a midwife at the top of her lungs.

Daemon looks back a moment before turning to you. He calls your name, assuring you it will all be over soon.

You take deep breaths and focus solely on getting through the task at hand. You tell yourself you just have to do this one last thing, and it'll all be better.

"YOU DID IT!" the midwife says, "YOU DID IT, MILDAY!"

Daemon looks back when he hears a wailing babe. He's about to check on the child, until your hand goes limp within his. His heart leaps to his throat, "no, no, no, no-" he rapidly slaps your cheeks, "stay with me!"

"Hmm?" your eyes roll.

"It's a prince!" says the midwife.

Daemon looks back again, an excited chuckle leaving his lips. He turns to you, repeating the news, "we have a son, my love. It's a boy!"

"Hmm?" your eyelids struggle to stay open, "what does he look like?"

Before Daemon can reply, the midwife hands him the babe. His eyes water as he wipes the blood off the boy's face, "why don't you look yourself?"

You groan and try to pry eyes open.

"She won't stop bleeding."

Daemon turns, watching the women scramble to get more towels. He looks at the boy when he wails, his violet eyes opening as his pink fingers reach out for nothing.

You start and grab your baby, immediately pulling him to your breast.

Your husband watches as the baby eagerly suckles and whatever wonder he feels is shrouded by the terror that that grows from red that spread more onto your blanket.

"M'cold," you shudder.

Daemon turns to you, rubbing your shoulders, "it's alright. I will warm y-"

The words are cut off by the sound of Otto calling out your name. He freezes just as he enteres. The room is in turmoil. If it was not apparent to Daemon, it was apparent to him. He comes to your side, "my girl."

You turn to your father.

Otto cannot contain his tears. The sight before him mimics the exact scene of the last time he ever spoke to his wife, yet it was you here, lying in bed with the same greyness of your mother's skin. For a moment, you look like the tiny, shaking child of his who loved him more than anything in the world. His face in female form reflects ob you. His throat tightens, "my love."

Daemon's nostrils flare, in anger, in jealousy, in possessiveness, in grief that is not yet grief, but his terror keeps him still.

"Y-you lied to me."

Your father leans closer, "what?"

"You told me Gwayne would be here."

He nods rapidly, "he is," he lies, "his carriage has come as well as Daeron on his mount, Tessarion."

"He is?" your eyes grow a little brighter.

Daemon perks at it.

"He is," Otto nods, "he's excited to meet your child."

"He'll help you name him," Daemon adds, hoping it'll bring more sparkle to your eye.

It does. You smile, turning to your baby, "he'll help me name my boy?"

Otto nods, brushing your dark hair back, "yes," he turns back, "CARGYLL!"

The twins immediately emerge from the door.

Otto marches over and quips urgently, "see to it that once my son arrives he is to make no delay to this room!"

"Cargyll?" you mutter, eyes slowly closing.

"My prince," one of the midwives call for Daemon, "she won't stop bleeding."

Daemon comes to a stand and snaps, "well then fucking make her stop!"

"My prince..." another midwife says.

He refuses to listen further. He drops to his knees and grips your hand again.

You hear someone call your name. You call back, "mummy?"

Daemon hears your faint whisper. He is mortified, "no! No, it's Daemon! Listen to me-"

Otto comes to your side. His throat tightens at the state of you. He places a hand on your shoulder, "I love you."

"Daddy?"

"I'm here," He chokes on his saliva, "will you look at me?"

"... forgive me."

He speaks your name and sighs, "there is nothing to forgive."

"Daemon?"

"My love," he sobs out, kissing your cheek repeatedly.

"I'm tired."

"Please," he rubs your eyes, trying to encourage you to open them, "please don't."

"... forgive me."

The room continues to bustle loudly for a moment, and then it is eerily quiet. There is a deep silence that comes after your final breath. Similarly, your son sighs, lips unlatching from your nipple, satisfied from his fill of milk. It was then Daemon looked at the boy and found his face staring back at him. You gave birth to a babe who had his hair, his eyes, his lips, his nose. His son had his face and it haunted him. It was he that did this to you. It was he and his greed, his lust, his pride, his him.

He reels back as if he saw a ghost, and collides gracelessly onto the floor.

Otto lowers his head. Tears wet his beard and he turns to the midwife, motioning to your sleeping boy, "get the child."

Daemon is numb.

"Assure that he is given a wetnurse and bring him to the queen."

"Yes, milord."

Your father stares at you for a moment longer, then looks at your pathetic husband. He feels bad. Momentarily. "Maester."

The maester comes to him, "Lord Hand."

"Clean my daughter's body-"

Daemon's eye twitches as he looks up.

"-and prepare her to be sent to Oldtown."

The maester turns to Daemon, and steps away instead of replying.

"You fucking CUNT!" he lunges at him.

Otto is shoved against the wall but Daemon releases him and drags him away when he topples atop you.

The prince looks over you in worry, before turning back to his enemy, "you will not FUCKING have her!"

Otto rubs his neck and scoffs, "and do you plan to have her rot here? In a chamber, waiting to be seen off, like your twins did for y—"

The sound of Dark Sister being drawn inspires the shrieks of all onlookers. Daemon hisses, pressing the sword against Otto's neck, hard enough that blood begins to whet the blade, "I'd fucking kill you, but reuniting you with your wife and daughter so soon would be too merciful," he scoffs, "or I mean, sending you to hell."

Otto grits his teeth and uses his arm to shrug the blade away. He grips his gashing wound.

"I will be your hell."

His lips curl, "and my daughter?"

Daemon turns to you, anger mangling into anguish, "I will send her off in the traditions of my ho-"

"She is from Oldtown."

"She is a Targaryen," he snaps at him.

Lord Hand grits his teeth, "she told me once before she wanted to be buried next to her mother and have Moonblooms—"

"That was before she was mine."

He chuckles dryly, "she's not fucking yours."

Daemon marches towards him, "she's my FUCKING—"

"Nephew."

The sun rises gently, shining softly upon the pink roses shrouding the garden. Aemond looks back. Whatever exhaustion he felt fades as he sees the smiling man approach him. He straightens and nods, "uncle."

Gwayne smiles brighter, "you did not stay awake this long to see me and Daeron, did you?"

He chuckles, lowering his gaze to this hands and he shakes his head, "no."

"Aha," the auburn haired man snorts, "I see," he motions to the flowers he held, "you must be in love."

Aemond looks up at him.

"Only a fool in love would wake at dawn to pick flowers for-"

The two turn when they hear pattering draw near. A gasp rips through the air after the movement comes to a stop.

Gwayne turns, looking down at the girl before him. Her silver hair shines with the light and her expression looks strikingly familiar. His lips curl, "you must be Aelina."

Aelina looks at the man. She finds the gentleness of his smile, the gleam of his eyes, the fire of his hair. She knits her brows at him, "who are you?"

The lord slowly crouches and offers him a smile, "I am Gwayne Hightower. I am your-"

"Mummy's half?" she gasps and drops her flowers, jumping forward to clutch his cheeks.

Gwayne chuckles, his heart swelling at the darling reaction of the girl. He wraps an arm around her, his smile turning into a pout when the Aelina begins to weep. The girl seems to be memorizing his face.

"You look like mummy," she whispers.

Her uncle chuckles, "indeed, my dear," he rubs her back, "how terrible to share her wretched face."

"NO!" Aelina squeals, "NO TERRIBLE!"

Gwayne pulls his head back, watching the weep like fountain beside them. His guilt overcomes him, and momentarily, she bares dark hair like you. But then he blinks and she's once again your daughter. "Forgive me, darling," he tentatively touches her shoulders.

She does not budge.

He sighs and picks a felled rose, putting it in his hair, "if you're anything like your mummy, you ought to look at me and grin."

Aelina scratches her eyes.

Gwayne smile, showing her the flower, "pretty?"

She nods slowly.

He sighs, "I did not mean to-"

Aelina jumps into his arms, embracing him tightly.

He grunts, rubbing her back as he holds her tightly against him.

She breathes deeply then sighs. She mumbles against his neck, her tears wetting his skin, "smell like her."

Gwayne hums, "do I smell like your mummy?"

Aelina sobs harder.

"Tah," he secures his arms around her, carrying her in his arms, "we ought to go to mummy now."

"You don't know, do you?" Aemond mutters.

He turns to him, "know what?"

The boy's expression falters, "did neither ser Arryk or ser Erryk find you? They were looking for you earlier."

"I saw no Cargyll twin on my way," he raises his brow, "why do you ask?"

Gwayne does not believe what Aemond tells him next until he sees you. Except he doesn't, he doesn't see you. He sees your husband and your father fighting over your corpse— nay, your... your body, which was bound in white fabric. He could not smell you at all, and he thinks what Aelina said, his heart breaking for her. Your scent was now only medicinal herbs and sterile maester tools. How was he to know if he was truly mourning his sister when there was no trace of you?

And as he wept at what would be your chest, his gaze angrily lifts to the men who could not stop screaming. They killed his twin, and still, they squabble over you with not a shred of respect.

"GWAYNE!" Otto yells, his red, bleary eyes unfortunately finding his, "you make the deciding decision for your sister funeral rites."

Daemon laughs dryly, his face red in rage and mourning, "of COURSE that little rat will fucking-"

"Burn her body," Gwayne straightens up, looking down at you.

They are both taken aback at his answer. Daemon grows smug as he looks at Otto; the latter's face hardens, "bu-"

"Then bury her ashes in Oldtown," he looks up, tears streaming down his face.

The two turn to Gwayne as he chokes out a sob.

"Had either of you truly loved her, you would have thought of this—"

Daemon immediately snaps, "how fucking DARE-"

"— and you wouldn't be fighting so eagerly in front of her."

The prince is frozen in his spot. Gwayne stares at him, and his face haunts him because he bears the same face of his lover. He looks away, "the boy."

Ah... the boy. The poor, motherless boy. "Your son?"

The words make Daemon flinch, "bring him to Oldtown with you."

Gwayne furrows his brow.

"Be warned," he looks up to his dead wife's twin, "he not only stole your sister, but as well stole my face."

Otto watches Daemon erratically pace on his spot.

The prince does not seem to know whether he wants to leave or stay.

Gwayne raises his brows. How sorry he feels for his sister's son whose father rejects him for being his mirror, for merely being how he was born. He wants to scream at Daemon, he wants to fight him and tell him he ought to be haunted, but in honor of you, he simply obliges. "Daeron will be glad of him."

"Yes," he wipes a tear, "Aelina was."

Gwayne watches Daemon leave. He watches Otto follow. He watches the maesters take your body. He watches the Cargyll twins rest you upon a pyre. He watches Caraxes incinerate you with no hesitation. He watches Aelina sob as your ashes are gathered into a golden urn. He watches Daeron hold your boy as he buries you, not beside your mother's grave, but in the garden that was once yours and always will be yours. He watches Moonblooms grow over the patch.

And on that same year, on his nameday, he lights one candle, because he cannot bare the idea of seeing two now that his half is gone.

[moonlightstuffs]

If I had a nickel for every show that came out in 2025 that is mainly a drama with still some humour in it and a wet dog main character with panic attacks, a beard and a stepson, I would have two nickels.

Which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened twice.

[moonlightstuffs]

the worst part about grief is that it feels like the world should be horrendously earth shatteringly changed, and to an extent it IS but its also the same. to everyone else it's just another tuesday. the world moves on. you have to go grocery shopping.

[moonlightstuffs]

the plan (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: blowjob, semi-voyeurism, bj during a meeting, lingerie, power-play, bratty reader

summary: you have decided to get back at the panty-thief, also known as Roman Godfrey, through an elaborate scheme. will it go as planned, though?

word count: 8,672

← previous chapter |

a/n: sorry about the gif, but that'd 100% be the faces he'd pull during a bj so......... tihi<333 also this was originally a chapter spanning over 20k words, but I've cut it up!! so take this as part one of the unravelling tihi, ENJOY the scene we've all been waiting for;)

Roman might've won the battle yesterday, but I was set on winning the war.

The plan I had come up with to counter the panty-thief, also known as my boss, was fool-proof-- I was sure of it. I shimmied my skirt further down my thighs after I stepped into the elevator, not wanting to reveal what I had worn beneath it for the group of people in here, before folding out the newspaper I had picked up after getting out of the metro. 

"Frederic Arnault Removed From LVMH Amid Sexual Misconduct Scandal."

God, it was better than porn. Thank you, Roman, dear. 

I could only grin as the elevator doors opened with a soft chime, stepping out feeling lighter than ever. This day was about to be fucking fantastic-- I could feel it in my bones. With my chin up high, I made my way to my desk, heart thrumming steadily in my chest as I tried to slow it down with deep, controlled breaths. Every inch of lace under my clothes made me feel taller, sharper, and that more dangerous as the hallway ahead of me hummed with the usual morning quiet-- screens flickering on, keyboards starting to click, voices low and polite, and I walked through it like it was air, like I wasn't even part of the same dimension. 

I set my coffee on my desk, then placed the folded newspaper next to it like a crown, like a trophy. And then, as casually as a breath, I turned to look over my shoulder to see the man who had me tossing and turning all night.

Oh, of course.

Roman's green, piercing gaze was already on me, practically Kubrick-staring at me through the glass walls of his office as he pressed the office landline phone to his ear, the cord of it wrapped lazily around his fingers like he might seduce me with that action alone. 

He was up and walking, but he wasn't pacing-- not today. Today, he stalked. Each step was slow, deliberate, like the floor owed him something, and he circled his desk once, then leaned into the edge of it with his free hand, knuckles flat against the polished surface, weight shifting through his frame like a fuse being lit.

Roman's eyes were on me-- not flicking, not glancing, no.

Locked.

The same way he might look at something he was planning to ruin for fun... or worship, depending on the hour.

I decided to act like it didn't affect me, not flashing the soft, beaming smile he usually got from me every morning. I tried not to stare at the tie he wore today, getting flashbacks from yesterday with each second I looked at him, and don't make me mention the suit... oh, the suit. 

No, no. I had a plan. Had to follow it. Couldn't stray. No, no, no. 

Turning on my heels like I had been scorned, I put down my Birkin, eyes glazing over the initials Roman had personally gotten engraved into the gold plating for me-- such a thoughtful gift from the man that had been colder than stone just mere days ago.

Then, just as I expected, the sound of his door unlocking pulled at me before I even heard the handle turn. It was quiet, almost delicate, the kind of movement that wouldn't register unless you were waiting for it-- and I was. Of course I was. I didn't turn around, not yet-- I wanted him to watch me like this for a moment longer; composed and indifferent, like I hadn't spent the night thinking about his mouth, his hands, and like I didn't feel the intoxicating weight of his stare against my ass. Perv.

Everything was going according to plan without me even trying-- this was fucking delightful.

I slowly turned, letting my head move before my body like I wasn't dying to obey, like my pulse wasn't already flaring in my wrists. 

Roman stood halfway in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame above his head like he needed to hold something to keep from reaching for me. The tie (that goddamn tie) was loosened just enough to show the line of his collarbone, and his mouth was set in that usual smug grin-- hungry, like he missed the way I looked in his backseat yesterday, like he hadn't stopped thinking about it, not even while he had been standing there on the phone.

"Problem, sir?" I asked, chin tilting.

Roman's green gaze slid slowly over me, up and down. "No," he murmured. "Am I not allowed to say good morning to my secretary?"

The way he said secretary made it sound like a kink-- that fucker. 

"You are," I said, voice calm and clipped as my fingers smoothed down a nonexistent wrinkle on my skirt. "You just usually say it before you steal my underwear, so excuse my caution."

Roman's mouth curved, a flicker of something filthy behind his teeth. When my heart thudded harder at the look of his expression, my eyes darted down to his suit, which caught the light in all the right places-- the edge of his shoulders, the sleek line down his thigh; he looked like money, like danger, and like the most exquisite mistake I'd ever want to make again.

"Mm," he hummed, gaze catching on my legs. "I suppose that's fair." His eyes dragged back up to mine, slow as smoke. "Would you dare to step into my office, or are you perhaps too traumatized?"

My lips curved slowly-- not into a smile, not quite into anything. "Not that traumatized, no," I said, voice light as I smoothed a palm over my hip, letting his eyes follow the motion. "But you've proven I can't be alone in enclosed spaces with you if I want to keep all my belongings."

Roman tilted his head, the movement subtle, deliberate. He was still leaning in the doorway, his height exaggerated by the angle, one shoulder dipped just slightly as he looked down at me like he was already undressing me with his gaze. His eyes were darker now, more shadow than colour, and every part of him radiated restraint on the edge of ruin; like he could be good, but didn't want to be. "That's not a no," he murmured, voice dipped in amusement, almost fond.

