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pedriscroquettes · 9 months ago

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐎 ✮ FRANCO COLAPINTO

summary. you hated franco for stealing your friend’s seat not knowing that it’d lead to a night of regret.

warnings. enemies to fwb’s, p in v, semi public s3x, major plot twist at the end, & cheating. franco & reader match each other’s FREAK! 18+

a/n. gif by argentinagp! i love latinos!

YOU HAD PROMISED everyone on the paddock that you wouldn’t judge the new driver too quickly. The week leading up to his arrival had been spent reminding yourself that he didn’t steal Logan’s seat on purpose yet you were still mad. You had grown quite fond of the american over the past months and losing a friend had made you bitter. You couldn’t bring yourself to blame Logan for losing his seat so you resorted to the newly arrived brunette.

“He doesn’t bite.” Alex whispers as he notices the glare you’re sending the brunette.

“But he scavenges.” You murmur as the press surrounds the rookie.

“It’s not like he killed Logan.” Alex scoffs.

He didn’t but it felt like he had. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way the media had already forgotten about your friend and put Franco on a pedestal. He had just arrived a day ago and already he was flaunting himself as the next Hamilton reincarnate. You turn around too frustrated with yourself for hating him when you didn’t even know him.

“Hola.” A thick accent interrupts your thoughts. You hesitantly turn around only to be met with the guy who took your best friend away. “Those colors don’t suit you.”

“Excuse me?” You replied shockingly wondering where his sense of entitlement came from.

“Ah, lo siento. I meant blue would look better on you.” His cheeks change hues realizing his words came out wrong.

“It would If I cared about Williams.” You smile sarcastically watching as his smile falters. “I’ve gotta go but score at least one point, yeah?”

Franco stays still in disbelief wondering if his comment on your clothes had completely pissed him off. Was his english really that bad? Did he come off too strong? He wondered if the rest of the paddock would hate him or if he was just overreacting.

“Don’t worry about her mate. She’s very reluctant to new people. Give her time.” Alex shrugs.

As the weekend progresses you spend your time between the Alpine garage and the trailers. You were lucky Alex and Lily had agreed to spend the whole weekend with you. You stared at the street as Leo climbed into your lap making you pet him. Practice had just started and you couldn’t help but keep a close eye on Williams. You had began to mindlessly rant to your friends over your encounter with the rookie and how it would most likely take him months to replace Logan.

“When this weekend is over I’m taking you with me to workout because you need to relieve that anger.” Lily laughs.

“No, seriously. You’re acting like he’s committed first degree murder when he had nothing to do with Logan leaving.” Alex sounds concerned.

“Look, I know I sound crazy but I swear there’s something off about him. Plus, y’all do remember the comment he made about me right?” You tried to validate yourself.

“English isn’t his first language it was an honest mistake. Either way he just took that Williams to Q1.” Lily motions towards the screen.

“Whatever. Are we all still on for Sunday?” You asked referring to the plans the drivers had made after the race.

“Obviously. Although we may need to monitor you all night to make sure you don’t damage the new rookie.” The two of them laugh as you sit there annoyed.

The sun was beginning to set as you made your way back to the Alpine garage. Your short white dress was the perfect outfit to keep you cool during the blazing heat of the summer. You were excited to spend the afternoon debriefing with Pierre until you run head first into someone. You try to balance yourself by holding yourself against their chest and as you slowly bring your head up you brace yourself for the apology you’re about to make. But then you see his face and that apology never makes it out your mouth.

“Do you not watch where you’re going?” You scoff at the Williams driver.

“I do. I do it very good actually. Or I wouldn’t be here.” He jokes. “It was you who couldn’t see well or else you would’ve seen me.”

“You’re quite full of yourself aren’t you.” You murmur as you fix your dress.

“People pay me to drive of course I am.” He pulls his sunglasses out his face to look at you directly. He has a glint of confidence in his eye and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his ego.

The two of you stood there alone as practice was long over and the drivers had gone back to their trailers to wind down. Your friends were probably going to ask you why you were late and you couldn’t bear the thought to tell them that you’d gotten into another argument with the rookie. You would get teased for it until the season ended.

“You know this whole hating me thing because you think I stole your friend’s seat, when he lost it because he wasn’t good enough, is so hot.” He smirks.

Any quick remarks you once had were now completely forgotten. His words completely took you by surprise and now you were just confused. Had he taken your witty words as flirting? Had you mistakenly led him on? Or was he just being a prick?

“Though, you could put that mouth to better use.” He says loud enough so only you can hear.

Your cheeks heat up at his comment and you can’t help but feel flustered at his words. Suddenly even the short dress you were wearing wasn’t enough to keep you cool. You instinctively bite your lip as you try to think of anything to say to him but you’re utterly speechless. He’s finally gotten under your skin and he hasn’t even raced yet.

“There’s something genuinely wrong with you.” You say.

“Adiós nena.” He smiles at you before wandering off leaving you all alone to process what had just happened.

The rest of the walk to the Alpine garage is awkward and quick. You try your best to store the encounter with Franco in the back of your mind. You do a bad job at it because his words echo in your mind for the rest of the day. You don’t tell anyone what happened that day because it was weird and also you weren’t even sure what had happened that day.

It’s finally race day and you brush off your white skirt as you walk towards the paddock. You’d meet the girls in the Ferrari garage as Charles had wanted to surprise Alex with a girl’s day. You kept your hands above your eyes to protect them from the sun while subtly trying to ignore the camera flashes headed towards you. As you approach the garages you pause for a little. It had become a tradition for you to greet Alex before any race, a superstition that began when Pierre won the Italian Grand Prix, but now you were hesitant to visit the Williams garage.

You sighed coming up with the decision that an awkward conversation with the Argentine rookie shouldn’t stop you from visiting one of your closest friends. You do a 180° heading straight for the garage. It’s a short walk due to you walking as fast as possible to Alex’s booth. The engineer’s greet you already recognizing your face from the past couple of races. There’s a huge group of familiar faces in the room except the Thai. Your eyes drift around hoping to find him so you’re not late to meet up with your friends but you can’t find Alex anywhere.

“He’s with Lily.” A voice spooks you.

“Franco.” you sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here. The real question should be why are you here?” His condescending tone irks you as he plasters that dumb smirk on his face.

“That’s none of your business.” You reply. “Tell Alex I was looking for him. I’ll be on my way now.”

He grabs your wrist before you can turn on your heels stopping you. You’re now completely face to face with him that you can practically feel his body warmth.

“Something tells me you came looking for me using your friend as an excuse.” He says below a whisper.

“Did your parents teach you that the world revolves around you? Has it ever occurred to you that you are not as important as you think you are?” You scoff. “I’m here for Alex and I would be here for Logan too but you ruined that.”

“Ay, boluda.” He laughs in disbelief. “It seems the only condescending person here is you because guess what? I earned this seat. My parents sold our house so I could be here meanwhile your little friend just spent his trust fund and wasted it.”

You run out of remarks at that. You’d spent all this summer terrorizing him unaware of who Franco really was. Although you weren’t going to apologize, you were too proud for that.

“It’s okay though I wouldn’t expect for a pretty dumb little thing like you to get it.” His voice goes hoarse. Your mind goes blank at his words unable to register his hand ending up on your waist pushing you into him.

Those are the last words he says to you before he abruptly pulls away leaving you alone to process the encounter. Your hand instinctively goes to the necklace on your neck caressing it as you try to regain your breath. You can feel how warm your cheeks are and instantly feel embarrassed at the weird tingly feeling in your stomach. Most importantly you couldn’t believe that out of all the people here Franco is the one who put you in this state.

“Oh, good you’re here! Hopefully I’ll get points today because of you.” Alex smiles at you.

“Go crush them. I have to go though have to meet Gasly before the race. You know go over his strategy for the race.” You stammer trying to find an out of the Williams garage.

“Yeah mhm.” He waves you off. “The two of you better show up to the party! Last one before the break!”

The Ferrari garage erupts into cheers as Charles makes it on the podium again. Alexandria and Lily both scream into your ear as both their boyfriends score points for their teams. Meanwhile you stare blankly as the screen as it shows both Alpine cars outside of the points. Then as if the Universe was making fun of you, Franco shows up on the screen celebrating his P8. You hated him, you hated his confidence, you hated the way he took Logan away from you, but most importantly you hated him because the sweaty messy hair he was showing off made you weak. Your mind instantly replayed this morning’s conversation and you found yourself dizzy.

“Are you okay? Is it cuz you guys didn’t get any points today?” Lily tries to console you.

“No, it’s not that.” You give her a fake smile. “This whole weekend has been kind of too much for me and I think I’m starting to feel the effects. I’m gonna go to the trailers but I’ll see y’all at the party later?”

“Feel better love! Wear something slutty!” Alexandria yells as you walk off.

The pink dress you had picked out for tonight was beginning to annoy you. It was incredibly short so you didn’t know if you should pull it up or down. And knowing Franco would be there made you overthink your idea not wanting to give him the impression that you had dressed up for him. You internally roll your eyes at yourself for even thinking about changing clothes because of a man. That wasn’t you. The effects of the rookie began to scare you.

You don’t waste anymore time heading out the suite and straight to your Uber. It was a short drive and the bouncer didn’t last long finding your name on the list. Lily and Alexandria immediately started screaming at the sight of you and welcomed you into the round table. Most of the drivers were still at the track recovering from their race so thankfully you sat next to Lily with no one to your right. You hoped Alex would hurry up so you’d get to gossip with your friend.

“That rookie ended up with points. I think your hate fueled him.” Lily teases you.

“Are we really going to talk about him, right now?” You sigh.

“He proved you wrong of course we’re gonna talk about it.” She says

“It was pure luck.” You spit out unaware of the brunette walking towards your table.

“What was?” The familiar voice makes you shiver. Lily can’t help but laugh as how wide your eyes go. You slowly turn around to meet the guy that had been torturing you this whole weekend.

“Oh, nothing-” Lily tries to save you.

“Your race today. It was pure luck.” You say defiantly being too stubborn to retract your words.

“Pure luck?” He repeats in disbelief.

“She didn’t mean it-” Lily tries to come to your rescue again.

“Oh, no. I meant it. He’ll be ending up P12 in the next races. I guarantee you won’t see anymore points after this. You’re just here on a test drive and then? Every one will forget you were ever here.” You take a swig of your drink. You don’t even register the malice behind your words being too heated to even comprehend what you’re saying.

His face heats up and his cheeks change hues as he registers your words. You blink and he’s gone. He wanders off to who knows where and it’s then that you register what you’ve told him. You warm up and suddenly you’re dizzy.

“What the fuck?” Lily whispers. “You better go find him and apologize.”

“He started it!” You whine.

“No, you did. You’ve hated him since he arrived when he’s done nothing to you.” Her words make you feel bad. “Now, go find him.”

You stand up adjusting your dress as you scan around the club looking for him. You wander off in hopes of finding him before he leaves. Why was it so hard to find a tall brunette in a crowd of average height people? You give up after five minutes resorting to asking the bartender if he’d seen your ‘friend’ and suddenly you found yourself outside. Franco is leaning against the wall looking at his phone but he’s wearing glasses now.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” You squeak afraid that you’d scare him off.

He looks up at you not saying a single word. Your presence pisses him off and he starts to walk away. You follow him to the back of the bar stopping him before the two of you got lost.

“Look, I didn’t mean anything I said. I’m sorry.” You play with the hem of your dress being too afraid to look at him.

“Did he fuck you good?” His face is stern.

“W-what?” His words catch you off guard. The temperature around you somehow getting warmer.

“Logan. Did he fuck you good?” He asks again with a meaner tone. “That’s why you’re mad at me, right?”

