#[ does this while watching hemlock grove... ]

[delicateflowerss]

could you write a fanfic with roman godfrey with the prompt 6 and 14?

AFTER DARK

When you start to have strange nightmares that result in waking up with bruises, you worry something sinister is going on. Could it have anything to do with your charming new next-door neighbor, Roman Godfrey?

Warnings: 18+, DUB-CON, blood drinking, pain kink, blood kink, compulsion, lying, manipulation

Word Count: 4.1k

A high-pitched noise reaches your ears. It sounds distant and through the cloudiness of your mind, you wouldn’t think that it fell from your own lips.

You feel yourself squirm underneath the weight on top of you. The room is too dark for you to see the face of the figure above you. The only light in the room comes from the full moon in the night sky, shining through the window.

You hear another noise as you feel the man roughly thrust into you. Pleasure licks at you like fire, warming your skin. The feeling of the unknown man’s fingers on your thigh is ice cold compared to the searing heat of your skin. His face is turned away from you, his eyes focused on his own movements.

He continues his steady pace and for some reason all you can do is lie there and take it. Your mind only focuses on what you feel.

As he drives into you again, he moves his head to look at you. And through the moonlight, all you can make out are his green eyes.

That is until you drag your eyes further down his face, finding blood staining his lips.

Fear and disgust swirl around in your stomach while your pleasure persists.

Before you can react, you watch his lips curve into a smirk.

You want to scream but instead you awake in a sunlit room.

You look around, finding the familiar surroundings of your bedroom. You sigh as you lie back down, your head hitting the pillow.

It was only a dream.

Usually, you wouldn’t be bothered by a strange erotic nightmare. You would possibly just see it as your subconscious telling yourself that you need to get laid.

But this is the third time in the last couple of weeks that you had the same dream.

And you wish that’s where it stopped being weird.

Somehow every time you have this dream, you wake up with bruises.

Even now, you can feel the tender spots covering your skin. You run your fingers over your wrists and your neck, the places where you normally find them. But you’ve also found them in other places, like on your thighs and breasts.

The spots are sensitive for days, too painful to touch. You don’t think you’ve even completely healed since the last dream.

The first couple times it happened, you chalked it up to coincidence and that the bruises and the nightmares weren’t connected.

But now you’re not so sure.

Before you can think about it for too long, your eyes catch the time on your alarm clock. Your eyes widen before you jump out of bed, hurrying to get ready so you’re not late for work.

You stumble out of your house, unsteadily locking your front door as you try to balance your purse and coffee cup in your other hand.

Once you succeed, you walk to your car. But on your way, you notice your neighbor is also leaving for work.

You can’t help but stare at him, hoping for him to notice you and be the first one to acknowledge the other.

He looks serious, his forehead creased with either stress or annoyance, you can’t really tell. But as he runs a hand through his hair, he sees you. Suddenly, his forehead smooths out and a smile traces his lips.

Your houses aren’t close enough together for you to say anything, so you return the smile and give him a wave.

All he does is wink at you before getting into his car.

It’s enough for you to start feeling warmth in your face.

You find it slightly embarrassing, having a schoolgirl crush on your next-door neighbor.

But ever since he moved in a month ago, you look forward to running into him.

He introduced himself when he moved in, and you’ve spoken to him a couple of times since.

His name is Roman Godfrey, he isn’t new to Hemlock Grove, just needed a new place to live. You somewhat hoped that he had been new to town, so you didn’t feel like the outsider anymore.

You’ve only been in Hemlock Grove for about a year and although the town is small, you still feel like you have to beg people to be a part of their lives.

At least you have Kristen.

She was the first and maybe only real friend you’ve made since you moved. You met her through work since you both are accountants at the bank.

Not the most fun job, but it helps you pay for your nice house.

You turn the faucet on, washing your hands under the running water.

Somehow you weren’t late to work but you’ve been busy since you got there. Going to the restroom is the first break you’ve had all day.

You hear a toilet flush and heels clicking toward you.

Kristen does the same as you, washing her hands under the warm water.

“I could not get Mrs. Howard off the phone earlier,” she groans.

“I don’t know. I feel kind of bad for her. She’s obviously lonely since her husband died,” you reply, turning the faucet off and grabbing a paper towel.

“Yeah,” she agrees apathetically. “But doesn’t she have a grandkid she can talk to about what litter is best for her cats?”

You just laugh as Kristen dries off her hands.

“We still going out tonight?” she asks, looking at you.

You sigh, thinking about how you agreed last week to go out drinking with her. But with everything going on, you don’t think you’re in the same mood that you were in when you said yes.

Before you can say anything, Kristen has already read your mind.

“Don’t back out on me now,” she says with a disappointed look on her face.

“I know, it’s just-.”

“Just what?” she interrupts. “You don’t want to have fun anymore?” she asks in a slightly joking manner.

You hesitate for a moment before saying, “I have a lot on my mind right now.”

“Drinking usually makes me not have anything on my mind.”

She raises her eyebrows, hoping to have gotten her point across.

You realize that she isn’t going to drop it.

You finally give in, “fine let’s go out.”

“You’ll have fun, I promise,” she says with a smile.

You match her expression until she looks down at her watch, her face falling.

“I should go. I have an appointment in a few minutes.”

She walks toward the bathroom door.

“I’ll see you at eight,” she enthusiastically says before leaving.

You still have a few minutes until your break is up, so you decide to take a moment for yourself.

You look in the mirror and you hope that everyone else doesn’t see how tired you look. You sigh, looking down for a moment before moving your eyes back to the mirror.

A small gasp leaves your mouth as you see a dark figure in the mirror, looming behind you.

You immediately turn around to see who it is, but your wide eyes find an empty bathroom with no one behind you.

You look back to the mirror to still find a wall lined with nothing but tile and a hand dryer.

You can barely hear yourself think over the ear-splitting music playing in the bar. You almost wish you and Kristen went out to a quieter bar where you could actually have a conversation. But as you look over to your friend, you understand that’s not what she wanted to do tonight.

She sways her hips to the music playing and you notice a man starting to approach her. You can’t help but grimace and take a gulp of the cocktail in your hand.

You wanted to have a good time, get your mind off the bizarre things happening to you. But it’s hard when you worry that you’re losing your mind.

When the man who’s been staring at Kristen finally starts talking to her, you wonder if you should just leave. At least you could tell her you tried to have fun.

But when you awkwardly look away from the flirting happening in front of you, your eyes find a familiar figure sitting at the bar.

You see his profile as he downs the rest of his whiskey, setting down the empty glass in front of him.

Before you can look away, Roman turns his head, his eyes finding yours. Your breath catches in your throat when you get caught.

You think he’ll turn away or possibly wave at you. Instead, he just continues to stare at you.

He’s bathed in a blood red light coming from his surroundings and your lips part, confused at the interaction. But for an unknown reason, you can’t look away from him.

There’s something about his gaze that is alluring, like he’s calling to you in some sort of way.

But there’s also something about his green eyes that sends a shiver down your spine, like it triggers some buried repulsion you have for him.

All of a sudden you feel dirty, like he’s undressing you in his mind.

Not able to take the heat of his gaze anymore, you look away, feeling like you’ve broken free from the spell you were under.

After a few moments, you look from the corner of your eye to where he’s sitting. But you’re left confused when you find that he isn’t there.

You scan the bar, searching for him. Unsure if you’re disappointed or relieved, you leave your glass on a nearby table and grab your purse.

You decide you’ll text Kristen that you’ve left since she’s now dancing with the man she met.

You make your way through the crowds of people around you, trying to get to the exit. Until you bump into a tall man in front of you.

When you look up to apologize, the words get stuck in your throat.

“Sorry, you alright?” Roman asks, his brow furrowed with worry.

His large hand finds your arm, fingers gently holding on to you in an effort to show he cares, keeping the two of you close together in the sea of people surrounding you.

Normally, the gesture would give you butterflies but just the slightest touch on the bruises that decorate your wrist is enough to give you pain.

Your face twists up at the feeling and he quickly notices. His slender fingers move away from your wrist.

But he still holds your arm up, looking closely at your skin.

You wish you could’ve pretended it didn’t hurt so you don’t have to deal with his questions.

He lightly swipes his thumb over your wrist, and it still hurts enough for it to be uncomfortable. But he doesn’t notice, completely focused on your bruises.

“How did this happen?” he finally asks.

You shake your head, having no idea how to respond.

You move your arm out of his grasp, surprising him.

“I’m just clumsy. I bump into a lot of things,” you explain, not meeting his gaze. “I bumped into you,” you finish, finally meeting his eyes again.

He doesn’t respond, just looking at you for a moment and you worry that your lie was too obvious.

Then he smiles.

Another moment passes before he speaks.

“Do you come here a lot? This doesn’t seem like your kind of place,” he notes.

“Only when my friend wants me to come.”

“Where is your friend?”

“She met some guy. I think she’s still dancing with him.” You gesture behind you as Roman scans the crowd.

“She ditched you?” he asks, shock tracing his tone.

“Not exactly,” you say, trying to defend your friend. “I wasn’t really in the mood to go out tonight anyway.”

“Really? What were you in the mood for?”

He keeps a straight face even if his question could imply many different things. You laugh, unsure of how to answer that.

“You got a boyfriend you would rather be with?”

His question comes out of nowhere and you’re taken aback.

“No. No boyfriend,” you sheepishly reply, eyes finding the floor.

“Oh,” he says before continuing, “well, I would say that’s too bad. But I think that works out in my favor.”

You finally find his eyes again and you see that he’s staring at you like he was earlier at the bar.

“Why is it in your favor?” you ask, curiosity lighting up your eyes.

He smirks, but only for a second, like he has an inside joke with himself.

“Why don’t you tell me what you would have rather been doing tonight and maybe I can make your dream come true.”

You stare at your computer screen, trying to focus on the words and numbers in front of you but you find it nearly impossible.

All you can think about is how you had another nightmare last night. You woke up with your heart racing, the same scenario that usually plays out happening again. You couldn’t help the tears that ran down your face when you felt more bruises.

You just don’t understand. How is this happening?

But now there’s something else.

Your blood ran cold when you saw the bite marks embedded in your skin. You don’t think you’ve ever noticed something like that before.

You wanted to call in sick to work but you had appointments you couldn’t cancel.

Drowning in your thoughts, you don’t hear the footsteps coming toward you.

“Hey,” calls out Kristen, startling you when you hear her voice.

You can’t help but gasp when you see her at your desk.

She laughs at your reaction.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. You hungover or something?”

“What? No.” You shake your head like you’re offended she would suggest that. “I didn’t drink that much last night.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding unconvinced. “But you had fun, right?”

When you don’t say anything, she continues with a grin on her face, “I saw you leave with that guy.”

You look at her, your brow furrowing at her words.

“What guy? I didn’t leave with a guy last night.” Panic seeps into your voice.

Kristen stands up straighter at the tone of your voice.

“Yes, you did. I saw you.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. It was dark.”

“How do you know it was me leaving with him then?”

“Cause I know what you look like,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Are you being serious right now? Maybe you drank more than you thought.”

You stare at her, taking note of the seriousness on her face. You don’t normally see Kristen with that kind of expression.

“Maybe,” you simply reply, deciding to concede.

She nods and you can tell she’s unsure of what to say.

Before she can say anything else Mr. Smith, your boss, walks by and gives Kristen a glare. Probably because she shouldn’t be at your desk unless it’s work related.

She notices, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“I guess I should go,” she says. “But I’ll talk to you later.”

You can hear the traces of worry in her voice before she walks away.

You can’t tell what is real and what isn’t anymore. You don’t remember talking to any guy last night. You saw Kristen dancing and then left, going home and going to sleep.

You look at your wrist, the bite mark on it is still slightly red.

Maybe something did happen last night.

As you park in your driveway, you’re not sure if you’re happy to be home or if you’re already dreading the moment your head hits the pillow, not knowing what’s going to happen to you.

You’re not sure if being alone in your empty house is what’s going to make you feel safe.

You fumble with your keys, trying to find the one that goes to your house. But they end up slipping from your fingers, falling onto the ground.

As you go to pick them up, someone else’s hand reaches for them at the same time, grabbing them before you.

When you stand upright, you find your neighbor, Roman, holding your keys out for you.

“Thanks,” you say, not being able to meet his eyes as you grab your keys from him, your fingers brushing against his.

“It’s no problem,” he says, his hand smoothing out the brown strands of hair on his head. “How have you been? You seem…”

He trails off, looking you up and down, eyes slightly squinted.

You pull your jacket tighter around you, a chill breeze cutting right through you.

You’re not sure what to say, feeling scrutinized by a man you care about what he thinks of you.

“I’m fine,” you finally answer.

“Good,” is all he says, his eyes settling on yours.

You’ve always found his stare to be…peculiar. A sort of strangeness that hides something darker. But you also find it electrifying.

You part your lips, trying to think of the right words.

“Can I ask you something?”

He just looks at you, waiting for you to continue.

“Did you see me come home last night?”

He thinks for a moment, confusion passing over his face.

“No, I actually wasn’t home last night.”

“Oh,” you say, looking away.

For a split second, you wonder where he could have been. Does he have a girlfriend?

“Why are you asking?”

His brow is furrowed as he waits for your answer.

“It’s nothing. I just…” you hesitantly begin. “So, you didn’t see anyone else’s car here? Maybe this morning.”

“No,” he answers, the same confusion lacing his tone. “What is this about?”

“I think I just drank too much last night. My friend thinks she saw me leave with someone, but I think she must have been mistaken,” you explain. But once you do, you quickly regret everything you just said. “Sorry, this is embarrassing. I shouldn’t have asked you.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” he quickly tries to soothe you. “So, you didn’t leave with anyone?”

You consider telling him the whole truth about everything that’s been going on. But you know that would scare him off and you don’t want to do that.

“No,” you merely say.

Roman slowly nods, taking in what you said.

“So, I’m guessing this means you don’t have a boyfriend?”

You just shake your head as you see a flash of his smile.

“Good. Because I actually came over here to see if you would want to do something tomorrow night.” He phrases it more like a statement instead of a question, like he already knows what your answer is going to be.

You can feel excitement rising in your chest, smiling at his proposition.

“I would love that.” You look at your front door for a second before looking back at him. “Why don’t you come over for dinner?”

He returns your smile.

“That sounds great. I’ll see you at seven,” he says before walking away.

The doorbell rings throughout the house, alarming you to the man who’s standing on your front porch.

You step away from the boiling water on the stove to let him in.

For the last day, you’ve gone crazy trying to make everything perfect for Roman. From what you’re going to cook for dinner to what bra you’re wearing under your dress.

You try to calm your nerves before you open the front door. You don���t want to seem nervous.

But just from the simple greetings and Roman stepping into your house, you’re not sure if you’re going to be able to keep it together.

“I’m still cooking dinner,” you tell him “So, I hope you can wait to eat.”

“I can be patient,” he says, a smirk ghosting his pink lips.

You lead him into the kitchen and offer him a glass of wine. When he offers to pour it for you two, you’re surprised when he knows exactly where the glasses are, without you having to tell him.

But you brush it off as Roman hands you the glass, winking at you.

He keeps the conversation going and it’s like he knows all the right things to say.

Even if it’s easy to talk to Roman, you still feel nervous, worried you’re going to say the wrong thing. You feel like your heart could beat out of your chest.

You begin chopping a zucchini. But with your nerves and trying to focus on two things at once, the knife in your hand slips and crimson starts seeping out of the wound on your finger.

You gasp in pain, holding up your bleeding finger.

As Roman steps toward you, you think he’s going to rush to help you, asking where you keep the first-aid kit. But instead, he just stands there, his eyes stuck on the blood dripping from your finger.

Before you can walk away to start cleaning up your cut, he grabs your hand.

“Roman?”

Before you can do anything, he puts your finger into his mouth, licking the blood away.

All you can do is watch in horror before he takes your finger out of his mouth, licking the remnants off his plump lips.

He keeps a tight hold on your wrist, the pain from your bruises finally registering with you.

His eyes find yours again, like he just realized that you’ve been watching the entire time.

He steps even closer to you, and you try to back away from him. But with his hold on you, it’s difficult.

“I’m kind of glad you hurt yourself,” he starts, eyeing you like a predator would eye its prey. “Now we can skip dinner and get to the real reason why I’m here.”

You stare at him in confusion and shock. You don’t know what to say, still trying to understand what Roman just did.

You back up until your back hits the edge of the counter, a sharp breath being pulled from your lungs.

“You have no idea how special you’ve become to me in the last month,” he says quietly, almost in a whisper. “I can’t risk losing you, so this is how it has to be.”

He moves his thumb up to your cheek, wiping the tear you didn’t even know had fallen.

“You’re too sweet,” he says while he caresses your soft skin.

You let him, staring at him with glassy eyes. A haze covers your mind, making you feel like danger isn’t imminent, and that you like the feeling of Roman’s touch.

He leans in, his plush lips capturing yours.

As he licks inside your mouth, you feel his hand under your dress, moving up your thigh, stopping when he finds your aching core.

You feel him pull down your underwear and bend down, getting on his knees. He doesn’t waste a second before putting his mouth onto your cunt, licking at you.

A moan escapes your throat as he continues to kiss at your bundle of nerves, his tongue swirling around.

He takes your clit into his mouth, suckling and not giving you a moment of reprieve.

You can feel yourself getting pushed closer to the edge, then Roman turns his head and you feel a sharp pain in your inner thigh. He has stopped licking at you and instead he has sunk his teeth into your delicate skin.

A loud noise leaves you as your hand finds his hair. The pain and pleasure you feel pushes you over the edge as he drinks the blood that comes from your thigh like nectar, like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

After that, it’s not difficult for him to lead you upstairs, rutting into you in your bed over and over again, just like your dream.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room as he thrusts into you from behind. Roman has bitten into your wrist and from an uncomfortable angle, you watch him drink the blood that pours from your veins. And you let him, the feeling matching the pleasure you feel deep in your core.

You can feel his pace getting sloppier as crimson stains his lips, dripping onto his chin.

Before you know it, waves of pleasure wash over you as you start to feel lightheaded, your walls clenching around him.

He comes inside you with a groan. Heavy breathing wracks him as he pulls himself out of you.

You see him wipe the blood on his face with the back of his hand as your eyelids start to feel heavier.

He shifts so that he’s looking down at you as your head is already on the pillow.

“In the morning, you won’t remember that I was here,” he begins, and you can’t help but listen, looking up at him with tired eyes. “You’ll think none of this really happened. It was just a dream about a strange man.”

He stares at you as you take in what he says, forced to comply. Blood starts to drip from his nose.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” is the last thing you hear before falling into complete darkness.

[alphabetbill]

Macabre [ HEMLOCK GROVE ] - Chapter 3

~ description ~

A werewolf whose only skill is running from his fears, a half-upir with no idea of the true darkness lying inside of him, and a girl found alive in the woods months after her mysterious death.

Some secrets in Hemlock Grove should have just stayed buried. In a town that isn't so sleepy after all, monsters of all kinds are wide awake under the surface, crawling their way up.

~ warnings~

This story will contain mature and heavy themes that may involve potentially explicit content, gore and murder, talk of kidnapping and stalking victims, animal death, supernatural/paranormal/religious themes and trauma, any other themes not covered in the general description will probably be tagged here at the start of the chapters that other significant warnings apply to.

A list will be linked here upon completion and upload of each chapter:

Cicada and the Snake

Chapter 1 . Chapter 2 . Chapter 3 . Chapter 4 . Chapter 5 . Chapter 6 . Chapter 7 . Chapter 8 . Chapter 9 . Chapter 10 . Chapter 11 .

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c h a p t e r t h r e e .

Jude Evergreen

<<>>

ROMAN DID NOT STAY AT HER HOUSE THAT NIGHT. Jude went outside.

Something called her to the back porch of the trailer that she couldn't explain. The deer were screaming again- which was strange in itself- because they usually stopped, but tonight they didn't. Tonight they cried out, barking and snarling, stretching off into the darkness in a discordant melody and echoing from far beyond, closer and then distant, distant and then closer.

The breeze on her face was warm and then still, like someone had abruptly turned off the heating, leaving her in an uncomfortable limbo between warmth and cold. Jude stood there for quite some time simply looking at the edge of the woods, trying to figure out exactly where the strange sounds were coming from. She stood there until the air turned cold and goosebumps formed on her flesh, and suddenly she regretted coming outside in just a sweater and shorts.

She tried to look and see if she could spot any of the usual deer that liked to graze in the clover patch near the fence.

She saw a thing in the trees.