"It's not a yes either," I countered.

Roman's eyes flicked to my mouth; "You're stalling,"

I met his gaze, dead-on, daring him to blink. "You're the one blocking the door,"

That earned me a smile-- a real one. Small, sharp, and dangerously slow.

And then, Roman moved, shifting just enough to the side, opening the door behind him with a graceful, almost theatrical sweep of his arm. The hallway buzzed behind us with the oblivious rhythm of a normal morning, but the silence between us pulsed thick and private, as if we had stepped out of time. "After you," he said, voice pitched low in a way that made my pulse throb behind my knees. "Unless you're scared you won't make it out this time."

I stared at Roman for a beat longer, making him wait. Cunt. Manwhore. Panty-kleptomaniac. 

But eventually, I stepped forward, my heels clicking against the floor like punctuation, skirt swaying at the backs of my thighs. As I passed him, I felt his big eyes dip, drag, and pause just a little too long; did he have no shame, perhaps? How many times was he going to shamelessly stare at my ass today?

I didn't look back-- not yet. That would give him something, and he didn't get anything from me today.

I had made sure of that.

Because what he didn't know, what he couldn't possibly see from up there, was that beneath the neatly pressed fabric of my skirt and the demure swing of my hips, I was wearing a full lace garter set. Bra, panties, garter belt, stockings. Clipped, strapped, and cinched like armour.

There would be no stealing today.

And if he tried? He'd have to unclip four garter straps, slide down my sheer thigh-highs, and deal with a level of complicated fastening that no man could manage with one hand and a smug grin.

Let him try.

At that, my smile returned-- slow, sweet, and a little mocking. My plan was fucking fantastic.

I slid into the seat opposite Roman's desk, deliberately letting the hem of my skirt ride up just enough to catch attention. I didn't glance up to see him approach-- I didn't need to. I could feel him watching like static in the air, like heat against the back of my neck, and I knew everything was going as planned.

Roman circled me slowly, his steps silent against the polished floor, not in any rush. He moved like a man with all the time in the world to decide what he was going to do with me, and just as I guessed, he started rolling the blinds down one by one, closing us off from the rest of the office. 

I watched his reflection in the uncovered glass wall behind him, refusing to turn my head, savouring the small thrill of pretending to be indifferent while his shadow loomed closer. He passed behind me, pausing, just for a moment, before he walked over to his chair. I felt his gaze like a hand on the back of my neck.

When Roman finally sat down, it was with that signature grace of his-- one long leg stretching out beneath the desk, fingers brushing over the edge of the wood. He then leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, the other bringing his fingertips to his lips in thought. "I see you're in good spirits this morning," he teased at last, his voice all silk and venom, soft yet loaded. "Still salty from your loss?"

I exhaled once through my nose, a sound that might've been a laugh if I wasn't so busy holding onto my composure with both hands. My legs crossed slowly beneath the desk, heel dangling from the arch of my foot in a rhythm I knew he'd notice. "You mean the theft," I said, finally flicking my gaze up to meet his. "You make it sound like I had a fighting chance after the shit you pulled."

Roman's smile deepened, slow and sharp; "You did. You just lost,"

I tilted my head, the motion slight, almost feline. "So, what did you do with your trophy? Did you hang my panties over your bed, or did you use them to get off, perhaps?"

Roman's smile didn't falter-- if anything, it darkened. Spread. Turned indulgent in that maddening way of his, the one that said careful, little girl, you're playing with fire. He didn't answer right away; he just tapped his finger once against his lip, as if genuinely considering how much to unveil, like I had given him a pleasant errand instead of a burn. "I thought about it," he murmured, shrugging. "But I'm not going to disclose anything... confidential. That's between me and your underwear."

Ugh. I bet they hung over his bed like an animal bust. 

"Was there anything else, sir?" I asked, returning to my play of indifference. "Anything of importance, perhaps? I'm not too interested in sitting here and listening to you gloat."

"... Gloat?" Roman huffed a soft breath of laughter, but it didn't quite make it to his mouth. His eyes were too dark now, too focused, like he had already started stripping me down in his mind with the same attention to detail he gave to contracts and corporate acquisitions. "I like reminders," he said, voice lowering again, slipping into that private, conspiratorial tone that curled somewhere behind my navel. "Especially when you come in here acting like I didn't make you cum in the backseat of my car with your skirt bunched around your waist."

I would've blushed, had I not been so pissed off.

Instead, I smiled wider.

"So that's your thing, then?" I asked, almost sweetly. "Wrecking women in office-appropriate skirts and collecting what's left of them in lace?"

Roman exhaled a slow breath through his nose. "No. You're my thing,"

"... Right," I muttered, leaning back in my seat, slow and regal. Thing? His thing?

Oh well... Now was the time to strike-- I'd had enough of his gloating. 

I shifted in my seat before deliberately inching my skirt up further, unveiling the black garter that connected to my thigh-high stockings. I watched with passive interest as Roman's gaze dropped like a magnet to the motion-- he didn't even try to hide the way his eyes rounded out.

"Sir," I said smoothly, voice slipping into that polished, practiced ease I wore for his boardrooms. "If you're so fond of trophies, I figured I'd show you what you're not getting today."

Roman blinked once, twice, before catching up-- his expression slipped from mild shock to something way more entertained, perhaps amused, before he let out a quiet, controlled aah, accepting the challenge I had thrown at him like a lit match across the desk. He nodded slowly to himself as he sank back further into his chair, absorbing it.

It was followed by the kind of filthy smile that said he wanted to devour me whole, but would rather take his time watching me squirm first. The kind that said you think you've won, even as his eyes dragged like a slow hand across the exposed garter, the flash of bare thigh, the black lace biting softly into my skin.

"Well, well," he purred, voice rough now, coloured with heat. "You've come prepared."

"Of course," 

"This is war to you, huh?"

"Oh, certainly, sir," At that, I stood slowly, fluid and controlled, like the decision had already been made in my bones, and my body was merely catching up. I had planned this bit last night, but actually executing it was somewhat nerve-wracking-- I was sure it didn't show, though. I took a rather leisurely stroll around the desk, and I didn't have to look at him to recognise the shape of Roman leaning back, watching me with parted lips and darkened eyes, and his tie sinfully loosened.

"I admit yesterday's defeat," I purred, getting close enough to trail my fingers across Roman's left shoulder, avoiding his hungry eyes. "But I realized I can't win against you on your terms, because you'll always make it impossible. Therefore... I've concluded that I'll simply have to make it harder for you to steal my underwear, point blank."

Roman bit the inside of his cheek, probably trying to keep his excitement contained, yet to no avail. My fingers had barely skimmed the fabric of his jacket, but I could already feel the tension radiating off him like heat through glass-- I didn't need to look at him to know his jaw was tight, that his fingers had probably curled into the arms of the chair, and that somewhere in the back of his mind, he was already tearing the garter off me with his teeth.

But he didn't move-- Roman was letting me make my move. "You think a garter will stop me?" he murmured, almost mockingly, as he turned his chair to face me fully. "It's just a piece of fabric. Easy to get your panties around. You've got to make a better plan, if this is what you've come up with."

I could only sigh. "Oh, Roman," I purred. "You think this is it?"

My hands drifted to my skirt; I watched as he held his breath, eyes burning with excitement. I did a slow sweep across the fabric. Another. Then another. And then, with two fingers and the softest sigh of motion, I began to inch the hem upward to my waist. I held my skirt up, finally revealing the whole contraption.

The sheer, black stockings were connected to a garter, yes-- but what kept the garters up reached all the way up to the garter belt around my waist, which consequently caged in my lace, black underwear. 

Roman's reaction was immediate; I could see it ripple through him like a slow wave. His pupils, already wide, dilated even further-- black eating green. His mouth parted just slightly, but no words came out, not even one of his cocky little remarks. 

Not this time, no-- he was speechless.

And God, it was delicious.

I held my skirt where it was, unapologetically high, letting the silence stretch, letting him look. The garter wasn't just a deterrent-- it was a statement. The treasure he wanted to steal, my poor panties, were framed in lace and restraint, held tightly in place by clips that connected from thigh to waist like armour, like I had engineered the whole thing for the sole purpose of driving him insane.

Which, of course, I had.

"Fuck," Roman breathed, lips parted in complete enthralment. He leaned forward, placed his hands behind my knees to motion me to step closer between his legs, which I allowed-- only because he wasn't anywhere near my lingerie. Something told me that he knew not to touch, and I ignored the way my grin only grew wider and wider. 

"Well, aren't you gorgeous," Roman murmured with awe, reaching forward despite his better judgement. His fingers were warm against my skin; they skimmed upward from the delicate bend behind my knee, tracing the curve of my hip in a slow, reverent glide. "You pretty thing... I didn't know you owned this sort of stuff."

Well... Um. Roman didn't need to know that I got up early to run to the nearest lingerie store in my area, and tried out different designs for about twenty-five minutes, until I found this one. He didn't need to know any of that, actually. Instead, I gave a casual shrug, trying to keep my impending blush away from my cheeks in regards to all the compliments-- trying, and failing a little, because God, his voice when he said pretty thing? That was going to live behind my ribcage for weeks. 

"I have a few secrets," I teased, even as my breath caught at the second pass of Roman's fingertips. 

As I imagined he would when I planned this last night, his hands skimmed up to brush over my garter belt, now tracing around my waist. He really thought he could just touch me whenever, that I was his whenever, ready for him to grope and feel up whenever-- and sure, to some extent, he was right... but not right now. 

Roman's fingertips brushed the front, slow and curious, and I let him linger there and think I'd let him unclasp it for exactly one second too long.

Then, I dropped my skirt.

The fabric slipped from my hand in one fluid motion, falling back into place like a curtain being drawn, hiding everything-- the garter, the lace, the vulnerability, and erasing it in a whisper of cotton. I went for Roman's hands, gently prying them off me; at that, he blinked, stunned, like someone had shut the lights off mid-sentence. "Oh, what's this?" he asked, souring. "Petty revenge?"

I shrugged as I gently smoothed my skirt, palms running over the curve of my hips, ignoring the fact that I was burning inside with excitement, that my breath was shallow and tight, and that my heart was doing dangerous things in my chest. I didn't let any of that show. I just looked down at him like he was a child caught with sticky fingers in a cabinet full of things that weren't his. "I just don't think you should be touching my lingerie," I said, voice calm and poised, like I wasn't seconds away from falling apart. "I never know what you might try to steal next."

Roman let out a short, disbelieving laugh, halfway to a snort. "And I think you should think twice before going through with this plan of yours," he said, the threat laced in his honeyed voice. "What even is it? To get me mad?"

"No, sir," I glanced past his annoyed gaze, past the way his fingers were impatiently trailing the arms of his chair, and down where I knew I had affected him most-- and unmistakably so, he was affected, alright. I could see the way Roman's pants had tightened, his cock having swelled with interest in his suit slacks, and that engaged phase two of my plan; "I just... wanted to thank you."

Roman followed the trail of my eyes and let out a huff, visibly displeased with my behaviour. "For what?" he mumbled, wary. "I know you're up to something."

I tilted my head, the picture of perfect innocence as I batted my lashes at him. "I saw what you did with Frederic," 

Removed From LVMH Amid Sexual Misconduct Scandal, as he should be. 

"And I wanted to thank you, sir," 

Roman let out a low sound-- half a scoff, half a breath. "I made a few calls," he mumbled. "Not a big deal. I'd rather he was executed by firing squad, the French way."

"You avenged me," I corrected, my tone laced with something deeper. "And I... wanted to thank you for that. It means a lot." Which, in truth, it did. It made me feel all warm and tingly inside that he had taken the time to do that, that he had put his career on the line, that he had dared to show that he cared. 

"So," I said sweetly, bending down just a smidge. "Let me thank you properly, sir."

Roman's green eyes flared. "You're not--"

Oh, I was.

Before he could finish the sentence, I bent down gracefully, hands light on his thighs-- not to part them, but to anchor myself, like I was just getting comfortable. I didn't break eye contact as I slipped beneath the desk with a fluid, practiced elegance, skirt brushing along the carpet as I kneeled between his legs, all calm, deliberate submission.

Immediately, Roman sucked in a sharp breath. All that ease, all that bravado, disappeared with a blink of an eye as he reached for my wrists on his knees, staring down at me like I was a bad, misbehaving dog. "We are not doing this," he hissed.

I blinked up at him. "We aren't?"

"I have a meeting in three minutes!" Roman continued through gritted teeth. "With the head of the Brazilian branch, for fuck's sake!"

Head? Oh, the irony. I tilted my head again, batting my lashes, smiling sweetly-- I knew all of this worked, because I could see the way his cock twitched in his slacks. How many times hadn't he pressed it up against me? How many times hadn't he deliberately done so to make me aware, to make me feel it? I had only seen it once, when he put a vibe to my clit during lunch, but this... this was way more intriguing. "And are you going to do so with a hard-on, sir?" I purred, my hands gently twisting out of his grip, before trailing them slowly up his thighs. "I'll take care of it. I'll be a good secretary. And after all, sir, if I am to be frank... I really want to know how you taste."

Roman leaned back in his chair with a guttural sound that was half groan, half a curse, swallowed behind clenched teeth. His large palms dragged through his hair like he was physically trying to reboot himself, like maybe if he tugged hard enough at his scalp, he'd wake up and find this wasn't happening. "You're nuts. I know what you're doing, do you really think it's that easy to derail me?"

If I had a tail, it would wag now. "Yes, sir," I whispered sweetly, leaning in just a little further, my breath brushing over the stiff line in his pants. "I think so."

Roman's head tipped back against the leather chair with a muted thud. "You knew I had this meeting," he hissed, voice fraying at the edges now. "You planned this to fuck me over, didn't you?"

"I only wanted to thank you... And perhaps help you relax before it," I cooed. "You always say I should be more supportive."

His eyes dropped back down to me with a look so sharp it could've split me open. His jaw flexed hard enough to crack; "I'm not going to let you mess with me like this," he threatened, low and strained. "You have no power over me. This is not how this works."

I smiled wider, pressing my cheek to the inside of his thigh-- it was almost comical to see Roman like this, panicked about being on the receiving end of anything. "But I'm being so sweet," I cooed, eyes still locked on his. "And I'm not looking to take any power from you. I don't want that. What would silly little me do with power? I just want to please you, that's all."

Roman stared down at me, chest rising fast now as his hands braced on the arms of his chair as though he needed to physically hold himself back. "I swear to God," he muttered. "If someone knocks on this door-- if anyone even nears this office during that call!--"

"Then you'll have to stay very quiet, sir," I murmured, voice silken as my nails lightly trailed over his zipper. "And let your good secretary handle it."

Roman's hands twitched like he didn't know whether to drag me out from under the desk and ruin me against the window, or let me have my wicked way. He chose neither-- at least, not yet. Instead, he gritted out; "If you bite me, I'll pan the camera down to you and let everybody see. Don't be cute,"

I smiled against the fabric, all charm and heat and threat as I unbuckled his belt. His empty threats didn't mean anything to me at the moment-- I knew him too well. "Do I take that as a yes, sir?"

Roman rolled his eyes, contained another groan, and nodded. "Only 'cause you look pretty like this," he grumbled. "But if you pull any of this shit on me again, I'll bend you over my desk and rip through every strap of that little set you're so damn proud of."

With a pout, I let the belt drop to the floor, slowly unzipping his slacks with the kind of care you only reserve for silk ribbons. "Well," I murmured, nuzzling my cheek against his thigh. "That's certainly one way to show appreciation for my initiative."

Roman groaned again, this time not bothering to hide it. His fingers flexed around the arms of his chair like he was holding himself back from grabbing me by the hair and showing me exactly what happened to disobedient little secretaries-- but I kept going, breath warm against him, lashes lowered, pretending I wasn't already dripping from the threat he'd just thrown at me.

"If you rip through it," I murmured, tracing one finger along the seam of his boxers; "You'll have to buy me another set. Possibly two. And let's be honest..." I looked up at him now, chin tilted, voice honeyed. "My taste is expensive. I will break your bank account." 

The second those words left my mind, something in my brain clicked; what did I just say? That didn't sound like me. Within a split second, I felt my cheeks heat up, but I tried to cover it with a tiny giggle. Was I perhaps getting drunk on the power he had so desperately wanted to keep away from me?

Roman's nostrils flared-- his annoyed expression didn't hide the way his cock twitched at the thought of me using his card, though. "They're gonna call me any minute now. Last chance to stop fucking with me,"

"I'm not," I corrected softly, sliding my hands slowly along his thighs. "And if you're smart, you'll let me do this. You'll let me thank you."