What you and Logan did behind closed doors was private, something no one else knew. Something you thought the two of you had managed to keep in secrets. Your cheeks flare up at Franco’s discovery. Were you really so bad at hiding your secrets? If he knew then who else did? You were fucked.

“Franco you don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try so hard to lie. His smirk makes it known that he doesn’t believe you.

One minute you’re lying to his face and the other he’s right in front of you eyeing you down. You can practically feel his body warmth as he invaded your personal space. He had one upped you, again. The innocent facade he had in front of your friends was completely gone.

“Ay, que linda que sos.” His thumb traces your cheek. The touch lingers, your cheeks heating up at the contact. “You’re such a terrible liar.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you, you know that?” You barely say above a whisper.

“No, there’s something wrong with us.” His hand travels down your cheek to your neck.

That last word throws you off because it’s true, the indescribable pull you felt to him was insane, the two of you were insane. You were tired. You were tired of hiding secrets, Franco’s personality, but most importantly you were tired of pretending. Pretending that you didn’t want Franco. So, you do what you do best when you’re tired. You relieve yourself. You pull Franco by the shirt and kiss him ignoring the feel of his glasses hitting your face. He quickly turns the two of you around your back hitting the wall allowing for balance.

The two of you barely pull apart for air losing yourselves in the kisses. His brunette curls find their way into your fingers while his hands sit perfectly on your waist. The kiss grows heated as you pull him closer to you, feeling him. His hand begins to wander down your thighs, pulling them apart and wrapping your leg around his waist. You can feel yourself grow wetter at the new position and then you remember that your friends were still waiting for you.

“Franco, wait.” You groan.

“What? What happened?” He pulls away quickly.

“Everyone else is still waiting for us. You need to be…” You pause debating if this was really a good idea but had anything you’d done lately been a good idea? “Quick.”

He takes that as a challenge immediately pulling you in for a kiss again. The kiss is messy and needy with your hands in his hair and his hands massaging the inside of your thighs. The cool breeze hitting your exposed skin as he lifted your dress up. The roughness of the wall is soon forgotten as he brings his fingers down to your thighs, gliding them teasingly before placing them on your clothed core.

You can’t resist the groans that escape your throat as his cold fingers come in contact with your core. It’d been many weekends since anyone had touched you like this. He swallows your noises with his mouth as he kisses you. Your hands grip his arms as he begins to move his fingers around your folds, spreading your wetness. You remember that it’s been a while since the two of you walked outside and pull his fingers away.

“Franco. We don’t have time.” You gasp in between kisses.

He picks you up adjusting you against the wall while you dig your hands into the hem of his boxers. It doesn’t take long for your hands to venture down and feel him. Your stomach flutters at his size and how he feels. He quickly pulls you away before placing his tip near your entrance. Your morals long gone you grind on him wanting to feel anything. It’s pathetic the way you’ve gone from wanting him out of the sport to wanting him inside you and he notices it too by the way he smirks at you.

You’re about to lash out when he starts entering you slowly. If it wasn’t for him holding you then you’d have lost your balance already at the intrusion. He stills himself waiting for you to adjust to the new feeling. When he notices that you’re ready he pulls out before thrusting back into you, this time filling you to the hilt. It was almost as if he fit perfectly inside you.

“Fuck.” He groans as he fills you completely.

You’re not quite sure anyone’s ever felt so disgusting. You don’t even try to contain your moans as he continuously thrusts into you at a fervent pace. He feels so good inside you hitting spots no one else had before. His fingers leave mark on your hips as you take him fully. He looks down to where the two of you are connected and audibly groans at how well you’re taking him.

“Oh my god.” You whine as he increases his speed.

His hands come back done to your folds rubbing them in circles as he tries to pleasure you even more. Your hand joins his showing him where you need him the most. You can feel your slick coating his dick as he rubbed you. You begin to feel a familiar knot in your stomach as he fucks you into the wall. His hand cups your jaw as he pulls you into a long sloppy kiss.

It doesn’t take long after for you to come undone around him, your walls squeezing him as you reach your peak. He won’t last long with the feeling of you milking him. Soon enough he’s coming inside you, his warm cum filling you up. The sight of the two of you is disgusting and nasty.

The two of you break away from each other and catch your breaths. You lower your dress back down while Franco takes his glasses off to clean them. You check yourself for any runny mascara, or smudge lipstick, and even run your hands through your hair making sure you don’t look insane.

“We should head inside.” You murmur.

“We’re not gonna talk about this?” He scoffs.

“There’s nothing to talk about Franco. At least not know when everyone’s waiting for us.” You scold him. “We’ll talk next weekend.”

You head towards the bathroom first, Franco surprisingly waiting for you outside. The two of you walk in within a minute difference a smile adorning both your faces. At least until you spot Pierre next to Lily and you’re brought back to reality. You don’t waste time running towards the frenchman hugging him as you sit right next to him. Franco can’t help but stare at you in confusion as he notices Pierre’s hand trail too far down when hugging you. But then he spots it. Pierre wearing an identical necklace to yours but instead of a P it adorned your initial. His eyes go wide.

“I see you and my girlfriend have finally made up.” Pierre greets him.

“Your girlfriend?” His demeanor changes with the news. “I didn’t know.”

Pierre begins to explain how the two of you don’t like to be very public about your relationship. You can visibly see the moment in which Franco’s face goes pale. The next few weeks for you are hard racing between the Alpine garage and your girlfriends. Not to mention the quick pit stops to the Williams garage to wish Alex good luck. It’s a shame you get very little time with the rookie but he makes it work. In the end you really hope he doesn’t get a seat for next year, you can’t keep doing this.

#i like really really hate this but fuck it we ball #franco colapinto #franco colapinto smut #franco colapinto x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fic #gabri writes #hey… first f1 fic ☺️

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gingerbreadfrosting · 4 months ago

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I really don't use this blog much anymore. So I kind of want to use this to post about a really popular set of accounts.

I have been stalked by @adequately/@islandmusic/@bonkie/@230yen/@mofufufu/@comfye (she owns many, many blogs) for four years.

She went out of her way to find my personal blog after I remade, when I had made no indication of what this blog was and only interacted with people I knew, meaning she purposefully went out of her way to find me. She also obsessively checks my blogs to find new posts and new blogs of mine, as she stole from one of my blogs that I had only posted once about on my personal blog.

Proof her stealing my posts recently. This is just recently. There is literally years of this. My URLs are going to be censored because I don't want my personal blog to be known. However, I will keep the dates visible to prove that she took them from me.

These are my uploads posted first:

And here are her blogs, reposting literally all of this in a row. Back to back. These are one after the other. Many of these are from the same day, minutes or hours after my posts. She does not even hide that she is stalking me.

This is literal years of this behavior from her, I couldn't possibly show all of it. She also steals my GIFs and claims them as hers. In 2024, she stole nearly every GIF I would post. She did not even bother to change my original captions that I made that were not in the original sources, proving that she just copied directly from my posts.

I have reached out to her multiple times begging her to please leave me alone and that I don't want anything to do with her, but she is still very obsessed with me and hostile no matter what I do to get her to leave me alone.

Here is me begging her for months to leave me alone on a sideblog, because she often turns off her DMs, tagging, replies and asks on all her blogs. Probably for this literal reason. There is also a DM she sent me where she admits to stealing from me.

Even though she apologizes for her behavior, she does not mean it because she does not stop. She lied to me. I do not steal posts from her. I don't even look at her blogs, and I blacklist her URLs to avoid her and her content. She is literally obsessed with me, and has been for four years, ever since I was a minor and she was a grown adult.

She steals from other blogs, too. I know she's done this many times, but I really only have this screenshot from ages ago. These images are from the same Instagram post, hers are just put into a different order. I don't know who the person in the first picture is but I censored their URL for their privacy.

I also have reason to believe she has sent me a lot of anonymous hate messages but I can't prove it, and I won't put them here for that reason + a lot of them are very violent and hateful e.g. encouraging me to commit suicide.

If you see this, I hope you take this as a wake up call and leave me alone. I have been begging you to leave me alone for four years, but you never do. I want nothing to do with you. You started harassing me when I was 16 years old. I want you to stop harassing and stalking me. I want you to stop being obsessed with me and everything I do. I want you to stop looking at my blogs even when I have you blocked and try to stay away from you. I want you to stop purposefully going out of your way to find me and my accounts. Please move on with your life. And if you won't do that, I at least hope that people will realize the fear you've been inflicting on me for years.

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mercurial-chuckles · 6 months ago

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Mirthless Monday Thought

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Word Count: ~500 A/N: I was in a mood, oops! And this was scheduled for yesterday, but looks like it was eaten away! Up for some feels?! Here you go! Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! GIF credits to @buckybarnesj Divider credits to @buck-star Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

Read the final part Catharsis

Indulge Away!

"Mind your business." Bucky regretted the words the second they left his mouth.

They weren't meant for you. They were but a defense, a wall hastily built to shield himself from feelings he didn't know how to process. He hadn't been truly social since Hydra. And yet, you'd never been anything but kind to him.

It wasn't your fault he'd been lost in his mind, consumed by endless thoughts of you. Days filled with hopeful dreams, a possibility that maybe, just maybe, he could have a future with you. Nights consumed by nightmares, the horrors that a distant shell of a body committed burned into his mind, twisting you into them. You always starred in his nightmares these days, haunting him in every way, even when he woke.

That night, he'd just escaped one of those dreams. Shaken and raw, he stumbled into the kitchen, hoping to stuff himself with food, only to find you sitting with your laptop and a steaming cup of tea.

You'd looked at him with those soft, concerned eyes and asked, "Shall I make you some tea?"

It was too much. The comfort you offered collided with the fear he couldn't shake. And his stupid mouth had no rhyme or reason, muttering, "Mind your business."

Your smile faltered.

His heart cracked wide open. He froze, speechless at himself, of the sin he'd just committed.

You nodded, collecting your laptop and tea with slow, careful movements, making yourself small.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, voice soft but heavy, and then you were gone.

Bucky stood there, hollow and paralyzed. It felt like he was back in Hydra's chair, helpless and fear-ridden with added self-loathing.

The rest of the night was a losing battle. Should he go after you and beg forgiveness? Or was it better to sink into the misery he'd brought on himself? He didn't deserve you, after all.

The next two days were hell. You were nowhere to be found. By the time he resolved to apologize--beg, plead, do whatever it took to make it right--Maria Hill called a meeting.

He shifted in his seat, restless, eyes darting to the door every few seconds. You were always the first to arrive, sometimes bringing something you'd cooked or setting up the coffee.

But today, you weren't there. Anxiety churned in his stomach.

Maria broke the silence.

"The mission went south. It was a trap," she said bluntly, her voice heavy.

"She sent the five agents back as she couldn't pilot the jet herself. She created a diversion to give them a chance to escape. No one's heard from her since. We don't know if…if she made it to the safehouse."

Bucky's blood ran cold. The words violently thrashed in his mind, refusing to settle. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. Were you on that mission? How had he not known?

The room felt suffocating. His chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood, his movements frantic. Panic and fury twisted together, and his voice came out ragged, broken.

"Where is she?"

Steve stood, hurrying to his side, but Bucky held his hand, stopping him. He was this close to punching anyone in his way if they tried him.

"Buck…"

"Give me the fucking details, Captain!" he roared, his voice shaking with desperation.