At first, she wasn't sure what it was. It was a blur of white from far off in the darkness, nowhere near close enough for her to even begin to comprehend what it might have truly been. It flickered intermittently, casting strange shadows that danced and swirled among the trees. Jude's initial thought was that it might be a torch or some kind of illumination from a house across the stretch of forest. The trailer park was situated on one side of a relatively thin stretch of woods, with the town on the other side, and Jude would often see house lights glittering through in dark on the other side.

This was different than a house light, and when it flashed on occasion it would spill out and illuminate the outline of the trees through the path. Jude assumed it was a torch, and while it didn't raise enough concern to feel afraid, she still decided to go back inside.

Deer screaming and torch lights. Perhaps someone was hunting, or hiking. After all there was a walking trail through there, and it wasn't uncommon for people to go jogging along it. Not this late though.

Jude made some popcorn and put on a movie to try and pry away the feeling of being watched. It worked, and soon the uneasy feeling vanished as she settled in for a cozy late night with Minnie.

She stayed up for a few more hours.

Then Minnie did something strange, stranger than usual. She got up from Jude's lap and went over to stick her bulbous head beneath the blind to stare out the window. She began pawing at the glass. The French bulldog never really took an interest in anything aside from sleeping. It was beginning to spook her.

Five does stood outside when Jude got up to take a look. They emerged cautiously from the nearby bushes, their ears twitching as they surveyed their surroundings. The motion-sensor light by the fence flicked on, startling the deer and causing them to skitter off into the woods. She watched them go, wondering what the fuck was going on.

That night Jude had a strange dream.

She dreamed that she was standing in a circle, the circle itself made up of a python consuming its own tail. Each time she went to step out of it the serpent would hiss, which she took as a sign to just stand still.

The white light of a torch continued to flash on and off, on and off, on and off, in a particularly rhythmic fashion although Jude was sure that even if it was morse code she would not have been able to understand it anyway. She couldn't see who was holding the torch or even how far away it was.

Soft music was playing, jangly and industrial sounding. If she listened closely she could even hear what sounded like someone whistling, followed by the crunch of footsteps over dry dead leaves.

Heart in her throat she tried to scan the tree line for whoever was out there, her breath escaping her lungs faster than what it could be pulled in. It was fear, stark and real and pure. She couldn't move in any way that wouldn't disturb the snake, and was therefore forced to stand still and wait, unable to run.

Something was stalking her, she could feel it. No more than the way you just knew how to breathe, instinctual, something you could become acutely aware of if you just focused.

Movement in the trees.

The five does that she had seen at her window were standing by the edge of the clearing, bleached white in the light of the crooked crescent moon. A trickle of blood leaked from each one's mouth and, as she peered closer, also from their eyes. The once peaceful and gentle creatures appeared to her now in a grotesque and macabre form. She felt a tug in her stomach at the sight, discomfort hatching like maggots in a wound. Squirming and putrid.

Terror seeped into her bones, pulling her down, keeping her frozen. It wasn't what she saw but what she felt and it felt awful. A rotting smell reached her nostrils, and when she looked down she saw her the flesh of her arms tightening and ripping- wilting to black before her very eyes. Rotting, rotting away to the milk-white bone.

The snake let go of its tail. It bit her on the calf, fangs penetrating the supple flesh without much resistance. Jude couldn't scream. Something was covering her mouth, a glove or cloth or something material. It felt like she was frozen in time, her head pounding so violently she thought it might explode- thin red streams leaking from her ears and the corners of her eyes. The eerie music grinded to a painfully slow motion trawl, scratching like a broken record on rewind.

The cracking of bone spliced the sound of the jagged violin.

Jude woke up to a TV screen of static and beeping. She stayed awake until daylight.

She stayed home from school the next day after she woke up sick to her stomach.

It was miserable, truly, and when she wasn't in bed she was keeling over the toilet hurling up her guts. The contents were black. As she sat there bewildered and shocked and horrified, she saw an insect wing. Large, with a blue-green sheen to it.

Huh.

Almost as soon as she blinked the black bile along with the wing was gone. Jude took it upon herself to lay back down in bed and keep hydrated. She considered texting Roman back, who had already flooded her messages with his disapproval of her skipping school without him, but she didn't have the energy to come up with an explanation for her own delusion.

Minnie stayed by the window, watching rain drops trickle down the glass, the air humid and sticky. For some fresh air the girl also went to sit there for a bit, watching the trees as a few deer once again came to the clover patch. One of the does looked at her, from over by the fence as its curious gaze met hers on the other side of the window. She would have gone outside to try and get a little closer if it weren't for this weird crippling nausea.

Night fell once again and her father, Lance, was not home. He worked as a truck driver which meant being away for periods of time, which up until now she had never minded.

Over the back fence in the stretch of darkness the torchlight flickered again.

Jude went missing that night.

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cool sweet anyways here's a playlist

[fangirlblogger]

Fangirl Analysis Three: Bill Skarsgard's double chin.

Okay girlies, this one is close to my heart. In fact, it burns my heart and starts this fire that never dies out. Bill Skarsgard's Double Chin is a character of its own. It deserves the world's standing ovation for eternity. Yes, some might say his eyes are the main character but for me personally (and to the girlies who also find double chins gob-smackingly sexy), his double chin when he smiles is a whole dinner table I want to devour eternally. Let's dissect these sets of images that vividly displays the previous information provided.

Image 1 Analysis

Firstly, look at how gorgeous and adorable he looks with that cute smile on his face. I simply can not BREATHE, but I will try my best to because I have to make my point. Secondly, this image has so many gems to analyze, and girl, I have my panties off, legs spread open and I'm ready to play.

To clarify things, I'm not a Bill Skarsgard obsessed fan girl (not that I have anything against anyone who does - I love that!), I recently just hopped on the train after watching Hemlock Grove (mind you I'm aware of his existence - Pennywise duh - I just never paid any attention to him because I had some other celebrity white men with brunette hair and blue eyes in my pants [I will get more into that this semester]), so I wouldn't know much about him as someone who has love him since day 1. To add on, I instantly fell in-love with him after the blood scene (I've mentioned this in the previous post but I'll say it again:

Roman Godfrey had my pussy by the clit the moment he sexually devoured that blood.

Back to the analysis. I do not know where this image of Bill was taken or when, but I'm pretty sure this was taken during a press conference of the John Wick 4 movie. Girl, his whole demeanor had my pussy throbbing and craving his slickness. After the movie, I felt like I was pregnant with his baby. His whole appearance was a breeding session for me, and I dropped from heaven when the movie ended.

Case study question: Why is this image devour worthy?

Firstly, it's Bill Skarsgard. He is devour worthy. Secondly, his smile isn't too wide to hide away his double chin. You can see that he has more meat to his cheeks which makes the smile more heavenly. I must say, having a kid does make him more daddyfied not that he wasn't before but all that daddy weight just makes me want him to daddy me.

Moving on, his eyes are literal definition of perfection. If he smiles and looks at me like that, the eggs in my ovaries would automatically be fertilized, conceived and I'd be ready to birth his kid in a few seconds after all that interaction.

Finally, I love this picture because it makes him human. You can see his perfectness and you can also see his flaws. Others might consider the hairstyle unattractive, I find that attractive. It makes him more human, imperfect and real.

Image 2 Analysis

Okay girlypops, I'm just going to come out and say it. I don't care how many people are sitting with him at whatever event this is, if I was there, I would literally get on my knees and start giving this man the gluck gluck three thousand. While doing that, I'd command him to just sit like that with his arms crossed, with that smile and look on his face, til I make him come with my mouth. I need to worship this man. My desires for him are cannibalistic and religious at this point. And, this image right here heightens those desires and urges for me.

Case study question: Why is this the sluttiest image of Bill?

As a girly that finds men rolling their sleeves to their forearms slutty, I also find men in turtle-necks, sweaters and textured long coats slutty and horny as hell. If this image of Bill was a dildo, I would fuck myself with it till Satan repents. The way he leans back on his chair, with his arms crossed below his chest that is not too firm to have his clothes looking too tight but enough to see that he is comfortable. This sight is such a fine art. Forget about looking at Renaissance paintings, this is all the renaissance you need to have your pussy coming over and over again.

Finally to the best part: His double chin. His jaw is so perfect that when leans back and smile, his double chin becomes too perfect. Just the perfect amount of mound for a Bill Skarsgard fangirl to devour eternally. The double chin is a god in this image. Everything else comes second. The double chin also enhances his emotions, therefore making his smile more bubbly, cheerful and innocent. It's inviting and it speaks to the viewers or whoever he is interacting with that he is comfortable with the conversation and the environment he is in.

Image 3 Analysis

Girlies, this image here is a real one. I adore this image. It shows how authentic, flawed and real Bill is. It shows him in the act - that is him interacting with people as he always does. His hair, eyes, nail, neck, double chin, teeth, nose, cheeks and forehead looks so organic. I love that. In a world that has a lot of people playing around with their looks to look so perfect, this image here is a breath of fresh air.

Case study question: How perfect can this image be?

This image is already perfect because everything in this image is not perfect. Yes, I meant NOT PERFECT. Once again, images like this make me desire him more. His humanness makes him more devouring and attractive (this sounds so cannibalistic but if you get the metaphor, you understand). The most vital part of his face that is so slutty is his double chin. My pussy is getting sluttier just looking that double chin (if only I can sit on it).

A special gem that I have identified from this image that makes my heart and pussy throb at the same time is the smile wrinkles at the side of his eyes. If I was given the chance to build a house and live on those wrinkles, I would definitely take that chance. I honestly think they enhance his beauty and his smile and make him more divine and desirable.

Conclusively, I am a whore and slut for Bill Skarsgard's double chin. I am also a whore for men with double chins like Bill (not Bill being an influence lol). I also go slutty for his cheeks when he smiles. His smile make my panties soak and the wrinkle at the side of his eyes make me want to go sexually feral for that man.

The point here is that women find the non-sexual things about men sexual. Sometimes it's the least attractive thing on a man that makes a woman go feral for him. Other times, it's the small movements that the man does that make the woman wet for him. Ageism and a bit of body changes such as weight gain can enhance those physical features of the man and make him 20 or 30 times attractive. That is why some of us girlies have daddy issues. It's not our fault the man we like are older, authentic and more enhanced.

[skarsgardsnark]

Ok, now, y’all I’m fully preparing myself right now LOL. This man does not want the level of fame we’ve been discussing here lol. I think if he wanted it he would have it by now. He’s doing the little things he needs to do to keep getting high profile roles in Hollywood but that’s it. I’m very very excited for Nosferatu and I’m so happy Bill is getting great reviews along with awards hype, but I get a feeling from what he keeps saying in interviews that this is the level of fame he wants and nothing higher. That’s ok though. When he disappears for a little while after a barrage of roles I kinda forget about him. But every time I check back in with him, he’ll have something interesting I’ll want to watch, feel like I’ve been doing this since Hemlock Grove days. Lol. Truly a marathon actor rather than a sprint.

"this is the level of fame he wants and nothing higher" Yeah most likely. Not every actor wants to have a high level of fame and that's fine, as long as he keeps getting good roles I don't care. As fans, of course it would be nice to see him doing stuff as other celebs but maybe that's not him. We can't control his career so let's just enjoy the crumbs he gives us LOL.

Alex mentioned that when Bill became a father he saw things differently or something like that. So I think it put things into perspective for him and wants to prioritize his kids. I think if they lived in LA he would be more "active" but since he lives in Sweden he obviously spends more time over there. Otherwise I think he would be more on the go since that's how he was before becoming a dad.

This is just my opinion 🤷‍♀️

[ofthehemlockgrove]

Olla (Pronounced: Oi-ya)

It is so hard to look deep within, when my check aches and stomach hurts, when my mind races with judging thoughts, criticizing all I've done and not done this day.

It's so hard to be honest, with myself or others, with my family or friends, with my bosses or coworkers or strangers, when all I hear in-between my ears is all that I'm doing wrong,

And all that I should be doing, need to do, cannot do. And digging deep to release the pressure feels like the pressure builds and builds and builds until I snap,

At the dog, at my husband, at my sister, at my boss, at the stranger walking by.

If I pull up the sludge, will I be able to clean it? Or should I leave it be, and bury it beneath "I'm fine", no time to clean up, too much to do, too much to carry, too much not to say.

Buried it stays, until I explode, until I implode, until I break.

It's easy to say "dig deep" and "heal", when planting a tree has steps to follow, but a healing a soul has no clear instructions;

When they all say "here's the Truth", but the "Truth" contradicts or hurts or lies, and lies are subjective, just like "Truths".

"Dig deep"; "Let go".

But what am I letting go of? And where does it go? Is it Heaven or Hell or Nirvana or Enlightenment or safety or healing or breaking and shattering?

It's not just the big conversations or politics or religions,

It's more what was left out, lost in my youth, never gained, never known. But I can't blame my parents; I know they did what they could while they too were just as broken and glued together as me.

It's party of humanity; part of life.

But how do I live? In this half-broken, half-mended cycle I sprouted in (that I both inherited and created)?

It is hard to dig deep when the layer of rock I hit is a pain I have no words to define. And all the advise tells me to "let go and let live" without instructions or steps or charts or graphs. Number them please and I'll follow the order.

Instead, I am left on my own to "trust my instincts" when my trust is shattered into a million particles of dust.

So...from the dust I must make clay, somehow, some way,

I'll make clay, and reform and reshape my trust - a new trust, unbroken, unshattered, porous but strong.

I'll create a jug from the clay and bury it in the ground, fill it with water, and watch as the water slowly seeps into my garden - my Soul, watering my plants, my garden.

What was once broken, I'll repurpose, recycle and reuse,

by God's good grace or guidance, or by advise from the trees and gardeners, from nature and my Mother,

I'll figure it out or die trying. Because I'm tired or rocks in my subconscious. I want to plant!

It's hard to dig deep, to look deep within, with dark shadows over me - in me.

So, I'll garden by the moonlight. I'll make an Olla pot out of the dust from my broken trust, and see what grows.

Even weeds have uses - medicinal and pretty. No more labeling my garden. Let's see what wild things bloom,

And I'll learn about their uses, strengths and weaknesses, and nurture them to flourish.

I guess I'm a garden, but not one that's neat and structured, nor perfect by a Magazine's definition.

I'll dig deep when I need to, dig shallow for planting, and repurpose my rocks as pathways into my Sacred Space.

Somehow, my pain will become the Blooms in my Soul.

Olla by Kalilna Rose of the hemlock grove.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

The Casual Killing of Black Female Characters on Camera

This is a rant of sorts. An outcry, if you will, about the number of times that TV will find entertainment in the onscreen deaths of Black female characters, whether or not it makes sense.

And even at times when it does narratively, the fact that we have to see it, and the fact that she could be recurring, even a main character does not strike confidence within any Black female viewer who might want to use television as an escape from Black femicide and misogynoir.

It is literally inescapable.

Sometimes, you could say, "Well, its the nature of that show, to show us death onscreen. Seeing a Black female character die shouldn't effect you any more than any of the deaths in this fandom..." but... how many Black women were even there? How much representation was provided for them? Even in a show filled with them, seeing another Black woman killed, especially if done so brutally, can be hurtful to witness.

This is magnified when she was the only one present in the work, one of very few in the work, or in a series where there was not very satisfactory representation in the first place. And this is the truth for most fandoms, even your faves, even ones that get heralded as progressive or praised for having diversity.

So, whether or not the genre or the content had death and murder regularly, if there wasn’t enough Black female representation to pad the death of the Black female character, I’ma be offended and upset and often times traumatized by the shit. Let me make you a list of the ones that especially hurt me:

Dualla.

Anastasia Dualla, aka Dee, was the most prominent Black female character of Battlestar Galactica. She was a side character, having her only big storylines being a love interest, the wife of a cheater who was in love with somebody else, from an area that faced racism, never finding her family after the attacks, divorce... do you get the gist? Dee had about 3 times that we were allowed to see her happy. I know, times were tough for everybody, so I shouldn’t expect “special treatment��� for Dee. God forbid that she be given any storyline that gave her actual joy sometimes.

But. She killed herself, on my screen, in my face, without any apparent provocation. As a suicidal person, I know that it can just hit you. I know that things can seem fine whenever it takes place. As a Black viewer who had been watching this show for years and happy to see one of Dee’s seldom smiles only moments before, it was crushing. The biggest problem is that it didn’t need to happen for the narrative and was unnecessarily hurtful, and for what? All these years later, what was the point of making us watch Dee kill herself? It didn’t advance the story, and it took away the only Black female character in the series before the ending. (The only others being a delegate that I don’t even remember really, played by Judith Maxie, and Elosha, played by Lorena Gale, who ALSO died on screen and was only used to further a white woman’s plot. - Something that I was willing to get over at the time, even though it was messed up, I was willing to get over it, because at least we had a regular and she was okay).

Until she wasn’t. And to this day (it’s been since 2009), and TO THIS DAY, whenever I have to endure another Black regular or main character die, I get thrown back into that scene, that hurt, that senselessness that the Battlestar Galactica writers inflicted on us for no good reason, over a decade ago.

So, whenever I saw the actress, Kandyse McClure a few years later on Hemlock Grove, I was glad to see that she appeared to be a main character and while I wasn’t really interested in much else about the show (the premise was okay, but it didn’t look like a great production from a glance), I decided that I’d put it on my watchlist to see Kandyse working again...

Clementine.

Dr. Clementine Chasseur was the only Black woman that I recall from Hemlock Grove, a show that was not good at all, and I only was watching for her, to be honest. This show took the one Black woman they had, had her skinned and flayed, then left in misery until another character came along and suffocated her to her death. It was horrifying. The show wasn’t even good. I wasted my time and got mentally and visually assaulted with one of the most ugly acts of violence I’ve seen in a show. I have a mental image of something genuinely disturbing from a show that I hated. Fuck Hemlock Grove. I wish it could get canceled twice.

Donna.

Donna was a mermaid and the sister of the main mermaid character in the series, Siren on Freeform. From the first moment we see Donna to her last breath, she was fucked over. They captured her, kidnapped her, enslaved her, researched her, and when she escaped and sought vengeance, she was murdered. So many other decisions could have been made. Later on, they brought in her lightskint daughter as a character, seeking vengeance for her mother... But. What happened to Donna was heartbreaking, through and through. Nobody else on that show went through worse in the time that I was watching it. 

I never finished, because it went down the drain after a while, but whenever I WAS watching it, I had to see one of the only two dark skinned women on the show have the most miserable experience on land, and then get shot and killed. (The other dark skinned woman was an unstable drug addict who abandoned her family). Sidenote: Whenever you find a show and the Black women are written with garbage skills, divest. Because it is almost a guarantee that the fandom will be racist pieces of shit, something that we learned early in the Siren existence. They literally harassed the main Black female actress (not the one who played Donna, but Maddie, the one who was in a relationship with the main characters) so much that she fled social media during the show’s run. 

*Try not to get attached to shows and characters with poor writing for their Black female characters. They will be unsafe places eventually.*

Tara.

Tara Thornton was a True Blood regular for 6 full seasons. Not the only Black woman in the show, but the one with the most writing. She unfortunately was under the influence of a popular trope of being the best friend to a white magical girl and having to bear the brunt of a bunch of bad shit because of it. (Like Bonnie Bennett but without magic)

At first, it was indirect. Having to see shit go down and be exposed to danger because of her best friend’s proximity to vampires and shit. Then, it was direct. Being targeted because of her proximity to vampires and shit.

She’s been kidnapped, taken as a hostage and sex slave, and even killed, yes, shot down dead because of a friendship with someone who wasn’t any good for her.

Then, she was turned into a vampire, at her friend’s request. She didn’t want to be a vampire or ask to be a vampire, but her selfish ass friend, who she died for had her turned into one because SHE didn’t want to lose her...

And after all that, they turned Tara into a pile of vampire goo at the opening of the last season, and added insult to injury, insult to memory, by having her spirit take a journey to make amends with the people who abused her in her childhood. It was the most disrespectful send off for one of the most disrespected characters that I had ever seen in my life. I wish I would have followed my first mind and not even tried to watch the final season, because I had been stopped watching it by the time that it aired, and I think I found out that Tara died, so I wasn’t that interested anyways. But then to actually see their final decision? Insulting. Revolting. Among the worst pieces of television of my life.

I say all of this to get to my most recent reason to rant...

Anacostia.

She deserved better. First of all, the fact that they continued the Salem Accords instead of freeing witches from the bondage of the military, especially after how easy it had been for human terrorists to overthrow it and gain control from the inside. They should have done away with the obligation.

Then. They should have either killed off someone else or brought Anacostia back to life or let us see her peacefully on the other side. War took another good witch, and the rest of us had to not only see it, but BARELY had the chance to process it, and DIDN'T get any real closure. The way that we had to see the decoy of a dead Kelly Wade, the murdered, dismembered body of Charvel Bellweather at her own wedding, and the Sacrificial Negro Trope in action with Anacostia's death scene, they could have at least given her a last image of light and love.