At that, he seemed to stop resisting. 

Roman got busy with his keyboard, getting ready to enter the online meeting as I pulled his hard cock out of his briefs, watching as it stood proud, and listened to him let out a small sigh of relief-- bet that felt good to get out of its constraints. My initial thought was that I thought his cock was pretty, which immediately felt odd to think; it was, though. I felt my heart soar, realizing that I was actually going to get to suck off the Roman Godfrey-- but then again, to be completely honest, it had been a hot minute since I had done anything like this at all. Still, it didn't hinder me from remembering the basics; I leaned forward, wetting my lips before placing them at the tip of his cock, giving it a small, wet kiss. 

Fuck-- he was delightfully soft to the touch. I was about to get addicted to this, wasn't I?

Roman's cock twitched against my lips, and I felt the restrained tension ripple through him, as though the gentlest touch threatened to undo him. My heart thrummed with triumph and excitement, my pulse echoing softly in my ears as I carefully parted my lips, gently easing just the swollen head of him into my mouth. The taste was rich, intoxicating-- purely Roman, warmth and silk over my tongue. What an honour, what a pleasure.

He exhaled sharply above me, the sound barely audible but unmistakable-- tense, bitten-back desire laced through every controlled breath. His hips shifted slightly beneath me, betraying the struggle he was already enduring to stay composed.

Slowly, almost shyly, I slid my lips further down, enveloping more of him, letting my tongue slide along the underside of his hard cock. I sucked softly, my cheeks hollowing just enough to coax another breathy groan from Roman's tightly pressed lips, one I knew he fought hard to silence. Holy fuck. My lashes fluttered closed, savouring the weight of him on my tongue, the heat of him filling my mouth inch by aching inch-- oh, how I had dreamed of this. Oh, how I had longed for this.

Roman's hand finally moved away from the computer-- hesitantly at first, his fingers grazed my cheek with unexpected gentleness, and his thumb brushed along my jawline in a silent caress of appreciation. It sent a spark of electricity across my skin, making me bolder; I let my mouth relax more, slowly working him deeper, relishing the small, involuntary thrust of his hips that followed as he struggled to stay silent, to keep still.

My pace remained deliberately slow and teasing; each time I drew back, my tongue swirled softly around the sensitive crown, lingering long enough to feel him shudder beneath my palms. Then I'd sink down again, wetter, more insistently, but still maintaining that shy, demure rhythm designed solely to unravel his composure inch by delicious inch.

"God, fuck--" he whispered hoarsely, so softly that only I could hear. His fingers tightened gently in my hair, a silent plea that urged me onward, telling me not to stop. I felt his pulse quicken beneath my fingertips, throbbing through his thighs, his cock swelling impossibly harder against the soft, wet pressure of my tongue.

I couldn't help the quiet moan that escaped my throat in response, sending a vibration coursing through him. His entire body stiffened, muscles tight as he fought against every primal instinct to fuck his cock into my mouth.

"Behave," Roman muttered, voice thick and ragged as his fingers stroked my hair, holding me firmly in place.

I smiled softly around his cock, eyes lifting coyly to his strained expression as I slowly, deliberately, took him even deeper, daring him to break, to lose himself completely beneath the careful ministrations of his oh-so-devoted secretary.

Then, just as he began to buck over and over into my mouth, the screen lit up with the incoming video call. Roman tensed, his grip tightening in my hair just enough to warn me; "Don't do anything stupid," he said, voice tight and rough with restraint.

I batted my lashes up at him, coming off his cock to press a kiss to the sensitive underside of the pink tip-- "Wouldn't dream of it, sir," I purred.

Roman had no option but to trust me, now. Sorry, not sorry. With a flustered shake of his head, he caressed my hair twice, signaling me to get back to what I was doing so he could get back to what he had to do.

Okay, okay.

As he greeted the head of the Brazilian delegation, his voice was smooth, professional, betraying nothing of the secret pleasure beneath his desk. I continued my slow rhythm, each slide of my lips deliberate and careful, drawing out the torment as my hand joined, stroking his cock with each bob of my head. Above me, Roman stuttered slightly at the added friction, disguising it quickly with a cough; "Ah-- apologies, good morning. Yes, I'm fine. Just a... minor cold,"

His fingers tightened in my hair again, swatting my hand away before silently directing me to slow down even more, guiding my movements carefully as I obeyed his unspoken command. His cock pulsed eagerly in my mouth, and I felt him swell impossibly harder against my tongue, fighting desperately for composure as he managed his words with strained ease.

My tongue teased the sensitive underside of his shaft, pressing just firmly enough to send a ripple of tension through him. Roman's breathing grew heavier, even as he forced his voice steady and calm, discussing figures, logistics, and contracts. Each time he paused, I could feel his self-control straining, his fingers gripping tighter, silently hoping for mercy and release.

With an almost imperceptible urgency, Roman finally guided me faster, hips lifting subtly to match my rhythm as I took him deeper, wetter, pushing him ever closer to the edge. His thighs tensed beneath my palms, his pulse hammering wildly through his skin-- I could feel it from under his desk. 

Then, with a quiet, shuddering breath disguised as a cough, Roman came, his hips jerking gently as he spilled down my throat, filling my mouth with his release. I swallowed obediently, savouring the taste, the sensation, and the triumphant intimacy of the moment-- honestly, I had never wanted to swallow before, but this was different. This was Roman. When it was him, I enjoyed it. This was the man of all my dreams, and I didn't care that it was warm, didn't care about the consistency as I had with others, because this? This was it. Roman was it for me, and this whole ordeal had gone better than I could've ever imagined. 

As Roman silently recovered, he loosened his grip on my hair, stroking it affectionately as he seamlessly continued the conversation, his voice perfectly composed, leaving no trace of the wicked indulgence he had just enjoyed beneath his desk. And just for a split second, his green eyes darted down to look at me-- he scanned the way my lips had slightly swelled, and how my half-lidded gaze stared up at him with a sweetness that betrayed my every action. I felt the twitch of his thighs beneath my palms as I tucked him back into his slacks, the residual tension laced through his muscles like a low electric hum, and that was when he snapped.

Roman adjusted in his chair, cleared his throat, and gave a shallow nod toward the screen. "Just a moment," he said smoothly, holding up a finger toward the camera. "There's something I need to attend to."

Before I knew it, Roman muted the mic, reached for the small icon, and turned off the camera. And then, in one swift, unhesitating movement, he grabbed me by the hair, harshly enough to make my heart jolt. I would've complained, would've whined, but I knew what this was; this was Roman saying you're mine.

He pulled me up from beneath the desk, forcing me to rise higher between his legs, and before I could say a word or catch a breath, Roman leaned forward beneath the desk and kissed me like he was still tasting the moment we'd shared. His mouth was hot and forgiving, all tongue and frustration, the kind of kiss that left no air, no doubt, and no room to hide.

His hand cradled the side of my neck as he kissed me again, longer this time, his tongue moving against mine with slow, deliberate possession. I whimpered faintly against his mouth, and his hand tightened in my hair again, grounding me.

"You are--" he muttered between kisses; "--completely out of your mind."

"I just want you," I whispered back, breathless.

He let out a soft huff that might've been a laugh, had it not been drenched in disbelief, and then dragged his thumb across my lower lip like he needed the contact to anchor him. "You're fucking unbelievable," he murmured. "Get comfortable."

I didn't need to be told twice.

I slid down to the floor again and curled up lazily between his legs, resting my head in his lap like a cat who had just gotten the best tummy rubs of her life. It didn't take long before Roman turned his camera back on and resumed the meeting-- he adjusted his seat slightly to accommodate me, one hand drifting absently into my hair, stroking it with the same fingers that had just clutched the arms of his chair like restraints. 

For this, all the anguish had been worth it. For this, I could go through a dozen Frederic Arnaults-- no, ew, I take that back. That was enough trauma for a lifetime. Still, I quietly sighed against Roman's thigh, nuzzling it as I made myself comfortable. This felt so... right. How had I ever lived without this? How had I ever functioned? I couldn't without him, even though I was in the middle of getting back at him for stealing my underwear. 

However, I wasn't thinking about the plan.

Because right now, I was thinking about Roman and me, and how wonderfully warm I was sure we both felt in the aftermath of my endeavours.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

By the time we were seated in Roman's private lunch lounge, glass walls dimmed with switchable film, and a view of the skyline he barely acknowledged, I was already halfway through my Caesar salad and sipping a Coke with the kind of reverence most people reserved for vintage wine.

It wasn't fancy or elegant, or in any way appropriate for the space, but I didn't care-- it had been a long, emotionally complicated morning, and Roman had told me I could get whatever I wanted. My knees hurt. My nerves were fried. And this? This was my comfort food. Shredded romaine, grilled chicken, maybe-too-much dressing, and a Coke so cold it made my teeth hurt. Bliss.

Across from me, Roman sat perfectly straight in his sleek chair, his OCD lunch untouched before him. His napkin was still folded neatly, his hands were clasped in front of him like he was observing a ritual he wasn't invited to, and the biggest tell of his mood was how he said nothing. Roman just watched me with that particular blend of disdain and disbelief.

I took another bite, sighing happily through my nose. "What?"

Roman blinked, slowly. "You're drinking Coke. With a Caesar salad,"

"Yes?" I said. "Is that a felony in your world, sir?"

He narrowed his eyes. "It's just... violent,"

"It's delicious," I corrected, stabbing my fork down for another bite. "Not everything has to be rabbit food cut up in perfect squares to be digestible. I mean... for me, that is. I know it's not your thing."

Roman didn't answer-- his expression caught somewhere between a sulk and a smolder. I could tell he hadn't recovered from earlier, from the moment I had slid under his desk with sweet little words and a wicked mouth and derailed his entire existence before a major call. Now, I was just eating lunch like nothing happened, like I wasn't the reason he had to mute himself mid-meeting just to breathe through the aftermath of his orgasm.

"Sir," I said, lips around the rim of my glass of Coke. "You're glaring. Have I done something bad?"

Roman's jaw ticked; "Well. I'm... recalibrating,"

"To what?"

"To the fact that I let you do that,"

My heart gave a soft, painful jolt. I tucked my hands under the table for a second, smoothing my skirt just to give myself something to do. "Did you... not like it?" I asked, quieter now.

Roman leaned back in his chair, exhaling hard through his nose. "I didn't say that," he grumbled. "That would be lying. I'm just trying to decipher what you've planned, because that was... unexpected. And very out of character. All I know is that you're keen on avenging your underwear."

I dabbed the corner of my mouth with my napkin, posture straightening just slightly in my chair-- prim, even ladylike, if one could ignore the Coca-Cola. My fork moved with slow, graceful precision, spearing a perfectly dressed leaf of romaine before I brought it to my lips. I chewed like I was at a garden party, not a post-blowjob debrief.

Roman watched all of this with a stare that bordered on clinically disturbed; "I'm serious," he said. "What else are you planning?"

I blinked up at him, all doe-eyed sweetness. "Planning?"

"Yes. Planning," He gestured vaguely toward me, his expression vaguely tortured. "I have a feeling this isn't the end of it."

I tilted my head, feigning thought. "No plan," I said. "Just gratitude. You were very helpful with Frederic, so... I thought I'd return the favour. Make you feel good."

Roman narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, and laced his fingers together like he was about to cross-examine me. "So, you just decided to crawl under my desk like some demonic little secretary and suck me off during a meeting with international delegates. No ulterior motive,"

"None," I beamed, sipping my Coke. "Well... okay, maybe one?"

He stilled. "A-ha... Go on,"

"I just wanted to prove a point," I said, shrugging as I laid my fork down with intentional calm. "You seemed to think I wasn't the type."

Roman's brow furrowed. "The type?"

"Mhm," I murmured. "You remember yesterday in the car? I told you I wouldn't blow you there, and you got that smug little look like, oh, of course she wouldn't, like I'm all prim and proper and sexually repressed." I reached for my napkin again, gently blotting my lips. "I just wanted to be clear that I do go down on guys. I'm not a nun."

Phase three was in motion. I was slowly getting to my main incentive by introducing the topic.

Roman gave the faintest huff of a laugh, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And hallelujah for that," he muttered, picking up his water glass with a dry twist of his mouth. "I never took you for a nun, anyway. Repressed... perhaps. But you're always running around making trouble in hopes of me dealing with you, so there is something peculiar about you."

I folded my napkin neatly, keeping my gaze low as I murmured; "That's funny, sir... I was just thinking the same thing about you,"

His glass paused at his lips.

I looked up sweetly; "I mean, you steal girls' underwear, hide vibrators in your briefcase, and you've gone as far as to make me hump your shoe. Is that not peculiar, too?"

Roman let out a sharp breath through his nose-- half a laugh, half a threat. His jaw ticked, his knuckles now resting tight against the edge of the table, like he needed the hard surface to keep himself grounded. I could see it happening in real time, that short-circuit of disbelief-- that deeply personal discomfort of being outmanoeuvred in a game he invented.

He stared at me like I was a test he hadn't studied for. "Cut the crap. What are you getting at?"

"Oh, nothing crazy, sir,"

Roman's green stare sharpened. "You're acting out,"

"And you," I said, spearing a crouton delicately; "Strike me as a man who doesn't go down on women."

Bingo. I watched as Roman's brow arched in disbelief at the audacity of that sentence. "I what?" he asked, slowly, like he wasn't sure he'd heard me correctly.

I didn't look at him-- I just delicately nibbled the edge of my crouton, calm as you please, as my insides screamed at me to shut the fuck up before he pulled out a whip or something. When had I managed to grow this big a pair of balls? Seriously, what was happening to me today? "I mean, it's fine," I murmured. "You get whoever you want, whenever you want, and I suppose there is an incentive as to... what you can get away with not doing, as a man like you, with status like you."

Roman stared at me, stunned-- truly, violently stunned. This wasn't the secretary he knew; this was the ghost of vengeance. May my panties rest in peace, wherever they were.

I kept my eyes on my plate, shrugging nonchalantly as my heart hammered in my chest. I was truly playing with fire now, which is why I had to get going through the flames to avoid any long-term burns. "You weren't okay with me touching you until, like, three days ago," I continued. "You strike me as someone who... wouldn't be too comfortable with your face between a woman's legs. Too intimate. Too personal. Too... close, right?"

Roman slowly leaned back in his chair, gaze raking over me like he was trying to decide if I was being serious or suicidal-- and that was when I knew I had aced phase three. Get him pissed. Get him ready to prove you wrong. 

Because what I actually wanted out of this day? After he stole my fucking underwear and kept it?

I wanted him to eat me out like he was sorry. 

That would make me feel like I had my dignity back, and nothing less. This was just the build-up that was needed to get him to do it of his own volition.

Roman's head tilted back slowly, his lips parting in a disbelieving smile. He looked like someone trying to remember whether or not murder was still considered a felony in the state of Pennsylvania. "You think I don't go down on women," he said flatly, as though reciting back the charges in court.

I finally lifted my eyes to him, sipping my Coke with something close to innocent politeness. "That's what I said, sir,"

"You think I don't--" He cut himself off, face tightening like the words physically offended him. "You have absolutely no idea what the fuck you're talking about."

I widened my eyes in a faux-demure way. "Oh? So you do?" I said, cocking my head.

Roman stared at me like he wanted to flip the table, or climb over it, or pull me across it by the back of my neck and silence me with his mouth. I couldn't read him now that I was too busy stepping through this landmine of my kamikaze plan. 

"You think I don't eat pussy?" he said, voice low and furious, like it physically pained him to say the words. "Are we really having this conversation?"

I pursed my lips. "I think if you did, we'd all know by now,"

Roman looked like I had just punched him square in the reputation. His jaw set so hard I could hear the grind of his teeth.  "You-- God, you are unbelievable," he snarled, eyes narrowing. "I know you're trying to make me prove it, but at this point, I don't give a damn. I will, right fucking now, if that will shut you up for today."

The chair behind him scraped harshly against the polished floor as he stood at full height, hands braced on the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him from launching over it. His eyes were wild with intention, a full-throttle kind of fury that wasn't just about sex-- it was about pride, about power, about someone finally poking a hole in the mask he had spent his whole adult life wearing.

Roman was practically vibrating-- his suit jacket shifted with the rise and fall of his chest, and he looked at me like I was the final straw, the final provocation, the match tossed on gasoline.

And me?

I smiled.