I know...I know...I just had to get it out of my chest! 🩷🥹

Read the final part Catharsis

♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3 Please send me a message if you wanna be removed from the Tag list. :)

Tag list: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp @greatenthusiasttidalwave @zaraomarrogers @shadowrose13-blog1 @king814318 @yiiiikesmish @steviebbboi @saiyanprincessswanie @blushingrn @looking1016 @jvanilly @feynightlight @shadyloveobjects @alexxavicry @astheskycries @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @patzammit @soelstress @8crazy-freak8 @stuckysgal @slowlyshycomputer @avengersfan25 @blackhawkfanatic @notsostrangerthing @awkwardgiraffe726 @iamtamera @pebbles20 @starsrfun @read-just-cant @iwudbutnah @tasersloth @daydreaming-lightly @kpopgirlbtssvt @doiloooklikeigiveafrack

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spxllcxstxr · 6 months ago

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Dating Young Silco • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: you asked for silco requests?👀 how about some young!silco dating headcanons?��-- anon

Warnings: gn!reader, got a little suggestive in the first point?, drinking and smoking mention, average Silco and Undercity stuff

A.N: ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY!!! Love this man omg, I hope you enjoy these!!

•

Out of his friends, Silco is the most introverted. He would rather spend the night with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a book in the other. He was never opposed to going out, as long as is friends were there by his side, but they weren't always his first choice. Despite this, however, Silco was also a firecracker. He was quick on his feet and always had a witty remark locked and loaded. Silco could pull you in with a smirk and a biting quip that always had you wanting more. Dating Silco was kind of like that; there were moments where the two of you were in his room at the Last Drop, swaying to soft music and sharing a smoke, and there were times where you would be galivanting throughout Zaun, hiding in dark corners from Enforcers (and likely pushed up against the rough brick wall, Silco's lips pressed against your own as his hands roam over your body)

Silco is not one for PDA. He will rest his hand on your thigh when sat next to you and will place it on the small of you back when standing, but that is really it. When just with Felicia, Connell, and Vander, he will show his affection just a little bit more. He will occasionally rest his head on your shoulder, maybe hold your hand and physically pull you closer to his own body. When he's drunk, however, that's a different story. Silco is all over you when he's intoxicated. He stumbles into your open arms, places kisses on your neck, even pinches your butt, and he doesn't care who's watching (Usually everyone is too drunk to care or respect the two of you enough to not say anything. Felicia and Vander LOVE it).

Silco prefers pet names like "my dear" or "my darling." He knows they drive you wild, but he also likes reminding you and everyone else that you're his. This isn't in a abusive or possessive way, he's yours as well, he just loves the reminder that the two of you are fully committed to one another. He finds it extremely endearing and it shows a softer side that he usually doesn't put on display for people. Silco always manages to make you melt with his voice; it's just so addicting and you could listen to him talk for hours

He loves it when run your fingers through his hair, whether purposefully or absentmindedly. He'll let you braid it (as long as you take it out when you're done) and brush it and stick wildflowers in it. It's an action that seems to ease the tension from his shoulders and relieves the worry from his mind. If it's late in the night, there is a strong possibility that he'll fall asleep within five minutes. You're really the only person that can calm him like that (Vander, Felicia, and Connell come close, but you are truly something special to him)

Speaking of falling asleep, Silco does like to be close to you in bed. He likes switching up who's holding onto who, after a hard day at work there are times where he prefers you to hold onto him. He loves falling asleep in each other's arms, but he especially loves waking up facing you, where he can see your eyes open first thing in the morning. Silco loves that you're the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing he sees at night. He starts his day pressing a kiss to your lips and to him, it's heaven

Young Silco will do little things for you, like getting you a leather jacket to match his, always saves the seat next to him so you can sit there, pours you a drink at the bar before you even show up. He is a very busy man with work in the mines and the organization of the Children of Zaun, but he will always try to make time for you. Sometimes he will leave you little notes if he knows he'll be home late (and he always signs them off as "Your Silco")

Quiet nights are just as lovely with young Silco. He spends time studying maps or reading or scribbling down ideas. You will always catch him glancing at you, usually with a soft smile on his face. He is able to let his guard down and just be in front of you, which is not common in Zaun

Young Silco loves showing you how much you mean to him, and he will always be willing to remind you. You are his best friend and his partner

•

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x you #silco #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco x reader #silco x you #silco headcanons #young silco #young silco x reader #young silco x you #young silco headcanons #arcane headcanons

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kingkat12 · 8 days ago

Text

... had a hunch (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: sex, piv sex, vampire sex, rough(?) sex, slight choking, light gore, angst, breaking and entering, Roman being creepy (ofc), stalking, blood, reader needs to lock her damn window

summary: in the light of the murder of Brooke Bluebell, you are starting to get paranoid-- is someone watching you? and if so, who is it?

word count: 11,472

never have I ever: ← previous chapter

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*book 1 masterlist

a/n: this chapter has been SO FUN to write AHHH!!! and this is also the hottest gif ever, shoutout to Niki<33 ENJOYYYYY!!<3333

I was used to being lonely, which is why it was so odd to wake up with a feeling that I wasn't alone.

Rubbing my eyes with haste at the sound of my alarm clock going off, I blinked over and over to make sure that the chair in the corner of my room wasn't occupied. Had I seen a shadow just now, or was that just the remainder of sleep in my eye?

The chair was empty. Still. Perfectly still in the corner, just as it had been ever since the day I bought it. Nonetheless, I stayed sitting upright, covers twisted at my waist, heart thudding without a clear reason. There was nothing wrong-- not really. My door was shut. My window cracked just enough to let in the night air, same as always. Everything was where it should be, and yet, I had the distinct sense that someone had just slipped out a second before I stirred.

It must've been all the talk about the serial killer from Iowa, surely. Maybe even a touch of vargulf. Roman's manic ramblings must've gotten to me. If I was having nightly vampire dream-sex, I wouldn't dismiss my mind making up similar spooky things while awake.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing the cold floor. A whisper of chill breeze clung to the air like it hadn't had time to fade yet; autumn must be right around the corner, now. I didn't usually get scared in my own room, I didn't get paranoid, but something about last night, calling him, had loosened something in me I couldn't put back together.

My eyes drifted back to the chair. It was empty, unmoved, yet the vague impression of warmth, or presence, still curled around the corners of the room like smoke. I shook my head and stood up, brushing it all off-- it had just been a dream. Or was it a guilt-hangover from calling Roman like that, so late, so needy? Ugh, what the fuck had I done? How was I supposed to face him at school today?

With a light groan, I stepped toward the bathroom, but something made me glance down.

The faintest imprint, a scuff maybe, or the softened shape of a shoe, was pressed into the carpet just beside my window.

... Oh.

I didn't let myself stare. I didn't let myself believe it. This was paranoia. A killer was on the loose in Hemlock Grove after all-- of course I was going insane. This was just my imagination. Hysteria?

I knew what could calm me down; my favourite little detour on my way to school.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The usual hues of sunlight shone through the thickness of the trees as I kicked at a nearby chestnut-- this had almost become a ritual whenever I came to Richmond Park.

I wasn't here often, but recently, this place had become a shrine to what had been, and what could've been; staring ahead at the tree where I had carved mine and Roman's initials all that time ago, I brought the cigarette to my lips, committing to my new smoking addiction, completely alone in the outskirts of the forest with a killer on the loose. Reckless. If I were dying on the inside, then I supposed that the monument of my love could join me in death. Kamikaze, bitches.

Last night's phone call lingered in my brain, making me cringe. What had I done? At least I got it confirmed that Roman still thought of me, dreamed of me. As I kept staring at the tree like a complete lunatic, I remembered the last time I was here with him...

"I'll be better for you," Roman's green eyes met mine, his grip around my waist loosening before he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. "Whatever Letha says about me, I need you to not believe it. I'm asking you to kill me, in a sense."

"What?--"

"I want you to make me so sick that I die in your arms," Roman let out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against mine as his eyes closed shut. "I think it'd make me feel good. I don't want to be so bitter and angry all the time... and I feel good with you. Really good."

My heart swelled as I brought my hands up to cup his face, my thumbs stroking over his cheeks as we stood still. There were leaves rustling in the distance, and a sweltering breeze that passed us briefly, but all in all, it was just Roman and I in this deserted area of the park. I could easily agree that it felt good, that it felt right-- just my pretty boyfriend and me.

I got up on my tippytoes, pulling Roman in for a gentle kiss. It made my heart swell, made the tips of my fingers burn as I felt his cold breath against my cheek when he exhaled through his nose.

Roman's hands pushed against the small of my back, drawing me in as close as humanly possible. The kiss deepened with every breath, with every pull of the other-- "Choose us," he pleaded, mouthing his words into my lips. "Me and you. Us."

I shivered-- if only I had listened to him.

My cigarette was halfway burnt, the ash curling dangerously close to my knuckles, but I couldn't even feel it anymore. My head was spinning, my heart was aching-- I just wanted everything to go back to how it was, to the time when I would fall asleep with Roman's head on my chest, my fingers stroking through his hair, with his arms wrapped around me... fucking Letha.

But then, amid my sulking, I heard it; the crunch of leaves behind me.

I froze.

It wasn't soft or casual, like a jogger or someone out for a walk. It was deliberate, heavy, like weight shifting from paw to paw.

I whipped around, my heart stalling in my chest, cigarette tumbling from my fingers. My eyes scanned the dense line of trees behind me, but it was already darker there, the canopy of trees hiding what little light the gray sky would give. The shuffle of leaves murmured quietly behind me, and suddenly, every rustle sounded like it was breathing. Maybe Roman was right? Maybe there truly was a vargulf on the loose?

The more I searched, the less I found. I concluded that it was nothing, as always-- still, something about the air had shifted. It was thicker now, watching me; I hated how quickly my brain fell for Roman's stupid wolf theories.

I told myself it was nonsense, but I suddenly couldn't stop imagining it. Was this the same thing I had sensed in my room this morning? The yellow eyes, the saliva, the torn skin-- why did Roman's great-grandfather's drawings have to be so grotesquely detailed? Damn the darn Godfreys.

Another sharp crack of a branch-- my whole body flinched. "Jesus Christ," I huffed, stomping down on an innocent leaf before quickly making my way back to my car. Of course there was no such thing as a vargulf, or werewolf, or whatever, but...

I wasn't about to risk it.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

For the first time in a while, I was excited to get out to school; it would hopefully distract me from this odd morning.

The parking lot was already filled up when I pulled in much later than usual, the early morning sun slanting hard across the windshield and making everything look too bright. I killed the engine and just sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to decide whether it was stupid or brave to ask Roman to come today. Was he going to? Would we talk? Would he end up sticking his tongue down some girl's throat in front of me again? I hoped not. God, how I hoped not.

Dread and excitement piled up in my stomach as I stepped out, trying to dig the car key out of my pocket and lock the door before I could overthink any of it. I was so deep in my head, I didn't even notice the sudden giggles rolling through the lot until it was too late.

Why would a bunch of girls be giggling to themselves with delight at 08:13 in the morning? I should've known.

There he was, Roman Godfrey, walking like he was above gravity, like he didn't belong to the pavement under his boots. His backpack hung loosely over one shoulder, his dark jacket falling open just enough to hint at the grey Henley beneath it-- collar loose, like he didn't care how indecently good it looked on him. His brown hair kissed his forehead, gelled like he didn't have time, like he didn't give a damn, messier than usual, catching the morning light in just the right places.

A group of girls buzzed around him; cheerleaders mostly, the usual gang. Lips glossed, laughing, one of them gripping his bicep as she giggled at something he didn't say. He wasn't even looking at them-- he didn't need to. Actually, Roman looked annoyed as hell. I wondered whether the group of girls sometimes felt like the paparazzi; they certainly never gave him a moment's worth of peace. Did some part of him like it, though? I bet.

And then, somehow, Roman's piercing green eyes found mine through the noise.

Of course.

He saw me through the sea of laughing girls, and everything else just... vanished. The parking lot, the cars, the sound-- gone. I stood frozen by my car, clutching my car keys, lips parted as my heart abused the inner linings of my ribs.