The least, the VERY LEAST that they could have done for us was to let her be seated next to Alder as the Mother gives our girls their final words, and to grant us the image of her moving on peacefully. The last time we get to see this beautiful soul is crushed, pinned against something as her love has to walk away from her dead body.

Her mother, her daughters, didn't get to properly send her off. They cried and kept fighting and I GET that that's war. But, why so much for these types of things does one of the few Black women have to be offered up. Even in a show like this, with diversity and representation?

Easily one of the worse finales of my life, and it could have been salvaged by just not doing this one grossly disrespectful thing to a brilliant and beautiful character. Fuck Motherland: Fort Salem's ending. Suck dicks in hell for doing that to Anacostia Quartermain.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Other onscreen unnecessary/pointless Black women’s deaths: 

Jordan Gladwell on iZombie. She was the only Black girl and she died for no good reason. It sort of promoted a white man’s story, but... not to the point where it was justified. (That show did miserably with Black women).

Abbie Mills (I didn’t see it, but I heard from the fans that were still there when it happened and WOOO, they was PISSED!) I had stopped watching the show by then.

Goddamn near EVERY Black woman that appeared in The Vampire Diaries.  And from what I am told (I stopped watching that mess too) the one that lived was the person who had to save everybody else. BUT, whenever I WAS watching it, she actually DID die (and came back later), so I will include Bonnie Bennett in all the Black women TVD killed in front of our faces.

Which reminds me Amanda Fisher of Ash VS Evil Dead. I am reminded, because that show, too, killed every last Black woman in the characters.

The Fairy Godmother on OUAT, The Faerie Elder on True Blood, that fairy on Shadowhunters (Lanaia), tbh... Shadowhunters is one of those shows that don’t get the slander it deserved for the antiblackness/misogynoir in the writing while under the shield of a diverse cast, but that’s a whole nother post entirely) 

Nikki on Misfits (and Tulip on Preacher - I DO NOT CARE if they brought her back. You made me see this woman get shot and die and the people who saw her return only did so because they weren’t so scarred that they had to cut ties with the show. They knew what the fuck they was doing ending that like that, making us see that) 

Breeze Clair Browne’s mom in The Good Doctor 

Jean in The Oval. Look. I know that’s a Black show, but that was a terrible death for a good person and it hurt like hell. 

Angela in Mortel... and here’s the thing about Mortel... you don’t get a lot of death scenes. You have some death scenes and you have a lot of deaths spoken of, and there are grim portrayals of violence. But it was not lost on me that the dark skinned Black woman died gruesomely. Mortel will really play in your face. Somebody down there is colorist and somebody down there love some whites. That’s a very different conversation, for another rant, if I feel like it some time.

Missandei - I’ma be honest, I ain’t watch that show, so idk how important it was to plot or nothing, but I know that I remember saying, “Whoa, the Black girl on that show lived the whole way through?” and like, the next week or that week, she was getting her damn head lopped off. Shame. They got all the way to the end and swiped her ass outta there. Smh. 

Ol’ girl from Charmed... I didn’t watch that either, but the girls was really upset about it... Macy? 

Candy from Pose. WHY DID THEY SHOW US HER DEAD BODY? WHAT WAS THE REASON?? WE WERE ALREADY FUCKING SAD ABOUT THE SHIT!!!

POUSSEY. I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO FUCKING EXPLAIN.

Honorable Mentions for Hannah Grose and Rebecca Jessell, Because since so many people died in that story, them dying in bad ways and onscreen were unfair and hurtful, but not outside of the scope of the material. HOWEVER, them being murdered, and then having to STILL somehow be sacrificial negroes for the kids and them... THAT was just extra misogynoir and I ain’t like it. Of the ones that did survive, you didn’t get the two important Black characters. Not even one? And then they both had to give more to protect the others? Y’all gave me Ghost Mammies? FOH.

Not completely pointless, but unnecessary or unfair, to say the least:

Alisha in Misfits. The way that I had to watch this was troubling. Like. Yes, it was that kinda genre, but I didn’t wanna see it. Like... I’m upset every time. 

Jaden in Nikita. She was doing right, doing what they were supposed to and after all that animosity they had her throw out, she seemed like she was getting to not be the bitchy Black girl, and they killed her right in front of me. Then they killed Emily Robinson, who was killed specifically to further a white man’s character arc.

Joss Carter could have easily been written out of Person of Interest peacefully if Taraji was moving on to other things. Characters CAN just leave. People do this in real life. Sometimes, they just leave. 

Diana Tilton in The Shannara Chronicles... They so unceremoniously killed her off, and it was like... not on screen, if I recall, so you didn’t really know and then if they mentioned it later, it was very casually.

And Because This Also Happens in Cartoons: 

THE SUNFIRE QUEEN, KHESSA From The Dragon Prince. That. Was. Horrifying. Hated it. 

And a friend said Allura, which reminded me of all the times I saw people mourning Allura, even though I know nothing about that media. I don’t even know the name... Voltron Action Adventurer or whatever.

Edited 2/22/23

[storiesforallfandoms]

assistant ~ roman godfrey;hemlock grove

word count: 1471

request?: no

description: when you start a new job as the assistant of a huge company, the ceo takes an interest in you

pairing: roman godfrey x female!reader

warnings: swearing, harassing remarks

masterlist (one, two)

“And here is the main floor,” said the lady giving me a tour of Godfrey Industries. “This is where you’ll be doing most of your work, but it’s good to know the building in case Mr. Godfrey ever asks you to get something for him.”

“What’s he like?” I asked her. It was the first time my future employer had been mentioned and I had yet to meet him.

She paused a moment before turning to face me. She was suddenly the most serious she had been all day. “He can be a little short tempered sometimes. He has gone off on some of his employees sometimes. If he ever does to you, do not hesitate to come to me for it, alright?”

That sounded reassuring.

I followed her towards Mr. Godfrey’s office, my heart hammering against my chest.

“Mr. Godfrey?” she said as she knocked at the door. “Your new assistant is here.”

“Bring her in.”

She opened the door and nodded for me to go in first. I hoped neither one of them would see how bad my hands were shaking.

I was shocked to see how young he was. Of course, I knew Mr. Godfrey was no more than 21 years old and took over the family business right out of high school, but I didn’t expect someone so young and handsome to be sat behind that desk.

His blue eyes lifted from whatever he was writing and landed on me. I shuffled under his gaze, wondering what was running through his mind as he looked at me.

“Mr. Godfrey, this is (Y/F/N),” she introduced. “She’ll be working as your new assistant.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Godfrey,” I said, trying to keep my voice as even as possible.

“Please, we’re basically the same age,” he said. “Call me Roman. Is it alright if I address you by your first name, too?”

I was so stunned that I could barley get my words out. “Y-Yes, that’s-that’s okay.”

He smiled at me and I felt like my whole body would melt into the floor.

“It’s nice to meet you (Y/N). I can’t wait to work together.”

~~~~~~

The first few days were nothing exciting, mainly running a few errands for Roman. We were rarely ever alone together, which I was a little disappointed by. I knew it was wrong to have these sort of thoughts about my boss, but I couldn’t help it. He was so handsome and charming.

I was at my desk secretly scrolling through my phone when the intercom chimed, signaling Roman was about to speak.

“(Y/N), can you bring the papers regarding the mill in for me?”

“Right away Roman.”

I grabbed the file labelled Godfrey Industries Mill and brought it down to the conference room where I knew Roman was in a meeting.

The moment I walked in I froze again. There were so many official looking business men sat around the table, now they were all looking at me. I smiled awkwardly before crossing the room to pass the file to Roman.

“Thank you (Y/N),” he said as he took it.

“New assistant, Roman?” one of the men asked.

“Yeah, she just started,” Roman responded, barley regarding the man who spoke.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Roman glared briefly at him before saying, “(Y/N), these are some of my business partners.”

I smiled at them and shuffled uncomfortably when I noticed how they were looking at me. I had heard the jokes about business men and their assistants, but I never believed them. That would be a massive HR issue, right?

But the way these men were looking at me...I wanted to shrink behind Roman for protection.

“I bet you're having a fantastic time with her,” another man commented. “You’ve broken her in already, right Rom?”

“The innocent ones are always the best in the sack,” another added.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes as they all laughed. I was willing myself to move, but I was stuck in place.

The sound of Roman’s hands slamming down on the desk caused me to jump as he stood from his seat. His face was blood red and he looked ready to explode.

“Get the fuck out,” he hissed.

“What?” one of the men questioned.

“I said get the fuck out! All of you!” For good measure, he threw the file at the first man who spoke, narrowly avoiding his face. “Forget the fucking mill deal, forget any fucking deal. I’m not doing business with you disgusting excuse for men anymore!”

They were all shocked, but knew better than to fight against Roman. They all left, grumbling to themselves and calling Roman a handful of names.

We were left alone. Roman sat back down, running his hands through his hair.

“Do..do you want me to...?” I started, gesturing towards the papers that had scattered from the thrown file.

“No,” he responded, his voice softer now. “I’ll take care of it. You take a break, a prolonged one if you need.”

I nodded and quickly left the room, hoping all the business men had left the building entirely as I raced for the nearest bathroom to hide for a while.

~~~~~~

I was on my own in the lobby area when a cup of coffee and a picture perfect sprinkled donut was placed in front of me. I looked up from my computer to see Roman sipping from his own cup, his breathtaking eyes gazing down at me.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave,” he said. “I didn’t check before I got both of those for you.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, taking the cup and the donut. “I still had some stuff I needed to  do, I couldn’t go home early.”

“I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to.”

I took a sip of my coffee, not wanting to respond. Truthfully, I had thrown myself so heavily into my work to keep the disgusting words said by Roman’s business partners out of my head.

I had never been spoken to in such a way before. I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I’d been spoken to in such a way, but it still made me feel dirty and wrong when I thought about it. Like I was nothing more than some eye candy for business men who were old enough to be my father (except for Roman).

Roman continued to lean against the desk, looking down at me as I diverted my attention back to my computer.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he said. “Those fuckers are a little too...stereotypical.”

I shook my head, trying to downplay my feelings on the situation. “It’s alright. I appreciate you standing up for me, but I’m sorry if it ruins your business relations or whatever.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I could give less of a fuck. They're all assholes anyways. They only use me for money and power for their bullshit projects. And what they did to you was far from alright. It was wrong, and I hope you know I’m not going to tolerate you being treated like that. Not now, not ever.”

I nodded and took another sip of my coffee, unsure as to what else to say. I was shocked that the situation had made Roman so angry. I mean, I was glad people treating me so poorly made him upset and he wasn’t about to sweep this under the rug, but to cut business ties just for me? I was still trying to figure that part out.

Silence fell over us again and I wondered how long Roman would be stood there watching me. Not that I really minded. This was the first time we had been alone.

“Listen,” he said, “this may be incredibly inappropriate to ask, but I’d love to take you out for dinner some time.”

I looked up at him in shock. “Like...like a date?”

“Or a work dinner, whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”

I didn’t have to think about my answer, but I didn’t want to come off as too eager, so I thought for a moment before responding, “I’d like that.”

Roman smiled back at me. “Okay. You know my schedule, you can pick a time and a date that’s best for you.”

He turned to leave before pausing and turning back to me. “Just to be clear, are you saying you’d like it as a date or as a work dinner.”

I smiled smugly at him and responded, “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, amused, before walking back to his office. When I was sure he was gone, I did a quick dance of excitement in my chair before turning my full attention back to my work.

[stevesharrlngtons]

picking out the stitches.

roman godfrey x reader 

summary: after letha’s death; peter’s departure; shelley’s disappearance; and a brutal fight with subsequent break up with roman; you escape to the empire state for college and a fresh start. though, after thinking you have been given the space to move on with your life, your father’s unexpected death sends you back to hemlock grove. there, you are forced to confront the reason for your pained departure.

word count: 14.1k (oopies)

warning: mentions of an abusive father

a/n: this is a long bitch, with a possible part two (?) if this is enjoyed by you all! (: i hope the length of this makes up for it taking so long lol. also prob ooc roman bc i love him just being soft 

please if you read this and like it, know that feedback is greatly appreciated and i’d love to hear any thoughts you have!! also im bad at editing 

Tuna, turkey and swiss, BLT. 

No option offered sounded particularly tasty. You had come in search of egg salad sandwich, a surprising delicacy from the Hemlock Grove Grocery Deli that you had been craving since your departure months ago. It felt like comfort food, a way to make being back in town bearable. 

But the stockboys seemed to be sending you a message: there was no good reason to be back in town, and no sandwich was going to remedy your pain. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You flinched at the sound of your name as sweat prickled the back of your neck. The last fucking thing you wanted was to be recognized the second you got back into town. Being forced to interact with any of the waspy bitches or rednecks that attended your high school, especially now, seemed like a personal affront punishable with only your meanest of glares and most backhanded of compliments. 

But, who you found had called your name was not only a surprise, but a pleasant one. Not a bitch or mouth breather in sight. 

“Peter?” Your eyebrows perked up as you said his name, no doubt unable to hide your complete shock at his sudden appearance. 

“In the flesh.” He smiled. That same boyish smile that he always gave especially when you needed to see it. 

Your body worked on it’s own violation as you shot yourself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. He thankfully returned the gesture, gripping the fabric of your dress in his fingers to keep you close. Peter pressed his nose to your temple and you buried yourself deep into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t until a voice cleared behind you that the two of you pulled apart. 

“Excuse me,” A man holding a wire basket interpreted, seeming less than pleased to have been forced to witness your reunion. 

“Sure, after you, sir.” Peter said, theatrically waving the man past. 

“Stupid fucker, couldn’t even go through another aisle.” He watched the man leave with a scowl.

“Shut up about inconiquestional people and tell me what the hell you’re doing back in town!” You said with a wide smile while slapping his chest playfully. 

“I think that’s a better question suited for me to you, don’t you think? Last I heard you fucked off to N-Y-C.” Peter said, leaning against the display of sandwiches. 

“Yeah? And who told you that?” 

“Destiny.” 

You smirked and rested your shoulder against the display, “She’s got a big mouth.” 

“Big mouth? Who cares if she does! New York is a big deal. NYU, even bigger.” 

You roll your eyes at the compliment. 

“Hey, no, I’m serious! You always were the scholar out of us. Fucking valedictorian while Roman and I barely managed C’s.” He continued. 

At the mention of Roman, you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, eyes breaking from Peter’s only long enough for him to see your pain at his name. 

“You still haven't answered my question, you know?” You said, trying to seamlessly change the subject, fiddling with the ends of your hair to keep your hands busy. 

“Yeah, well, it isn’t a happy answer.” 

“Enlighten me anyway.” 

Peter gives a heaving sigh, a signature of his, “Lynda got pinched for some shit and was transferred out here... I followed.” 

Your heart sank. Lynda had always been exponentially kind and understanding. To you, Shelley and even Roman. 

“Shit, Peter. I’m so sorry. How’re you holding up?” You placed a comforting hand on his forearm. 

“As well as I can given the circumstances. I’m staying with D, so at least that’s good.” He gives a forced smile. 

“I’m glad you’re with family at a time like this.” You drop your hand and slouch against the display, matching his relaxed posture. 

There was a brief pause between the two of you, before Peter spoke again. 

“Usually, when one party enlightens the other, they are obligated to do the same.” He leans in ever so slightly to emphasize his point. 

“That is usually the deal, yes.” 

“So?”

“My dad croaked a few days ago. Heart attack.” 

“Holy shit, (Y/N/N),” Peter interrupted, face falling into a concerned frown. 

“No, no. It’s fine. He was a piece of shit,” You shrug. 

“Still, he was your dad.” 

“Yeah, he was my dad who hit me and my mom and loved booze more than either of us.” 

“He still was your dad, (Y/N).” He reiterated. 

You purse your lips and sigh.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to be all fucking weepy about the whole thing.” You say, grabbing a turkey and swiss from the display and pushing off to walk toward the register. 

“No one said you had to be,” Peter appealed as he followed behind you, “But don’t let everything get all clogged up in there.” 

He motioned to his chest and you roll your eyes, setting your sandwich on the conveyor belt for the cashier. 

“I promise you, the moment he is six feet under I will let all my emotions out. Mainly rejoice and relief.” You sent Peter a smile as your sandwich rang up. 

“Four forty, even.”

You reach into your purse, but Peter beats you to it. He hands the cashier a crumpled up five dollar bill. 

You give him a glare, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Of course I did. It’s gonna be my lunch too.” He snatched the sandwich from the bagging area and saunters to the exit, leaving you to gather the nickels and dimes. 

Parked in a gravel parking lot looking over the lake, you and Peter sat in the cab of his tow truck. Both eating a half of the mediocre turkey and swiss while sharing a warm cherry Coke from the center console in silence. After a brief session of catch up on your lives over the past few months, you were both happy enough to just sit quietly in each other's company. Simply enjoying the comfort of being in the presence of someone you love. 

“You ever hear from him?” Peter spoke up, mouth full of bread and slimy meat. 

“Who?” You at least have the decency to cover your mouth as you spoke. 

“You know who. Don’t make me say his name, you got all squirly last time.” 

You sighed as you finish chewing the food in your mouth, savoring what you could of the cheap flavors as you avoided Peter’s gaze. Once you swallowed, you took a long gulp from the Coke can before answering. 

“No. He’s been out of my life since that night. Really prefer to keep it that way, too.” You replied clippedly, not wanting to talk about him any more than necessary. 

Peter belows a raspberry in response. 

You looked over to glare at him, “What?” 

“I just find that hard to believe.”

“That I don’t want to see the man who broke my heart?” You snap. 

“No, that Roman has been able to keep his distance from you.” 

“I thought we weren’t saying his name.” You abruptly look away and out the windshield once more. 

“Apologies.”

“You don’t have to sound so sincere about it.” You scoff. 

“What happened between you two, anyway? Before I left I could practically hear wedding bells.” 

“Destiny didn’t tell you?” You press your lips together firmly, hoping Destiny had just made up a lie on your behalf to tell her cousin. 

“All she said was that you and Roman supposedly got into this huge fight and you left a few days after. Nothing more, nothing less.” He explained. 

“Yeah, well huge fight is an understatement.” 

“Then what happened?” 

You sigh deeply, reclining against the headrest and wrapping your arms around your middle for some misplaced search for security. 

“It happened a few days after you skipped town. It was his birthday…” 

Music echoed around you as you placed gentle kisses along the expanse of Roman’s neck. You ran your fingers through his hair gently, collecting grease and pomade on your fingertips and under your nails as you did. He had an arm securing you tightly to his side, the other had been holding you too, but he had retrieved it to light a cigarette. 

After the traumatic week you two had undergone, you didn’t fight Roman much when he insisted all he wanted to do for his eighteenth birthday was drink, watch a movie and have you sleep over. You were happy he at least let you buy him a cupcake to commemorate the day, but wouldn’t see to any more festivities. He told you that now more than ever wasn’t a time to be merry. You didn’t blame him, no matter how much you wanted to celebrate him today. 

So, you let him share his birthday cupcake with you in the bottom of an empty swimming pool and hold you in an uncomfortable lounge chair for as long as he wanted. Fortunately, this was as calm as you’d seen him in days and you hoped that continued; at least until midnight. 

Roman lulled his head on top of yours and placed his hand on your hip, making sure every part of you that could be touching was. 

The sound of a door opening resounded in the distance and the distinct tap of heels on tile followed. You felt Roman deflate next to you as you both recognized who the sound belonged to. 

In sauntered Olivia, in a beautiful floor length gown with a sparkler in hand, painting patterns in the dark with the fire illuminating her wicked smile. 

“Happy Birthday, my darling.” She chimed, looking down at the both of you. 

You and Roman both shifted under her unwelcome gaze, neither responding. You turned further into Roman’s neck and you felt his fingers press harder into the flesh of your hip. 

“It can’t be a party with just the two of you, can it?” Olivia said, dropping the sparkler to lay by her side. 

“Well, three’s a crowd. So if you’ll excuse us.” Roman waved his hand that held his cigarette dismissively.

“One is the loneliest number, but two can be just as bad.” Olivia replied in a musical lit. 

Again, neither of you respond. You busy yourself fiddling with the collar of Roman’s tank top.

“(Y/N), darling, you do look beautiful tonight.” She turns her attention to you after the silence she received. Something Olivia knew Roman disapproved of her doing. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Godfrey.” You reply politely, glancing at her briefly before going back to Roman’s shirt. 

“Is that the dress Roman bought you some time back? I remember hearing you tell Shelley about it over dinner.” Olivia continued. 

“What is it that you want, again?” Roman snapped, making you flinch at his volume increase. 