Slow and steady, full of that unbearable, infuriating grace I knew he loathed most when it came from me. "I'm very flattered," I purred, folding my hands politely over my lap, like we were still in some corporate negotiation. "But... I'm a bit shy. I think you gotta buy me dinner before something like that."

The silence that followed was nuclear.

Roman's mouth parted in shock, his entire posture glitching like someone had just slammed the brakes in his mind. One second, he was locked and loaded, ready to destroy me in ways the Geneva Conventions would frown upon, and the next, I had pulled the rug out from under his feet. His big, green eyes scanned my face like he was double-checking for signs of brain injury. "Are you--" he choked out, disbelieving; "--fucking kidding me?"

I gave him a teeny tiny little shrug. "What?" I asked, blinking sweetly. "I'm just saying... Respectfully, of course, that even though you're my dom, and even though we've done a few things here and there, that I'm still shy. It's been a while for me, y'know."

Roman stared at me like he wanted to scream into a pillow, or kiss me hard enough to leave teeth marks. Possibly both. His knuckles were white against the wood; "Respectfully?" he repeated, dangerously quiet.

"Very respectfully," I said, lifting my Coke again like a toast. "Sir." I took a long, icy sip while he stood there, seething, recalibrating for the second time today.

Roman sat back down like gravity had forced him into it, the chair groaning faintly beneath the weight of his frustration. He didn't just sit-- he dropped, spine stiff, hands braced on the arms like they were the only thing keeping him from reaching across the table and dragging me into his lap and spanking me blue. His tie was slightly askew now, and his hair looked like he had run his fingers through it one too many times-- he was, in every visible way, undone. "I am buying you lunch," he said, flatly gesturing toward my Caesar salad like it was suddenly an exhibit in a trial. "You are currently eating a lunch I paid for. It's the same shit."

"Oh, is that what this is?" I said, gently tapping my fork to the edge of my plate. "I thought it was a peace offering after you stole my underwear."

Roman closed his eyes like he needed to mentally search for his will to live. "I should've hired the candidate before you. You're smug, you're disobedient, you're infuriating, you're a fucking brat--" Roman dragged a hand down his face. "And now," he added, voice fraying at the edges. "You apparently want me to court you? Take you out to dinner?"

I pretended to consider that for a moment. "I mean, technically, I'm already courted. Just... maybe stop stealing my underwear like a pervert and commit to one proper evening. I hear Nobu takes last-minute reservations for billionaires with anger management issues,"

Roman stared at me, and then, finally, he huffed a low laugh. "I'm going to ruin you," he said, quiet and sure, the kind of promise that made heat pool low in my belly. "You're not getting away with this plan of yours unscathed. Be aware of that."

... Didn't expect any less. 

I smiled, soft and excited, as I stabbed my last piece of romaine. "Can't wait, sir,"

Roman stared at me, his knuckles flexing lightly against the arms of the chair. I expected another retort, something cutting, maybe obscene, but instead... he went quiet. He leaned back slowly, bracing himself like the air had gotten too thick. His jaw moved like he was debating what to say, and then, almost... timid, like he couldn't believe he was saying it, he muttered; "Okay. It's a date,"

I blinked. 

Oh?

Oh.

A date? Hold on. This part of my plan didn't seem so terrifying in my head, but now? Oh, I was screwed.

Roman's green eyes flicked to mine and back to the skyline, as if he couldn't quite look at me now. "Nobu sucks. I know a better place," A pause. "Or... y'know, whatever," He scratched the side of his neck; "... Whatever."

The air between us shifted-- I hadn't thought about this part, not to this extent. Roman wasn't just mad anymore. He was actually taking me to dinner.

In the midst of my evil plan, my revenge, my plotting and scheming, I had somehow... secured a date with Roman Godfrey.

(a/n: oh y'all are not ready for what's about to come.... it all goes up and down from here (get it?) (ok sorry bad joke lol) ANWAYYY THANK U FOR READING THIS FARRRR!!<3)

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[moonlightstuffs]

snakes and thievery (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: sex toys, bondage, fingering, clit rubbing, semi-public sexual activity, sexual extortion (sorta?), dom/sub, heavy makeout, banter, fluff, flashing, boob sucking, Roman is such a cunt lol

summary: now that you know Mr. Godfrey's-- Roman's feelings for you, and he has accepted the ones you have for him, a door opens... called kleptomania. who'd have expected your boss to love playing cat and mouse over a piece of clothing?

word count: 16,002 (oh, I know you love it, you freaks)

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a/n: oh this was such a DELIGHT!!! this chapter has everything from smutty emails to smutty smut, I love writing them bantering and in love like this tihi, so I hope u like it just as much as I do;) mwah mwah!!

To me, you are water.

Roman's confession echoed through my head as I carried his coffee like it was a holy offering-- not too much milk, one cube of brown sugar, stirred three times, nestled in my trembling hands. It was early, barely past eight, but already the mood in the office was sharp and charged after last evening's chaos. The glass panels of Roman's office caught the morning light, and through them, I could see him standing tall behind his desk, sleeves rolled, hair soft and perfect, speaking with a member of the legal team in that low, calculated voice he reserved for damage control. His expression was impassive, jaw tight, but I knew the tension under that still surface was volcanic-- he was controlled only because he had to be.

I had seen exactly how he could get when he lost control; the coffee stains in meeting room K2004 were proof of just that.

I stepped inside, quiet, like the usual intruder I was. The air in Roman's office was cooler than the hall, the scent of his expensive cologne already curling around me like a chain I wanted him to pull tighter. The legal associate turned briefly toward me with a polite nod, but Roman didn't even look away from the man-- that was certainly how he normally behaved. I had worried we wouldn't be able to act like nothing had happened in that elevator, but now that I was here, ignored as always, I could let out the relieved sigh I had held back all morning.

I set his coffee down carefully, just beside Roman's massive laptop, not too close to his paperwork, because I still knew his desk better than I knew myself. How many times had I orgasmed in its presence? That poor desk. Thankfully, it wasn't sentient-- that'd be a real fucking bummer for both of us.

Trying not to breathe too hard, or look too orgasmically flushed, I could somehow sense it before it had even happened; I felt Roman's green eyes on me the second my back was turned to him, bending slightly over his desk. Was he checking out my ass? Openly? Now? Oh, this was bad... and exactly what I had intended. 

I noticed how quickly Roman dismissed the legal associate,  and the click of the door behind him was still hanging in the air when I turned around-- just in time to see Roman step away from the desk and head toward the windows.

He didn't look at me as he reached for the blinds. "Morning," he said, casually, like nothing had changed.

Roman wasn't the only one acting like everything was normal-- my stomach churned my fluttering butterflies as I bit down on my smile. Why was this so exciting? "Good morning, sir," I echoed, folding my hands in front of me like they hadn't been twisted in his hair the day before.

Slowly, Roman started drawing all the blinds, one by one, calm and casual, as if he did this every morning for fun, as if I hadn't seen the way his ears perked up at the sound of me calling him sir. The light dimmed with each swish, and I watched the outline of his profile, the sleeves of his shirt still perfectly rolled to his elbows. There was a moment, just one, where I saw his hand hesitate slightly over the last blind before pulling it shut-- then, he finally turned back to me.

"You're late," he said, somewhat strict. 

I tilted my head, unimpressed; "Sir,"

"Yes?"

"You know I'm never late,"

Roman's green eyes shamelessly flicked down to my skirt before darting to meet my gaze. "Punctuality is a dying art," he murmured. "Just making sure standards are upheld around here."

"Punctuality is important, sure," I mumbled, following him with my eyes, hoping he didn't notice how obviously I was checking him out as well. "But accusations of the opposite aren't helping." It was odd to speak to him like this after having had his tongue in my mouth-- my filthy mouth, as Roman had so respectfully dubbed it, before kissing me like his life had depended on it yesterday.

Roman rounded the desk slowly, like a man with all the time in the world, and sank into his chair without breaking eye contact. "Accusations?" he echoed, vaguely amused. "Interesting choice of words. I simply made an observation. Would you prefer I write it down for your performance review?"

I arched a brow. "If you're planning on writing about how early I get here every morning, then yes, sir. Please do."

His mouth twitched, just barely. "Noted. Extremely... eager," His eyes dipped again, not even bothering to hide it this time. "Consistently so."

I didn't flinch, didn't move, but my spine lit up like a struck match-- two could play this game. "What can I say, sir," I replied, shrugging as I took a small, measured step closer to the desk. "I like to be in position early. Makes things run more... smoothly."

Roman tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming with a heat he wasn't hiding anymore. "I imagine you do,"

There was a long pause. Neither of us moved, and my heart stuttered at the suspense.

Then--

"That will be all," Roman huffed, waving vaguely toward the door, dismissing me. "Unless you have something else to report?"

... What?

Caught off guard, I blinked once, twice, like a stupid donkey. I did a quick, confused glance at the door before turning back to Mr. Godfrey-- Roman! Ugh, this was confusing. Who was he now? What was happening? "Uh," I mumbled, scratching my arm, feeling myself grow timid. "Well, actually, yes. There is something to report."

Roman's fingers paused over his laptop, calm as ever. "Yes?"

"Yes, sir," I cleared my throat, unsure whether I was digging my grave or hitting jackpot. "I've observed certain... behaviours from the CEO that may need to be documented."

I knew I had caught Roman's interest when he pulled away from his keyboard, steepling his fingers as his big, green eyes gazed back at me with burning interest gleaming in them. "Have you, now?"

"Yes, sir," I said with grave mock professionalism. "I've noticed persistent inappropriate staring. Questionable remarks about employee skirts have also happened on more than one occasion, and I must mention a general tendency to dismiss staff only to continue ogling them when they don't leave fast enough."

Roman leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a very particular, cocky, arrogant type of way I loved more than I would ever admit to. "Sounds serious," he purred, faux concern coating his deep voice. He proceeded to get up, tutting and shaking his head as if this was grave information; "And miss, if I may ask, how have you been dealing with these... inappropriate advances?"

I watched Roman cut the corner of his desk with leisure, like he had all the time in the world, dragging his finger along the wood as he came closer. My heart stuttered as I clenched my jaw, hoping that'd suppress my growing smile; "Not very well, I think. This has caused me a lot of emotional distress,"

Roman nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as he took a step closer, like he was investigating this case with every serious bone in his body. "I'm sorry to hear that," he murmured, with a gleam in his eyes that made my blood fizz like champagne. "Emotional distress, you say?"

"Mhm," I nodded, barely able to keep a straight face. "Specifically triggered by elevators. Tight spaces. Sudden... lifting."

Roman stopped in front of me, toe to toe now. His brow quirked, but that smile-- that devastating, infuriating, Godfrey smile, tilted sharper. "Elevators, huh?" His voice dipped low; "Sounds like a very specific trauma. Should we call someone?"

"I'd rather you filed a report," I said quickly, tilting my chin up in defiance. It was hard to keep my composure now that he was so close, now that my heart continued to stutter at the sight of him, and the familiar musky scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, but I did.  "You know... Document the incident properly. For the sake of employee safety."

At that, Roman hummed, low and seductive as ever, before his hand ghosted down, brushing the hem of my skirt with maddening subtlety. "Go on, then," he murmured, eyes darting down to the fabric of my skirt being pulled between his middle and index finger. "I'm very interested to hear what could've caused such an emotional response. Do tell me... for the record, of course."

I swallowed hard, pulse skyrocketing as my smirk slipped; I couldn't contain anything anymore, and especially not the shaky breath that left me. "You... cornered me," I said. "In a company elevator. Pressed me against the wall. Said unspeakable things, sir."

His mouth twitched, the expression on his face rather dark-- "Did I?"

"You did, sir," I murmured. "Something about taking cock."

The moment stretched as my cheeks began to feel hot. With a growing smirk, Roman leaned in, barely an inch between us now, and the heat was unbearable, so sharp it made my knees weak. I felt the hand he had on my skirt begin to trail under it, his fingers brushing against the skin of my leg, causing a light shiver up my spine.

"And how," Roman purred, intrigued yet warning; "Am I supposed to respond to such an accusation?"

"That depends, sir," I breathed. "Are you going to deny it?"

Roman's eyes dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "No," he said, simple as ever. "Denial is for men with a conscience." His hand tightened slightly on my thigh, watching the following bob of my throat; "And I lose more and more of it every time you call me 'sir' with that tone."

I let out a soft breath of a laugh, feeling my cheeks burn. "I'm only being polite... sir,"

The word hung between us like a dare, sharp and gleaming. Roman's eyes practically ignited, a flicker of something primal beneath his otherwise unreadable expression. His hand, still resting high on my thigh, gave a subtle but unmistakable squeeze before trailing further up, his fingers now grazing the hem of my underwear at my side. "Polite," he echoed, slowly, like he was tasting it. Roman's green gaze slid over me-- mouth, throat, chest (pervert), then back to my eyes with an expression so intense it made my skin prickle. "Is that what that is?"

"What else would it be, sir?" I tried, batting my lashes up at him with faux innocence, like he wasn't feeling me up under my skirt. 

Humoured, Roman's thumb dragged just beneath the band of my underwear, drawing a delicate line across my hipbone that made my breath falter. "You really want me to answer that?"

"Only if it's an honest answer, sir,"

That earned the smallest smirk from him-- the curl of Roman's lips grew more wicked, more knowing, as his fingers settled just beneath the lace trim of my underwear. "Honest?" he repeated. "Alright, then. It's not polite," With his free hand, he pulled me closer by my waist as he spoke, his breath fanning over my upper lip; "It's calculated. It's filthy. It's a trap."

My lips parted, breath catching, feeling my lashes flutter shut-- he was going to kiss me now, wasn't he?

... Alas.

Instead, Roman hovered maddeningly close, the tip of his nose brushing mine in a slow, deliberate tease that sent sparks down my spine. His hand at my waist drew me in tighter, until there was no space left between us, just breath and tension and the unbearable closeness of someone who knew exactly what he was doing-- his other hand shifted at my hip, fingers dragging lightly along the lace at my side, playing with the waistband like it was a game he was already winning.

I felt like Roman had poured gasoline over my head and set me on fire-- that would explain how wet I suddenly felt, anyway.

"Newsflash, sir," I breathed against his lips, feeling my own curl into a smile. "You like filthy."

Roman let out a soft chuckle before letting go of my underwear, his hand slowly moving from my skirt and joining the other he had on my waist. He drew a breath through his nose, his fingers digging a bit into my skin, groping me rather greedily now-- "You got me," he muttered, barely audible. His head dipped, brow pressed to mine, his nose dragging along my cheek. "Can't think when you're this close." Roman's fingers flexed tighter before letting go, running his hands up along my sides. "You're so soft," he mumbled. "Every time I touch you, it gets worse. Every fucking time."

My breath hitched at the pure thrill of feeling him like this-- it didn't take long before my hands fell to rest at his broad chest, fingers ghosting over his tie. The fact that it thrilled him to have me close probably excited me more than any of his touches; this wasn't lust, it was psychological. It was embedded into his very being-- I was. 

Roman nudged my jaw with his nose, then kissed just beneath it once, reverently, like he didn't trust himself to do more just yet. A slight whimper escaped me, and his lips brushed lower, finding that place at the edge of my throat that nearly made my knees tilt. "Did you get home safe last night?" he asked, absentminded as ever, as if to draw attention from the kiss he proceeded to press to my neck.

I nearly shivered, eyes closed shut at the pleasure.

"Answer me," Roman commanded-- his words hummed against my skin, followed by the soft drag of his lips along my neck like punctuation.

My breath hitched again; "Oh, I managed," I whispered, my fingers tightening slightly on his chest, clutching the crisp cotton of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me upright. "Thought about you all night, though."

The confession had Roman humming again, pulling me flush against him as he proceeded to press wet kisses to my neck, allowing my arms to slither around him for support and comfort. "Yeah?" he purred. "Knowing you, I bet you touched yourself, too."

... And just when I thought my blush couldn't worsen. Bastard.

My knees were properly weak now; "I might've," I mumbled into his shoulder.

"Yeah?" he repeated, that same hungry tone to his voice. "Bet you didn't even last five minutes."

I let out a shaky breath against his collar, my cheeks on fire. Roman's voice was soft but dripping with dark satisfaction, every word soaked in sin. "I know you," he murmured, his lips brushing the edge of my jaw again, deliberate and slow. "Bet you were still wearing your work clothes... Bet you kept your blouse on, pulled your panties aside, and rubbed that filthy little ache I left you with."

I whimpered, actually fucking whimpered, and that seemed to only provoke him more-- Roman's mouth found my pulse, kissing it once, then again, before his teeth grazed the spot with the kind of promise that made my thighs squeeze together. "Fuck," he groaned. "I should've called. Should've made you put the phone on speaker. Should've made you say my name while you came."