Roman didn't smile, didn't blink. His gaze was so still, so direct, that it felt like being pinned in place by something invisible, like he could hear everything I was thinking. Nothing in that darn upir book said anything about mind-reading, so I concluded that I had to be safe from that, at least. However, I knew for certain that he could hear my heart. Fuck.

And standing there, in the middle of a crowded high school parking lot, I felt it all hit me like a second heartbeat-- hot, aching, shameful. I wanted him back. God, how I wanted him back, how I wanted it to not be like this, how I wanted to go back in time. Why were the cheerleaders clinging to my Roman? I wanted to rip them to pieces, limb by limb, every single one of them, systematically. Shouldn't they be in mourning over their captain, Brooke? Shouldn't they be sobbing in a corner somewhere, and not slobbering over Roman? I was honestly two seconds from tossing my car keys at the blonde bimbo to his left-- maybe I'd manage to jab the metal into her temple? Sideways lobotomy. Was that a thing?

As my wrath came to a simmer, and as my heart threatened to explode at the sight of Roman's full mouth, his big eyes, the broadness of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, the fact that he was here, that he had showed up, that he had done this tiny little thing for me, someone said his name and touched his other arm-- he looked away, and just like that, the spell snapped.

I exhaled so suddenly that it made me lightheaded. Roman kept walking, swallowed up by the crowd; the pom-poms followed, their voices rising again like nothing had happened, like I wasn't standing here as though struck by lightning.

And just as I realized that the parking lot had nearly emptied, that I had stood here simmering in the aftermath for a bit too long, and that I was about to be late to class, an unexpected voice cut through the fog; "I wonder who forced him to come in today,"

Jolting, I turned toward the sound.

Letha stood there, leaning against my car with her arms crossed over her chest, sleeves pushed up on that stupidly expensive lilac sweater she always wore when she wanted to look soft-- she didn't look soft now, though. Quite the contrary, she looked like something had scraped her out from the inside and left just the shape behind; her eyes were sunken, her skin was paler than usual, and she had a quiet look about her that I hadn't seen before. Usually, she was a flame that burned bright, but now?

None of that mattered.

I didn't care if she was sad. I didn't care if she was haunted. Snorting, I stuffed my car key into my backpack, refusing to keep looking at Letha. "You have quite the nerve," I hissed. "Go away. I don't want to talk to you."

"Aunt Olivia doesn't really have any influence over Roman anymore," Letha continued as though she hadn't heard me. "So it can't have been her. Was it you? Are you two talking again?"

"Fuck off," I adjusted my backpack before rounding my car, avoiding walking past Letha, yet she followed. Her expensive boots clicked lightly against the pavement as she trailed after me, not fast enough to be chasing, but close enough to make my skin crawl. I didn't look back-- I wouldn't give her that much.

"You know," she went on, voice quieter now. "It's kind of poetic. You dragged him out of bed and into the sun... That's a big deal for a upir."

"Shut up," I snapped over my shoulder-- I didn't want to have the upir conversation with Letha again, and especially not this openly for anyone to hear. All she ever did was lie, anyway.

"I mean it," she continued. "Roman listens to you."

"He can be in the sun," I spat, clutching my backpack harder.

Letha hummed behind me, shrugging to herself; "Yeah, I know. But I'm just saying, despite everything that's happened, he obviously still loves you, so... I can't have messed everything up that bad?"

The disgust that tore through my body was indescribable. There was something so vile, so insensitive, so disgusting about the way her words were formulated, like she had been waiting all week to find the perfect moment to ambush me and try to wash herself free of the guilt that was clearly ravaging her-- no.

Balling my hands into fists, I turned around on my heel, stopping in my tracks, and watched as Letha did the same with a bit of a wince, like she was convinced I would strike her if she moved a muscle.

"Oh, you little piece of--" I stopped. Inhaled. Squeezed my eyes shut. Through gritted teeth, I continued; "If it is sympathy you're looking for, I suggest you start rummaging through the trash. You fucked up. Face it."

Letha blinked at me, and I quickly noticed the smear of mascara under one of her eyes. Her mouth parted like she might say something else, something apologetic, or worse, burst into tears. "I didn't ruin everything," she breathed, mostly to herself, like a chant that would calm her down. "This is fixable. You and Roman still have a chance."

I had no pity to offer. No consolation, none whatsoever. "Roman and I weren't supposed to only have a chance," I echoed. "We were supposed to be forever. Fuck you for meddling with that."

Letha's glossy, green eyes stuck to me like the cigarette smoke I had grown to depend on-- ugly and clinging, and something I'd smell on my clothes for the rest of the day.

I adjusted my backpack over my shoulder, sniffling before landing my last blow; "Honestly, Letha? I wish it had been you that night, and not Brooke."

Something in me shifted-- I hadn't expected to blurt that out. I didn't want to see the aftermath of that sentence, along with the look of shock on Letha's face, so with all the hatred I could muster in my body, I turned again and walked toward the school.

Thankfully, Letha didn't follow.

She probably didn't want to anymore.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I wasn't paying attention-- of course.

Mr. Deacon was talking about monks in the Middle Ages that I didn't give a crap about, but all I could think about was Roman's haunting eyes in the parking lot. With my elbow propped on the desk, with my head in my hand, I wondered whether I'd catch a glimpse of him in the hallway after this period, whether he was still avoiding me, or worse, not avoiding me-- maybe I just didn't interest him in the way I did before? Maybe my pathetic phone call last night had given him the ick?

However... he had mentioned that he dreamed of me too.

Nothing upir related, though, I was sure of it-- or was I? Perhaps we were having the same dream? I doubted that, but amid my severe boredom (and trying to distract myself from my earlier run-in with Letha), this was the only topic that distracted me well enough to tune out Mr. Deacon's voice.

It was the second-to-last period; my chances of speaking to Roman today were running out. At this point, I'd settle for walking past him in the hall, another look, a brush of his shoulder against mine as he nudged his way through the crowd-- honestly, I would take anything to keep from feeling like he had slipped entirely through my fingers.

The tip of my pen hovered over my notebook, and I was about to try to sketch something, maybe his eyes, until suddenly, the intercom buzzed; it crackled overhead like it had been zapped alive.

"Attention, students of Hemlock Grove High. Please remain calm,"

... Oh no.

My stomach turned, my head tilted up as the entire class stilled, and Mr. Deacon turned toward the speaker like he wasn't sure he'd heard it right.

"Due to an ongoing investigation, school will be dismissed immediately. All students are required to gather their belongings and make arrangements to go home. Teachers, check your emails for further instructions,"

The air went thin. For a second, no one moved-- it was like everyone was waiting for someone else to react first. Then, within the blink of an eye, chairs screeched against the floor, backpacks zipped with urgency, and phones were already out, faces glowing in the blue wash of screen light as everyone hurried to get out of the classroom. There was an odd atmosphere in the air, where people were unsure whether to be happy about the dismissal or worried about the reason why, and as I followed the stream out into the hallway, I tried to pick up on the chatter;

"What happened?"

"Oh my God--"

"-- They found a body in that park!--"

"Another girl?"

"-- In the woods, check Twitter!"

My brain scrambled to fill in the blanks. I had a bad feeling about which park the new girl could've been murdered at. The worst part was that I felt like I already knew; I just knew, in that same cold, nauseating way you know something before anyone says it out loud. Could it have happened in the same woods where I had been less than four hour ago, where the trees were thick enough to swallow sound, where I had stood with a cigarette in hand beside that stupid fucking tree with our initials carved in it?

... Were my suspicions correct? Was I being watched?

With these questions in mind, my heart thrummed in my chest, my chest aching as I clutched my phone, feeling it vibrate. Then the most damning thought landed, hard and unshakable; what if I was supposed to be next?

Just as I was about to properly spiral, now pressed from all sides in the crammed hallway, halfway to a proper panic-attack, I got nudged with a force so harsh, I let out a whimper of pain and spun to face the violent perpetrator; "Hey!" I barked, taking a few steps in the other direction of the swarm around me. "Watch where you're going, jackass!"

But the second the nudger turned around fully, the incoming words snagged in my throat.

It was Peter.

Only, it wasn't really Peter; not the one I knew. Not the same, sarcastic Peter who always had a smartass comment cocked and ready-- this version of him looked half-gone. His dark, soft waves were flattened with sweat or sleep or both, his skin waxy and tight across the bones of his face. And to make it even more eerie, his eyes were rimmed dark, hollowed out like he hadn't closed them in days. All in all, he looked like someone who had seen a ghost and never quite recovered.

Then, without warning, Peter grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in hard enough to make me flinch, like he needed to anchor me in place. His grip was cold and trembling as he spoke; "You need to go home now,"

"I'm-- yeah, I'm on my way now, but what's?--"

"Don't try to investigate anything, okay?" Peter panted. "Keep Roman in check, and just-- where's Letha?"

With the mention of her name, I wafted Peter's hands off me, huffing as I shivered. "Fuck off, dude! What's wrong with you? I saw Letha a few hours ago, but she's not the one who was!--"

Peter stared at me like he wanted me to shut up, so I did. But then, just like that, he shook his head; "Never mind," he muttered, twitching. "Forget it. Just-- be careful, okay?"

Before I could argue, he turned and melted back into the chaos like smoke. No explanation, no real answer-- Peter left me standing there, stomach hollow with unease.

The crowd of students was making me claustrophobic, their chatter buzzing against my ears like a swarm of flies. I pushed through, elbow-first, heart still slamming against my ribs as I moved toward the parking lot, barely feeling the cold air when I finally shoved the door open and stumbled outside.

Had another girl seriously been killed? Was this a rumour, was this real? Who could it have been?

My fingers were trembling as I unlocked my car, the weight of what Peter had said, along with what he hadn't said, dragging behind me like a shadow. My keys slipped in my grip, clattered once against the side door, and when I finally got them in, yanked the handle open, and sat down in the driver's seat--

Knock, knock, knock.

The harsh tapping against my window set me off, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I screamed-- actually screamed.

With one hand over my heart, I leaned over, panting as I rolled my window down. "You scared the shit out of me!" I barked, clutching my chest as I glanced up at my intruder.

Roman didn't flinch at my yelling, but he didn't apologize either-- he didn't usually do either of those things. He leaned into the open window like he owned the air I was breathing, one hand braced on the roof of my car as he looked down at me with that sharp, pissed-off expression. His green eyes were darker than usual, and his hair caught the last gasp of sunlight like a halo of obsidian. "You pulled into the parking lot late this morning," he said, low, deliberate. "Where the hell were you?

I blinked, still trying to breathe. "Are you kidding me, Roman?"

"No," he said, voice flat, green gaze unmoving. "Where were you?"

"... I took a bit of a detour," I didn't mean to sound defensive, but it felt somehow unavoidable; "Not a big deal. I've been doing that all week, not that you'd care to notice."

Roman's fingers twitched where they gripped the edge of the car, glaring down at me with that patronizing look I loved and hated. "Where?"

I sighed; "Remember where I went crazy and carved our initials into that tree?"

"Richmond park?"

"Yep. But I had this weird feeling that someone was watching me while I was there, and now... now someone's dead,"

"... Fuck," Roman pulled back just an inch, like my confession had knocked something loose in him. His jaw clenched, and I could see the pulse ticking in his neck-- could he hear mine right now? "That's where they found the new girl."

"Crap. I knew it," I breathed, shifting in my seat to make myself more comfortable; that was almost impossible in the presence of the beauty of my ex-boyfriend. "Do you know who it was?"