“I have a surprise for you. In the attic.” She gestured using what’s left of the dying sparkler at the ceiling. 

“Can’t it wait?” Roman said, wholly disinterested. 

“No, it cannot, Roman. It is your birthday surprise and I would like to give it to you now.” Her voice became more stern by the word. 

Roman moves to look at you and you do the same. His eyes are inviting you to a conversation Olivia isn’t privy too. An almost psychic communication you’ve had together since the day you first met. 

Do we go with her? Or wait her out until she leaves? 

Just see what she wants. Once she’s shown you we can get back to doing whatever you want. 

Roman pursed his lips before letting out a dramatic sigh, “Fine.” 

He got up from the chair before offering you his hand to help you up. 

Olivia watched as you both climb the ladder out of the empty pool and onto the landing. 

“Let’s get this over with.” Roman gave his mother a firm glare. 

He placed a hand on the small of your back and started for the door when Olivia stopped him. 

“I’m afraid, this gift is for Godfrey eyes only.” She looked at you with weakly masked distaste. 

You felt Roman’s fingers once again probe into your skin, “She is a Godfrey.” 

“Not in name or blood.”

“But she will be so it doesn’t matter.” Roman retorted, harshly. 

This wasn’t the first time he had alluded to your future together, and at the time, you didn’t think it would be the last. 

“Well, she isn’t yet, is she? When she is, then she will be welcome to engage in all Godfrey birthday present exchanges.” Olivia sneered.

“There is nothing you could show me that she can’t-” You placed a gentle hand on Roman’s chest before he could continue. 

This fight certainly wasn’t worth it. Especially not over a fucking birthday present. 

“It’s fine. I’ll wait in your room.” You offered. 

“Off the premise.” Olivia chimed in curtly. 

“Excuse me?” Roman spat. 

“(Y/N) can go home and see you tomorrow. This gift needs much explanation and discussion.” 

“This is beyond fucking ridiculous!” 

“Ro, it’s OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smile up at him. 

You didn’t want to leave him. Not now, not ever, but never with Olivia. 

“I’ll see you later tonight.” Roman stressed.

“Tomorrow would be-” 

“Let’s just call it a see-you-soon, then?” You cut off Olivia, never taking your eyes off Roman. 

He just tightens his jaw, so tight you’re afraid he might crack a filling. But he nods. 

“Fine. I’ll call you.” He says. And he says it with such sincerity that you know without a doubt he will, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He kisses your forehead and you kiss his cheek, not overly keen on giving him the proper goodbye kiss you wanted to infront of Olivia. As you walk away, you spare Olivia a last glance and the look on her smug face is one so self satisfied it made your stomach churn. 

Roman never called you that night, or even the next morning. The calls you gave him were left unanswered; texts and voicemails the same. 

You would have called Peter, Shelley or Letha to see if they’d heard from Roman at a time like this, but all were depressingly dead ends. 

Under the circumstances that you left under the night before, you took it upon yourself to drive to the Godfrey residence and find out what the hell was going on yourself. You didn’t trust Olivia as far as you could throw her, and you didn’t put any heinous act past her. 

Your worry beat out any common sense you had to stay away and wait for Roman to come to you. 

When you arrived and knocked on the door, several times to be exact, it seemed no one was home. Though, both cars were in the driveway and you knew neither Roman or Olivia would take a cab anywhere. With balled fists you slammed against the wood of the door, kicking your foot against it as well for good measure. You had been in your knocking rhythm so long, when the door finally opened you stumbled forward. 

You caught yourself on the knob and looked up to see who answered. 

Roman stood above you with expressionless features and down turned lips. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Don’t ‘what’ me! ‘What’ you! You never called and you haven’t been answering.” You said, straightening yourself out. 

“You’re not my fucking keeper,” Roman scoffed and turned his back to walk down the hallway. 

Your face screwed up in confusion as you stepped over the threshold into the mansion and slammed the door, then followed him through the house. 

“Excuse me? What is up with you?” You exclaimed. 

Roman had stopped in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator while trying his best to seem unbothered with tense shoulders. 

“Nothing is up. I just didn’t want to call you.” He spoke into the crisper drawer. 

“Since when?” 

“Since now.” 

“What the fuck did Olivia show you? Must have been really messed up for you to be acting like this.” You let a humorless laugh through your nose. 

“Or maybe I was just happy to be rid of you and now that you’re back, I am pissed.” He slammed the door to the fridge, its contents rattling inside. 

Your surprised expression hadn’t wavered as Roman glared at you, his eyes dull and unfamiliar. 

“Ok, so, yesterday you’re talking about marrying me, and today I am some parasite you’re happy to be rid of? Is that right?” You took a step toward him. 

“I was never going to marry you, you delusional whore.” His first real hit, chipping away at your weak armour. The armour he had weakened himself with his love and care for years. 

“If I’m whore, I’d hate to know what that makes you.” You spat. 

“It makes me the fucking billionaire who mistakenly kept around some boring girl with a mediocre cunt.” His second hit. 

“Wow. You’re right, Roman. I am a whore, but I must be an idiot too! To stay with such a man who calls my pussy mediocre when he can’t even fuck me right.” You provoked. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Yeah? Why don’t you? Because for as long as I can remember I’ve been faking my orgasms just to get your pathetic little prick out of me. Is that why you cry after Roman? Because you know about that weak excuse of a dick between your legs?” 

You were being cruel and frankly, spinning lies. But he was hurting you and you wanted to hurt him back. 

“No, I cry thinking about all the other guys you let between your legs. Maybe that’s why daddy hits you, huh? Hoping that one day he hits you hard enough to rattle that whore brain so hard it kills you? So he won’t have to live with the shame? Or maybe he hopes if he hits you enough you’ll finally drop to your knees and show him that head everyone in town talks about.” The last hit, and the one that broke you. 

You close the last few steps between you and strike him as hard as you can muster across the face, cranking Roman’s head to the side with the impact. The slap rings loudly through the room, so do your sniffles. 

“How can you be so cruel? How could you ever say that to me?” You scream through tears. 

“Just speaking the truth.” Roman said smoothly, his head still rotated. 

“What is going on with you? What happened last night?” 

“I came to my senses, that’s what happened. I realized that I was sick of wasting all my time on a miserable little bitch when I could be out fucking real women.” He says through gritted teeth, “Real women who don’t need so much tedious validation from me.” 

“Are you done?” You snapped, your throat thick with tears. 

“With you. Yes.” 

You couldn’t think of anything else to say. Malicious words spun in your head, ready to fire off your tongue and tear him apart, but you knew you would never be able to get them out in one piece. You would stutter and sob and shake and it would give Roman even more satisfaction at seeing you crumble. So, you turned on your heel as fast as you could, holding your hand over your mouth to silence your cries and fled the Godfrey home. 

“Shee-it.” Peter said, looking sick. 

“Shee-it, indeed.” You nod. 

“So, that was it?” 

“That was it. I was there barely five minutes when it was all said and done… then I went home, cried my stupid eyes out and packed my shit. It was always the plan for me to do online courses and stay here with him, but, y’know, things changed... So, I left.” 

“I know that feeling.” Peter says, giving the river a thousand mile stare. 

“I know you do. Let’s not forget you abandoned me, too.” You said, far more harshly than intended. The topic of the break up having brought old wounds to the surface. 

A pained expression crossed his face, “(Y/N)... Fuck, I’m sorry. I am. I just… after Letha,” 

“You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry I snapped. I forgave you the minute you left, for the most part, anyway.” You shrugged. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh and look over at him, “If I had been in your shoes I would have hightailed it the second I could have.” 

He offers you a sad smile, “But you needed me, and I left.” 

“It’s really OK. Because you’re here now. And it all worked out.” 

“New York that good, then?” 

“Better than good. I’m alone and broke-.” 

“And that’s better than good?” He chuckles.

“Surprisingly, yeah. I’m learning and figuring things out on my own. I’m finding things that make me happy without having to worry about anything else. It’s just nice.” You smile as you speak. 

“That makes me happy. Man, it really does. All I ever wanted for you was happiness. I thought I had left you with the silver you had left of it.” Peter says, resting his temple to the head rest. 

“You did what you had too and so did I. I’m sure Roman did too, in his own twisted way,” You reply, “I don’t want to focus on the past anymore. I am purley looking forward to the future from now on.” 

Peter dropped you off at home after hours of milling around the streets of Hemlock Grove in his truck. You kept asking if he had to go back to work, but he would dismiss your concern each time. Telling you that he was spending time with you and he’d worry about towing later. As much as you knew you should pressure him to take you home, you were happy for the company, especially when that company was Peter. 

His reappearance in your life was unexpected, but wholly accepted and appreciated. You didn’t know the next time you’d be able to see him again, so you were going to enjoy his companionship while you had it. 

Hopping out of the truck and brushing residual crumbs from the turkey sandwich from your dress, you shut the door. The window rolled down and Peter leaned over the console to look at you.   

“Don’t be a stranger.” He smiles at you and you can’t help but return it. 

“Never again.” 

“If you have time, come by Destiny’s before you head back up north. I know she’d love to have dinner.” He proposes and your smile widens. 

“I’d love that, I’ll keep you posted.” You start to back up toward your front door. 

“And let me know if you need anything, anything at all. I know losing someone is tough.” His smile falls slightly as the funeral is mentioned again. 

You knew Peter was worried about you and he had good intentions, but he didn’t know your father like you did. You were going to this thing for appearances and to make your grandmother happy, if you had had a choice you would have rather stayed at school. 

“Got it. Thank you, Peter.” 

You wave him off and you watch as he double takes to look at you until he is out of sight, only then did you enter your house. 

The house isn’t much and it wasn’t the home you grew up in. When your mother finally left your father, she promptly moved you both into a smaller place on the west side of Hemlock Grove that was better suited for your new family dynamic. 

It was a dated burgundy one story, with bland beige carpets and no overhead lighting in the bedrooms, but with two bathrooms. That was helpful down the line when your mother began dating again and her multiple suitors would stay for weeks at a time. You never wanted to be alone with any of them, so that meant crossing the boundary into her room to use the en suite was always out of the question. 

Your bedroom was somewhere you always found solace and comfort, even now it felt more like home than anywhere in the world. It had a small excuse of a bay window that looked out over a small and shallow creek. One of your mother’s more involved boyfriends had built you a window bench years before underneath it, upholstered in red velvet. You had run your fingers over the soft fabric so many times, certain places were now rubbed raw and threadbear. 

Roman used to sit on your bed while you sat on the bench, reading to him from a litany of novels, some for pleasure and some for assignments. He’d look at you and tell you the light from the window haloed you like an angel. You’d tell him he was just talking out of his ass to get you to stop reading and fool around. Then Roman would smirk and shrug, like he wasn’t sure who was more right. His memory seemed to be etched into every detail of your bedroom, unfortunately. 

There was the small heart he had carved into your headboard with an unclicked pen, your initials carved around it. There was your small Ikea vanity, that was stained with nail polish from the time Roman insisted he could do your nails better than you could. There was your closet, just big enough to hold you both inside; where you would steal kisses when you first started to sneak him into your room at night. There was the faded paint on the wall in the shape of a rectangle, where a picture frame of you and Roman at your first homecoming together had once been. There was your fucking duvet cover, that you and Roman would hide underneath on bright mornings. Where he’d hold you and kiss you softly, whispering sweet affections until the muggy air between you became thick and he’d push your noses up over the edge of the blanket to take in giggling gulps of breath. 

Roman Godfrey had left painful reminders of himself everywhere. There were too many for you to erase fully. His memory was like a Hydra, repress a recollection of his and two more would pop into your mind in its place.

Now, all the bench held your small suitcase that you had packed early this morning for your short trip down to Pennsylvania. Just some toiletries, a few changes of clothes, a black cocktail dress and a few textbooks. Just because your father died didn’t mean your school work would lighten because of it. 

While it wasn’t very late, you had been up early to catch your train and hadn’t expected to be out all day with Peter. You excused your premature exhaustion and decided it was best to take a shower, have a snack and then go to bed. Tomorrow was to no doubt try your nerves, so a full night's rest was likely your best option. 

After your shower, you slipped into a pair of pajamas and went down the hall to see if your mother had left you any suitable food. She was still on vacation with her current boyfriend and wouldn’t be able to make it back until Monday, a full day after you were set to leave. So, all you could hope was that there was something edible left in the pantry. 

Tussling your damp hair in your hands, you padded through the kitchen to try and make something with the odds and ends your mother had in stock. 

As you settled on a half eaten bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa, there was a knock at the door. Your mother’s car was missing from the driveway and anyone who would drop by unannounced knew she was out of town. Assuming it was a solicitor or a package delivery, you ignored it and continued on with your pre-bed snack. But the knocking didn’t let up. 

Begrudgingly, you made your way to the door in the hopes of shooing off whoever was bothering you. Though, when you opened it, you debated simply closing the door like it nothing had happened. To just shut the door tight and pretend that you hadn’t seen who was standing on your doorstep. All six feet four inches of him. 

With his back to you and a large bouquet of roses in hand, Roman glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door open. He looked about as startled as you felt when he laid eyes on you. 

“(Y/N).” He blurted out, his body swiveling like an owl to face the same direction as his head. 

“Roman.” You gave him a forced smile, cursing that you had lost your opportunity to run and hide.

“I, uh, well, wow. I, these are for your mother,” Roman whipped out the bouquet from behind him, “I heard about your dad. I just wanted to see how she was holding up. I know they aren’t close or anything, but y’know, it’s still the father of her child.” 

You took the flowers from him carefully, making sure to avoid where his fingers lay on the stems. 

“She’s not here, but thanks. I’ll make sure to let her know you stopped by.” You continued your kind facade before moving to shut the door. 

But Roman was quicker as he placed a large hand on the wood to keep it ajar. 

“I’m sorry for you too, you know? I know how it feels to lose a father. So, I’m sorry.” He said, like he was trying to keep you in his company as long as possible. 

“Wish my dad would have eaten a bullet when I was a kid. You got lucky.” You joke, once more trying to shut the door. 

And Roman continued to keep it open. 

“Well, I know things ended… bad- But! I’m still here if you need me. For anything. Have all the preparations been taken care of?” He asked. 

“Yeah, my grandma and grandpa took care of it. Nothing to worry about. But thanks, Roman.”

Roman’s eyes widened and his mouth puckered, the way he always did when he had a million things to say and no idea how to say them. 

You began to notice his attire as he loomed over you, with no seeming intention of leaving you or your front stoop alone. 

He wore a thick winter coat over a black three piece suit, tailored to perfection. His hair was parted on the right and smoothed down with gel. It certainly wasn’t your favorite look on him, but your input hardly mattered anymore. He wore Oxford dress shoes that were spotless and without a crease. You realized just then that he must have come right from The White Tower to bring the flowers to your mother, and these were his work clothes. These were the clothes and fifty dollar haircut of a fresh faced CEO.

You had known that he was set to secede the throne of Godfrey Industries once he turned eighteen, but you never gave it much thought after you moved to New York. The Roman who haunted your dreams and took residence in your thoughts was always your Roman. The boy who wanted to smoke and dance and kiss and laugh. Not a business tycoon out for blood. 

“I didn’t know you would be in town. I would have stopped by.” He said, finally finding words to give him a reason to stay. 

“You already have.” 

“I know, but I would have made it more deliberate. More to see you and not to just give my condolences to you mother.” Roman explained, his hand still on the door. 

You snort, “Yeah, well I don’t know why you’re giving her flowers anyway. She doesn’t like you. Not after I told her everything.” 

“Yeah, uh, I didn’t know that.” He laughs uncomfortably, finally taking a step away and relieving your door of his hostage. 

“Well, it was nice of you to come by. I’ll see you around, Roman.” It was clear from your tone that this incommodious conversation was over. 

Though, Roman still was outwardly ignoring your brusque attitude, “Could I come in? I would love to catch up for a moment? For old times sake?” 

“I don’t know if that is such a good idea.” 

“I won’t be long, I promise.” He bargained

You watched him for a long moment, debating on what to do. On one hand, you craved his presence. You craved him after just one sighting and wanted him to come in, to talk, to listen, to heal. Because like you said to Peter in the car earlier, you did believe that Roman had done what he had for a reason, it was just no doubt a fucked up and selfish one. You couldn’t hate him forever, you didn’t want to. It would destroy you before it did any good. 

On the other, all you could do was hear his voice echoing in your mind, explaining his disgust for you. 

But, you wanted to look to the future. You wanted to free yourself of the burden of grudges and hatred. You wanted to forgive Roman, the best you could, and leave him and his faults to fester in the past while you moved on with your life. 

So, you pushed the door open wider with the tips of your fingers and walked back to the kitchen, while Roman eagerly followed. 

“I’ll have to find every vase in the house for these,” You quietly joked.

“I could buy a big vase to hold them tomorrow and send it over if you’d like?” He was following closer than you would have liked as you searched the cabinets for vases and empty jars. 

“No, it’s alright. I think I’ll like how eclectic they’ll look in mismatched glasses.” You said, “And then I could put them all around the house. It’ll be a nice surprise for my mom when she gets home.” 

You undid the thick satin ribbon holding the bouquet together and found a pair of scissors to cut off the ends.

“Want me to fill these with water?” Roman asked, nodding to the empty vases.

“If you don’t mind.” 

Roman nodded, shedding his wool jacket and blazer, depositing it on a chair. Then, rounding the island to stand next to you to begin filling each receptacle from the sink. 

He was closer to you now than he had been in months. You could smell his woody cologne that clung to his skin, mixed with cigarette smoke and the night air. He must have been driving with the top down. You hated that only his scent could send your heart into somersaults and make your hands quiver with need. All you could think about with him in such a proximity was looking up into his green eyes and him looking down into your (Y/E/C) ones. Looking down at you with that stupid fucking smirk. Then with that smirk, Roman would place a hand on your cheek and gently press it to your lips and you would be in heaven. 

Anything Roman did to you was heaven. 

Expect when he was hurting you. Which you had to remind yourself, he very much did. 

“So, where’s your mom?” Roman asked, placing a mason jar next to faux crystal vase.

“In Florida with her new boyfriend.” You commented. 

“Yeah, I heard she was seeing someone.” 

“You know if he’s any good?” 

“Nah, just that she was seeing someone. I keep an ear to the ground to make sure she’s doing alright.” Another glass filled. 

“You don’t have to do that, Roman.” You paused cutting stems for a moment to glance up at him. 

He was already looking at you. 

“I know. I want to. It’s the least I can do.”     

You hold eye contact for a few beats, Roman’s eyes boring into yours in that hyponic way that always left you weak in the knees. 

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” And you both went back to your tasks at hand. 

It was obvious that you were more than willing to work in silence, and it was clear that Roman wasn’t. 

“So… how’s NYU?” He prompts. 

“Good. I really like it.” 

“Enjoying your studies?” 

“Very much.” 

“And the city? Is it treating you alright?” 

“Yes, I think after I graduate I’ll stay for a while.” 

Roman only hums in reply. Like that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that you’re doing well.” 

“Thank you.”

The conversation lulls as the sound of water and sheers fill the room. 

Roman is chewing his cheek and bobbing his head, and you know he won’t let up his chatter anytime soon. 

“I’ve been working at The Tower. I took over a few months ago.” He says, eyes darting to you like he was looking for praise. 

“Oh,” You reply like you hadn’t already figured it out, “How’s that going?” 

“Fine. I mean, it’s a lot of work. A lot of stress, but I’m glad I’m doing it.” He sounds unconvincing as he rambles on about Godfrey Industries and Pryce’s lab while you focus on the flowers. 

“Do you ever wonder what you would be doing if you hadn’t been told your entire life that you would take over Godfrey?” You ask, somewhat out of the blue.

Roman stops talking abruptly, his hands pausing under the tap. 

“Not really.” 

“Isn’t there anything else you would have wanted to do? Like in a dream scenario in a perfect world?” You elaborate. 

Roman seems unsettled by your questioning, like these were things no one had ever asked him. Things he had never even asked himself. 

“I think in a dream scenario, I would be rich beyond my wildest dreams. And I already am, so why waste time dreaming?” You can tell he isn’t even satisfied with his answer.

You don’t reply, leaving the subject where it lay in the air to go back to working in silence. 

“So...” Roman begins again, refusing to let the conversation die down.

“You seeing anyone?” Roman tries to sound blase, but you know this question lays heavy on him. 

You barely withhold a scoff as you set your scissors down to look at him once more.

He double takes in your direction, not wanting to look at you for fear of your answer, “What?” 

“I’m just surprised you held off this long without asking the question we both know you wanted to ask the second you saw me.” 

“Not really an answer…” he murmurs. 

“Not really your business.” You counter. 