I clung to his shoulders, breath caught in my throat. "Roman--" 

However, the sound of his name was enough; I didn't have to finish any sentence at all.

Roman pulled me to him like he couldn't stand another second of not having me closer. His mouth was on mine in an instant, hot and open, tongue greedy the second I parted my lips.  He groaned into my mouth, and I felt it in every nerve ending I had. His large, warm hands were everywhere-- clutching my waist, grabbing my ass, dragging me up against him, one sliding into my hair as if he needed to anchor me there. My mind buzzed as I tugged at his shirt, fisting the fabric as my hips rolled instinctively toward his, desperate for more contact, more friction, more of him.

The kiss was messy and breathless, all heat and teeth and tongue, like we hadn't tasted each other in years instead of mere hours ago. There was no rhythm to it, just hunger-- our lips slipping, catching, mouths colliding again and again, like neither of us could get enough, like he had been thinking about this every second since the elevator, and like I had, too.

When we finally pulled apart, gasping, my lips felt swollen, my breath was ragged, and Roman's eyes were half-lidded and dark with want. I knew I was screwed when I realized he was looking at me like he was already thinking about doing it again. 

My chest rose and fell fast, and my fingers were still curled tightly in the fabric of Roman's shirt. "Did you..." I paused, happy nerves prickling across my skin as I cleared my throat. "Did you think about me too?" 

The shift in his expression was noticeable-- Roman's brows lifted slightly, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement, as though I had just asked him if the sky was still up there. Then, he let out a low breath; half a scoff, half something warmer, and leaned in just enough that his voice brushed the corner of my mouth. "Did I think about you... Hm," he repeated, tone flat with mockery, but his hand was still gentle on my waist. "You really don't know, do you?" Roman's thumb traced over the crease where my blouse met my skirt. "You have no idea what it's like trying to forget what you sound like when you whimper. Try being me for a second, and you'll see how I suffer."

Suffer? Oh, Lord.

I let out a breathless laugh, tucking my chin down just slightly as my grin returned. This was giving me way too big of an ego boost. "Gosh... no thanks," I muttered, still close enough to feel the heat of him, still not letting go of his shirt. "I don't want to be you."

Roman huffed; "No?"

I shook my head, fingers relaxing slightly in the fabric now, smoothing it over like I could erase the wrinkles I had just put there. "Too much pressure. All the meetings, the power suits, the legal teams you have to intimidate before breakfast... nah," I teased. "I'm good down here at my little desk, playing Snake when no one's looking."

Roman's eyes narrowed, giving me a stern glare. "You're still playing that game during work hours?"

His green eyes sharpened as they fixed on me, and I felt the change like a breeze that suddenly turned into a cold front. My smile faltered: "I--" I let out a nervous little laugh, but it didn't sound quite right. "Only when I'm waiting on emails. Or, like, during that weird time after three when everyone pretends they're working."

I dared to glance up at Roman, expecting him to laugh it off, but I was met with the same glare from before. Oh no. I had forgotten that he was technically still my boss-- no, he was my boss. My fingers, still half-settled on his chest, curled slightly in response. The air between us was still warm, still laced with the scent of his cologne and the memory of his mouth on mine, but it had taken on a different weight now, like I had just hit some invisible tripwire. My stomach tightened; "I didn't mean it like that," I mumbled. "It was a joke. I thought we could joke now."

Roman didn't say anything right away. He just looked at me, head tilted ever so slightly, brow ticking in that imperceptible way that told me his patience was wearing thin. It wasn't the explosive kind of anger I'd seen in meeting rooms or overheard through glass, or the kind that shattered mugs or iced entire departments-- no, this was way worse. Because this type of Godfrey silence meant that he was considering something very, very serious.

"I'm gonna let you off easily for that," he mumbled before stepping away, his warm hands leaving my body. "And you're going to be really fucking thankful for that, alright?"

I did everything in my power not to roll my eyes. Drama-queen. "It's only Snake, this wasn't news to you! You've literally confessed that you see what I do on my screen!--"

"Enough," Roman snapped. Then, he extended his hand toward me, palm up, long fingers curling slightly in command. "Give me your underwear."

I stared at him.

He didn't blink.

My mouth opened, then closed again. "I-- I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," he said, tone flat. 

"Roman,"

"Don't make me ask twice,"

"You're kidding?!"

"And you're stalling," he muttered, looking down briefly at his own palm like it was the most natural place in the world for my panties to end up. "Which makes me think you're not really sorry at all."

"I-- You can't be serious?" I whispered, heat rushing up the back of my neck as the gravity of the request sank in. "You want me to just take them off? Now?"

Roman shrugged; "Consider it a verbal write-up,"

My heart jackhammered against my ribs. The silence between us was suddenly too loud. I glanced toward the locked door and back to him. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth impassive, but there was that flicker again-- right at the corner of his lips. The tiniest twitch of amusement, of hunger, of smugness.

"Roman," I tried again, hoping to shame him into backing off.

"Don't act so scandalized," he murmured lowly. "I've seen you cum more times than I can count on my fingers now. Your underwear is nothing in comparison."

That shut me up. I could feel my pulse in every part of my body now-- God, why was this turning me on?

Roman's voice dropped further, rich and velvet-dark; "Come on," he purred. "Be a good girl. Last chance, hand them over."

I swallowed hard, every part of me pulsing, flushed, and traitorous. He was insane. Utterly fucking inappropriate. And yet...

God, I was already reaching beneath my skirt.

"I hate you," I muttered under my breath as my fingers slipped under the waistband, shivering slightly as I hooked my fingers. "All of this for Snake..." The lace clung to my skin-- not just from heat, but from the obvious. "They might be a bit sticky, though," I added dryly, refusing to meet his eyes as I eased them down my thighs.

Roman's low chuckle made my stomach twist; "Imagine how disappointed I'd be if they weren't,"

I stepped one foot out, then the other, and balled the delicate scrap of lace into my fist. For a long second, I didn't move-- I just stood there in front of him with my underwear in my hand, feeling ridiculous and thrillingly wicked all at once.

Then, finally, still refusing to meet his gaze, I dropped them into his waiting palm.

Roman's long fingers closed around the fabric like it was a payment in full. A transaction. A trophy. Roman didn't even look down-- his eyes stayed pinned on mine, burning, smug, and satisfied in the worst, hottest way.

He tucked them neatly into the pocket of his suit jacket. "Good girl," he purred, stepping past me, his shoulder brushing mine on the way back to his desk like I hadn't just handed over the last of my dignity. He sank into his chair, calm and composed, like a man who hadn't just blackmailed me into handing over my panties.

And then, just as my knees started to wobble again--

"Now," he said, flipping open his laptop, not even looking up; "Go draft my notes for the meeting later, and try not to leave any damp spots on your chair."

My jaw dropped.

Smug bastard.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ The underwear thief-- that was who he was.

Not the CEO he presented himself as in the meeting right now. 

He sat like he always did at the end of the table, like the world bored him, like this entire boardroom existed only to orbit around the weight of his authority. His sleeves were rolled just enough to show the veins along his forearms (whore), his tie loosened just slightly in that infuriatingly casual way he got away with (whore), and it was impossible not to notice the extra button he had unbuttoned (whore). No one questioned him. No one ever dared to, except for his sexist uncle Norman, who had thankfully fucked off. 

Roman leaned back in his chair, looking close to bored, and what annoyed me most was that he hadn't looked at me once-- not since that bastard stole my underwear.

Honestly? Yeah, I was pissed. Horny and pissed. This was just uncomfortable; clearly, Roman had no idea how annoying discharge could be. 

So, with harsher stomps than usual, I walked around the meeting table, striding forward with carefully arranged papers like I had all my pieces of clothing intact-- the panty thief, self-appointed tyrant, and smug, infuriating bastard wasn't going to rob me of my dignity, too.

So, fine.

If he was going to act like nothing happened, I could be petty, too.

I reached Roman's end of the table with my chin high and my expression blank, the folder clasped in my hands like it was a weapon instead of an expense summary. I waited a beat, just long enough for the man beside Roman to finish blabbing about Q3 margins, and leaned forward. I placed the papers down in front of him, deliberately slower than necessary, stalling, bending just enough to let my skirt ride.

Roman was in the middle of a sentence when he noticed-- I could hear it in the way he stopped, and the way the chair creaked behind me, giving away that he was adjusting to get a better look. Pervert. 

There was a beat of silence so subtle that no one else in the room noticed-- but I did, and I knew he did too.

I straightened slowly, smoothing the folder with one hand and pretending I didn't feel Roman's stare scorching the back of my thighs like a spotlight. I didn't meet his eyes as I turned to walk away, but I left the folder just barely skewed-- because tucked three pages in, between line-item logistics and a contract addendum, was my Snake high score. 

Childish? Maybe. Satisfying? Immeasurably.

I took my place by the wall again, deliberately composed as I hid my smirk. I knew this would piss him off, meaning I'd either get some sort of punishment or simply get off-- I knew him well enough now. The others around the table kept talking, oblivious, while I stole a glance toward Roman from beneath my lashes.

But just as I expected-- he wasn't listening anymore.

Roman's jaw had gone tight. His fingers drummed once against the tabletop, a sharp sound that rang in my ears, and I held my breath when he opened the folder, flipped one page, two, three (click, click, click)-- 

I saw the exact moment he found it.

Roman blinked, mouth parting just slightly. His eyes froze on the page, then flicked up toward me with the sharp, unmistakable look of a man who had just been personally disrespected in the middle of a quarterly strategy review. He didn't speak, he didn't move-- he just stared, cold and furious.

Bingo.

The room buzzed around him with numbers and forecasts and polite chuckles, but Roman was dead silent, and as he slowly turned to look back at me like a Hollywood villain with a cat in his lap, his eyes fixed on me like I had just slapped him in public.

I offered him a blank smile; innocent and sweet as always. My eyes flicked to the page in front of him, then back to his, just for a second-- just long enough for him to know; yes, it was intentional. Yes, I know exactly what I did. And yes, I'm still not wearing panties.

Roman's nostrils flared.

He leaned back slowly, lips parting like he might say something, maybe snap at me, maybe shut the meeting down completely-- but no. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek instead, a quiet calculation working behind those furious green eyes. I had never seen him look so composed and so pissed at the same time.

But then... he smiled.

Roman closed the folder with a quiet thwack, fingers tapping once over the cover as if to punctuate the end of something. And when his gaze met mine again, there was a new look in it-- one that said this wasn't over.

No-- this had just begun.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: You Little Monster

Dear secretary, 

I was ready to play nice and give you your pretty panties back, but after your little show during the meeting earlier, I am compelled to let you leave this office without them. 

Also, 106 is not that big of a high score. I think even I could beat it, although the last time I played Snake was back in high school. Do better, if you are to gloat.

However, pull that shit on me again, and I will have to drag you to HR myself by your ear.

—R

I reread the message three times, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the smile from taking over my whole face. After what I had pulled in the meeting about an hour ago, this felt like my long-awaited reward for acting out.

Roman was no longer adding the automated ending to his work emails that popped up with his accreditations, his title, and his full name-- this was from him, personally, only for me to see. 

Take me to HR, I wanted to type back. I dare you.

Instead, I gripped the edge of my desk like I needed to anchor myself in reality. My thighs squeezed together automatically, reacting to the sheer wrongness of reading something like this in a corporate office full of people. The floor was humming with copy machines and conference calls and innocent souls getting on with their day-- but here I was, flushed pink and buzzing with the knowledge that Roman was back to torturing me, enjoying me, and that he definitely remembered exactly how I had bent over his desk, and had decided to bring it up in writing.

I stared at the blinking cursor in my reply box, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a moan. What was I supposed to say? Something demure? Something clever?

... Something that would make him want to drag me back into that elevator?

From: You

Subject: Re: Good Morning

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I would strongly advise against sending me to HR. Besides, the woman who runs the department has legs that could stop traffic, and you seem easily swayed by that sort of thing.

Also, you offend me— I worked very hard on that high score. Do prove that you are better, if you can, and if you must.

Now, if you are done threatening me, I will be at my desk doing... very innocent, work-appropriate things.

With excellent posture,

Your Secretary.

I knew that had been really risky, but then again... when was I not?

Through the glass, Roman's head tilted slightly toward his monitor, one finger hovering over his trackpad, frozen in that moment of reading. His lips parted, just barely, as his eyes scanned the message. I could tell when he got to the legs part-- his jaw twitched, just enough to make my pulse skip. And then, to my utter satisfaction, the faintest grin crept across his face. Not the full smirk he gave to charm clients, not the tight-lipped thing he wore when he was trying to look professional-- no, this was personal.

Roman dragged one hand through his hair (God, I remember how soft it was to the touch), then leaned back in his chair slowly, his thumb tapping the edge of his bottom lip like he was fighting back the impulse to type something completely unhinged. 

Good.

He exhaled hard through his nose, almost a laugh, before he pushed away from the desk and stood. For a moment, I thought Roman was coming toward me, and my breath caught in my throat, legs uncrossing out of instinct, but then he just walked over to the wall of windows behind him and stood there, hands braced on his hips, head tipped back slightly as he thought. 

I knew Roman was toying with me like this, that he was just dragging out this moment, but I couldn't help but enjoy it. I saw the way his pretty fingers twitched, and then I saw how fast he came back to the desk.

My screen dinged.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Legs

Dear secretary,

Does she? Have not noticed. Your legs interest me more— especially wrapped in that little skirt of yours. Or wrapped around me. I am not a picky man.

Sadly, I do not have time to play childish computer games. I am a very busy man, with very important things to do. 

—R

From: You

Subject: Re: Legs

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

It seems my skirt is causing quite a stir...

Try to focus, sir, on your very very important things. I would not want to have to show up in pants to help executive performance. I quite like my skirts, too, you see.

PS: Something tells me your highest score would be 27. Try me, sir. 

Concentrated,

Your Secretary.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Pretty Little Legs

Dear secretary,

Threaten me with wearing pants again, I dare you.

You like your skirts. I like what is underneath them. Fair exchange, would you not say? 

PS: Fuck off.

—R

From: You

Subject: Further Observations

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I must disagree, sir— I do not believe the exchange was either fair, or kind. I miss my panties, and I do not understand why you are keeping them prisoner. Something tells me you wanted the little show you are so offended about... 

Do you perhaps like looking up my skirt, sir? Pervert alert.

Scandalized,

Your Secretary.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Scandalized, Indeed

Dear secretary,

Let me get this straight.

You walk into a meeting full of senior executives, deliberately flash me, and I am the one getting called a pervert? You are lucky I did not bend you over the table right then and there, lift your little skirt, and show everyone what I have to deal with. 

PS: If you are going to continue being a brat, at least hit 120. I am embarrassed for both of us.

—R

I stared at the blinking cursor, my fingers hovering over the keyboard like they might type something smarter if I just waited long enough. What did I even write back to that?

Something about being publicly humiliated like that, bent over for everyone to see, for everyone to know, both horrified and... excited me? The more I thought about it, the more disturbed I got, and my thighs squeezed together reflexively as I sank a little lower into my chair, pretending to reread my last draft while my brain scrambled to settle. I was seconds away from answering, something properly smug and teasing, maybe a oh, I'd like to see you try, sir when--

"Hey, kid,"

I jumped so hard I almost knocked over my tea.

Peter Rumancek was suddenly right in front of my desk, one arm slung lazily over the cubicle wall, his warm, brown eyes flicking down to my face with that same half-skeptical look on his face he always wore around me. His presence was like a cold splash of water over the fever dream I'd been living in all morning, and a good reminder of the real world.

Shit.

My hands flew off the keyboard like I had been caught doing something illegal (which, depending on who you asked, wasn't far off), and I looked up at him with what I hoped was a normal, not-just-sexually-harassed expression. "Peter," I said, my following breath a little too short. "Hey!"

Peter scanned me once again, but not in that nasty way that Roman did-- this was one of concern. "Didn't mean to scare you," he said, flashing a trying smile. "Just... wanted to see if you were still here."

A pit formed in my stomach; this was about yesterday's conundrum with Frederic Arnault, and Roman throwing all the coffee in the building at him after I got harassed, wasn't it?

Nervous, I glanced down at my hands, and then back up at Peter. "I'm okay," I tried. "Really, Peter, I swear! It's sweet of you to check up on me, though. I really appreciate it."

Peter didn't buy it-- he never did. "I figured you might say that," he mumbled. "But the whole office is buzzing, y'know? Everyone knows that bossman nearly decked Arnault in front of the whole French delegation."