Roman sighed, folding his arms against my window ledge, resting his chin there as he stared back at me with that focused look I knew too well, green eyes gazing back at mine. "No, but I'll find out,"

He said it like a promise, a promise I loathed for his sake, but there was something heavy underneath-- it was almost as though he didn't believe it had happened again, and that we hadn't gotten far enough in our investigation to stop it. For a second, just a second, he didn't look like Roman Godfrey; the heir, the nightmare, the heartbreaker. Now, he looked like a boy too young to carry everything he did.

"Rome..." I tried, softer now. My fingers hovered near the window ledge before I slowly reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. It was wind-tousled and glossy, catching the last of the light like black silk. I don't know what made me do it-- habit, maybe. Care. Stupidity?

I felt Roman tense beneath my touch, but he didn't pull away; that gave me enough hope to go on. His big, green eyes rounded out like he couldn't believe he was letting me do this, so I chose my next words wisely; "You should be careful," I murmured, thumb brushing the line of his temple. "I know you have that direct line to the police intercom, but... I told you I don't want you to do this alone. What if you hop in, and I can take you back to my place, so we can check it out together? My parents will only be happy to see you, and you can stay for dinner, and--"

Roman recoiled like I had struck him.

Not violently, no-- just quick, sharp, like his body had made the decision before his brain could. He straightened fully from the window, tapping his hand twice on the roof of my car before he took a step back. "Don't," he said. The word was quiet, but it hit harder than a shout.

My heart clenched in a manner I was way too used to these days; "I wasn't-- I didn't mean--"

"I'll go figure out who it was," Roman said, shaking his head once, twice. "Get home safe, okay? Text me when you get there."

"But--"

"I know it takes sixteen minutes from here to your house, so if I don't get a text by that time, I'm calling your mom to confirm that you're home,"

I gasped; "Roman, what the fuck?!--"

He cut me off with a swift, dismissive motion of his hand, no longer the brooding, impossible Roman I knew, but someone who just needed control, order, and something to hold onto in the chaos. "Just stay put," he ordered, his green eyes locking onto mine. "I'm going to be careful, but only if you go home with no detours."

Blinking, I didn't know what else to do than nod. There was no way in hell I'd go through having one more conversation with my mom about why Roman and I broke up, which I knew would be triggered if he called her.

"But you two were so perfect for each other!" Oh, I know. "Did he do something wrong?" Well... "I bet he'd take you back if it was somehow your fault, you two just need to talk to one another!" Too late for that. "Young love... unnecessarily complicated. I don't miss it." No shit, mom.

I sighed; "Ugh, fine... Just please don't call my mom, because then she's going to think it's okay to call you and ask you to come over for dinner all the time, and... I don't need my mom playing matchmaker in the middle of this,"

With that, Roman smirked-- just the faintest crack in his armour as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving mine. "Deal,"

Then, without another word, Roman turned and disappeared down the parking lot, leaving me alone with my racing heart and a sudden appetite for dinner. I did my best not to stare at him as he walked away, scanning the broadness of his back, how good his legs looked in those light jeans--

Oh, I needed to sink my teeth into something, alright.

... Preferably Roman's shoulders, but dinner would do for now.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

"Why would anyone love a monster?" Roman whispered-- and that was when I knew I was back in the dream.

However, there was something new about the way he moved tonight, with slightly hesitant strokes, like he didn't quite trust himself. I could only whimper against Roman's shoulder, clinging harder, like I could pull the doubt out from his back with my fingers, like I could dig deep enough to reach the part of him that still believed he was capable of goodness, of true love.

But then, in the midst of the daze, in the midst of my pleasure, the dream diverted and diverged down a different road, one it had never taken before--

"Because," I breathed. "You're not a monster."

Roman stilled, like the sentence had stunned something vital in him. His breath caught, hot and shallow, before he pulled forward and kissed me like I had blasphemed, like I had dared to call the devil a saint, and he wanted to make sure no one else heard my sin. "Gonna-- Gonna keep you safe," he murmured against my lips. "Gonna love you-- forever."

Forever.

Even dream-sequence Roman knew our magic word; touché.

His thrusts deepened, bucking into me like he couldn't help himself, like nothing could ever drag him away from this pleasure. This was nothing like he would usually fuck me in my dreams, with confidence, with decisive control-- what was happening?

Then, with a ragged breath, he slowed and pulled out to flip me in his arms; not rough, not urgent, but reverent, like he was reorienting the dream around something more sacred than dominance. Was reality perhaps infiltrating my dreamland? Roman lay behind me now, one of his thighs nudging mine open again, his chest pressed to my back, his hand sliding over my hip to guide me back to him; I could only gasp as his cock entered me again, letting out a shaky moan as the usual stretch sent shivers up my spine. In this position, it was impossible not to notice how massive Roman was compared to me, how small I felt in comparison, and it made my brain buzz.

We moved like that, spooned and aching, his mouth close to my ear, his breath ghosting down the column of my throat as his thumb circled my clit in lazy motions. I arched against him, feeling an odd type of purr building in me from the comfort-- seriously, what the hell was happening to my upir sex dream?! Was this just a sweet, normal one, this time around?

But then, of course, I was proven wrong.

Then, like he had been waiting for the right moment, like he was done buttering me up, Roman's hand slid up from my waist to my throat. Not tentative, not cautious-- claiming. His fingers spread beneath my jaw, thumb pressing gently under the hinge, while the rest of his palm flattened over my pulse like he wanted to feel my heart beat for him, like it turned him on to feel my heart. My breath hitched instinctively, but I didn't pull away; I couldn't. Not when his cock was still inside me, slow and thick, grinding deeper like he was trying to anchor himself inside my body, like he wanted me to feel how overpowered I was in his presence.

And then Roman's voice, no longer warm or tender, cut through the silence, low and feral, close enough that it felt like it came from inside me;

"Mine,"

It wasn't romantic. It wasn't reassuring.

It was a threat.

I felt it in my chest, in the base of my spine, in the part of me that the tip of his cock brushed against over and over. Roman's grip didn't tighten, but the intention was there, like this was a reminder that he could snap me in half if he wanted to, and that knowledge alone made me clench around him.

Roman could kill me. Roman was a upir.

"Don't you fucking see?" he whispered, his fangs brushing the shell of my ear, the words so viciously tender they made me shiver. "You're the-- only thing I want, the only fucking thing in this world that isn't rotten, and if anyone tries to touch you-- tries to take you-- from me--"

Did he mean the vargulf?

I didn't get any time to think about it-- Roman cut himself off with a grunt, and in one fluid, brutal motion, he pushed himself deeper, past what he knew I'd allow in real life. I gasped, my fingers flying up to grip the forearm pressed firm against my collarbone, trying to ground myself as his cock dragged inside me over and over, the pressure making my toes curl. "Rome-- a-ah, I--" There wasn't much I could do with my body pressed up against him like this, with one big, strong hand around my throat keeping me flush to his chest, so I allowed myself to succumb to the pleasure of it all.

Then, Roman's fangs grazed that fragile tendon at the base of my neck, and I could feel the restraint in him fraying-- so thin, so threadbare, that it was a miracle he hadn't already sunk his sharp teeth into me. "I'll rip their goddamn hearts out," he snarled against my skin. "I'll tear the world apart, limb by limb-- anyone that tries-- to hurt you."

His possessiveness wasn't sweet; it was brutal, like I was being fucked by an instinctual animal. Of course. I was getting fucked by a upir-- what did I expect? "Love you," was all I managed to say, letting my head rest against him, feeling my body buzz from the unrelenting circles around my aching clit.

At that, Roman pushed his hips harder, dragging guttural moans from my throat that I had never emitted before. "Say it," he demanded, the fingers on my throat twitching like he wanted to squeeze and kiss me in the same breath. "Say you're mine. Say it, or I swear to God-- I'll fuck it out of you, ngh--"

My breath hitched; I tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken, desperate sound, too wrecked to be a word. Roman groaned against my skin, savage and triumphant, like he knew exactly where he had me-- it was unlike him to be so... rough?

Upir, upir, upir.

... But not a scary one.

"Yours," I breathed. "Yours."

Roman's big, protective arm wrapped around me like a hug from behind, and he let out a quiet moan into my neck, careful not to be so loud, in typical male fashion. In real life, he knew I loved to hear him. He knew, he knew-- knew what it did to me to hear him wrecked by the sensations. I wanted to go back to that, wanted the real Roman to come to me so, so bad, to kiss my neck without me fearing he'd pierce it.

And then, as if he had heard me; "I'm full tonight," he murmured, almost as though he was comforting me. "Wake up, now."

My breath caught. "What?"

"Come back to me. Wake up and tell me that," Roman pressed a soft, reverent kiss to my neck, slowing down his thrusts, his motions around my clit-- "Wake up and tell me you're mine."

Something in me cracked; with a loud, all-taking sob, I awoke.

I sat upright fast, sheets tangled around my legs, sweat cooling over my skin in clammy patches, and I immediately reached for my neck.

There was nothing there, of course. No bite marks, no bruises. My fingers skimmed the soft skin just below my jaw where Roman's hand had been, half-expecting to feel the echo of his palm still stamped across my pulse, a reminder of my beating heart. It was stupid, it was impossible, and yet the ghost of him lingered-- the warmth, pressure, that trembling, protective hunger he'd held me with. God.

I let out a low, broken sound and rubbed the side of my neck harder, trying to shake the feeling. I swallowed and finally let my eyes adjust to the dark in my room, realizing I couldn't see anything. Scooting toward my window with a groan, I pulled my curtains apart just a smidge to allow some moonlight to shine in-- and that was when I realized my window was open.

My breath caught in my throat as I remembered this morning.

The footprints. The shadow. The park. The new death.

My whole body went cold-- there was no sound, not even the hum of my fan, not the rustle of the wind outside. Just the paralyzing quiet of something unnatural in the room with me, something that shouldn't be there, something that had no reason to exist outside the dream I had just left.

Slowly, I peeled my fingers off the curtain and twisted on the bed. First my shoulders, then my spine, reluctant as ever as my eyes dragged across the room in pieces, shapes blooming out of the dark one at a time; my desk, the corner of my bookshelf, the faint glint of light catching the edge of my mirror--

-- and then I saw it.

Him.

Roman.

Sat in the same chair as this morning, his body was relaxed in that obscene, deliberate way villains are when they know they've already won-- elbows balanced on the armrests like he had been waiting hours. He tilted his head the barest inch, studying me like someone with fangs might study a wound before biting deeper. The moonlight caught the angle of his cheekbones, the unholy stillness of his jaw, and his green eyes, glowing, sharp, and awake, like lights flipping on in the dark, immediately locked onto mine with predator clarity. No blinking. No hiding. He was here, and he was making himself known, this time.

It was as though he had been posted here to guard me.

Still, that didn't startle me any less. What did, was what I noticed he was holding.

Two small glass vials swung lazily between his fingers, catching the light like tiny haunted ornaments. One filled with his blood. One with mine.

With a loud hitch of my breath, I pulled my sheets over my body, my blood running cold with the shock. "Fuck!" I yelped, my eyes welling with tears-- that always happened when I got properly scared. I lowered my voice, careful not to wake my parents, hissing; "Roman, what the fuck?!"

I saw the slight rise of his chest, heard the soft creak of the chair beneath his weight. And then, slowly, too slowly, Roman's fingers unlinked, pulling the vials into the palm of his hand. "Must've been quite the dream," he pondered out loud, cocking his head again, that same quiet, morbid interest in his face as he watched the vials. "You were practically humping your sheets."

"And you've just-- you've been watching me?" Horror washed over me, culminating in yet another aggressive hiss; "How long have you been here, you perv?!"

"Long enough," Roman scanned me, brows drawing together as he saw how I was clutching my sheets over my body. He looked like he couldn't piece together why I was hiding from him; he had already seen everything he could've possibly seen before, right? But then, he saw it. "Oh, so that's where that went?" he said.