“So there is someone?” You could hear a twinge of anger in his voice. 

“Not that it is any of your business, because I want to stress that it really isn’t, but no. I am not seeing anyone.” 

“Oh.” Roman’s lip twitches into a smile that he tries to conceal from you. 

“Yeah, oh.” You roll your eyes and finish with your clippings and begin to arrange the rose into glasses. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Roman, with his work now over, turns to look down at you, a smirk on his lips. 

“Ask you what?” 

“If I’m seeing anyone.” 

“I don’t care, Roman.” 

“Really?” He leans closer to you.

“Well, what constitutes seeing someone, to you? A one night stand? A hooker? An actual multiple date relationship? What is your definition?” You jeer. 

“How would you define it?” 

“Different from you.” 

“Oh come on,” He pokes, “Tell me.”

He was becoming far too chummy with you for your taste.

“I guess I would define it as multiple dates.” 

“By that definition, then no. I’m not seeing anyone.” 

“But if I defined it by hookers and one night stands?” You inquired. 

Roman doesn’t answer. 

You can’t help but laugh, “And you said I was a whore.” 

The air between you changes, then. It was calm, if not slightly awkward before then, but now it felt tense and uncomfortable.

“(Y/N), I…” 

“Don’t.” You reply before he can say anything else. 

“But I want to say this, I need to.” Roman persists, reaching out to grab your shoulder. 

You shrug off his advance quickly and take a few steps back from him. Roses and vases completely forgotten. 

“I need to apologize to you.”

“You need to apologize to me for what, Roman?”

“For that night, what I said-!” Roman starts. 

“No. What I mean is, are you apologizing because you’re actually sorry? Because you think that’s what you’re supposed to say to me? Or because you want what you did off your conscious?” You raise a single eyebrow. 

“Are you kidding? I’m saying this because I am fucking sorry! I hate what I said to you, it fucking eats me up!” Roman throws his hand in the air as he yells. 

“So it is option C.” You replied. 

“Jesus fucking- no! It’s not! It’s A! It’s fucking A. You think I wanted to do what I did? Huh? You think I wanted you to leave?” 

“Yes, I did. I do.”

“Then fuck you if you think that. Fuck you if you think that I wanted to say all those things. Maybe you don’t really know me at all.” Roman sneers. 

“I already concluded that.” 

He scoffs.

“Is this why you wanted to come in? Force me into conversation? Ask me if I’m dating anyone, give me a half assed apology and insult me?” You crossed your arms. 

“No! No, that’s not why I asked to come in.” Roman shot back. 

“Then why?” 

“Because I fucking missed you, alright? I fucking missed you and I needed to be near you, even if only for a moment.” 

Roman’s voice echoed in the kitchen, his words hanging in the air and ringing in your ears. You could hear them dance in your mind and slide down your back with a chill, taunting you and making your emotions tear in a million different directions.

“Roman, I think it’s time for you to leave.” You say, running your tongue over your teeth. 

“No! I’m not fucking leaving. Tell me you don’t miss me too.” Roman took a step toward you as he ran a hand through his slicked down hair, ruining it’s perfection. 

“I have to get up early, so I just really think you should go.” 

“(Y/N), tell me you don’t miss me and I’ll leave right now. You’ll never see me again, I swear.” 

You don’t respond, just cross your arms over your chest. You rub your hands over the skin of your arms, peaking your fingers beneath your shirtsleeves and gripping the fabric tightly. 

“Just tell me.”

You meet his gaze as Roman closes the gap between the two of you. He was close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin and the warmth he radiated. An unwarranted chill set through you. 

All hope of forgetting the past and moving on was gone, you didn’t care anymore. All you wanted was for Roman to leave. You wanted him to leave so you could wrap yourself in blankets and cry until you couldn’t see anymore.

“Roman, just go.” You whispered, your vocal chords straining to even do that. 

“It’s because you can’t say that you don’t.” Roman raised a hand a single finger tracing the features of your face and causing your eyes to drift shut. 

He traced your orbital bone and the angle of your nose and your eyebrow and ear. He traced your jaw and your chin and the shape of your ear and stopped to caress your lips. 

With each swoop of his finger tip, he was erasing hurt and anguish and pain. He was soothing you and giving you an old form of intimacy that you had craved. He was regaining his sense of self in your mind, reminding you that he could act like he had before that night. He was twining his roots back into your mind.

When his finger finally stopped, you opened your eyes and saw tears had gathered in Roman’s. They were threatening to breech from his lash line as he stared at you with a drumming heart. 

“Tell me why you hurt me first.” 

And Roman dropped his hand and said nothing for a long moment. 

“It’s a long story.” He replies, sniffling loudly through his nose. 

“I’ve got time.” 

“It’s not pretty.” 

“I don’t care.”

You had moved to the dining room for Roman’s story. You both sat on opposite ends of your mother’s old mosaic table that you had both eaten many meals at. It was covered in vintage tiles and you picked at the surrounding grout as you listened to him. You ground your fingernails between the titles, filing them into powder as Roman told you about his birthday and everything that had happened since the night you left him. 

Of Letha. Of the child. Of the razor blades embedded into his arms. Of his mother’s tongue. Of the bloodlust. 

Of the loss.

“This is some fucking Twilight bullshit.” You said once Roman had gone quiet.

“This isn’t fucking funny, (Y/N).” Roman replied, bouncing his knee and pinching his chin. 

“No, it’s not fucking funny at all, Roman. Not even a bit, but it is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my life.” You snort a laugh from your nose. 

“You don’t believe me?” 

“Oh, I believe you. After all that shit with Peter, of course I believe you. Doesn’t make it any less ridiculous.” 

Roman raises his eyebrows in understanding with a slight nod. 

“So, what? You saying all that shit to me was because you thought you were going to suck me dry, or something?” 

“Stop making jokes.” He growled. 

“I’m being fucking serious, Roman! What was it?” You stood from your chair to impose over him. 

“You deserved better. It would have been too much for you.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a martyr, Roman!” You fumed, “Since when have you ever got to decide what was good and what was bad for me?” 

“You don’t understand!” Roman pushed up from his chair with such force it tumbled to the floor, “I could barley fucking handle this, OK? I had been living a lie, I had become a monster overnight! I was fucking scared for you- scared for me. What I could do-” 

His voice began to quiver and his palms shook as he wiped his clammy palms on his slacks. 

“You would either have left me or I would have killed you. I don’t doubt that for a second, and I couldn’t lose anyone else. Not after Letha, not after Peter and Shelley. I just couldn’t.” 

“So, pushing me away was the answer?” You asked. 

“At the time, yes.”

You just shook your head, and collapsed back into your chair.

“I did it because I loved you.” Roman said, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. 

“Stop, Roman...” 

“I fucking loved you so much so I made you leave. I fucking love you more than anything.”

He spoke like he was taking his last breath and collapsed to his knees like a dying man, his bones smacking loudly against the linoleum as he crawled to you, tears still leaking from his eyes. 

“You have to believe that I’m sorry. I am, I am, I am.” 

Roman rested his head on your lap as he wept, his hands clutching your calves. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think or speak. All your mind could comprehend was Roman’s deep and encompassing sadness and his wayward soul. 

You could barely grasp the story he told, so it was unimaginable to you how it must have felt to live it. Your heart ached for him so profoundly. 

Of course you didn’t agree with what he had done to you, not for a moment. He had resorted to cruelty out of fear and you hated it. It was inexcusable. 

But, you folded yourself in half and covered his body with yours anyway, and let Roman cry in your lap. You let him cry out the fear and sadness and the exhaustion he had felt these past months. 

You had let Roman cry himself dry before escorting him to the door. He held your hand on the way and you didn’t stop him. When you reached the door, Roman was the one to open it and step out into the cold Pennsylvania night. Though, his hand stayed intertwined with your own as he walked out onto your porch.  

“What time is the funeral?” He asked. 

“10 AM.” You replied. 

His skin seemed to glow against the night sky, his milky complexion contrasting beautifully to the dark nature behind him. 

“I’ll be there.” 

You shook your head, but squeezed his hand, “You don’t have to, really. It’s going to be long and boring.” 

“(Y/N),” He looked at you with a crisp sincerity, “I’ll be there.” 

You didn’t know what to say, because you weren’t entirely sure what you should say. You wanted to beg him not to come and make a spectacle at his attendance. You wanted to beg him to come and hold your hand and ward off the demons your father had sewn into your psyche. 

“Please, Roman, it’s not a big deal. I swear. I’m sure you have better things to do.” 

He pursed his lips back at you, like he was deciding if arguing with you on the matter was really worth it. Or if he would win or not. In the end, he said nothing. Just nodded and glanced over to his bright red Jaguar in the driveway. 

When Roman looked back to you, you both knew a goodbye wasn’t needed. Your love-telepathy coming back just for a moment to bid each other adidu for the night. An intimacy you didn’t even know you missed until now. 

Roman was the first to step away, pulling your hands apart as he did. You felt each finger detangle from his own, until your pinkies were the only things tethering you to each other. When they detached, your hand fell listlessly to your side and Roman watched you intently as he walked to his car, got in, and pulled from your drive away. Only looking away when he finally drove into the night. 

You smoothed the dress over your hips as you smiled politely at guests entering the church. They offered you watery smiles and condolences as they spread out into the pews.

You wanted to spit in their faces and scream. Scream and sink your nails into your skin and tell them that he had painted bruises on your skin and installed his hatred for you into your heart before you were old enough to know it was wrong. 

He wasn’t a good man. He was far from it. 

But no one who was crying tears for him and shaking your hand knew this, and if they did they didn’t care. He was good at hiding what he did, what he had become. 

You felt like your head was in a fish bowl with the more people who entered. Their faces blurring and distorting before you, their words muffled and useless. You began just nodding at everyone’s words, refusing to listen to anything else they had to say about Heaven and God’s good will. You wished you had a good excuse to leave and never come back. 

It wasn’t until someone wheeled in the casket that you found your escape from the line of mourners and made your way outside. Because the second you laid eyes on the box of shiny mahogany, your stomach dropped to your feet and bile threatened to spill from your lips. 

The man you had hated your entire life, the one who had hurt you, the one who struck you, the one who had belittled you, the man who hurt your mother. That man was dead. He was in that fucking box, seperated from you and the living by a few inches of wood.

That man was your father and he was supposed to love you and now he was filled with stuffing and had waxy skin covered in blush and a heart that would never beat again. A mouth that was sewn shut and would never speak again. To never yell, to laugh, to tell you he loved you. 

It was over. 

Then why were you so sad? 

Maybe Peter was right... maybe you’d even tell him. 

As you made your way outside, you sucked in as much fresh air as your lungs could take. You let the cold air chill your exposed skin and the grey skies calm your overstimulated senses. While gulping in the breeze and pressing your fingernails to your palms to ground yourself, you gazed out over the parking lot. It was then, that you shed your first tears of the day.

Because there, all in black leaning against his car was Roman Godfrey, looking right back at you.

He’d come. 

Because he cared. 

Because he loved you. 

You didn’t think twice as he ran down the church steps as fast as your heels could take you to him, needing to feel him. Roman did the same, rushing across the asfalte to you, wrapping you in his arms immediately as you collided with his chest. 

“You came,” You sobbed into his button down, “You came, you came, you came.” 

“Of course I did.” He cooed, nuzzling close to you. 

“I needed you and you knew and you came.” 

“I’ll always come, even when you don’t call.” 

As you both went back to the church, Roman stood with you to greet people coming in. His hand on your lower back and his grandiose stature and expression keeping people from dawdling too long to speak with you. 

The service was bleak and full of lies, but you mustered through it without a scoff or outburst for your grandparents sake. Roman sat next to you the entire time, his arm over your shoulder and his temple resting against your head. He’d occasionally place a gentle kiss to your hairline or stroke his fingers over your arm as a reminder that he was with you. 

And you loved him for it.

When it was all over and your father’s casket was being rolled away, everyone dispersed. Some to follow the hearse to the graveyard, some to just go home. You and Roman stayed in your seats. You had decided you didn’t want to see your father put in the ground. Not because he didn’t deserve it, but because you couldn’t handle it. You weren’t sure exactly all the reasons why, maybe Peter would know the answer to that, too.

You both waited until no one was left in the church, just watching the sun gleam through the stained glass windows at the ceiling and enjoying each other's company. 

“You alright?” Roman asked once he was sure everyone was gone. 

“I don’t know. I’m still figuring that out, I guess.” You said with a half hearted shrug. 

“It’s OK. You have time.” 

You gave a nod before leaning closer to him, resting your head underneath his own, letting Roman sit his chin on your crown. 

“I thought I would be overjoyed when this day finally came… but I’m not. I’m not really happy and I’m not really sad. I’m just here.”

“I think that’s just fine.” Roman replied, rubbing gentle up and down your arm. 

“Thank you for being here.” You remove yourself from under his chin to look at him, “It would have been so much worse without you.” 

Roman offered you a soft smile and placed his unoccupied hand on your cheek. 

You placed your own hand over his and shut your eyes, reveling in his soft touch. 

It was so quiet and all you could hear was the sound of your heart in your ears and Roman’s rhythmic breathing.

“What now?” 

“I’m not sure,” You open your eyes to see he’s already looking at you, “Where are you going?” 

“Wherever you are.” 

You smile, “Then take me there.” 

As you walked through Roman’s front door, you tried to hide a frown. The old Godfrey mansion had been so intricate and full of character. With crown molding and warm golds and rich browns, and history in every nook and cranny. Roman’s new home… it was sterile and bland and grey. It felt cold even with the hum of the radiator. It felt large and imposing, much like it’s owner. It was the type of home that echoed with loneliness.   

“So, what do you think?” Roman asked from where he stood close behind you. 

“I like it,” You said, “It’s very…” 

“You hate it.” 

You turned to face him and he was looking at you fondly. 

“I wouldn’t say hate. Just, not my style.” 

He nods and takes a step forward, “Yeah, I sort of knew you wouldn’t like it.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You always loved the old house. Said it felt like you were in a  victorian novel.” 

Your heart fluttered in your chest at his memory, “And you always hated it.” 

“I wouldn’t say hate. Just, not my style.” He grins at you and you can’t help but smile back at him. 

“So, you decided when you moved out you’d make your new place the antithesis of it?” 

“Something like that. Anything to erase the memory of my mother.” Roman says this with the cadence of a joke, but his eyes darken at the mention of Olivia. 

“I can’t say I blame you.” You reply before he quickly changes the subject. 

“Have a seat and I’ll make us both a drink,” He says, gesturing toward his large loveseat in the living room. 

You do so, and as you sit down, you admire him standing over the wet bar. He had shed his blazer from his suit on the kitchen table, and through the fabric of his button down (an expensive silk blend from the looks of it) you could so the movement of his broad shoulders and the expanse of the muscles in his back. 

The memory of running your hands across the peaks and valleys of his back stuck you. The memory of his smooth skin under your palms made your fingers burn with yearning and twitch with need to reacquaint yourself with the velvet that was Roman Godfrey’s skin.  

Roman had finished making your drinks. Both crimson in crystal tumblers. He walked to you and handed you the beverage, which you accepted with a thank you. As you took your first sip of your drink, you couldn't help but smile as Roman sat down next to you on his couch. 

“Vodka cranberry?” 

“Like I’d forget your favorite drink,” He says, smiling against the rim of his tumbler, “Well, second favorite. I don’t really have the ingredients for a Long Island iced tea.” 

“I think this works better under the circumstances, anyway. Drinking a Long Island iced tea after a funeral feels a little morbid.” 

“Yeah, but your dad would’ve hated that you were drinking one.” Roman pointed out. 

You chuckled, because he was right. Your father hated drinks where the alcohol was masked by chasers and sugar. He deemed them feminine and embarrassing for anyone to drink, ridiculing anyone (no matter their gender) if they ordered one. 

“That is true,” You take a pull from your glass, “He would have hated that you went to his funeral, too. Because, well he hated you.” 

Roman gives a wide smirk, “I can’t say that doesn't bring me some joy.” 

You could count on one hand the number of times your father met Roman during the years you dated. Though, everytime he had, he made his distinct dislike for your boyfriend overwhelmingly obvious. He thought of Roman like most other people in town did. A spoiled, rich, entitled, sauve asshole. But, for your father, he felt like he had a personal stake in hating Roman. He masqueraded like he didn’t like Roman simply for dating his daughter, but he didn’t give a shit about you or your well being. Your father, the pathetic drunk that he was, was threatened by Roman more than any man you had ever met. He was the one person who he couldn’t intimidate and feel superior too, because Roman didn’t feel intimidated or lesser to anyone in the world. 

“Me too.” 

You both drink in silence for a moment, and you pretend not to notice Roman as he inched closer to you on the cushions. 

“Do you remember,” Roman says, swallowing a gulp of his drink, “that time we snuck into that club in Philadelphia? And you and Letha, just got, like absolutely abliderated on Long Island iced teas?” 

You smiled at the memory, your lips parting with glee the more you remembered about the night. 

“Yes! Oh my God, I had totally forgot about that.”

Roman had paid off some bouncer to let the three of you into some club downtown and it had been a spectacular night. You and Letha were guzzling drinks like it was the end of the world. Roman was only encouraging your recklessness with jokes and bankrolling the bottomless teas. Letha had danced on the bar top while singing you an off key Elton John song while you drunkenly squealed with glee in a hysterical Roman’s arms. You had never seen Roman laugh so much until that night. 

You all danced and drank and laughed and smiled. You had all hid in a corner as you had fished out cocaine from a baggy with your pinky nail, and held it to each Godfrey’s nose like you were giving them communion, before blessing yourself. 

You distinctly remember hanging off Roman like a kola most of the night. Giving him sloppy kisses and groping him in the crowd with whispered promises of more when you were alone. You remember him smiling down at you and always having a hand on your ass. You remember Letha’s happy screams and giggles and how she was twirling so much on the dance floor she tumbled. 

“That was a really good night.” You said. 

Roman nodded, “It was. It was one of those rare times I could get Letha out of her shell.” 

The mood dipped from happy memories to grief as his cousin's untimely death was remembered. It was written clear as day on Roman’s face that he was far from healed from her passing.

“I miss her, too.” You placed a hand on his. 

“Yeah. Life isn’t far, huh?” You saw he was trying to ward off a wash of emotion, not wanting to wallow in her death, because it wasn’t an easy pit to push himself out of. 

“No, it really isn’t.” 

If life was fair, Olivia would have been long deceased. Roman wouldn’t have ever been coerced to do any heinous acts. Letha would be alive. Shelley would have never vanished. 

You didn’t dare bring up his missing sister to Roman, because that pain was almost worse than the wound Letha’s death had inflicted. For the both of you. 

You had learned from Peter the previous day that Shelley was still missing with no leads in finding her. You had nodded but said nothing else and he had let you. 

You had always been close with Shelley. She was so kind and sweet, and incredibly understanding and thoughtful. You were the only two women Roman truly loved and that bonded you in a way, to be the only ones to have his unfettered devotion. The thought of Shelley, out in the world alone, scared and labeled a fugitive made you sick. You couldn’t think about it for long without your nausea sparking and tears forming in your eyes. 

“What I said to you… that night? That wasn’t fair either. It wasn’t fair of me to hurt you like that.” Roman says, his eyes cast down. 

“Roman, we don’t have to do this again. It’s fine, no worries.” You said as casually as possible. 

“No, but it really wasn’t,” Roman shakes his head and rotates his body toward you. 

“I said those things because I was scared, not because they were true. You have to know that.” 

You swallow thickly and nod. Rationally, you knew that was true. After Roman had explained to you yesterday the reason for his vicious one-eighty toward you, you knew that he was only being cruel to push you away. But the words still hurt, they were still brutal enough to feel like there was an ounce of truth to them. 

“I was wrong, I can see that now, yknow? I was really wrong for all of that,” Roman lamented, “I fucked up.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). That’s what I really want to say, what I really want you to know. And you know me, probably better than anyone in the world, maybe even more than I know myself,” He huffed a laugh, “And you know that I don’t apologize. Because I’m not wrong. I’m just not. I don’t say I’m sorry, not to anyone… but this, I gotta own up to. Because I was wrong for hurting you, pushing you away.”

You listened to Roman with baited breath. 

“You were the only person who ever really saw me. Looked into my eyes and saw past the bullshit and accepted me, loved me… and the idea of you hating me forever killed me, fucking killed me so much. But it was better than you sticking around and seeing that all that bullshit was true, and maybe I was even worse.” 

“Roman,” You rasped, gripping his hand tighter, your fingernails biting into his skin. 

“I promised to never hurt you, to protect you, keep you safe. And I failed.” 

Roman had always been protective of his loved ones. He hoarded them like a dragon with gold, prowling in front of them with bared teeth and spitting fury. You still remember the first time he pledged his devotion to you, his undying protection and loyalty. 