"Oh," I mumbled, my eyes flicking down to my desk. "Well, he didn't exactly handle it with... restraint."

And speaking of the devil-- I could feel Roman watching this play out through the glass walls of his office.

My eyes dared to dart his way, and I had my suspicions confirmed. 

Roman's body didn't move, but his gaze tracked every inch of Peter's posture, every inch of mine, with dark eyes. One of his hands rested on the arm of his chair, fingers curled tightly around the leather as he pretended to read something on his monitor, and I could feel that he was pissed that I was talking to Peter.

I looked away fast, heat crawling up my neck, and Peter followed my gaze, just barely, before he decided he was done. "Look, I'm going to be frank with you, okay?" he said, lowering his voice as he bent closer. "Roman can sue me all he wants for sharing this information, but I'm genuinely concerned that--"

"Stop," I whispered, gripping my desk. I didn't want to hear whatever he was about to tell me. Let me live in my dreamland. Leave me be. My heart was frantic in my chest, and my thighs squeezed together just in case he'd somehow notice I wasn't wearing any underwear.

Peter's eyes narrowed as he took in my reaction. I wasn't sure what gave me away-- the grip I had on the edge of the desk, the way I couldn't quite meet his gaze, or the flush I could feel creeping up my neck like a rising tide, but whatever it was, it made something in his expression flicker; his concern deepened, and folded into something sharper, something wary. "You don't want to hear it?" he echoed.

"I... I really don't,"

Peter exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. "It's not just about Arnault," he muttered. "I know how Roman gets. I work on every case of his, and I know how he gets with... attractive women in this office." He leaned in even more, voice dropping to a whisper; "You think this is new? You think you're the first secretary he's--?"

"Peter," I snapped, just barely keeping my voice down. "I said stop."

There was a long silence. Peter's shadow stayed, looming with that pitiful look in his eyes I couldn't stand. "I'm just saying," he finally said, quieter now. "If something is going on, and it stops being fun-- if it already has, you can always come to me. Always."

Peter's words barely had time to settle in the air before the glass door to Roman's office opened with a soft, deliberate click.

A shiver ran down my spine-- oh no.

Roman stepped out with the quiet ease of someone who'd been listening for a while, his expression smoothed into something deceptively pleasant. A smile curled on his lips; small, sharp, and wrong. Not friendly, not even close-- it was the kind of smile you would see on a man walking into a room he'd already decided to burn down.

He looked every bit the boss, the heir, the predator dressed in silk, and yet it wasn't the clothes or the smile that made my skin prickle.

It was the stillness.

Roman's green eyes slid to Peter like a scalpel assessing soft tissue as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, and even though he said nothing at first, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. "Peter," he greeted, voice warm and sharp in a way that felt like a knife beneath the ribs. "What a pleasure. What may I help you with?"

Peter straightened, jaw tight, shoulders squaring like he might say something. For one heartbeat, two, I saw it-- whatever reckless fire lived within him, flared behind his eyes. He hated the way Roman spoke to him. Always had. I didn't have to be a genius to see it. "I was checking on her," Peter said, chin up. "Didn't realize that required your permission."

A slow, almost amused exhale passed through Roman's nose. He didn't uncross his arms, didn't move, but his gaze sharpened, ready for the challenge. "Permission?" Roman echoed softly, like he was turning the word over in his mouth just to see how it tasted. "No, no... Of course not. You're free to check on whoever you like, Peter. This isn't a prison."

It was only my darn panties that were stuck in the Godfrey-jail.

That crooked smile of Roman's was back, coiled and gleaming, but it didn't reach his eyes-- not even close. His attention drifted to me, and for a split second, I swore he could smell the tension coming off me, before he turned to Peter.

Peter let out something that sounded like a mix of a huff and a laugh, clearly not happy with the direction this conversation was taking. "Yeah, sure, it might not be a prison, but it's starting to feel like an anarchist nation," he huffed, no longer giving a damn. "I don't remember the CEO at the previous company I worked at throwing coffee during meetings, for instance."

Roman's smile didn't falter-- if anything, it curved higher, as though Peter had just offered him a particularly charming anecdote instead of a veiled insult. He uncrossed his arms at last, slowly, like the movement had weight, like it deserved punctuation. "A lot of people seem to remember things differently after they leave such events," Roman said, stepping off the doorframe. "It actually has a name... Selective clarity, I believe. It's fascinating."

He strolled a few paces into the room-- borderline invasive. His hands slid into his pockets, posture casual, but every inch of him radiated something deliberate, calculated, with the kind of control that could break things without ever raising a voice. "It's so interesting what people remember," Roman added, voice silky-smooth. "If we're airing out old memories, I'd love to add something to the conversation. How many times haven't I seen you fawning over my secretary, for instance? I suggest you get yourself together before you have a case of your own to deal with."

I watched as Peter froze, and his demeanour fizzled away second by second-- now that he and Roman were face to face (with Peter a few noticeable inches shorter), I could see the memories flash before his eyes. 

Their gazes locked, cold and unblinking. "I think you have work to do," Roman murmured, victorious. "And so does my secretary. So I suggest you stop flirting, and do what I pay you to do."

Peter's face drained of colour. His mouth opened and closed, ready to fire back, but as his eyes darted down to mine, noticing how wide they were, he let it go. "Relax, I'm leaving," Peter muttered-- he gestured vaguely toward the rest of the corridor, already retreating. "I'll get back to my anarchist workstation."

At that, I couldn't help it-- a snort escaped me before I could stop it.

And I regretted it instantly.

Roman's head turned with the kind of quick snap that made my heart stop. His gaze found mine-- sharp, precise, without a flicker of warmth, and I felt the air leave my lungs with a frozen exhale.

With a shaky breath, Peter stepped away from the scene, disappearing down the hall as I was left with Roman glaring daggers into my skull. 

"What are you laughing at?" Roman snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone wasn't raised, but it hit like a slammed drawer-- sharp, impatient, and with just enough bite to make my cheeks burn all over again. I sat straighter, blinking up at him, unsure whether to apologize or not.

"It was the anarchist line," I mumbled, palms lifting in mock surrender. "It just slipped out."

Roman didn't look amused-- he just stared at me like I had just dropped a drink on his carpet. "You think he's funny, now?"

"No, sir," I said, perhaps too quickly. "I mean-- yes, but not like funny funny. Just... y'know, objectively amusing, perhaps?"

Roman scoffed, muttered something under his breath that sounded like of course, and turned slightly, already mentally halfway out of the conversation. "What a pity," he mumbled. "And here I was going to give them back to you..."

My brows raised. "My?--" I lowered my voice, afraid anyone would hear. "My underwear?"

Roman didn't answer-- he just shrugged like that was all the confirmation I needed. Sassy bastard. What he lacked now was a proper flick of his hair, and a little mutter of 'toss, toss' under his breath, and he'd be the ultimate drama queen.

I straightened in my chair; "Wait-- wait. Now you're not?"

"Not feeling particularly generous anymore, no," Roman said, all cool indifference, like he hadn't just admitted to withholding stolen lingerie out of petty principle.

"Roman," I hissed, glancing around the hallway to triple-check no one could hear us. "You cannot seriously be holding my underwear hostage over a laugh!"

"I can, actually," he huffed, not missing a beat. "Turns out it's surprisingly easy."

I ran a hand through my hair, already spiralling. Maybe it was time to be diplomatic? "Okay... Let's say, hypothetically, you're not just being the world's pettiest billionaire. Where are they?"

Roman arched a brow; "Wouldn't you like to know,"

"Roman!"

He glanced at his watch, the picture of unbothered. "You're wasting daylight,"

I stood up so fast my chair slid back an inch. "And you're not leaving with them! I'm so damn serious!"

He met my eyes, revealing that the evil, signature smirk of his was back-- "Then I suggest you catch me," 

And right before I was about to protest some more, Roman's phone rang. 

He checked the caller ID, lips parting in a small sigh like the universe had personally interrupted his game, then glanced at me one last time with a look that said this isn't over, it's just paused. Without another word, he turned and walked off toward the corner stairwell, phone to his ear, one hand already running through his hair like he was preparing to charm whoever was on the other end of the line.

I watched Roman disappear through the glass like a woman left in the wreckage of a very stupid Mario Kart car crash involving a slippery banana. My mouth was still open, blinking at the sky like any God or holy creature could help me, but alas-- nothing.

Then I sat down.

Hard.

Because I wasn't about to let that smug, infuriating bastard strut out of this building with my underwear like some twisted Wall Street trophy. No-- there was no way in hell.

I'd wait. I'd wait all damn day. 

I glanced at the clock; 15:08. Roman's schedule ran till six, and included meetings, calls, and two internal reviews, one of which he always bitched about afterward. This meant he wasn't going anywhere yet... and neither was I. I scooted my chair back in, opened my inbox, and took the most passive-aggressive sip of water I had ever taken in my life.

Let him take his call. Let him gloat. Let him think he'd already won.

Because when he came back?

I'd be right here.

Smiling, professional... and ready to collect.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The hours crawled. I answered emails I didn't care about, pretended to organize files I had no intention of reading, and every time I glanced at the clock, it felt like time was mocking me. 

16:51.

17:36.

17:58.

The clock opposite my desk basically taunted me too with each tick, tick, tick. This was the first time I had ever had beef with a clock, and it would hopefully be my last.

But at 18:03, I heard it; the low murmur of Roman Godfrey's voice down the hall, smooth and efficient, followed by the subtle shuffle of papers, the click of a door, and then his unmistakable silhouette striding past office cubicles with that infuriating gait of his, like the building existed solely to hold his footsteps.

I stood up so fast my chair didn't even squeak. "Roman!" I called when he got close enough, trailing after him like some underpaid ghost of vengeance when he passed me into his office. "This is way below us both! Give it back!"

Of course, Roman didn't stop-- he never did, not for anyone. That bastard didn't even slow down; he just kept walking like the world's most elegant threat.

"I'm not kidding!" I huffed by the door, watching him grab his case. "You can't take personal property from coworkers just because you're feeling emotionally fragile!"

That got a pause. Roman turned slightly, not quite looking at me, and said; "You're assuming I feel things. That's your first mistake,"

I didn't need to look at him to know he was smirking-- brighter than daylight itself. With a sigh, I rubbed my temples, feeling my heart throb in my chest as I wondered how to win this. "I know you feel things," I grumbled, unimpressed. "You demonstrated all your feelings yesterday when you threw coffee at Frederic Arnault."

Roman hummed at that, low in his throat, the sound almost amused as he unhooked his coat from behind the door. "That wasn't emotional," he purred. "That was revenge."

I glared at him. "Sir,"

He turned to me fully now, buttoning the front of his coat like we were simply discussing the weather. His hair looked like it had been combed by God himself-- sleek and glossy and unfairly cinematic, like he hadn't just spent the day terrorizing the building one perfectly enunciated insult at a time. "You'll be fine," he murmured, taking one quick look over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. "Have a nice commute home. Don't sit down, preferably... You never know who's been sitting there before you, if you're taking the metro." 

My jaw fell as Roman now made his way past me, and I held back a rather offended gasp. 

"You're leaving?" I hissed, spinning around to follow him. "With my--?"

He held up a finger behind his back, cutting me off like a schoolteacher with no time for nonsense. "Careful," he said, voice low and sing-songy as we passed the open-plan cubicles, motioning that we had to watch our words. "You sound emotional, miss."

I groaned, grabbing my new Birkin and my jacket before hurrying after him down the hall. "Mr. Godfrey," I corrected, dropping my voice into something more neutral and office-friendly. "I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss the, uh... missing item from earlier."

Roman didn't slow down, suppressing a smirk. "Can't help you," he said, sharp and dismissive as we passed the water cooler. "I believe that item was deemed unclaimed inventory."

I almost tripped over my own feet trying to keep up. "Unclaimed?-- That's not even remotely!--"

"If you have complaints," He shot me a look, quick and lethal, as we neared the elevators where two interns were loitering. "--You're welcome to escalate them, although I don't recommend it."

I inhaled slowly through my nose, trying to keep level-headed through my frustration. "I would just like to clarify, for legal purposes, that this... article wasn't gifted to you. I could argue this is theft of personal belongings,"

"What? Obviously not!" Roman's tone was mockingly scandalized, and he put his hand over his heart. "Who do you take me for?"

"Someone who steals personal items and weaponizes them during work hours!" 

The two interns to our side gave us both an odd look before exchanging one between themselves, clearly confused by our conversation, and probably a little starstruck about seeing Roman Godfrey in the wild like this. 

Roman pressed the elevator button and finally turned to face me again, mouth twitching like he was barely holding back a laugh. "Miss, I think you're being wildly unprofessional,"

The elevator dinged as I held myself back from strangling him.

Roman stepped inside like a man completely at peace with himself, adjusted his sleeves, and glanced up just as the doors began to slide shut. "Sir!" I called out, two seconds from stomping my heels like a toddler. "This is not!--"

"You coming?" 

Roman's head tilted just slightly, like he wasn't being the biggest fucking cunt to walk the earth, and his smirk finally slipped; he was really enjoying this, wasn't he?

And with a loud groan, I realized I had no choice but to comply with his games if I didn't want to keep feeling cold between my legs-- or even worse, accidentally flash a grandma on my way home. I slipped in just before the doors shut, the air between us already too thick for this confined space. The elevator jolted into motion, and suddenly it was just me and him. Again. Alone. Same elevator as yesterday.

Only this time, we weren't kissing-- this time, I was glaring.

Roman didn't look at me right away. He stared straight ahead, one hand in his pocket and the other clutching his briefcase like he was perfectly composed and not at all reliving the exact same memory I was. The way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, though-- the flick of his tongue against his teeth? Yeah, he remembered.

And so did I.

Unfortunately, this time I was too angry to enjoy it. "Do you even have them with you?" I huffed. "Or are you just screwing with me?"

Roman's eyes slid toward me like honey off a spoon-- slow, lazy, and too sweet to trust. "What, now you want confirmation?"

"I want them back,"

"Mm," He rocked back on his heels a little, the leather of his shoes barely creaking. "Interesting. Because yesterday, you didn't seem particularly interested in keeping them."

My mouth dropped open. "You-- That is not what happened!--"

"I distinctly recall," he continued, gaze sliding down to my knees before drifting back up with infuriating leisure; "A certain someone bucking their hips up along my cock. In fact, I think there was some stammering involved."

"That's not-- I was very distress, and I was very tired!"

Roman arched a brow, amused. "Oh, is that so? You should be tired more often, then,"

The elevator continued humming as we journeyed down the building, each second stretching out like it was trying to make the awkwardness permanent. The memory of his mouth on mine-- the desperation, the pressure, the way he'd tugged me close like I was already his, it swelled up in my chest and immediately crumbled against the reality of his smug face now.

"You're unbelievable," I muttered.

"I know,"

"And stubborn,"

Roman grinned, pleased. "Also true,"

I turned away, cheeks hot, staring hard at the elevator and willing it to stop faster. "You're not using them, are you?" I huffed.

Roman blinked, mock-offended. "This is the second time you've accused me of being a cross-dresser," He continued with a huff; "What do you think I am? Some kind of deviant?"

I looked at him-- really looked at him.

He looked back.

Then smiled.

"Don't answer that," he murmured, amused.

Before I could say anything, or answer exactly what I thought of him, the elevator doors opened-- I didn't quite recognise where we had ended up. Was this the downstairs garage? 

I stepped out slowly, my heels echoing as the doors closed behind us. I clutched my Birkin; "Mr. Godfrey," I teased, tone tight and suspicious. "This doesn't lead to the ground floor."

"No," he said casually, ears perking up at his old name, but he was already walking toward the far end of the garage, where a sleek, black car waited with the engine purring like a satisfied cat. "That would've been an odd choice, considering I have a driver down here."

I followed, against my better judgment-- because I was wearing heels, because I was tired, because I was cold, and maybe because I had just realized I had no idea where my underwear actually was and didn't trust him not to throw it out the car window like some Bond villain discarding state secrets.

"Mr. Godfrey!" I warned, my old habits slipping.

"Roman," he corrected with a maddening flash of teeth over his shoulder. 

I ignored the way my heart stuttered at that; "Where did you hide them? Seriously?"

Roman didn't answer-- he simply opened the car door, the plush interior glowing softly beneath the overhead lights, and slid into the back seat like he did it for sport. The door remained open, and just for a second, I imagined this was the first episode of Sex And The City where Mr. Big leaves Carrie outside her apartment with a smug catch-phrase that leaves her chasing him for six seasons, two movies, and a sequel series that (sorry not sorry) ended up a horrific flop. What was it, again? Abso-fucking-lutely?