I hadn't caught up, still shifting in my bed, trying to still my breath from the scare. "What went?"

"My t-shirt," Roman mumbled, pointing to the big, white Levi's tee I was wearing with the same hand that held the vials. "When did you manage?"

"That's not important!" I hissed, letting the duvets drop, yet my fingers remained clutched around the fabric as though it might save me. "How did you find the vials? Why are you in my room?!"

With a shrug and a sigh, Roman spread out in the chair as he avoided my first question. "Just... making sure you're alright,"

"What?"

"I don't like the thought of you all... helpless and sleeping," he mumbled, put on the spot. "Vargulf on the loose, and all."

... Oh.

My fingers twitched around my sheets before I let them go, folding my legs and rubbing my eyes. There was something quiet and reserved about Roman's tone, yet something so painfully real-- he hadn't allowed himself to get to this level of depth with me since we broke up. "I'm fine, Rome," I tried, the nickname slipping past my lips before I could stop myself. "But you can't just... show up like this. How long have you been sitting here?"

Roman shrugged, no longer looking at me. "Not too long,"

"... Rome--"

"Stop calling me that," He fidgeted in the chair, much less composed now. "You're usually asleep by one in the morning, so I came by around one-thirty. Your moaning has kept me up, though."

"... Usually?"

Roman didn't answer that-- not right away.

Instead, he turned his face toward the window like he was studying the moonlight, or refusing to meet my eyes. His fingers closed around the vials, protecting them, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher; "I found out who it was,"

That stopped me cold. "Was it Letha?"

"No...?" Roman mumbled, shooting me a sideways glance.

"Okay, good,"

"... Why?"

"Because I told her this morning that I wished it had been her," The confession was a lot more vulnerable than I had thought it would sound out loud. "That night Brooke died. And I just wouldn't want to actually jinx anyone, that's all."

Roman clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth; "Right..." he started, nodding slowly to himself before his gaze darted back to the vials, pressing them together until they made a clinking noise. "No, it was Jasmine."

My breath caught in my throat, and I shifted in my bed, feeling my head throb. "Fuck," I breathed. "I hated that bitch."

"I know," Roman didn't blink, didn't move. "I hated her too, for what she did to you. Remember how she smashed your phone? Cut up your hands with those shards?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Your pretty, little hands..." he echoed, lost in thought as he watched the blood inside the vials move from side to side. "If anything, I might've been the one to jinx her. I wanted her dead. I think I even tried to kill her, in my own way."

I inhaled deeply; "I know,"

Finally, Roman's green eyes darted up to meet mine. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the vials still glinting in one hand, and his hair fell forward a little, casting shadows across his face. "You know?"

"Yeah, I know," I mumbled. "I remember watching you in the hallway telling her something, and then when you left, she started slamming her head into her locker. She bled a lot. She got a concussion. It's a bit blurry, but I know that was you. It took me a while, but... yeah."

Roman blinked, unsure how to react. Tongue-tied, he could only swallow. "You must've--" He cleared his throat, avoiding my eyes before continuing; "You must've been scared when you figured it out."

Well...

"Honestly, Roman?" With a sigh, I scooted forward on the bed to get closer to him. "Now that Letha isn't telling me fake crap in my ear about how dangerous you supposedly are, I find it kind of hot. It was kind of sweet to figure out that you were... seeking revenge for my sake. Is that sick of me?"

Roman let out the faintest snort, more a breath than a laugh, but there was something like relief in it, like he'd been holding his breath without knowing. "Definitely," he muttered, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Sick and twisted."

I smiled, small and crooked; "Takes one to know one,"

His eyes flicked up again, slower this time, like he was studying me instead of just glancing. "Oh, what's this? You're not scared of the big, bag upir?"

I tilted my head, giving him a look he knew too well. "You know I love you to death,"

"Not to death," Roman corrected, his jaw ticking. "You're not dying. Not on my watch." With that, he put the vials down on the table next to him, following them with his eyes. Something told me that the thought of me dying made him beyond anxious, and shortly after, his right leg gave in to a bounce.

A chill settled over the room like fog as I let out a quiet sorry. My eyes flicked to the open window, then back to Roman's silhouette in the dark. "Well..." I started, shivering in the cold leaking in. "It's a shame about Jasmine, although she was a bitch. Did you hear anything about it over the intercom?"

Roman shrugged, disassociating; "It's the exact same situation as Brooke. Torn up, mangled, but just that Jasmine had one leg intact,"

With that image in mind, I gagged, clasping a hand over my mouth as I looked away. That was vile, that was horrid. It's an odd thing for someone you know to die, no matter who it is. And for it to be so brutal? No, that was gnarly. "Poor girl," I breathed, shuddering.

Roman watched me react, confused that it was hitting me like this; something told me that he was so deep in this manic state that he didn't think too clearly about how gruesome the details were, and how someone else might react to it. "Do you... perhaps know anyone that was targeted by these girls?" he eventually asked. "Because so far, the vargulf has only killed cheerleaders. You used to be a part of Letha's gang, so... do you remember anyone that could've hated both Brooke and Jasmine?"

Oh. I had suppressed this part of my past. "There were a few girls, yeah," I mumbled. "I don't remember any specific names, though, so I'll have to dig a bit and come back to you on that one. But could the vargulf be a girl? Is that possible?"

"I really hope so,"

"... Why?"

Roman swallowed, rubbing his palm down his thigh to alleviate his anxiety. "That's for another time," he mumbled. "I've kept you up for long enough."

I blinked, surprised by the abrupt shift in him, and the way his tone closed off again like a door quietly latching shut. "You don't have to go," I tried, quicker than I meant to. My voice was soft, too soft, and even I heard the thread of something whiny in it. "It's late. You're already here."

Roman got up, rising to his full height. He didn't meet my eyes this time. "That's exactly why I should go," he muttered, brushing his hair back with one hand, balling up the other. "This, whatever this is, gets confusing whenever I stay too long."

My throat tightened-- I stayed on the bed, sitting up straighter, fighting the instinct to reach out and stop him physically. Then, it came flowing out of me before I could stop it; "How long do you usually stay, then?"

Roman froze, turning slightly, his silhouette outlined in the moonlight that streamed through the window. "What?"

"When you watch me sleep," I breathed, feeling my heart thudding against my ribs. "That's why you didn't come over last night, right? When I called you at three in the morning?" The more I thought it out loud, the more my heart abused my inner linings, and my next words came with a whisper; "Because you had already been here at one thirty?"

Roman didn't move, didn't breathe. His eyes were wide, too wide. Not with anger, not with fear-- just guilt. Guilt, like a kid who had been caught doing something he shouldn't, doing something he swore he wouldn't. "You're too smart for your own good," he mumbled.

"And you've worried yourself sick," I said. "You don't have to sit here and watch me to make sure I'm alright. I'd rather you slept."

"I just-- I hate this," Roman hissed, turning away to gaze at the open window, and my curtains flowing away from it with soft motions. "I hate that you had to go and trust Letha instead of me. I hate that I'm so mad at you, because... this timing is awful. I'd rather we were okay, so I could keep you safe without this being so fucking complicated."

"You have all the right in the world to be mad at me, Roman,"

"I don't want to be,"

"But you are,"

"I am," he echoed, and the way it left his mouth felt like it had taken something from him, like saying it out loud stole air he couldn't afford to lose. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a single, restless step toward the window. "Don't be sympathetic," he chanted, mostly to himself. "Hate me too. Come on, now."

My heart ached at the sight of him; "I could never hate you,"

"Well, I could definitely hate you," Roman snapped his head toward me then, eyes rimmed in moonlight, green irises glinting sharp, glossy, and angry. "You told me that night that you had thrown out my fucking vial, and I spent three hours--" A heave. A pointed finger my way, wavering. "I didn't know what to do with myself that night you found out about me, so I spent three hours walking back and forth to school along the highway, just in case you had thrown it out of your window on your way home. Three. Hours!"

Three hours.

Alone.

On the highway.

"Rome," I tried, but it was a breath, not a word.

"I wish you hadn't called last night," he breathed. "I wish I didn't know."

My throat burned. My eyes were hot. The tears didn't fall with ceremony-- they just slipped out, one after the other, down the slope of my cheeks, falling straight from the wound he'd opened and didn't know how to close.

Wake up and tell me you're mine.

"I'm so sorry," Wake up and tell me you're mine. "I hid it because the blood was affecting you," Wake up and tell me you're mine. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I wouldn't do that to you on purpose," Wake up and tell me you're mine. "I love you. I'm yours. And you are free to do whatever you want with that information. Discard it, tear it up, forget it... You don't ever have to forgive me. No one is forcing you to do that. But you need to give it back to me."

Roman turned his face halfway, enough that the downturned line of his mouth was visible. It looked wrong, strained, haunted, like it quivered to sob and kiss me all at once. "What?"

I held out my hand; I saw what he was clutching in his, what he thought he had gotten away with. "I'll take care of it," I breathed. "Give me the vial."

Roman didn't move right away. His head dipped slightly, chin angling toward his chest like he had just taken a blow; not a hard one, but the kind that makes you sit with yourself for a second. His shoulders sank, and for a moment, he just stood there like he was holding onto one last shred of resistance.

Then, he huffed. A small, tired sound, not angry, just... disappointed. The moonlight caught the edge of his face, and when he finally looked at me, I saw it clearly; he hated how well I saw through him.

"Oh well," Roman muttered, opening his palm and holding the vial of my blood up by the chain, the glass swinging faintly between us; "So much for subtlety." He stepped closer and dropped it into my hand with a faint clink of metal against skin. "Happy, now?"

I sighed, my fingers curling around the vial. "You gave it a shot, Robin Hood,"

"Oh, I wasn't planning on giving that to the poor," Roman mumbled, watching as I put it away on my nightstand. "Was gonna wear it while jacking off to French postcards of your mother."

Horrified, I could only gasp. "What the fuck?!" Oh, if looks could kill, I'd have a dead upir on my floor. I grabbed my pillow, throwing it at Roman in hopes of muting that damn inappropriate smirk of his.

With ease, he caught the pillow against his chest with a lazy arm and didn't bother to throw it back. His smirk faltered before it ever really settled, like he knew it was a low blow, like he knew he wanted me to laugh, but didn't have it in him to be funny.

"I'm sorry," Roman said, barely beneath his breath.

I didn't answer-- I didn't know how. I just watched him, watched the way his eyes dropped to my nightstand, like the vial still had gravity over him even now that it was gone from his palm, wondering whether he'd try to have a go at stealing it again. "Why do you want it back so bad...?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Is it the scent?"

Roman's jaw ticked. A muscle flexed in his cheek, like he wanted to argue, but didn't have the energy to lie. His green eyes didn't leave the vial while he spoke; "You have a very particular one, yeah,"

"Oh...?"

Roman looked over at me then, finally, and his eyes were quieter than I expected. No fire-- just that low-burning thing that lived beneath it. After a moment, he took a step back. Then another.

He turned toward the window, brushing the curtain back with a hand that lingered just a second too long. "I can't--" He stopped. Corrected. Glanced at me with that torn look that would haunt me for days, and finally spoke;

"You smell like hope."

Before I could answer, before I could stop him, Roman was already lifting himself over the ledge, already halfway out, the night air catching in his hair. My hands caught the duvets, pulling at them as my words choked me, halfway to a cry.

The room felt colder the second he was gone, like something had been sucked out of it, of me, and left nothing but the echo of where he had previously stood. The window, still open, let the wind crawl over the floorboards. It whispered against the curtains like it was mocking me, and I wanted it all to go away, to stop, to fuck off to where it came from.