It was after the first time he had met your father. A dinner at the Godfrey mansion with your parents, Olivia, Shelley, yourself and Roman. It was an evening requested by Olivia to meet the parents of the girl who had bewitched her son. 

She had been her typical elitist self, turning her nose up at your middle class parents with joy. You were sure she was vibrating in her seat with happiness that she could feel so superior to your average parents. Likely hoping Roman would see this too, and kick you to the curb. 

You mother had been aimable, mostly quiet. You always thought of your mother as a very charming woman, who could talk to anyone no matter the circumstance. But, Olivia would barely let her get a word in, so she took the hint. Though, you could tell Shelley liked her, and that warmed your heart. 

The night’s conversation was dominated by Olivia for the most part, regaling the Godfrey wealth and stories of her privileged life. When she wasn’t boasting about herself, your father would be the one to chime in. Either with an offensive comment or with his poor table manners. It was like having a wild boar in the Shangri La and you felt your face heat with consistent humiliation. You could see your mother twitch uncomfortably across from you whenever he would act, and you knew she was in the same boat. 

You were already planning your apology to Roman when your father spoke up. You had been too busy stewing in your mortification to follow the conversation being had at the time. 

“Well, I tell you something, Roman. This one over here,” Your father stuck his fork over to you, “Isn’t gonna be a good little wife, not like your mother is.” 

Your father threw a smarmy grin to Olivia.

“You’re gonna have to wipe her into shape. Always wants to back talk and cross her damn arms and stomp her damn feet at you.”

Your father laughs and nuges your mother with his elbow, like he had made a joke. Like he thought this joke about you as Roman’s meek little wife would please Olivia and your boyfriend. 

Olivia laughed along and made a comment about her predisposition to wifehood because of her upbring, while Roman seethed. You could see his jaw flexing and hear the sound of his ragged breaths through his nose. You discreetly placed your hand on his lap, doing your best to calm him, but it did nothing as your father continued to make comments about your disrespectful personality, all with the cadence of a joke. 

“Why don’t you go out for a smoke?” Roman said to your father through gritted teeth. 

“Excuse me?” You father said, stopping mid sentence and glaring at Roman. 

“I said, why don’t you go out for a smoke and cool off? And when you come back, be a little fucking nicer?” 

Roman’s eyes bore into your father’s as he spoke. Your father looked furious at this teenage boy’s demand, and you were sure there was going to be a fight. Both men were incredibly hot headed, that this evening might even end in a physical altercation. But, your father just pushed up from the table and left the five of you in awkward silence. Roman relaxed once your father was gone, taking your hand from his lap and intertwining your fingers together on the tabletop. Your mother soon struck up a conversation with Olivia about the antique chaise lounge in the living room. 

Roman held your hand for the rest of the night. When your father returned, he stayed silent. 

When it was time for your parents to leave, Roman offered to drive you home. Though, the minute both you were out of sight of his home and your parents, he pulled over.

“Roman, I am so sorry about-” You began, but Roman stopped you by placing his hands firmly on your cheeks. 

“Don’t apologize. Not for that fucking man.” He said, his tone turning venomous when he mentioned your father. 

“The fucking nerve of him,” Roman spat, his hands tightening on your face, “The fucking nerve of him to speak like that about you. And to me! To me in my fucking home. I’m going to kill him, I’ll fucking kill him.” 

Roman spoke sincerely and you wondered for a moment if you asked him to kill your father, would he? 

“He’s not worth it, he’s not even worth your anger.” You sighed, placing your hand on his wrist and stroking his skin with your thumb. 

“He isn’t worth shit. That fucking cunt.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched your boyfriend speak obscenities. 

“What?” 

“You look very sexy when you’re this mad.” 

You could see Roman’s face visibly relax. You knew he was still angry, but your comment had placated him.     

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You grinned at him and began to lean in for a kiss when Roman stopped you. 

You looked into his eyes again and you saw this serious demoaner was back. 

“I will never let him say anything like what he said tonight to you again, OK? Never. I’ll never let him fucking touch you again,” Roman came to rest his forehead to yours, “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. I will keep you safe forever.” 

And you believed him. You believed him more than you had ever believed a single person in your life. There wasn’t an ounce of you in that moment that could argue with him. You trusted him fully. 

“Ok.” Was all you could say with the emotion that was brewing from his confession, before he finally pulled you to his lips. 

It was the first time you realized you loved him. 

“All I have ever wanted is to keep you safe.” He said it with the same vigor and sincerity that he had in his original vow to you in his car on the side of the road. 

And again, you couldn’t help but believe him. 

“I forgive you.” You really did. 

He was swathing you with the salve of love and honesty, healing the wounds he carved into your skin with his earnest. 

“You were scared, you had just had your life turned upside down… I get it. It’s OK. I’m not blameless either. I said some nasty things.” 

Roman looks up from where your hands are connected and gives you a signature fierce stare.

The weight of his gaze on you feels heavy as he leans forward to set his glass on the coffee table. His eyes never leave yours as he does. As he moves back to the couch, he uses his movement to his advantage to seamlessly reach out to cup your jaw, as he settled back next to you, much closer than before. 

Goosebumps bit across your flesh as the feeling of his broad palm engulfed your face and his breath began to fan across your lips. Roman was smooth, he was graceful and agile in everything he did. Everything including the set up to a kiss, especially a long awaited and important one. 

Roman glides his middle and forefinger up to cradle your ear, to anchor himself to you before using his thumb on the underside of your jaw to tilt your chin. You blood was rushing loudly through your ears and all you could think of was him as Roman’s other arm came to rest across the back of the sofa and ecase you in his arms. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip before he descended for yours. 

And you felt euphoric. A warmth in the pit of your stomach that only Roman would kindle.

Roman nuzzled his lips against your mouth, the tip of his nose brushing your own. Your hands migrated to lay purchase on his shoulders as you let Roman pull you impossibly close to his body. You could feel his heated cheeks against your face and you could feel his racing pulse beneath your fingers as he tipped your face up and opened his mouth into the kiss. His tongue dipped past your lips and you accepted him with a soft whimper. 

Your sound of pleasure surged Roman on as he began to kiss you harder. Sweeter. Messier. Hotter. Just like he always had. 

Soon, you were flat against the couch cushions, Roman above you as his hands explored your body. Your legs bracketed his hips, pushing the heels of your feet against the tops of his thighs to keep him snug against you. Your hands clutched his back tightly, the very same back you had been craving to get your hands on since you walked through the door. 

Roman’s lips detached from your own to drift to your cheeks, your jaw and your neck. To bite, to suck and lick with his sinful tongue. You keened and moaned at his attentions, your back arching into him. The spit he left in his wake met the air in a chilling exchange that cooled your fiery skin. 

“My baby,” He said to your skin. 

“My girl,” He groaned. 

“Mine,” He bit the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” 

You didn’t want to be present while listening to his possessions. You wanted to let them grip you and own you and continue to make your stomach flutter. You didn’t want to have to tell Roman right now that you didn’t know if you could be his again…

“You’re mine, always, always, always,” Roman moaned against you, his voice pornographically seductive. 

“Yes, please,” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but you just knew you didn’t want the feeling of Roman to stop. 

“It’s me and you, we’re together again, it’ll all be OK now,” He says before giving you another sloppy kiss. 

“Be with me, be here. We can make it work.” 

Roman goes back to attacking your neck with his petal soft lips, but you were finally snapped from your the haze of pleasure he had accosted you with. 

“Roman, hold on,” You pushed your hands on his shoulder, “Stop.” 

“What?” He pulled away from you quickly, chest heaving as he looked down at you. 

He looked so boyishly innocent. His lips flush from kissing and his once perfect hair askew from your ministrations. Eyes wide and questioning. He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

“I,” You took a pause, “I can’t stay here, Roman. I just can’t.” 

He looked like you’ve shocked him, stuck his finger in an electrical socket and watched. Roman pushed himself further up, but still hovered over you. 

“What do you mean you can’t stay?” He says your words back to you like they were a personal affront. 

“I live in New York now, that’s where my life is. I can’t just leave.” 

Roman’s jaw flexes and you watch him swallow. 

“What? So, this means nothing?” He gestures between your bodies. 

“No, of course not. Of course it means something.” You replied hastily. 

But, Roman was already getting up off of you and started to pace the length of his kitchen. You pushed up to watch him with concern. 

“I don’t know what you want me to do, I said I was sorry and I am. I really, truly am! So, why can’t you just stay with me? Be with me?” He argued. 

“I know you are! I do, but just because I know you’re sorry doesn’t change the fact that I have a life somewhere else now, Ro. I can’t just abandon it.” 

“Why can’t you? Just come home!” Roman threw his arms up in anger. 

“I don’t want to abandon it, Roman. I don’t want to leave. I like it there.” You move yourself onto your knees as you speak. 

“Jesus fucking-” Roman looked away from you and tugs at his hair, “I can’t believe you right now!” 

“Roman,” You sigh. 

“No! You know what? I have been declaring my fucking love for you for the past two days and that just means nothing to you? Because it doesn’t mean nothing to me.” 

“It means something-!” You begin, but Roman talks over you. 

“And that, that on the couch, that fucking meant something to me! Because you mean something to me, (Y/N). You always have and you always will.” He’s shouting now, if he had any neighbors you’re sure they would be able to hear. 

Your eyes filmed with tears as you watch him. 

“And fuck, while I’ve been going on like a bitch about how I love you, how I’m devoted to you, and you haven’t said shit! Not a word.” Roman’s eyes are beginning to wet as well. 

“Is that what this is? You don’t fucking love me?” His anger cracks as his voice quivers. 

“Roman, no!” You spring from where you knelt on the couch and rush to him, “I do, you know I do. I love you! I love you so much I ache.” 

You cry freely now as you try to clutch his face, but Roman brushes you off. 

“I love you, I have always loved you Roman. I always will. But,” 

“But what? How is that not enough!”

“I need you to love me enough to know there is nothing for me here.”

“Not even me?” His lip quivers. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Your hands shake and so does your breath, “I mean there is not real life for me here. You have The Tower and that’s you life, but what about me? What could I possibly do here that would make me happy?”

Roman says nothing, just swallows a hiccup that threatened to burst from his throat.

“I need you to love me enough to let me leave.”

Roman’s face crumbles into a drastic frown as he fights tears, “I can’t. I can’t do that, not again, I can’t. I can’t let you leave again.” 

“Baby,” You choke out. 

“No! I can’t, I love you. So, please, just love me enough to stay. I’ll give you everything you could ever want, anything you could ever dream of to make it better here.”

“Roman, I love you. I do, I always will. But, maybe this will be good for us. Have time apart to be our own people. I think it might even be healthy?” You say your last words with a watery smile that Roman doesn’t return. 

“I don’t want to have time apart. I had time apart from you and I was fucking miserable.” He states. 

The thought of Roman all alone in this house, heartbroken and stewing in pity and anger makes your heart convulse with pain. You thought of all the nights you slept in your dorm room, silent tears streaking your cheeks as you held your hand over your mouth in hopes to not wake your roommate. You wondered if on the nights you cried for him, if Roman had cried for you? Had he cried at all? Or while you were pouring yourself into your studies to forget him, he was fucking whores to forget you?

“Roman, please just… I love you, just please,” Again, you had no idea what you were begging for. For him to let you leave? For him to convince you to stay? All you knew was that this day had been so catosphroticlly emotionally draining and all you wanted was to fall into his arms for comfort.

“Do you want to be apart from me?” He asked bluntly. 

“Roman, just-” 

“Answer me. Do you want to be apart from me anymore?” 

Your mouth was thick with discarded tears and phlegm. All you could do was look at him and hope he understood you. To tell him you didn’t. 

His eyes softened and you knew your mental tether was still intact. 

Roman takes a step toward you and moves his head to be level with your own, “Then we’ll make this work. I’ll convince NYU to let you take online classes from here, OK? I’ll build them some new buildings - hell! A new campus. I’ll be their new biggest donor, their new favorite fucking person. I’ll give them whatever they want as long as they give me you in return.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that, Roman.” You look down at your feet. 

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” 

You pierce your teeth into your bottom lip and look back up at him. Back at Roman with his pink, glossy eyes and hopeful gaze. 

“I love the city…” 

“Then we’ll fly up every weekend, no exceptions. I’ll buy us a loft in the heart of Manhattan.You can design it to your heart’s content. Make it will feel warm and old and us. The opposite of this place.” Roman says quickly like he knew that would be your next rebuttal. 

You gasp a sob and close your eyes tight. You feel Roman close the distance between you both and cup your face in his large hands. 

“And we will figure the rest out, whatever else is holding you back. We’ll find you your dream job or your passion or whatever you want.” 

You crack your pulsing eyes, to see Roman’s face now streaked with tears. 

“Just tell me you’ll stay.”

You knew this was a risk. You knew he was a risk. You knew leaving New York and NYU sounded naive and utterly foolish to someone on the outside of your and Roman’s relationship. You knew that you would fight with him, that you would get angry with him, that he’d work too much and that he would have to reschedule trips to the city. You knew you would get irritated with each other and you’d say something snarky and Roman would say something mean. You knew there would be nights you went to bed angry and days where you gave each other the silent treatment. You knew it would be hard. Most things involving Roman were. Expect loving him.

You knew that even with all the bad that came with a relationship with Roman, it was eons better than being without him for a moment longer now that you had him again. 

You had wanted to look to the future, to forget the past and forge a new way for yourself. Truthfully, you still did. But maybe you could start over with Roman by your side? Wash away the pain of his indiscretions and learn and grow and heal together? You hoped you could. You hope you weren’t letting your overwhelming love for the man in front of you cloud your judgements. 

So, you placed your hands on his neck and watched his face turn hopeful and said: 

“Ok.”

i really wish i could say i loved this, but i am really on the fence about if this story is even good at all? it was better in my head. but! i hope you enjoyed it anyway and pllsss if you did, gimme some feedback <3 it makes me happy :-)

[babyboy-cody]

Dad Roman going to a parent teacher conference and the teacher says all amazing things except maybe his little girl is really shy, and the teacher thinks she needs to step out of her shell. Roman slightly loses it asking what being outgoing has anything to do with being a good student or person? He has her class switched and tells her if anyone gives her shit for being quiet he will end them. I LOVE the thought of over protective dad Roman lol

quick note: i kept looking back at this ask and kept smiling like a dork because i absolutely ADORE this concept.

–

Roman Godfrey was a man on a mission. A mission to speak with his daughter’s teacher about her academic performance, whether or not put her in tutoring if she needs or to enroll her in better classes. His whole attire spoke of business. Black dress shirt tucked into his expensive Gucci slacks with a black tie resting against his sternum. He looked incredibly intimidating, all dressed in black and over six feet - which is an amazing comparison to his little girl Lilian who’s dressed in a pretty white dress with her white Mary Jane’s and her hair in a tight bun that you did before you left for work.

As Roman’s daughter, most would think that Lilian would be an exact replica of him - overly confident, arrogant, rough around the edges, and just plain mean. But she’s the complete opposite. She’s just a dainty little flower in the hands of a monster. With a soft giggle just like yours and light green eyes so wide and bright and filled with life and the childlike innocence that’s so rare these days.

Every single staff member of Hemlock Elementary School knows who Roman Godfrey is. They were shocked to know that he applied Lilian to a public school rather than a prestige private school miles away, and certainly not in a town like Hemlock Grove. They feared him. They knew his family, especially his mother, whom shall not be named. They were nervous to hear that Lilian Godfrey, the official offspring of Roman, was enrolling to their school.

“Right down this hall, daddy!” Lilian softly tells her father as she holds onto his index finger with her tiny hand. “And we gotta make.... a left - no, right!”

“You’re a smart girl, bug,” Roman grins as he passed by the occasional parent and child, to which they both looked away when he caught them staring.

“Uhhuh!” She skips beside him and stops in front of a large oak door that has a window that overlooks the classroom.

Outside on either side of the door are bulletin boards that contain decorated papers and drawings from different students. Roman catches sight of a particular paper that has Lilian’s scrawly handwriting of her name in glittery pink pen. He can make out his mammoth height and two green dots for his eyes and his black shirt and poorly drawn blue pants. He smiles at the bottom of the paper that says, “MY DADDY IS SMART AND HE COOKS GOOD.”

“Mr. Godfrey,” he hears from the side, and he snaps his head to the voice to see a professionally dressed woman, probably in her late 30s. “I’m Miss Avery.”

“Hello,” he curtly replies and outstretches a hand to shake hers, and she does so hesitantly.

“Hi Lilian!” Miss Avery smiles politely at the small girl.

“Hi,” Lilian quietly replies and trails closely behind her father as he follows her teacher.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go to the reading area while I talk to your daddy?” Miss Avery smiles as the little girl runs to the polka carpet and immediately grabbed one of her favorite reading books. “Shall we began?”

Roman sat in one of the bigger chairs in front of the oak wood desk. He crossed one leg over the other and crossed his arms over his stomach. His expression remains blank as the young woman pulls out a stack of papers and straightened her obviously fake reading glasses.

“Now, Lilian’s academic performance has been quite outstanding. In my professional opinion, I would say that she’s more advanced compared to most of my students. She exceeds reading levels and usually picks up books that are a bit more difficult for children her age,” Miss Avery says as she hands Roman some book review papers that Lilian has written.

He looks down at the papers with a small grin as he feels heavy pride fill his surprisingly warm heart. He knew how incredibly smart and talented Lilian is. He believes that his little girl inherited your intelligence early on. He couldn’t be more prouder.

“So, there’s no problems, right? There’s nothing particularly bad about her being smarter than the rest,” Roman says and sets the papers down as he stares deep into Miss Avery’s eyes.

She squirms uncomfortably from his steely gaze as she softly clears her throat. She fidgets with her fingers and lowers her voice as she gives Lilian a slight glance.

“Lilian isn’t exactly... open with the rest. She’s not overly outgoing and she doesn’t have at least one friend in class. And that deeply worries me as her teacher because every child is supposed to have a friend in school,” she states. “In my opinion, I feel like she has to step out of her shell in order for her to succeed in the social aspect of her academic progress.”

Roman’s demeanor changed completely as he hears this. He uncrossed his arms and legs and leaned in closer to the desk. Miss Avery subtly scoots back as Roman’s gaze turns dark and mean. When it comes to his daughter, no one gets away with saying things like that.

“What the fuck does that have to do with her being smart?” He lowly asks, watching as Miss Avery’s eyes widened from his vulgar language, and she noticeably turns pale. “Who gives a flying fuck if she doesn’t have a goddamn friend? I don’t give a shit. As long as she’s doing what she needs to do to succeed in this shithole, then I’m fine with that. My daughter is the best fucking kid in this entire school, and for you to say that she has to be more outgoing really makes my blood boil. It’s people like you that are the reasons why these fucking kids can’t make friends. You’re lucky my daughter is in this room.”

Roman abruptly stands, causing the chair beneath him to screech against the ground. Miss Avery flinched as Lilian’s head snaps to observe the scene before her. She could see the hurricane beginning to form in her father’s muddy green eyes. She hurried to put the book away right when Roman walks over to her with a small smile. He reaches a hand down and gently pulls her up, making sure her dress is pulled down before he pulls her out of the class. When they’re down the hall, Roman stops and kneels down before his daughter. Even when he’s kneeling, he still towers over her.

“After today, you’re gonna be in a better class with a better teacher and cooler friends, okay?” He lightly tugs on Lilian’s light pink cardigan.

“Was I bad?” She softly asks as she plays with Roman’s black wedding ring.

“No, bug,” he whispers and lightly knocks his finger under her chin to make her look at him. “You made me so proud today. Your teacher told me that you’re very smart and you love to read and write.”

“Sometimes,” Lilian shrugs as she begins to blush.

“Hey,” he brings back her attention on him. “If someone every tells you shit for being too quiet, you know I’ll end their lives, right?”

“Uhhuh!” Lilian enthusiastically nods and giggles as she wraps her tiny arms around Roman’s neck, laughing a little louder when he stands up with an exaggerated groan before wrapping his own arms around her.

“I can’t wait to tell mama about today,” Roman comments quietly as he makes his way outside the school.

“Hmm... me too,” Lilian replies quietly in the crook of his neck, one of her tiny hands clutching onto his tie as the other grips the lapel of his trench coat.

[delicateflowerss]

DARK RED

That time of the month came early, and now the local vampire won't leave you alone.

Warnings: 18+, DUB-CON, period kink, blood, compulsion, blood drinking

Pairing: Roman Godfrey x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

happy spooky season and enjoy the first tale of spooktober <3

All you see is red. 

You were letting the warm water run down your back, closing your eyes in bliss. 