Anyway-- I was not going to let Roman leave with my underwear.

Still, I feared I was already doomed to end up just like Carrie. Just, of course, without the movie deals. 

And then, as I stood frozen in the office garage, fuming and stunned and still very much commando, Roman looked at me like he was offering nothing more than a routine corporate courtesy. "If you want them back," he teased smoothly, adjusting the cuff of his shirt; "You'll have to get in."

I groaned, rolling my eyes as though I hadn't secretly hoped he'd do just this. Who would say no to a ride with Roman Godfrey?

His head tilted against the leather rest, that smirk blooming again. "I know you want to," he purred. "Hop in. I promise I won't bite."

I hesitated. For half a second, I really did consider just walking away, braving the subway, and writing the whole day off as a humiliating fever dream-- but then I remembered the cruel, smug way he'd turned that elevator into a psychological battlefield, and I remembered the way he'd weaponized a lacy scrap of fabric like it was state evidence.

And... I remembered how cold my ass was.

With a sharp inhale through my nose, I climbed in and pulled the door shut behind me, instantly wrapped in the hush of moneyed silence. The leather smelled like expensive cologne and smug male victory, and Roman didn't say anything right away-- he just looked at me like he was about to enjoy this too much. "You've made the right choice," he purred, voice low and syrupy.

"Let's not pretend this is noble of you," I muttered, adjusting my skirt around my lap to make sure he wouldn't get another sight to enjoy. "This is blackmail over a stupid game of Snake!"

"Is it?" he asked, raising a brow. "Or is it an unorthodox delivery service?"

I shot him a glare. "You're not delivering anything. You're holding it ransom!"

Roman chuckled, eyes drifting lazily over my face before settling on the black window, giving me a moment. The driver hadn't moved yet, barely visible through the rolled-down partition, and he was probably waiting for his signal like some gothic butler in an erotic thriller.

"So..." I huffed, glaring at the headrest as embarrassment soared through me. How much was this driver picking up on? "Are you going to give them back?"

Roman turned his head to me, like he had only just remembered I was there at all. "Eventually," he murmured. "But you have to earn it."

"Earn it?"

"Mhm,"

"How, exactly?"

The smirk returned-- dangerous, quiet, and just shy of obscene. "Haven't decided yet,"

I groaned loudly, shamelessly, as Roman motioned for the driver to start driving, and it didn't take long before the partition closed me off with my bastard CEO. 

"I'm not blowing you," I muttered, putting my Birkin down before crossing my arms over my chest. There was no way in hell I'd do it under these circumstances.

Roman let out a humoured huff, but didn't respond immediately-- he shifted lazily in his seat, spreading his legs just a little wider as he turned his head, looking at me with that slow, smug appraisal that always made me feel like I was part of some silent auction I hadn't agreed to enter. He ran his tongue slowly across the inside of his cheek, gaze dragging over me like he was in no rush to speak. And then, finally, he leaned in a fraction, enough that I could smell the cologne he always wore, expensive and dark and cruelly addictive; "Relax," he purred, green eyes glinting. "If I wanted you on your knees, I wouldn't have to trick you into it."

My thighs pressed together on instinct. I opened my mouth to protest, but Roman wasn't done-- he tilted his head, voice dipping into something more wicked; "If I wanted that," he murmured, draping one arm behind me in one smooth motion; "I'd just lift your little skirt, grab your hair, and ask. Really, really nicely, of course."

At that, I could only scoff. "It would not be that easy, Roman. In your dreams, perhaps,"

The second the words left my mouth, the temperature dropped-- oh no.

When Roman turned to look at me, his expression had gone blank in that specific, terrifying way I was used to seeing from him. No heat, no warmth. Now, he looked like my boss again-- Mr. Godfrey. 

There he was again.

I shifted in my seat before I realized I couldn't sit still, and the leather creaked under me as I adjusted. I was too aware of my bare thighs, the way my skirt had ridden up, and the way he was looking at me now-- not like I was amusing, but like I had crossed an invisible line and hadn't yet understood how deeply I had fucked up.

He slowly tilted his head. "I see," Mr. Godfrey said, his voice somewhat deeper. "In my dreams." With a disappointed tsk, he shook his head; "You know what? I know how you can get your precious underwear back."

My throat bobbed as I struggled to swallow, and my heart thumped painfully against my ribs as I managed to speak; "If this ends with me crawling across the floor of a moving car, I'm jumping out,"

Mr. Godfrey didn't so much as smile-- he didn't need or want to. He faced forward again, and for a brief moment, I thought that was the end of it. I assumed that he'd leave me in that state of embarrassed, overconfident fidgeting until the car ride was over-- but instead, with a control that sent a bolt of ice straight through my abdomen, he reached up to the collar of his shirt, fingers draping over his tie.

Oh.

Oh God. 

There was no rush in the way he moved, and just a slow, clinical detachment, as though I were being processed and not seduced. Mr. Godfrey loosened the knot of his tie with one hand, the sound of the fabric sliding free from his collar somehow louder than it should have been. I stared at the way the silk unfurled, dark and fluid, as he passed it through his fingers.

"There will be no crawling," he said, almost absently, like he was reciting protocol. "Let's do this the dignified way."

I blinked. "Sir?" 

The slip of the word was like blood in the water. Mr. Godfrey's gaze flicked back to me, aware, and I felt the temperature in the car bottom out. That smirk reappeared, barely, but it wasn't flirtation-- it was confirmation. 

This was us. This was how we breathed, and how we co-existed. It was on.

Mr. Godfrey turned toward me again with quiet, full authority, and I froze, suddenly conscious of the way the seatbelt was still unfastened beside me, of the way my skirt had begun to wrinkle beneath my thighs, and of the fact that I didn't actually know where this car was going. Mr. Godfrey, on the other hand, seemed entirely certain of everything-- he reached for my seatbelt and drew it across my lap himself, his knuckles grazing my hipbone as he buckled it with a soft, satisfying click that felt uncomfortably final.

"You should be thanking me," he said, now leaning in with the patience of someone preparing to dissect a problem rather than solve it; "I'm giving you an opportunity to win your panties back, but... you're ungrateful, as always. Time for another lesson, it seems."

I didn't respond-- not because I didn't have something to say, but because the words caught in my throat, tangled behind the panic-prickling realization that he was threading the tie under the seatbelt across my chest. It didn't take long before Mr. Godfrey snapped his fingers, and I brought my wrists up too, as though I had somehow read his mind. My arms twitched, a useless flutter against the heat building under my skin, but he ignored it entirely, looping the silk around my wrists in deliberate, expert turns-- tight enough to hold, but not tight enough to hurt. 

... Yet.

"I don't trust you not to cheat," Mr. Godfrey added, his tone flat now, stripped of humour and indulgence. He was tying me up like it was procedure, like I had somehow earned this, and he was simply delivering the consequence. "You bite," he said, cinching the knot tightly. "And you grab, especially when you're not allowed to. Do you recall?"

I tried to object, tried to pull in a breath to say something, anything, but all I managed was a shaky inhale that felt too loud in the space between us; "I do not!-- " 

"You do," he said, with the finality of someone submitting a verdict.

Then, Mr. Godfrey sat back, settling into the leather like a man who had just solved a logistics problem, with his legs spread wide in that infuriating posture of male comfort as his green eyes never left mine. "You're pretty like this," he murmured, scanning how he had tied me up.

With my hands tied tightly to my chest, I stared back at Mr. Godfrey, wide-eyed and buzzing with a flurry of nerves and excitement. "Thanks," I breathed. You're pretty, too, sir. I particularly like your nose. I couldn't shift without feeling the drag of silk, the press of fabric, and it made the ache between my legs tingle-- I pressed my thighs together, making sure he wasn't getting any more of a show out of this than necessary. 

Mr. Godfrey, for his part, didn't look particularly in a rush to do anything at all. His arm rested lazily along the edge of my seat, his fingers curled loosely like he might brush the back of my neck if the mood struck him-- it didn't. Not yet. He looked too satisfied just watching me twitch. "I should've tied you up sooner... Seriously,"

Oh, of course-- I should've known my BDSM freak CEO was into bondage as well.

I swallowed hard, pressing my wrists instinctively against the tie, only to feel how little give there was. I couldn't tell if he'd knotted it tightly out of caution or enjoyment-- probably both. Why did this turn me on? At that, Mr. Godfrey's eyes dropped briefly to my chest, to where the seatbelt and silk bisected me; restrained, contained, and very much his. 

"Actually... I've thought about tying you up since the moment you walked into my office," Mr. Godfrey hummed in recollection. "Not sexually, at first," he added. "But then you made yourself cum in my office, and I realized that you were so... unmanaged. You just needed a little push, a little help. But you did good, adjusting to the office... I would've probably focused on your good efforts right now, had I not planned this out last night."

Wait... what?

"Sir?" I breathed, feeling my eyes round out. Planned this out? 

At that, Mr. Godfrey bit down on the inside of his cheek, probably trying to keep his excitement within bounds. "This whole day played out so well," he murmured, before reaching down to his briefcase and pulling out a black, matte box. "You've been whining my name all day... exactly how I wanted."

My mouth opened, but nothing came out-- just breath. My brain was trying to catch up to what I was seeing, what I was hearing, what it meant. Planned. Last night. Planned. I stared at the box like it might bite me; "What is that?" I whispered. Calculated fucker. I should've known.

Mr. Godfrey didn't answer at first-- he simply set the box beside him and brushed invisible lint from the lid. "You're going to have to be quiet," he murmured, turning to me with a smirk. "Wouldn't want my driver thinking we're depraved freaks, hm?"

Oh, he was enjoying this. That sick fuck Mr. Godfrey was enjoying this... and so was I. 

"We are, though," I mumbled.

That earned me a huff of a laugh, but it quickly died out. It was replaced by a silence that felt oddly ceremonial, like a curtain being drawn back on the next act. He then looked at me like I had just given him permission without knowing, like he had been waiting for that one scrap of honesty to justify what he already planned to do; "Spread your legs," he commanded.

I blinked, frozen for a moment, my wrists still bound neatly to my chest by his silk tie. "I--" 

Before I could manage anything else, Mr. Godfrey was already leaning in again, slow and smooth, his fingers brushing along the inside of my knee with the kind of absentminded authority that made it feel like I didn't really need to move on my own-- like he'd do it for me, if he had to.

"Open," he repeated, still gentle, but quieter now, more dangerous; "Now."

And I did.

It was a reluctant, trembling shift of my knees, just a few inches at first, enough to break the line of defence I'd tried to build with my thighs, but it was too late-- there was no going back now. It wasn't like he hadn't seen me bare earlier today, anyway. Mr. Godfrey's eyes dropped like a weight, tracking the motion of my legs spreading, his tongue swiping slowly along the inside of his cheek as he sat back, just slightly, like he wanted to admire the result.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Oh, take me now.

I exhaled too hard. My knees were still shaking, the hem of my skirt now high enough to feel the cool press of air against skin that should have been covered. My underwear was still missing, locked away somewhere, and I was sitting here, tied, parted, and wanting.

Mr. Godfrey turned slightly in his seat, facing me fully now, one arm resting over the back like he owned the whole car, like I was something he'd brought with him for entertainment. His other hand trailed down again, this time to my thigh, palm flat and warm against my skin. I felt his fingers brushing against my inner thigh, trailing small circles that made my cheeks burn.

"You looked so innocent this morning," he murmured, dark eyes on my skin, not my face. "Rumancek had no idea when he stopped by to bother us both... Bet he'd burst in his pants if he knew, that fucking dud."

I let out a breath I hadn't meant to, and he heard it-- of course he did. I wanted to beg him to not mention Peter, to keep him out of our mess, but I could only focus on how Mr. Godfrey dragged his thumb just barely up the inside of my thigh, not touching anything vital, not giving me anything at all. 

"Now," he said, leaning in, nose brushing my cheek, lips a hair from my ear; "Let's prop you up a little better, shall we?"

The whisper sent a pulse straight down my spine, and I didn't nod, I didn't dare to nod, but I didn't speak, either. I just sat there, breath shallow, eyes wide, as Mr. Godfrey's hands slid under my thighs, pushing them upward and pulling my knees to my chest. Like that, he studied me for a moment, but he wasn't watching how red my cheeks bloomed-- no, his eyes were practically glued between my legs, at my glistening heat, before letting out a shaky exhale I hadn't expected from him. 

"Oh, this is fun," he purred, his green eyes shimmering with dark delight. "But what are you wet for, hm? Haven't even started yet."

If I could smack him, I would. "You planned this," I breathed. "Don't blame me for the consequences." God, how embarrassing-- how delightful. I had missed this feeling.

Mr. Godfrey made sure my legs were properly propped up before his fingers started trailing my inner thighs again, slowly, deliberately, and looked at me like he'd already unwrapped me, devoured me, and was only just starting to get full. "Of course I did. Look how you're enjoying yourself," he said, fingers inching closer where I needed him most-- it was embarrassing, how I felt myself clenching around nothing, squirming against the seat in suspense before anything had even happened; "Fuck you," I breathed.

Stupid, stupid girl.

I should've foreseen it-- Mr. Godfrey's flat palm came down hard, smacking me directly between my legs. I jolted forward with a gasp, my hands thrashed against the constraint of his thigh, and I could feel my clit pulse from the impact; oh, sweet pain and pleasure.

Mr. Godfrey didn't flinch. "Language," he said, like his mouth wasn't as filthy as mine at times, and possibly even worse. His fingers skimmed up along my thigh again, as if to soothe, but they didn't. It was only when his fingers came down again, ghosting along my skin, and slowly settled on my clit, that I felt anything remotely near soothed. 

Thankfully, the windows were black and the divider was closed, so no one could see how I immediately melted against Mr. Godfrey's touch. 

I choked back a moan as the pads of his fingers drew slow circles around my clit, warmth flooding my body-- I knew he wouldn't let me feel this good for much longer, so I could only enjoy. My legs spread wider to provide him better access, and to my surprise, Mr. Godfrey rubbed just a notch faster in response, sending shocks of pleasure through me as my hips bucked against him. "I give you everything you need, and still you curse at me... Don't you ever feel bad? Don't you ever feel shame?"

Oh, I do. But before I could apologize, Mr. Godfrey's free hand wrapped around my shoulders, and his thumb prodded my mouth-- I accepted it on my tongue without hesitation, finding it a comfort as always. A haze of pleasure clouded my vision, and as my head lulled back against his strong arm, I held my drool spilling from my mouth as he massaged my tongue with his thumb. There was an odd serenity to being engulfed and locked like this-- I felt completely and utterly his. 

Mr. Godfrey's fingers soon left my clit and followed my swollen outer lips, now tapping at my wet entrance just to hear the filthy noise it made. God. I could only whimper against his thumb, twitching against my restraints; worst of all, was how I wanted to beg for him-- and I never begged for anybody.

With a hum, Mr. Godfrey eased his middle finger into me, soon followed by his fourth; I felt my body jerk in response, clamping around his fingers as they slowly curled inside of me. He made a rocking motion with his hand, pulling out and pushing in while his palm rubbed against my clit with every move. It was too good to be true, too good to last, too good, so good-- 

I felt Mr. Godfrey's lips against the top of my head, almost as an apology for what was about to come (because it would certainly not be me, for a while). He pulled his thumb out of my mouth, smearing my spit against my cheek to see if I'd cringe, or snark, or mouth off, but alas-- nothing. I lovingly gazed up at him, eyes round with arousal, obedient as ever, hoping he'd read how much I enjoyed this, how much I enjoyed him; and it was impossible to miss the small smile spreading across his mouth. 

"You want your panties back, right?" Mr. Godfrey purred against my lips, leaning in as he continued pumping his fingers into me. "You're ready to do whatever it takes to get them back, pretty thing?"

I knew what to do. "Yes, sir..." I breathed, my eyes anxiously darting to the black box on the other side of him. This could mean no good, certainly.

"There she is," Mr. Godfrey murmured, his tone proud and prodding at my heart; "Good girl. You're gonna keep being quiet for me, yeah?" 

"Yes-- Yes, sir,"

And just as I had assumed-- to my dismay, Mr. Godfrey slowly pulled his fingers out of me, rubbing my slick off on my spread thighs. However, what I had not expected, not in a million years, was how he suddenly leaned down, down, down--

My breath hitched louder than ever before when I felt a brief, soft kiss to my clit, like a non-verbal praise.

My hips jolted forward, and I had no idea what possessed me when my hands jerked back and forth, trying to rip my way out of the constraints of his tie, yet something told me Mr. Godfrey knew this would happen when he tied me down-- this knot was unbreakable.