With a lone stream of tears rolling down my cheek, I got up, feeling like my whole body was made of cement as I fetched my pillow. Heavy as stone, I crawled back into bed, my ribs shaking with my building sobs, and I eventually let my body give in to the urge to give up. Pressing my face into my pillow, I ached, I cried, and soon it was warm with my breath; if only it had been warm with the body of the man I loved.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Roman. Stupid fucking bastard, watching me sleep, stealing my stuff-- oh, how I loved him. How I loved him, like my lungs loved air. How I loved him, like my veins loved blood. Stupid, beautiful, violent, cursed Roman. Was he gone for good? Would he never be mine again? Was this how this would be from now on?

Then...soft.

So soft I almost imagined it; the faintest scuff against the floorboards. Not wind. Not night. Something human, something deliberate.

I stopped breathing.

Turned.

He was here.

Framed in the moonlight again, half-shadow, half-boy. One foot in the room, the other still on the sill, like he hadn't made up his mind even now. His chest was rising like he had run back to me.

Roman didn't speak.

His eyes flicked over me; first the curve of my knees drawn up under the blanket, then the way I was blinking too fast, too wet. And then he just... stepped down into the room, slowly, like something in him might break if he moved too quickly.

I sat up a little, the blanket still clutched like armour. I was afraid to speak, afraid to push him away, afraid to say the wrong thing and make him run. Blinking through the tears, I felt my heart thrumming with nail-biting tension. "I-- I thought you left," I whispered, voice hoarse.

"I did," Roman breathed.

Fuck.

Then, he moved.

Not a lunge, not violent, just sudden. I didn't even see the decision happen, didn't see the switch; it must've happened outside. One second, he was standing in the quiet, and the next--

Roman's knees dug into the soft fabric as my back landed against the mattress, and his broad shoulders caged me in as he hovered on top of me, staring down at me with that look I knew too well; the one he had when he couldn't stop himself anymore, when he couldn't contain the urge to have me.

And just as I remembered it, he lowered himself just enough for the tip of his nose to nudge mine, and I let out a shaky sigh against his lips; this was my Roman. This was how I remembered him. This was us. This was the ritual. This was sacred.

Roman didn't kiss me right away; he hovered close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the trembling restraint in his body. His hair fell forward, a dark curtain that brushed my cheek, and his breath was warm against my mouth, shallow, like he was afraid to exhale.

My fingers slipped into his hair, pulled him closer without thinking, scared he might leave. His weight came down gently, careful not to crush me, and I felt his hand slip behind my neck like he needed to keep me tethered, like I might vanish too.

Then, gently, so gently, it happened; Roman's lips met mine. He kissed me like every shape and angle of my mouth was familiar and holy-- and God, he was soft. His lips were plush, slow-moving, barely parted; they pressed, then hovered, then pressed again, tentative like a first time, and yet sure like he had done this a thousand times before.

My breath hitched.

He smelled like wind and night, but his skin was warm, so warm, and when his hand found the side of my face, I leaned into it instinctively, like I had been built for that palm. The pad of his thumb grazed the corner of my jaw, and his mouth, still on mine, shifted just slightly, tilted, fit better, knew better. Roman knew how to kiss me-- oh, how he knew.

The way he moved wasn’t greedy, but reverent, and something in it was so heartbreakingly familiar, like curling into your own bedsheets after months away, like exhaling into the collar of your favourite shirt; this was him. This was my Roman.

Wake up and tell me you're mine.

But then I felt it; the shift. The subtle tightening in his shoulders, the way his hand softened its grip on my face, like he was already letting go, and Roman sighed against my lips, just barely-- it was the kind of sound you make when something inside you caves.

Slowly, he pulled back. My hands in his hair melted, unsure whether to hold on or let him slip away once again, and I felt my eyes well with tears all over again.

Roman's green eyes opened, searching mine in the dark, and for a moment, I thought he might lean in again-- but he didn’t. His hand slid from my face, down my jaw, briefly brushed my shoulder, and then, he rose, careful and reluctant, as if detaching from me hurt; as if my body had become part of his, and leaving it would leave a mark.

"No more detours," Roman breathed. I couldn't see him in the darkness, couldn't read him, and my heart raced as he continued; "I could get a PI on you at any moment, so you better fucking behave. I want you safe. I need you safe."

Sniffling, I sat up, watching him slide off my bed. "Just don't do anything stupid," I breathed. "Promise me that you won't."

Roman paused at the window, one hand curling around the frame. The wind ruffled his shirt, but he stood still, like something in him didn’t want to leave.

He glanced back at me over his shoulder, a shadow cut in moonlight. His mouth tilted-- not a smile, not a smirk.

And then, Roman slipped out into the night without a promise, without a trace.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The next day at school was more somber than the other-- I was getting used to this.

A second girl had been killed within a week, and the atmosphere was filled to the brim with scared kids, and ignorant assholes making jokes about brutal murders.

"Who's gonna make the podcast?" Peter huffed, squinting against the lighter’s flare-- he was the prime example of said assholes. "We could get a lot of money if we monetized this. It would be, like, live updates on a live case! Imagine the cash."

I shot him a glare as I took the cigarette from his fingers. “You’re disgusting,"

Why had I said yes to yet another meeting of the dirty mistress club?

“Disgusting and broke,” Peter said, unbothered. He leaned back against the brick wall behind the gym, his shirt collar up against the chill, eyes flicking toward the empty field beyond the fence. “Anyway, I wouldn’t be the host. You’ve got the voice for it. You could narrate murder like you’re reading bedtime stories.”

"Oh, fuck off,"

"Or, if you read it like it's a really dirty story, I bet we could get Roman to fund it! Bet he'd love to hear you moaning out the details of some gory murder,"

"Fuck off!" I smacked Peter's arm, grimacing as he laughed. "Roman isn't turned on by this bullshit!"

"He isn't...?" Peter reached for the cigarette we were sharing before I was ready to give it away, and he took a protective step back just in case I were to reach for it again. "I'd have thought he was walking around with a constant boner. Girls he's been with getting bloodied? Come on, now. Bet your upir is enjoying this to some extent."

I shivered; I had forgotten that Roman had screwed both Brooke and Jasmine. Why was the love of my life such a manwhore? "He's not enjoying it. He's worried sick," I mumbled, staring longingly at the cigarette. "He was in my room last night."

Peter's thick eyebrows jumped, his grin souring as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “Oh, he was, huh?”

I gave him a look; “Don’t,”

“I’m not saying anything,” he said, raising both hands like he was innocent. “I’m just saying if he were in my room the night a second girl turned up dead, I might be checking for fang marks in the morning.”

“Roman didn’t bite me, Peter," Only in my damn dreams. "He told me he thinks the vargulf is a girl. He was very adamant that he hoped it was, and... honestly? I'm convinced this thing is real, at this point."

Peter shifted beside me, suddenly quiet. His mouth opened like he had something to say, but he just nodded, sucking down another drag with slightly more force than usual. The humor had drained from his face, leaving behind something tight in his jaw, something almost... guilty.

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he huffed. The lie was so thin it practically floated. “Just... girl vargulf, huh? That’s new. Makes sense, though. Girls are fucking crazy.”

I didn’t laugh-- neither did he.

For a second, all I could hear was the wind scraping dry leaves along the pavement and the faint drone of morning announcements spilling out from the cracked gym window. Then, I squinted at Peter, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “You looked really fucked up yesterday. I mean, you always look a little fucked up, but... you were being really weird when I saw you in the hallway yesterday,”

Peter snorted, but it didn’t have any bite. “We’re smoking behind a high school during a murder investigation. Everyone’s being weird,”

"What happened, though?" I asked. "Why were you looking for Letha?"

"I was worried," he bit back. "Someone was dead, and I was looking for my girl."

"You guys aren't together anymore. She's not your girl,"

"Neither are you and Roman, yet he's breaking into your room and hunting a wolf for you," Peter finally handed me the cigarette, squaring me up. "Letha's always gonna be my girl, just like you're always gonna be his."

The lit cigarette between my fingers were somehow symbolic of how Peter's words lit something in my stomach. Roman's girl. After how he had kissed me last night, it seemed he agreed. With a small smile rising across my lips, I inhaled a drag before holding the cigarette out for Peter to take, passing it over.

But when he didn't take it from me, I glanced up at him, brows drawn together.

My blood ran cold; Peter looked like he had seen a ghost. His eyes had gone wide, locked on something just past my shoulder. I turned slowly, like I already knew what I’d find, and there he was;

Roman.

This was becoming a deja vu.

He stood at the edge of the gym wall like he had materialized from the shadows, his shirt billowing in the morning wind, eyes locked on Peter with a look I had never seen before. He held his own cigarette, unlit, probably coming here to smoke too. There was no snark in his green eyes, no jealousy, no wounded boyish glower-- just murderous rage.

Roman scoured the scene before him; his on-and-off girlfriend with his ex-best friend, sharing a cigarette. This was bad. This was so bad.

Before I could speak, before Peter could even register what was happening, Roman was moving, storming toward us like a force of nature. The cigarette slipped from my fingers and hit the pavement with a hiss, and Peter turned just in time for Roman to grab a fistful of his collar and slam him back against the brick wall. The thud was brutal, a sick crack of spine and mortar, and I flinched, letting out a sound between a squeak and a yelp; "Roman!--"

"Oh, you piece of shit!" he yelled, green eyes glowing with fury.

“What the fuck, dude?!--” Peter started, but Roman shoved him harder.

“Shut up!"

Roman's hand was twisted in Peter’s collar so tightly that the fabric was stretching at the seams, pressing him into the bricks like he might put his old friend through the wall.

“Roman, stop it!” I shouted again, stepping forward instinctively. "This is not what it looks like!"

He didn’t look at me-- not even a flick of his eyes. He was locked on Peter, jaw clenched, pupils blown wide, and for a second, I thought I saw his lips twitch like he was fighting the urge to bare his teeth. "We had a deal!" Roman yelled. "You and your filthy fucking paws were going to leave us alone! What the fuck have you done, man?!"

Peter tried to speak, but Roman shoved him again, and this time Peter’s head knocked the wall. “No, stop it!” I shouted again, panic creeping into my voice. "We were just smoking, it's not what!--"

"Fuck you, I haven't done anything!" Peter spat, launching at Roman's hands; neither of them were hearing me. His brown eyes were wild now, not just angry-- scared. "Are you fucking serious right now?! Who do you think I am?--"

"I don't know you anymore!" Roman shouted, tightening his grip around the collar. "You are not my business, I don't give a flying fuck about what you do, but this has gone too far!"

Peter twisted, snarling; "What are you accusing me of?!--"

"Why are you turning against the moon?!" Roman spat.

My stomach turned. What?

"You said you never!--"

“Yeah, I don’t!” Peter shouted, his voice cracking. “I never fucking do that, are you out of your mind?! Jesus, are you listening to yourself?”

Roman shoved him again, pinning him like prey. "All the girls that are going against Letha right now are dying one by one, and you smell like blood! You think I don't know what a rabid animal smells like?!"

My head felt like it was about to blow. What was he saying? Rabid animal? Blood? The moon? "What is going on?" I begged, taking a step closer to grip Roman's arm, hoping it would yank him back to his senses.

At that, Peter's big, brown eyes shot toward mine, silently telling me to back off. Who was I to go up against an angry upir? With my breath stuck in my chest, I backed off, watching the crackling intensity shooting back and forth between them.

Peter swallowed hard, his hands clenched into fists over Roman's grip on his collar. "Watch it, now," he hissed. "You really think I have that in me?"

Roman’s grip tightened, and I could hear the faint creak of stretched fabric. "You're the only one with a tail to tuck between your legs," he spat. "I don't know any other werewolves in town."

I stared between them, something sharp catching in my chest.

For the first time, I wasn’t sure who I should be afraid of.