But when you opened them, you were met with red. Dripping down your thighs and staining the water going down the drain. 

You sigh with frustration at the fact that you’re early. 

Of all days, you had to get your period on Halloween. 

With how your luck has been lately, you’re not surprised. 

You get out of the shower, dry off and grab a tampon, hoping that you can still have a fun night out with your friends. 

~ 

A crisp autumn breeze makes you hug your arms closer to you. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you look around at the busy street. Everywhere you look, people are dressed in costumes. They’re either waiting in line for the club you’re standing outside of or walking to another destination. 

You grow uneasy as you don’t see any sight of your friends who said they would meet you there.  

You shift from one ruby red slipper to the other as you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching you.  

It’s a heavy feeling, one that makes you feel claustrophobic.  

But you look around and find no one staring at you. 

You try to take a deep breath to calm yourself down. You realize you’ve been a little paranoid since you got fired from your job last month. 

You’re not exactly sure why. Whether it was a blow to your confidence or you felt that you pissed off the wrong guy in town. 

Hemlock Grove is small and he takes up a large part of it. 

“Hey!” 

Your breath hitches as you turn around, finding your friends in front of you. 

You feel yourself relax as you take in the familiar smiling faces. So stuck in your mind, you guess you didn’t hear them approaching you. 

“Sorry we’re a little late. Abby couldn’t find her cat ears.” 

You notice Abby roll her eyes and fix the ears on top of her head.  

“You look amazing!” Sara changes the subject, looking you up and down. 

You can’t help but grin before complimenting her on her own costume. 

“Thanks for waiting in line. Looks like we’ll be let in soon,” Sara says as she eyes the decreasing line ahead. 

“I’ve been waiting for this all week,” Abby says. 

“Is that why you lost the most important part of your costume?” 

Abby makes a face at Sara’s teasing.  

“I just hope some guy in a cheap vampire costume doesn’t hit on me like last year.” 

You and Sara just laugh at Abby’s comment as you all are let inside the club by the bouncer. 

As you walk in, you feel like your ears have gone inside your head. With the music and the amount of people, it’s deafening. 

The only lights on are colored. You blink, your vision going from purple to green to red. 

You and your friends walk up to the bar, lit up and decorated with fake spiders and cobwebs. 

Sara eyes the decorations before noticing people being served a bright blue drink with gummy eyeballs. 

“We have to get those,” she tells you and Abby. 

You nod, just wanting some sort of alcohol in your system. 

But while your friends order drinks, you can’t help but look around. 

They really went all out this year, you think, your eyes wide with awe. 

Your eyes scan the plastic gravestones before seeing someone that takes any wonder out of you and replaces it with a colder feeling. 

He stands across the room, staring at you. 

In a sea of people dressed in costumes. He’s the only one who isn’t.  

He takes his cigarette out of his mouth before letting the grey smoke furl from his pink lips.  

It surrounds him like a cloud before vanishing and then the cigarette is back in his mouth. He inhales, ready to do it again. 

For some reason, you continue to watch him.  

And he does the same, making that intense eye contact with you that you never liked. Even in a dark place like this, you can still make out that his eyes are green. 

It doesn’t even cross your mind that he shouldn’t be smoking in here.  

But that’s probably because rules don’t apply to men like Roman Godfrey. 

You finally turn away from him, but it feels difficult as if it takes all your strength to do it. 

Before you can think too much about why Roman does what he does and what he’s doing at this club on Halloween night, Sara hands you your drink. 

You take a much-needed gulp of it, tasting the sugar masking any alcohol. 

You follow your friends to a corner of the club, away from Roman. And when you gather the courage to look at him again, you find that he isn’t there anymore. 

Your eyes flit in a panic. You hated the idea of him standing in one spot, staring at you. But not knowing where he is now makes your heart race. 

You try to swallow down your fear before you see that a group of guys have approached you and your friends. 

You take another gulp of your drink as one of them walks up to you. It looks like he’s fighting off a smirk as he looks you up and down. 

“Dorothy, huh? That’s adorable,” he says and you can hear the condescending edge to his tone. 

You look at his own costume, noting the lack of effort that he put into it. 

You decide to at least smile, giving him some sort of reaction.  

He introduces himself and you look over at your friends, who seem preoccupied with the guys hitting on them. 

You had somewhat hoped that this wasn’t what you guys would end up doing this year. But you decide to play along.  

At least you know you won’t be going home with the guy since that time of the month came early. 

You offer up your name to him and try to answer his questions over the loud music. 

After a little while, he asks you if you want to dance. 

At first, you’re hesitant but when you look to where your friends were standing and don’t find them, you agree. 

Any thoughts of Roman disappear when you finish the blue liquid in your cup. 

And any thoughts of the guy you’re with disappear when you surround yourself with a ton of sweaty dancing bodies. 

The bass of the music shakes the floor and you can’t help but close your eyes as all you can focus on is that. 

It isn’t until the song changes that you open your eyes. 

When you do, the man you were with has completely vanished. You look around, unable to find him and you don’t think you can even remember what his name was. 

You search until you feel someone standing right behind you. 

You freeze, not able to move as if your feet have been planted to that exact spot on the dance floor. 

You want to move but he puts his hands on your shoulders like he’s stopping you.  

He waits a few moments before dragging them down your arms and you feel like you can’t even take a breath. 

You know who it is, as his pale hands try to grab yours.  

But you tear away from him, snapping the roots that were keeping you hostage. 

You turn to face him and you’re not surprised to find Roman looking down at you. 

You can’t read a single emotion on his face besides the slight trace of annoyance. 

But you think you have him beat on who is more annoyed. 

You don’t waste any time in storming away from him and the dance floor. But before you can get very far, he grabs your arm, yanking you toward him. 

“What’s your problem?” he asks, annoyance now more prominent in his expression. 

Your confusion turns to anger as you send him a searing glare. 

“My problem?” you echo. “What do you think my problem is, Roman?” 

He stares back at you with a question in his eyes and you don’t know if you want to laugh at him or pity him. 

You suppose that there’s a softness to Roman’s face, a boyish quality in his big round eyes and pouty lips. And that’s what lures you in, until you realize there’s something more sinister behind those eyes and in the curve of the ever-present scowl on his face. 

You’re not even surprised he’s trying to sleep with you now. You heard that’s something he does with all his assistants. 

You almost found it odd that he never tried anything with you the whole time you were employed by him. 

You take your arm out of his forceful grip. 

“I’m not going to sleep with you or whatever you want right now, Roman. You fired me for no fucking reason,” you yell but your voice is still not loud enough over the music. 

“I was good at my job. I did everything you asked and then you threw me out in front of everyone. It was humiliating,” you stop yourself when your voice cracks. 

For once, Roman has nothing to say.  

All he does is avert his gaze from you and all you can do is shake your head and walk away.  

You just want to get out of there but you realize you need to go to the restroom first. 

After searching for a couple minutes, you’re surprised to find the restroom with no line outside of it. 

The bathroom is dark, painted black with red stall doors. That uneasy feeling comes back as the space is strangely empty with no one around. 

You find a stall and lock it. 

You check your phone and see a message from Sara telling you that they have left without you.  

Of course, you think, rolling your eyes. 

You would be out of here right now too if you hadn’t gotten your period. 

You check your purse for a new tampon after taking out the old one. But after scurrying through the contents of your purse, you find nothing. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper. 

There’s absolutely no one around and you didn’t notice any tampon dispensers in the bathroom. 

Deciding that you’re about to leave anyway, you pull up your underwear and hope for the best. 

You leave the restroom, eyes on the floor as you think this might be the worst Halloween you’ve ever experienced. 

“Where’s Toto?” 

You almost can’t believe it when you hear his voice. But then you find him standing right in front of you. 

His height almost makes you feel trapped but it doesn’t stop you from showing how you really feel. 

“What?” 

One simple word from you holds every ounce of resentment you have towards him right now. 

“You’re supposed to be some slutty version of Dorothy, right?” 

“You’re such a dick,” you spit out before trying to go around him. 

He stops you with a light touch from his large hand. You look up at him, waiting for him to say something. 

He’s quiet for a moment while he runs his other hand through his hair, fighting with himself to get what he wants. 

Finally, he says your name. 

It’s soft but slightly demanding. 

You keep your attention on him like it’s something you don’t have to think about. 

The exit sign nearby bathes him in a blood red light. 

“Let’s talk outside,” is all he says. 

And for some entirely unknown reason, you agree. 

You follow him through the nearby exit, out into the alley. 

The music and sounds of the club are muffled now and you take in the eerie silence. 

You fix your gaze to him, waiting for him to speak. 

“I don’t want you to think I fired you for no reason,” he begins. 

You can tell it’s difficult for him. Roman doesn’t seem like the type to apologize or to willingly talk about his feelings. 

He looks at you and you can’t help but look back, gazing deeply into his eyes. 

“I fired you because I couldn’t stand being around you.” 

You feel like you’ve been kicked in the chest. 

“And it’s not what you think,” he continues, starting to walk toward you. 

You back up, each step taking you closer to the brick wall behind you until your back hits it, a small grunt leaving your lips. 

He steps closer and closer to you until he closes the gap between you two. 

You’re nervous, unsure of what to do, but all you can do is stare into those eyes. 

His voice gets lower as his mouth gets closer to you. 

“I fired you so I wouldn’t do something I regret.” 

You open your mouth in confusion, trying to form the words but instead he stops you with his lips hungrily kissing your open mouth. 

He licks inside your mouth as you breathe him in, your fingers twisting up the fabric of his black sweater. 

He moves his mouth away from yours and finds your neck. You move your head back to let him lick the column of your throat, nibbling at the delicate skin that covers the blood pumping through your body. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt hungrier,” he whispers until he hesitates. 

His hands move down your body, going under your dress and finding your underwear. 

But you stop him, your hand finding his. 

“Roman. I can’t.” 

He shushes you and says, “I could smell you from the moment you walked into the door.” 

You furrow your brow at his words and you almost stop him again but his movements are careless as he quickly rips off your underwear and kneels down before you. 

You look down at him, waiting for his reaction but he barely even takes a look at you before putting his tongue to your core. 

A moan escapes your lips as you throw your head back. He continues to lap at you, drinking the blood that pours from in-between your legs. 

You tangle your fingers into his hair as pleasure courses through you, the feeling rising within you as each cry comes from your mouth. 

He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on the swollen bud and letting his tongue brush over it.  

He moves his lips down, through your bloody folds and your eyelids flutter as you pull Roman’s hair harder. 

He continues like that while pleasure has completely replaced any disgust you have for Roman’s actions.  

Your breathing is fractured and as he takes your clit into his mouth again, you feel complete bliss overtake you as you let out one last moan. 

Your mind feels hazy as Roman stands back up. 

Then you blink, finding Roman’s lips and chin covered in blood. 

Confusion, fear, and disgust cloud your mind as you watch him slowly lick his lips as if he wouldn’t want to waste a single drop of you. 

His stained lips curve into a smirk before he brushes his thumb across your chin. Then he says something in that usual cocky tone of his. 

“Maybe I should hire you back. Then we can do this more often.” 

[jj-lynn21]

Roman & Princess: Castle in the Desert ch 2

Warnings: angst, smut: oral, Daddy kink, 

ch 1  ch 3  ch 4  ch 5

“All you want is here, Princess,” The voice echoes like its far away but large hands trickle down your arms. The arms then fall around you laying on your lower abdomen. Your skin crawls with goose bumps. “You need to be bound.” Your hands fly up in front of you. Wrists being bound with rope as you gasp.

You scream out waking in a cold sweat on the living room couch. You can hear Roman screaming at people he is video conferencing with in his office up stair. It is a comforting feeling for you just to know he is home, and everything is ok.

“Of course, I still have my fucking secretary,” Roman screams. “She should still have notes on that meeting somewhere.” Roman burst out of the office door. “Hey, Princess you want to come up here to join the meeting?” When he calls on you of course his voice is more respectfully.

You just have a hot pink V-neck t-shirt and dark denim jeans on, “do I look ok for a video meeting?”

“Half those fuckers aren’t even wearing pants,” Roman chuckles. “And Dorothy isn’t wearing a bra. The more I yell the more everyone can see her nipples hardening through her white dress shirt. I knew it always got her off when I went off on the others.”

You smirk while heading up stairs, “You shouldn’t tease the poor girl. She takes fine notes to update me on projects when I work.”

“So, you have the hots for her,” He grins, “and she has the hots for me. Maybe we invite her over to play?”

“You’d give the girl a heart attack,” You laugh as you get to where he is standing. “Now, what actual job do you need help with you horndog?”

“I’ll let Jared explain and you can prove him wrong since he won’t take my word.” Roman leads you into the office sitting down on the chair. Then he pulls you into his lap. “Fucking asshat,” Roman mumbles before turning the speaker back on from mute. “Jared I am sure my secretary can clear up things for you. She is meticulous in everything she does.”

“Of course, I can help with anything you need, Mr. Godfrey,” You are trying to sound more professional to over-compensate for Roman being a little unprofessional.

Roman moves your hair back. His nose nuzzling behind your ear. You do your best to keep a straight face as Jared claims Roman did not approve the distribution of N95 masks from Godfrey industries to the Hemlock Grove children’s hospital.

“Why would I not approve that you, fucktard,” Roman shoots at him. “It is fucking children’s lives at stake with cancer and shit that makes there fucking immunity shut down. I don’t care what you fuckers think about me. I’m not a fucking heartless monster.”

You open another window on the computer as quick as possible. “I got this Mr. Godfrey,” you type in some search terms in the box looking for both the video where to topic was discussed and a paper trail showing Roman signed something and sent it out to everyone who needed to see it. “Jared it looks like one week ago Roman discussed sending the masks out with the whole group. I will send everyone the video. Then he signed paperwork needed to approve the transaction. He sent the paperwork to all of you and the hospital telling them they could expect the masks in the few days. So, I understand why the hospital has messaged Roman with concerns why the much-needed masks are not there. I think you guys better get on that asap.”

“I’m not so sure about the rest of you fucking morons but she knows how to get shit done,” Roman praises you while belittling his staff. “And she gives great head.”

You blush, “Mr. Godfrey do you need me for anything else?”

Roman just nods yes. Snaps his fingers down low for you to kneel before him. You do. Look up at him. And bite your lip. Its not like they could see what you were doing, just see his reaction you supposed. He unzipped his zipper. You went about your other job as he did his best to continue his meeting. He runs his fingers through your hair.

“Dorothy, thank you for starting on the process for this last work.” Roman bites his lip closing his eyes a few seconds. “Just finish that work up fax what needs to be resigned and I will get it back asap. And the rest of you. Do your fucking job. Get those masks to the Doctors and nurses in need. I’m done” He leans back in the seat sucking his breath before letting out a moan. His free hand groping for the power switch on his computer. But they all heard him before the meeting disconnected. They knew or strongly suspected what was happening. And Roman fucking loved that.

“Fuck Princess you’re so powerful,” His hip thrust his cock to the back of your throat. “You showed those fuckers you’re their boss.” You make a choking sound. “Relax, Princess. Daddy’s just going to fuck your throat until he’s ready to cum.” He pulls your hair in his fist keeping you in place. “You know how much the Mr. Godfrey shit turns me on, Princess.”

You try to relax. Breath through your nose. Your arms wrapped around his thighs. Head bobby at his will. You know if its really to much all you need to do is squeeze the skin between his thighs. You are almost there. Your cheeks puffed out. His girth filling your mouth completely. His tip banging the back of your throat. Tears run down your face. Mouth really to full to truly whimper.

Roman has been watching you for the whole time. For those signs you give. The ones you are giving him right now. The tears he loves to see streaking down your face. The only thing that slightly annoys him is the damn water-proof mascara you started wearing so it does flow down your face with your tears, “hang in there, Princess. Fuck your such a good girl. Daddy’s going to get you something nice for this. Oh shit…”

He pulls out. You take a deep breath in and out. Roman cums on your bare chest and down the front of your shirt with a deep loud groan. You sit there catching your breath fully. Chest heaving.

“Fuck, yes yes…” Roman murmurs. His head back looking up at the ceiling. Eye wonky rolling to one side. The other stable.

Roman picks you up. “Let’s get you in the spa tub for a nice soak Princess. You want bubbles?”

You nod yes.

He sits you on the sink and draws your bath with lots of foamy bubbles. Strips your cloths off and tosses them in the sink. Then puts you in the bath. “I’ll rinse these, so they are easier to clean in the laundry. I know this is your favorite shirt. I’ll bring you some blood orange juice after I make that call to Bill. I want to leave for Vegas in a few hours.”

“That sounds good,” eyes closed laying against the tub pillow.

[smokeybrand]

Smokey brand Movie Reviews: The Devil is in the Details

I’ve been seeing a lot of chatter abut this Netflix movie, The Devil All the Time. It’s been getting mixed reviews but they skew mostly positive. What is really surprising is all of the buzz this thing has been getting. The word-of-mouth for this flick is mad profound. No less than six people that i know personally, have told me I'd love it. This thing was definitely on my list, Netflix has stepped their cinema game up considerably, but i have been distracted by other shows like The Boys, Raised By Wolves, and Ratched. The former two are weekly releases but i wanted to finish the latter completely before i took in any more new fare. Plus, Marebito is gnawing at me for a viewing. Still, i did finish Ratched and Marebito is an older title so i figure i might as check out this Netflix produced, Tom Holland vehicle for myself and see if the best Peter Parker can really step outside the MCU and impress, like his costar, Zendaya, does. Shout out to Zendaya on that Emmy win.

The Good

I love the direction of this film. It’s very controlled, very deliberate. This film started as a gook so there is already a story to be told, the trick is telling that story but in a way that not only represents the feel visually, but staying true to the tone of those pages. I’ve read this book years ago and never expected that it would get a film adaption but this one is pretty good at that. I credit this clearly to the deft touch of Antonia Gampos. He knows this story and he tells it well. Surprisingly, this is only his fifth directorial outing. Dude should be getting much more work after this though.

This is easily one of the most f*cked up stories ever captured on film. It feels like Silence of the Lambs in that sense but far more brutal and far less controlled. I remember the book being a great deal to finish, it’s just so goddamn cruel, and seeing that translated on film is just as brutal. I love it. I love when film challenges you like this one does. I love when there is real brutality displayed because humans can be brutal. I’m a card-carrying misanthrope so this narrative is par for the course for me.

This film is violently visceral. I mean there is gore galore but it’s never gratuitous. It’s almost always in service to the plot to prove how goddamn cruel the world within this narrative truly is. It can be shocking, it can be grotesque, it is definitely off-putting, but it’s never just for the sake of shock. I always respect when films show restraint with this kind of stuff. The gore is to accentuate not the other way around.

This cast is straight up lousy with talent. Jason Clarke, Sebastian Stan, Eliza Scanlen, Pokey LaFarge, Harry Meiling, and Haley Bennett, all turn in decent performances. It was dope seeing Mia Wasikowska in something new and Riley Keough can surprise when she has a role to chew on. They even incorporated the author of the original book, Donald Ray Pollock, as the narrator. I appreciate that nod.

Tom Holland didn’t disappoint. This dude is a real talent and seeing him in something completely different than the role that made him a star, Peter Parker, is f*cking jarring. It speaks to his range and a ridiculously bright future in this business ahead of him. His turn as Arvin Eugene Russell was staggeringly emotional. This performance, alone, should devastate any talk of type casting because kid can do it all. Seriously, there is level of barbaric malice that just infects the entirety of this the younger Russell’s life and Holland captures that underlying malice perfectly

Robert Pattinson keeps showing me why he’s one of the best in the business. The more he keeps turning in performances like Connie Nikas and Young, the more he distances himself from f*cking Edward. Reverend Preston Teagard is another one of those showings that proves Pattinson is a real actor and not some pretty face or, in the case of The Batman, a jaw for a cowl. It’s wild seeing BatPats as a fat-ass, sleazy ass, southern preacher with a disgustingly accurate drawl.

I would be remiss if i didn’t mention Bill Skarsgard as Willard Russell. Dude has been one of my favorite actors since his stint on Hemlock Grove, another Netflix property, and he’s been excellent in everything I've seen him since then. Mark in Assassination Nation, Pennywise in IT, Markel in Atomic Blonde; Dude was even part of the ill-fated X-Force in Deadpool, too, as Zeitgeist. Bill is riddled all over sh*t i enjoy and his take on the elder Russell is just another reason why.

The Bad

This thing kind of jumps all over the place with the narrative. You have to pay close attention because it does take place between two generations and several families. Everyone is interconnected, which lends itself to a novel but can be quite the burden to properly display on film. It can be a little much to keep up with everything but, if you can, if you take the time, it rewards you with an incredibly well constructed relationship tree.