I watched him snicker as he pulled away, a slight trail of slick glistening on his lips as he turned away toward the box. Silly fucking lipgloss.

"Fuck," I cursed under my breath, my head lulling back against my seat. "That's-- You're evil."

"Perhaps," Mr. Godfrey shrugged, hiding a grin as he lifted the lid. 

Nothing could prepare me for what was in that box. I was already thinking the worst, preparing for something on the brink of torturous, but alas-- Mr. Godfrey held out a very, very familiar... vibrator?  It was somewhat long, not too thick, red, and definitely smooth silicone; and this I knew, because I used to have that exact model a few years ago. My cheeks were probably the same shade as the vibrator now, and I felt myself squirming against my constraints. 

Mr. Godfrey traced my every move with darkening interest. "You know what this is, right?" he purred.

Oh, you have no idea. "Y-- Yeah,"

"Of course you do, you little perv," Mr. Godfrey came back to me, one arm wrapping around my shoulders again, and I immediately let my head lull down against his bicep once more. "But here's the catch, if you want your panties back," he continued against my cheek. "You can't make any noise. Not a whimper, not a moan, not too loud of a breath. The second I hear anything at all, you lose, and I keep your panties. Understood?"

My heart dropped-- what?

The driver was still out there, on the other side of the closed partition, probably listening to music or thinking about nothing, completely unaware of the quiet war unfolding in the backseat-- but I was aware. Every inch of me. Every breath I took felt like it could betray me. I shifted slightly against the seatbelt, pulse thudding hard and fast beneath the silk at my wrists, legs still spread from his last command. I didn't dare close them now, I didn't dare to move. "Sir," I mumbled, round eyes meeting his. "What if I refuse?"

That earned me a look-- not cruel, not shocked, but so calm it made the blood drain from my face. His expression didn't flicker, didn't tense; Mr. Godfrey looked at me like I had asked a question he'd already answered days ago. "Then I'll be disappointed," he said, and somehow that was worse than a threat. His voice was soft, not punishing, not dramatic, just... disappointed.

Oh, that was worse than anything.

"You don't want to disappoint me, right?" With the vibrator still cradled loosely in his hand, Mr. Godfrey looked down at it with that smug expression I knew too well; "But you won't. My good little girl is too smart to dare to disappoint me, am I right?"

"Yeah..." My heart thudded painfully, rattling against my ribcage like it wanted out. I tried to steady my breath, tried to look anywhere but his lap, where that obscene red toy now lay-- innocent, almost, had I not known exactly what it could be used for. 

Fine. I wanted my fucking underwear back. Who knew what this freak could use it for if I left it in his care? 

... Not that I minded, actually.

"You like being good," Mr. Godfrey said, glancing down at my tied hands. "And I like you tied up. Win, win."

When his green eyes darted up to meet mine, something in me melted. I felt my fingertips tingle in my constraints when I gave him a small nod-- no, I wouldn't want to disappoint him. Never, ever. Click, click, click. I wanted him to be proud of me, to care for me, to like me, to think I was the best fucking secretary in the world.

I whimpered at that thought-- or, I almost whimpered. The sound caught in the back of my throat and flattened into something ragged and airless, and I immediately saw it flash in Mr. Godfrey's eyes; satisfaction, sharp and quiet. I knew he was counting that as a strike. I already knew I was losing.

"I'll be gentle," he lied.

Mr. Godfrey's lie hung heavy in the space between us, thickening the air inside the quiet, luxurious cocoon of the car. The subtle, malicious glint in his green eyes told me precisely how much he intended to break that promise. His fingers turned the vibrator in his hand, inspecting it with a clinical detachment that sent a fresh shiver down my spine, like he hadn't seen it before-- fucker. Planned it all, and everything. 

I wanted him more than anything.

Without warning, Mr. Godfrey shifted closer, and he angled himself just right before my spread thighs, the movement fluid and controlled. My heart jolted, and I inhaled sharply, but his free hand moved to steady me, gripping the back of my neck with a possessiveness that felt deceptively comforting. His thumb traced a slow circle against my pulse, his eyes locked on mine with dangerous, focused intent. "Stay very quiet," he instructed, his voice smooth as silk, edged with authority. "Pretend I'm not even here."

I blinked, feeling an odd sense of disorientation at his request-- pretend he wasn't there? When he was this close, this intense, with his cologne invading every breath? Impossible. But if he wanted a game, I'd play.

However, my bravado faltered instantly as he slid the vibrator between my legs, tapping against my wet heat to soak the head of it before slowly pushing it inside, the cool silicone making me jerk slightly in surprise. Mr. Godfrey's face showed no reaction, utterly indifferent to the way my body tightened around the intrusion-- he continued pressing slowly, inching it inside, my muscles fluttering helplessly around the smooth length until it was seated deep and secure.

If only it were his length.

I shuddered at the familiar vibrations-- suddenly, I remembered why I had worn out this model. My toes curled as I let out a shaky exhale. Fucking hell, this felt nice. 

Then, without a word, Mr. Godfrey unexpectedly leaned back and removed his touch completely-- I nearly whimpered just at that, my head longing to lean on his muscular bicep again. To properly piss me off, he then picked up a neatly folded newspaper from beside him, flipping it open with the practiced ease of a man entirely unconcerned with my desperate state; my mouth dropped open, bewildered, scandalized, and unbearably aroused at his nonchalance. Why did this still work on me?

"What-- what are you?--" I began breathlessly, my voice trembling with need and disbelief, but Mr. Godfrey silenced me with a disinterested lift of his brow.

"Didn't I say quiet?" he murmured, eyes scanning the page as if deeply engrossed by financial reports and not the bound, trembling woman beside him.

My throat tightened, humiliation flooding me with heat, but beneath it was the insistent, irresistible pulse of pleasure inside of me-- it was made worse when he casually reached over and began to rhythmically nudge the vibrator deeper, pushing it further inside before withdrawing it slightly, his attention never properly leaving the page. I held my breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and prayed to every God above that I could stay quiet, because darn it, if it didn't feel fucking fantastic. Each thrust was slow, deliberate, clinical, and entirely impersonal, as though he were simply adjusting a piece of furniture, completely oblivious to the electrifying shockwaves rippling through my body, and I had forgotten how much I loved this exact indifference. 

It was too much-- the humiliation of being ignored, the violation of being treated so indifferently, and yet, the absolute surrender of my body to his authority made it worth it, along with the pleasure pulsating between my legs. I bit down hard on my lip, fighting every desperate moan that built within me, knowing one slip of sound meant losing everything. My breathing grew ragged, my chest rising and falling heavily beneath the silk bindings, and my hips twitched, subtly meeting his relentless, steady rhythm.

Asshole. Fucking asshole. Look at me, ignore me, click, click, click, look at me, love me, click, click, click. My head kept going as the vibrator continued pulsing, kept pushing against that sweet spot Mr. Godfrey knew how to hit a bit too well. 

And after what felt like an eternity, Mr. Godfrey finally glanced up from his paper, studying me as if just now remembering I was still there. His gaze swept lazily over my flushed cheeks, the rapid pulse at my throat, and the desperate tremors I could no longer hide.

"Having trouble?" he murmured, his tone almost bored, but the cruel smirk at the corner of his lips betrayed his enjoyment.

I shook my head defiantly, even as my entire body trembled around the slow, impersonal movements of the vibrator Mr. Godfrey continued pushing and withdrawing with casual disinterest. My fingers flexed helplessly against the silk tie, the pressure building unbearably inside me, the pleasure coiling so tightly I feared it might shatter me if he didn't stop-- or worse, if he did.

"Good," he praised. "Perhaps you'll get your precious underwear back, at this rate."

And with that, his attention returned to the newspaper, leaving me suspended in the ruthless grip of his indifferent pleasure, desperate to prove I could handle his merciless game, even as my body begged silently for release.

My hips bucked forward again, pushing the vibrator deeper inside without necessarily wanting to-- Mr. Godfrey hummed, still not looking at me, yet sensing my desperation. It didn't take long before his thrusts grew just a notch quicker, feeding my arousal, making my toes curl. 

Still, I knew it would be hard to cum just like this. Was that the point? Probably. Mr. Godfrey would only benefit from me losing, anyway. I could only shudder and clench around the toy as I wondered whether to risk it all by telling him this was unfair, breathing hard against the leather of the car as I let him push the vibrator in and out of me over and over, in and out, in and out, in and out. 

My hips bucked forward again, breath hitching as I tugged at my constraints, and that seemed to do it-- I looked over, catching Mr. Godfrey glancing at the sight. He wasn't exactly hiding his interest anymore, and when his green eyes met mine, dark with barely-concealed hunger, it was as if something snapped. He calmly folded and set aside the newspaper with one hand, turning toward me with the deliberate control of a predator finally ready to play-- maybe he couldn't contain himself anymore? Maybe kissing me this morning hadn't been enough? Maybe it would never be enough for both of us?

But Mr. Godfrey didn't kiss me-- not where I thought he would, anyway.

Instead, his mouth drifted along the sensitive line of my jaw, feathering kisses over the frantic pulse at my throat. He was really trying to make me lose, wasn't he? My chest rose and fell sharply beneath the silk tie, heart hammering as his lips brushed lower, reaching the delicate, flushed skin at the swell of my breasts.

I gasped softly, involuntarily arching toward his mouth, the silk restraining my wrists digging deliciously into my skin. 

"Quiet," he commanded, pressing a wet kiss to my chest; "Or you'll lose, remember?"

It didn't come as a surprise to me when Mr. Godfrey reached beneath my blouse, pushing the fabric of my bra aside-- my breath hitched, I squeezed my eyes shut, and I clamped down around the vibrator as I felt his breath fanning over the peak of my breast, followed by his tongue dragging softly across my nipple. 

I had no idea what came over me-- I think I was practically kicking now, repeatedly nudging my head into the back of the seat to shut myself up from all the noises I was stifling. Why did this feel good? What the hell was he doing? Why did it make my clit pulse? 

At that, Mr. Godfrey's free arm wrapped possessively around my waist, pulling me snug against him as we melted together into the luxurious leather seat, our bodies pressed close as he sealed his lips around my hardened but, sucking at me softly. He kept the vibrator moving steadily in and out of me, never pausing his rhythm, pushing into me over and over and pressing into the sweet spot that made my clit buzz.

Humming against my skin, Mr. Godfrey looked up, catching onto my blissed out, barely responsive state, before going back to sucking and licking me gently, teasing my nipple into a harder pebble. There was something almost loving in this that I had never considered-- no one had ever sucked me there before. If only I could grab his hair, maybe stroke it, maybe tug him closer, maybe kiss the top of his head. If only he were the one pushing into me, and not this silicone.

However, when my breath hitched particularly loudly, and my constrained fingers steepled together in an almost-prayer, Mr. Godfrey finally lifted from my chest, giving me the break I deserved. "You're doing surprisingly well," he murmured, a bit out of breath himself-- there was no way to miss how blissed out he looked right now. Something told me he had liked doing all of that to my chest. "But that's no fun," he said, with a mock pout that quickly turned into an evil, boyish grin-- "Time to lose."

I had no way of protecting myself when he pinched my nipple between his thumb and index-- I squirmed against the seat, jaw squeezed shut, clenching around the vibrator he relentlessly pushed into me as my legs gave into another kick at the air. Mr. Godfrey wasn't going to make me lose; there was no way in hell I'd let him, anyway. I wanted my darn underwear. 

At my refusal to make any noise, Mr. Godfrey let out an annoyed huff-- I should've known he'd go as far as to twist my bud, sending a jolt of pain and unexpected pleasure all the way down to my clit. I sank further into my seat, properly thrashing, panting as I shook my head no. I wasn't going to lose. No, no, no. 

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips right beside my ear, his voice smooth and cruelly soft. "If you won't surrender," he murmured darkly, his teeth grazing my earlobe; "Then I'll just have to find another way."

I felt his threat before I could process it. With one smooth, gentle motion, Mr. Godfrey pulled the vibrator out of me, and brushed it against my swollen clit, pressing firmly in deliberate, merciless circles. The combined assault of sensations overwhelmed me completely-- I arched up, hips jolting uncontrollably against his ruthless touch, the vibrator pressing insistently against my clit. He wasn't playing fair, that fucker. 

Before I knew it, a ragged, involuntary cry finally tore from my throat, breaking my stubborn silence-- I was way too fucking close to play this stupid game. 

Mr. Godfrey smiled triumphantly against my flushed skin, his voice smug and devastatingly pleased; "There we go... That's much better, hm? Oh, how I'm gonna enjoy my little trophy tonight... It's mine, just like you are. You're never getting those panties back, delusional girl,"

Oh, I didn't particularly care right now-- just like you are. That was the part that got to me. I had heard that correctly, right?

Yes, yes, yes!

"Fuck--" I cursed, feeling my eyes well with tears at the vibrations against my clit mixed with the swelling of my heart. "Fuck!-- No, fuck, fuck, I--"

Before I could finish, Roman's mouth captured mine in a deep, silencing kiss, swallowing my desperate protests as pleasure crashed through me. His lips moved possessively over mine, smirking subtly into the kiss as my body shook violently beneath his hands. To me, you are water. My moans melted helplessly against his mouth, and my entire being unravelled in a wave of fierce ecstasy-- the vibrations against my clit slowly became borderline painful, and my hips were squirming to get away from it as my climax subsided.

With a knowing hum, Roman turned it off and tossed it back into the box with ease, without even looking.

His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me even closer, and his kisses softened just enough to feel almost tender; however, the teasing smirk lingering on his lips reminded me exactly who I had surrendered to. God, he was evil. Evil and soft. 

When Roman finally pulled back, his eyes glittered darkly with victory. His thumb brushed gently across my dampened cheek before he pulled my blouse into place, giving me back an ounce of modesty.

We lay there like that for a while, kissing softly, enjoying one another, still tangled together in the backseat. This was the release we had both wanted-- at the cost of my loss, of course. The air was thick with the warmth of shared breath and recent misbehaviour, the scent of Roman's cologne lingering on my skin like a fingerprint. Outside, the city blurred past in softened shapes and fading daylight, but inside the car, time felt strangely still. For once, we weren't arguing, or sparring, or pretending not to be wildly obsessed with each other. There was just this-- the aftermath of us.

With a sigh, Roman kissed the corner of my mouth as he started untying me. "We're driving you home, if you hadn't noticed," he murmured. "You won't have to sit on public transport without your underwear. I'm not fucking evil."

I glared at him with the little energy I had left, feeling open, and undeniably wet and dripping. Hopefully, the car would have no remnants of me when I left. "Are you sure about that?"

Roman let out a small chuckle, successfully removing his tie. "No,"

"Roman, seriously," I whined, stretching out my hands, rolling my wrists. "You can't keep them! I like that pair!"

"And so do I," Like a magic trick, he reached inside his back pocket, and with the flair of a magician revealing the final card, that cocky bastard produced my underwear from his pocket.

Folded.

Pressed.

Pristine.

He held it between two fingers like a punchline.

"Is this what all the fuss was about?" Roman asked, mock casual, like he hadn't just orchestrated an entire afternoon of psychological warfare to trap me in a car with no underwear. "Oh, this was so worth it. My planning was fucking splendid."

I held back the urge to lunge at him and strangle him to death-- instead, I only glared. "Can I get them back tomorrow, at least?"

"Nope,"

I groaned; "I'll start planning my revenge, then," 

Roman shrugged, the very image of nonchalance plastered on his beaming smirk; "Can't wait," he purred. "But at least you got to enjoy the toy, hm? Did you like it? Ordered it just for you... Just for my favourite girl."

My cheeks were on fire-- how red was I now, from a scale of tomato to volcano? Somehow, I swallowed, letting out a shaky breath as a soft smile painted my lips. Gosh, I was beyond ecstatic-- my favourite girl. My favourite, favourite, favourite girl. Letha was about to have a field day hearing about this. 

"I... I am?"

Roman looked like he was two seconds from cooing at me with awe, but held it back. His green eyes practically gleamed, and he sighed, happy and content--

"Abso-fucking-lutely,"

(a/n: AAAGHHH I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOUR!!!!! THANK U FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT<3333)

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[moonlightstuffs]

the quartet is complete 🐲

charlie gordon is prince daeron the daring youngest son of king viserys i and queen alicent, and rider of tessarion the blue queen.

[moonlightstuffs]

"my daughter turned out fine."

Your daughter rubs her pussy raw dreaming of the day she gets to wake up to find a man violating her unconscious body and using her as a fucktoy.