(a/n: omg this is getting juicy, FINALLLLYYYY!!! thank you if you've read this far!!<33)

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syrma-sensei · 2 years ago

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Pairing: Soldier Boy/ben x Wife!reader.

Summary: Ben's discovering new life affairs while expecting his first baby.

Rating: Fluff.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Bens's pov, very soft ben, implied pregnant sex, praising, horny reader, implied smut, antiquated mentality....

Soldier Boy guzzled down his third raw drink before he decided to call it a day and go home. He took off his supe gear and changed into more casual clothes in the dressing room in his quarters at Vought's tower after he took a quick shower. He shook his head with a sneer when he tugged the shirt above his head, remembering her telling him —bossing him— that he wasn't to come home stinking with blood and cigars and whiskey and Vought. Soldier Boy didn't take shit from anyone, but he found himself helpless against her wishes—orders. He was grinning though, amusedly so. Sometimes he wondered where his obedient and good wife went. He liked that version of her, nonetheless.

Though he liked to think that his baby was igniting her wild spirit, his pretty wife seemed to have gotten quite sensitive to strong scents, and her stomach grew weak ever since he got her pregnant with their first child four months ago. It was chiselled in his mind; the memory of her hoping onto his chest with happy shrieks when he returned from work affirming the news.

He had been sensing the baby's presence for a week thanks to his superhuman senses before that, and he'd told her that night to go check on it with a doctor. They were eagerly trying to have a baby so it was of no surprise, but it still pulled a huge smile on his lips and made pride swell in his chest. He was going to be a father in nine months. The thing he wanted to be the most.

But as it turned out, pregnancy wasn't as magical as his mind fantasised to be. It wasn't all fuzzy and beautiful like he imagined. He cursed the damn commercials for that. Fucking marketing.

The first couple of months were rough. Morning sickness, vomiting, ungodly cravings at ungodly hours, horrendous mood swings, and worst of all; minimum intimacy. She'd become fragile unlike her nature. And she got overly concerned that he might hurt the baby whenever he suggested penetrative sex. Orals were, certainly, out of the equation. It was both frustrating and maddening to say the least. He was a fucking man and had needs. The best he could get was quick and not so enthusiastic handies from time to time when she could provide. Long story short, he was growing blue balls from the ordeal. Fuck, he used to make fun of men who couldn't get laid properly. The irony had such an impact on his ego; his pride of being a fucking man.

It was not easy for someone like him to stay faithful to his partner. He rarely recognised commitment before he met her, and being surrounded by blatant temptations all the time didn't make things any better. He could have anyone at any time, ladies would eagerly kneel and suck him off without a question if he wanted them to. But he'd be damned if he wasn't in charge of his own self. He'd be damned if he dared to break her heart. He'd be damned if he ruined his family, a family he never thought he'd ever have, for such vagaries.

In time, however, pregnancy did prove itself to be the most beautiful of all affairs. Surprisingly so. Whenever he spooned her up hugging her from behind, he found odd tranquillity of hearing hers and the babe's rhythmical heartbeats, or when he caressed her bumping tummy, feeling his child's life forming inside of her body, a creature they both made, lack of sex seemed to be durable and trivial at some point. Something he himself wouldn't believe before. But here he was. His disgust and appal from what pregnancy entailed gradually dissipated and were replaced with zeal and thrill. And most certainly, he enjoyed the changes of her body the most. Ben just loved the way her boobs were swelling up with milk, and the way her stomach was flourishing with his child. Boob massage was something he greatly took pleasure in. Kneading her sore breasts while hearing her moans of relief. He'd come to learn that intimacy could be found in many other things than sex.

Ben noticed he'd come to hating every moment he spent away from them. His temper got much worse, his teammates observed. And he became more aggressive than he already was when fighting crime. The happiest moment of his day was when he dropped the shield and took the helmet off to head home, where his beautiful wife would be eagerly waiting to have dinner with him even though most of the nights he'd come home and find her dozing off on the couch where she'd been waiting for him. He'd carry her to their bedroom and have dinner by himself — he skipped that very often — then slip right behind her on the bed holding her close to his body. The concept of coming back home to someone was so much alluring to him. He felt his life was complete. Real.

Ben arrived at their penthouse, assuming he'd find her soundly sleeping while she stayed awaiting him. He didn't announce his return loudly as he used to do before the pregnancy. He didn't want to wake her up. But much to his surprise — and delight, Ben found the place dimly lit with scented candles, sensuous silence prevailing within the air.

Ben's eyes glimmered, and an instant wolfish grin slipped into his lips when his eyes landed on his wife's figure as she clambered down the stairs. A thin, short gown with a raunchy red colour hugged her frame, its fabric was so thin that he could see her skin glowing through the red. Her breasts were full, putting her cleavage on more display. Whereas the bump of her belly was deliciously visible. Her hair was neatly styled and spruced up and her pretty face was elegantly painted with make-up.

“Welcome home, Ben,” She warbled with a smile, eyes filled with sultry desire as she strolled down to him. He was dazzled by her appearance, he was practically eating her with his eyes. Fuck, pregnancy did make her much prettier. “Hope you didn't have dinner yet 'cause I made you something special tonight.”

Her palm grazed his stubbled cheek. Ben leaned into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, a grin gracing his mouth. “'Course I didn't. Why the fuck would I eat outside when I have a capable wife like you at home?”

She giggled gleefully at his statement as he pulled her flush against his body. He eyed her with a hazed gaze. Her mouth was luring him in, deliciously so. He liked that lipstick shade on her lips so much. He couldn't but to give in to the utter temptation. Ben tilted his head down and captured them in a burning kiss. An instant moan escaped her throat as his mouth passionately pressed to hers. Her arms encircled his neck, hands combing through his brown hair. He synced their heads for a better angle, and deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her warm mouth. His hands brushed her sides then her ass.

He broke the kiss momentarily and she gasped vehemently. He could hear the rapid pace of her heart and the gushing blood through her vein, pooling down in her groin. He crushed her lips again, hands travelling up to remove the dress but she squealed and pulled back.

“Benjamin, dinner's gonna get cold!” She laughed again when he buried his face in her neck, kissing her skin softly.

“Is that really what you're fucking concerned about now?” He grumbles in a teasing tone.

She giggled, “Should I be concerned about something else—woah!” Ben grabbed her hips and lifted her effortlessly, heading to the living room with her pretty legs around his hips. His lips plundering hers again all the way until they reached the couch where he sat with her straddling his lap. The kiss went wild once they settled comfortably on the couch. His big hands stroked her thighs ardently. They trailed up to her ass giving it a firm squeeze and she moaned in his mouth, plucking the rim of her satin panties. He smirked into the kiss, fingers tracing down to her core. His grin widened when he met her bare cunt.

“Oh, baby,” He rasps when she rolls her hips slowly, pressing her cunt on his clothed cock, “Aren't you a pretty fucking tease?” He tugged at the lip of the crotchless panties, a mischievous grin playing on his mouth.

She guffawed with a coquettish tilt of her head, and his cock twitched in an immediate response. However, the innocent look on her face opposed the tortuous pace of her hips. She was fucking tantalising him with those hips. And he fucking liked it despite the screaming urge growing in his chest to flip her over and fuck her raw. Oh, she did like it rough, the little slut. She liked to be beneath him and beg him to go harder and faster, to yank her hair and make her choke on his dick. She loved how he manhandled her with his superhuman strength despite being only a human, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take great pleasure in it too. Ben's nothing if doesn't live to be in charge. He'd been shocked that a tiny woman like her could handle him as such. But he was quick to remember that she was with his fucking child. He couldn't go rough on her like he used to do even if they both craved it.

She didn't stop her torment as her delicate hands rested on his shoulders for support. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal soaking his crotch and he growled, “Holy fuck, you gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours, or you planning on making me cream my pants?”

Her lips twisted wickedly, “Depends,”

“On fucking what?” He grunted, brows furrowed, puzzled. He was way too hard and drunk by her scent to clearly think or read between her lines, “Baby, you're fucking killing me here.”

“Aw, am I to seal the greatest era of America's history?” She giggled again, “What an honour.”

Then it clicked. The fucking slut. She was tempting him to ravish her. Maybe he should, but again, he worried about her and the child. Because honestly, he wasn't so sure if he could restrain himself if he unbridled that side of his.

Then his mouth splitted in a huge grin, brushing his cheek to hers to grumble in her ear, “The only honour you're gonna get is milking my cock empty in that slutty pussy of yours.” He chuckled triumphantly when he sensed her shivering in delight. Leaning his head backward, he saw her chewing on her lower lip adorably with a cute pinkish red dusting across her face, whereas her eyes were searing with covetousness. Ben pecked her nose and lifted her up again, gently. She trilled a series of choppy laughters and playfully kicked her legs when he carried her to their bedroom.

Needless to say, she took whatever honour he bestowed upon her like a champ.

He was craving a whiff of a cigar. He used to smoke after a good fuck in bed, she'd even share him a couple of drags sometimes. But since it was off the table — temporarily — he focused on and enjoyed her fingers running on his chest.

Fuck, pregnant sex did feel amazing. He gotta admit. He did hear from here and there that a woman with child, at some point of her pregnancy, would be touched by sudden and high libidinousness. But fuck, didn't that catch him off guard. And fuck, if he didn't enjoy it down to the last minute detail. And dare he say, it was the best sex he ever had. It was perfect; she was perfect.

Never did he think that he'd find home, his real home in a simple elementary school teacher he met on one of his tours throughout the country. A beautiful and smart woman who always kept him on his toes and had him wrapped around her pretty fingers.

Ben smiled and kissed the crown of her head, and slowly, it turned into a trail of kisses down her face. Then he captured her lips, and soon enough, they were engaging in a heated make-out session.

“Ben,” She whispered as she gazed at him, voice a bit hoarse from screaming and crying beneath him for hours.

His hand was rubbing circles on her ass languidly, “What is it, dollface?” He drawls with a thick voice.

“Sorry for not being a good wife for you the last couple of months.” She said meekly, bringing his hands to cradle them in hers, while he just frowned at her words, “They were tough times on me, on us.” She sighed, pressing light kisses on his rough hands, “But everything's gonna be set right again, I promise.”

Ben's frown only got deeper when he noticed the lick of fear and desperation in her eyes and voice. Fuck, she was scared shitless. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His wife was scared if he was screwing around on her because of her lack of attention due to the pregnancy, for she used to shower him with doting and devotion as a good wife did. Fuck, did he, by any mean, do anything wrong to arise such qualms in her? He certainly did not. Then he fucking remembered that nasty reputation of his that proceeded him.

Fuck, gotta reassure her and chill her the fuck down. He can't have her in such a position. He can't have his home in such a precarious, dark place. Not after what the two of them had done to build what they had up. He wouldn't allow it.

“Hey,” He passed rough-padded thumbs under the lines of her eyes, palms caressing her cheeks, “Nothing went fucking wrong to set back right, sweetheart,” Then he gave her belly tender strokes, “You're an amazing wife,”

She was; everyday she woke up, five in the morning, to prepare him a delicious-ass breakfast. She took it upon herself to be his barber and shaved his beard almost everyday and trimmed his hair every now and then. She was patient when he wasn't. She embraced him when he was practically a walking ticking bomb. She patched him up — when needed — at night when he'd return to her roughed up from fighting crimes. She soothed him down when frustrated and angry. She took his bad temper and relieved it thoroughly. She was everything. She was home.

Ben's finger flicked her nose playfully, “As I'm fucking sure yer gonna be an amazing hot momma,”

Ah, here it was, the sheepish smile that reached her eyes. He'd fucking cherish it forever.

He kissed her forehead, “You're perfect; my perfect wife, my perfect home.”

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