It feels like a lot of this cast was wasted. There re so many great actors in this thing that only get a few minutes, a few scenes, to shine and it's a little bit of a waste. I'm not saying what they gave us wasn't excellent, i was just left wanting, just left longing for more. Seemed like a missed opportunity to me.

This thing is kind of a slog. It’s a little over two hours long and, while you watch it at your leisure, in your home, it’s still a rather large committed to demand from the common viewer, especially when there isn’t any real action to be had. I’m built for slow burn movies. I love atmosphere and purposeful film making like Alien, Blade Runner 2049, or The VVitch so this is right up my alley. Those films, however, are acquired tastes that not so many people in the general public have acquired.

As much as i can praise the overall narrative and how unapologetically adapted it’s been to film, this sh*t is not an easy watch. It is truly f*cked up and a real hard story to witness. While i, personally, believe the utter barbarism on display is riveting, I've sat through Irreversible and Raw a few times so my tolerance is pretty high to the horrid, i can see how people could be turned off by all of this f*cked up. This is a story of awful people caught in even worse circumstances. Every one who is even remotely decent, dies. There are no happy endings to be had here. This movie is an exercise in the worst of humanity so if you’re looking for a light-hearted romp to get your mind off the state of the world, this ain’t, bud.

The Verdict

I loved this film. It is an absolutely excellent picture from start to finish. The way it’s shot, the vision on hand, the adherence to the time period - all of it is masterfully guiding by the expert direction from Campos. Tom Holland turns in a brutally forceful performance that carries this film filled with one of the best casts I've seen in years. Seriously, this movie has an embarrassment of riches on hand and they use them to full effect, mostly. I enjoyed every second of this movie but i can honestly say, it ain’t for everyone. This is not a fun tale. This not a good time. This is one of those movies that leaves you disgusted with humanity and that might be way too much to ask of people, especially during this, the f*cking apocalypse in real life. If 2020 were a film, it would be The Devil All the Time. Sh*t’s that bleak and it asks a lot of your time to slum it in this sordid, bloodied, world. The performances and visuals are absolutely outstanding and the way the film has been crafted makes for great cinema but, f*ck, is it a monstrous watch. If you can stomach it, i give it the highest of recommendations but this thing can be excruciating to see.

[emmyrosee]

Ok... so I might have an headcanon for Roman (if it doesn't suck, if it does... ignore it). But like imagine that reader is Shelley's best friend (because I love her) and Roman, being a bit protective of his sister, has this love-hate relationship with Reader, with them being annoying assholes to each other. But one day he accidentally walks in on a very juicy confession, between Shelley and Reader, where the reader confesses that she has a crush on Roman, but is afraid that is unrequited...

…my love… this is going to become a novel, sit back, grab a snack, and get comfy because noW YA GOT ME THINKING, AND I LOVE SHELLEY SO IMMA GO OFF EVERY CHANCE I CAN

So kinda like Peter, you were always just really nice to Shelley, treating her like she was normal because in basically every aspect, she is perfectly normal. You two instantly clicked, doing homework together and having her basically teach you how to do calculus (pffff whaaaat, totally didn’t put that in there because I suck at calc, whaaaaaat) and overtime, you two just became inseparable. The first time she showed you what she looked like without her hair, you cried because of how beautiful you thought she was.

Well one day, you and Shelley were hanging out at her place, despite her worries about what her mother might think, you assured her that you wouldn’t cause any sort of worry or calamity to the Godfrey house.

And you’d kept your promise… until Roman walked in, red apple in his hand. Shelley, of course, lit up in excitement as Roman plopped down next to her, while you and him merely glared at each other. You never really gotten along with the Upir, and you sure as hell weren’t about to start.

“Now what’s the princess of Hemlock Grove doing with this peasant?” Roman teased, making Shelley laugh quietly. You rolled your eyes at him, “sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, oh great Roman, but I need help passing this class because not everyone has a mother that will fuck her teachers so they can pass.”

Roman shrugged, “you act like I care enough about Olivia to defend her from that comment.” He stood up as he took a bite from his apple, the juice covering his cherry-red lips as he winked at you and nudged Shelley’s nose before leaving. She turned to you before typing ‘are you okay?’ On her device. You shrugged, “don’t worry about me. I’ve heard worse from better.” Shelley nodded before turning back to her paper, guilt filling her eyes.

“Shelley-bean,” (I love that nickname for her, okay, don’t @ me) you whisper, wrapping an arm around her. “Roman’s nothing more than a buzz in my ear. It’s gonna take a lot more than him to break me down.” You assured her, smiling sweetly. She finally nodded in agreement before smiling again, and you copied Roman’s gentle touch to her nose.

This continued for a while, you and Shelley would be doing something, and Roman would be there to make a comment or do something to make you jump.

Watching a movie? He’d reach over the couch to tickle you. Doing homework? He’d lean over your shoulder like a nosy teacher and tell you were doing things wrong when you very clearly weren’t. Making popcorn? He���d take a kernel from the bowl and flick it at you before strolling off. But you weren’t short to send it right back; you’d rip out a piece of paper from your notebook paper and beam it at his head, catching him off guard as you and Shelley held back your laughter. You’d poke his shoulder as you walked by to make him look,

If it didn’t make Shelley laugh so hard, you’re fairly sure neither of you would continue to harass each other. But her genuine, gentle laughter was enough to make you both happy, and you enjoyed messing with Roman whenever you could.

But you didn’t know just how much you liked teasing him until one night you just… couldn’t sleep. You kept thinking about all the times you’d teased him, how hard his retaliations would make you laugh, and vice versa. The crinkles of a smile against his piercing green eyes, cherry lips curling upwards to reveal rows of perfect, white teeth, and skin smooth enough to draw on.

Not that you’d needed to, Roman was a goddamned masterpiece as it was.

Night after night, you’d imagination took to the form of Roman, in bed next to you, caressing your cheek until you were soothed enough to finally sleep, but you fought it because you just wanted to keep getting lost in those pools of green.

One night, you couldn’t take it. You sat up in bed, grabbed the closest writing utensil and paper and just… wrote.

You wrote and wrote, filling the page with desires of “The Green Eyed Man,” and everything you wanted to do with him. Wanted to be with him.

The next day, half exhausted from your sudden nighttime creative session, you and Shelley hung out again, and this time, you were so wary of Roman, flinching away from his teases and touches and barely acknowledging him.

Shelley, being the ever observant lady she is, immediately picked up on your sudden lack of playfulness. ‘Are you okay?’

“Yeah!” You lied. “Yeah I Uh, I’m good.” You pulled out the English assignment you’d done last night and handed it to her, a smile on your face. “Can you just check this over for me for any errors or anything?”

Shelley nodded as she began to read, a blush spreading across her face. You shifted awkwardly as you looked at your English book, tilting your head in confusion at the paper sticking out.

Wait.

WAIT.

‘You’ve had motivation,’ Shelley typed, a shy smile on her face. Your face grew hot at her words.

“The Green Eyed Man” was held in Shelley’s hands. Not the English assignment.

“I am so sorry you had to read that,” you whispered quietly, taking the paper from her hands.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

“No,” you sighed, crumpling up the paper, tossing it away. “I don’t know why suddenly I feel this way.”

‘It could be-‘

“Well well, what’s this?” Roman asked, and your head immediately shot up. You whipped around to face him, tears welling in your eyes. He had a cherry popsicle in one hand and he bent down to pick up your borderline confession in the other.

“Roman,” you sniffed. “Please give me the paper.”

“Why?” He asked, uncrimping it. You buried your face in Shelley’s shoulder as he read, unable to face him.

The room stayed silent as he read, and a few minutes later his expensive boots clamped against the floor.

“Hey,” he said softly, and you shamefully lifted your head. He was grinning, and you wanted to slap him in the face to clean the smug smirk off of it.

“This,” he held up the paper. “Is hot. I’ll be keeping this.” He tucked it in his pocket as he bit the end of his popsicle.

“And if you’re ever not hanging out with Shelley but you need some Godfrey in your life, give me a ring.” He added with a wink, making your heart stop and your stomach drop. He walked away cockily with his popsicle, “The Green Eyed Man’ crinkling in his pocket.

[b-skarsgard]

Bill Skarsgård is on his feet, furiously pumping his arms back and forth. Standing 6-foot-4, he could cover a lot of ground if he wanted to, but he’s channeling a specific 5-year-old at play here.

We are talking about picking up other people’s physicalities and incorporating bits and pieces of them into his characters when he shoots up to demonstrate his bag of tricks. Standing in the open space of an Upper West Side home’s library, he brings his shoulders up to his ears, keeping the energy in his top half akin to a runner sprinting to his finish line, while from the waist down he appears more as a slow loris than Sonic the Hedgehog.

“That’s my little brother [Ossian],” Skarsgård says with a laugh, explaining the movement’s inspiration. “He’s 10 now, but when he was 4 or 5, he had a really funny way of running. You ever see kids do this? It’s the funniest thing ever.” Funny, sure, but when done by someone of the actor’s stature, slightly bewildering and creepy. “If you look at Pennywise,” he says, “Pennywise does this.”

Skarsgård is, of course, referring to his biggest role to date: Stephen King’s clown creation at the center of the “It” film franchise. As the evil entity known for eating children alive, Skarsgård has taken Pennywise the Dancing Clown—first imagined in King’s 1986 behemoth novel before being brought to the screen by Tim Curry in a campy 1990 miniseries—and morphed him into a truly terrifying being who brings into vivid clarity just how scary circus attire can be.

In case you somehow missed it, “It” premiered in 2017 and quickly became a pop culture phenomenon, grossing $700 million worldwide and breaking the record for the highest-grossing horror film of all time. It inspired Halloween costumes, “Saturday Night Live” spoofs, and a whole new generation of genre fans who will never look at red balloons the same way again.

Skarsgård and his cast—which includes kid co-stars Finn Wolfhard (“Stranger Things”), Jaeden Martell (“Masters of Sex”), Sophia Lillis (“Sharp Objects”), and a standout Jack Dylan Grazer (“Shazam!”), plus their adult counterparts Bill Hader, James McAvoy, Jessica Chastain, and James Ransone, respectively—are hoping to catch lightning in a bottle once more this September with “It Chapter Two.” Picking up 27 years after the first film and Pennywise’s apparent—but temporary—defeat at the hands of the Losers Club, the film is another chance for Skarsgård to showcase the impressive physicality and personality he brought to Round 1.

Just minutes into a conversation with the actor—and after that performance of a 5-year-old running—it’s clear his calculated character work is thanks to a keen sense of observation. Take the Swede’s analysis of Scandinavian cities, for instance: His hometown of Stockholm is not as laid-back as Copenhagen, which by comparison feels more European. Having been raised in Sweden to a family of acting royalty—Stellan Skarsgård (an Emmy nominee this year for “Chernobyl”) is his father and Alexander Skarsgård (Emmy winner for “Big Little Lies”) is his brother—he recalls his people as more serious, the type to follow rules and structure.

His observations let him steal tangible details and tics from strangers, friends, family, and cultures, pulling them into the people (and, in the case of “It,” evil entities) he plays.

“Sometimes I even do it subconsciously, where I do something in a scene and I’m like, Wait a minute, that’s the guy from the subway. I saw this guy and I thought he was weird. Now I just did it in a scene,” he says, getting excited. “I fucking love when it happens so much because it’s literally happening in the moment.”

He’s not Method in his acting, but Skarsgård’s approach certainly feels all-encompassing. He has the capacity to go so deep that he makes it a point to draw clear boundaries for himself; during the audition process, he consciously avoids getting too attached to the role, limiting his prep work to memorizing the sides and making a strong, well-thought-out choice about the character he’s playing.

“You can prepare as much as you want—prepare in terms of the scene or think about the character, but the research I put into a role is emotional, especially if I have a book to read about it,” he says. “The ‘It’ book is a really particular one, but usually, [if] you read about the character, delving much deeper into who [they are], you start getting emotionally attached. You can get emotionally attached to a character without doing much research at all. It’s just shitty when you don’t book it... For me, when I book it is when I let myself go [and] really feel safe to emotionally give so much of myself to it.”

His wariness is understandable when you look at his résumé. Life for any actor naturally ebbs and flows between bookings and rejections, but that’s amplified for an actor like Skarsgård, who has built a career on playing brooding types often living in dire circumstances. His breakout role stateside was as vampire Roman Godfrey on Netflix’s “Hemlock Grove” before going on to play a character in the third installment of the post-apocalyptic “Divergent” series and then a mysterious inmate who’s been theorized to be the actual devil in another Stephen King-inspired screen project, “Castle Rock.” It’s not exactly light fare, and diving into those psyches unnecessarily could become detrimental.

“I like living by [the motto] ‘It is what it is’; you adapt and you’re spontaneous and you change things,” Skarsgård says when asked if he adheres to any specific technique to capture the characters he plays. “My life is not very structured or organized to begin with, and that obviously bleeds into the work that I do.”

It’s the spontaneity of his choices onscreen, too, that makes the 29-year-old so fun to watch, particularly as Pennywise. Two of his contributions to the final incarnation of Pennywise’s appearance include the cartoonishly pointed bottom lip—a thing Skarsgård can really do with his mouth, something he says he’s never seen anyone other than his family members do—and Pennywise’s walleyed stare, in which one of his pupils wanders off to the side while the other stays firmly focused on you.

Physically, the role is demanding, requiring him to yell, shake, and contort his face in ways that leave him exhausted; that’s not to mention the hours spent sitting in hair and makeup. “You have glue all over your face; there’s paint. Your hair is up in [a skullcap]—it’s itching. There’s, like, a foam head on top of it.” To put it mildly, “It” and its sequel are unlike any of Skarsgård’s other acting experiences. For myriad reasons, it lacked the give and take of more traditional projects. He had to be at “150 percent intensity” whenever the camera was on him. “A lot of the stuff I do sometimes is literally like”—he makes a gurgling sound like a chainsaw underwater. “It’s like one big jump scare, charging the camera screaming and shaking my head violently. There’s never a scene where you’re just chilling.”

The final product is an amalgamation of script work, Skarsgård’s own imagination, and King’s classic novel, which he leaned on more than usual since the script, told from the perspective of the film’s child leads, necessarily left out Pennywise’s perspective. He also used YouTube to watch videos of mimes, hyenas, baboons, and monkeys, using elements from each to piece together the way Pennywise moves through space.

With all the information he’s gathered from his prep process at his fingertips, the on-set experience becomes about playing to the truth of the scene and the “essence of what the character is at that point.”

“You completely intellectualize the character,” he explains about the early stages of figuring out the person he’s playing. “Who is this guy psychologically? Why is he acting this way? What is his relationship with the world and the people closest to him? The way I do it is objectively going out and studying him separately from me. Observing him, judging him, understanding him, and sympathizing with him.”

He admits to developing a fondness for Pennywise, who refused to vacate his mental premises even after the film wrapped. “You go with a character and you think about that character obsessively for a very long time, and then overnight there’s nothing left to think about,” he says. The uncoupling manifested itself in his dreams, where he sometimes was Pennywise and sometimes was talking to Pennywise, upset that he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. “And then I wake up and I’m like, that was kind of sweet.” It’s the kind of affection only an actor who has lovingly pieced together a character over four years can have for something so objectively sinister.

But no matter the role—or its wickedness—we relish the moment Skarsgård stands up to show us what he’s found today.

[junqkook]

— INTO THE WOODS, 1: THE GROVE (m.)

— notes; i hate that i have to say this, but STOP REPOSTING AND/OR RE-IMAGINING THIS AU AS YOUR OWN. THAT IS STILL PLAGIARISM.

pairing; jungkook/reader genre; goblin au, smut, e2l rating; explicit words; 6,790

— synopsis; getting hurt and stumbling upon a goblin in the forest leaves you completely at his mercy, though you aren’t sure if that’s necessarily a bad thing.

contents; goblin!jungkook, e2l themes, cheating implication, rough sex, unprotected sex (stay safe!), clothed sex, creampie, marking, possessiveness, oral (f and m receiving), dirty talk, multiple orgasms.

— chapters; the grove (01) | the thicket (02) | the nest (03)

“This is just great,” you muttered to yourself, shivering slightly from the chill in the air as you stomped through the grass. The forestry around you was so thick it was damn near impossible to even begin to think of a way out. Not to mention that the sun was setting and you’d already been walking around aimlessly for hours.

You were usually fine with the forest, never venturing in too far for fear of the beasts it held within, hidden away from your human eyes. Your village spoke of them in harsh whispers, your schools educating the young about the goblins, beware the goblins lest they steal you away.

But the herb your mother needed was hard to find, hidden in the undergrowth, and you had inched further and further inside the forest until you were no longer sure how to get out, a handful of herbs clenched in your fist. Night was quickly approaching and every hushed sound had you on edge, hair rising and goosebumps raising on your skin.

You circled around as you passed a tree, foot catching in the roots poking out of the grass and you collapsed in a heap on the ground, yelping as you went down. The plants near the tree trunk muffled your groan and you spit them out as you tried to get to your feet, ankle throbbing and shirt torn at the elbow where it scratched against the bark of the tree.

Your tongue felt heavy as you pushed yourself to your knees, turning and blinking rapidly as you cradled your knees to your chest, wincing at the sharp pain in your ankle. The inside of your mouth felt odd—there was a sharp tingling sensation building on your tongue and the insides of your cheeks.

You got to your feet using the trunk as support and attempted to set your weight down evenly. You hissed when sparks of pain shot up your calf and you kept most of your weight on the uninjured limb. Limping forward didn’t seem like a fruitful option, but you refused to give up hope on finding your way out of the forest—you would get out, get home, and go on with your merry life.

It was only a few feet away where you attempted to cross over a fallen tree trunk, huge and littered with moss. It was so thick it almost rested at your full height on its side and you used your arms to pull yourself up. It was much harder than you’d anticipated, your vision blurring for a moment and your breaths coming heavy. Your arms were trembling and you whimpered as you maneuvered your feet to the top of the trunk, where you sat to gather yourself before climbing down—it was definitely going to be painful, as there was no other way but to land on your feet lest you wanted to sustain another injury.

You swayed as you turned to the other side of the tree trunk, unsteady even while seated. You rubbed at your eyes, the tingling sensation spreading to your throat. Your limbs felt heavy as you tried to move, but your hand slipped and you pitched forward, eyes closing and surrounded by black before you even hit the ground.

Everything ached.

That was your first thought upon gaining consciousness. You were swaying gently, something warm wrapped around your body. You buried your face into it and groaned, whatever it was tightening around you.

“Hold still, little human, we’re almost there,” something murmured.

You tried to open your eyes, but they wouldn’t budge. Your arm dangled in the air and you foggily realized that you were being carried by someone. Your whole body refused to do as you wanted, panic settling in your stomach from the paralysis. Your throat felt constricted, not enough air making its way into your windpipe.

Finally, finally, you were set down on the ground. Your body didn’t move, limp wherever the person had placed you. Panic seized you again, gripping tight as you tried to push through the haziness that had a hold on your brain.

Fingers prodded at your mouth, pushing your lips apart gently. Your heart was thudding loudly in your chest and you were sure that he could hear it as you felt the heat of his body tower over yours. Lips pressed against yours, parted similarly, and then a tongue licked into your mouth. You wanted to recoil, open your eyes and see who it was that had carried you away and was now kissing you. The movement of his tongue against yours continued for a few moments and your lips began to throb as he pushed harder against them.

He pulled back slowly and whispered, “Swallow.”

Without thinking, you did as he said and relief was almost instantaneous. Your mouth no longer felt as though a fire had been lit inside of it, the relief spreading to your constricted throat until it felt normal, only a dull ache in its place.

He pressed his mouth against yours again, gentler this time, nipping at your lips and swiping his tongue across them. Your eyes fluttered open and met brown ones, the man staring right at you as his mouth worked against yours. Your fingers twitched and you made a muffled sound, prompting him to push himself away from you.

You struggled to sit up, the man offering no help, but you finally managed to prop yourself up, hissing at the tendrils of pain shooting from your ankle. You turned to look at the man crouching beside you, his face impassive. He looked exactly as a human would, but you knew better—you checked his ears, which were elongated back and curved at the tips, fading from a pale skin tone to a light green at the points.

“Goblin,” you whispered, lips trembling. Your voice came out hoarse.

“Human,” he mocked, sneering at you.

“Why—why did you bring me here?” you asked, fearful. Was he going to eat you? But that didn’t make a whole lot of sense, since he’d just—wait, had he just saved your life?

“Poison,” he answered you, watching you collect your bearings, chest heaving. “You had hemlock poisoning.”

Your fingers were shaking, remembering how you’d fallen face first into a patch of plants beside a tree right before you had gotten dizzy. You managed to poison yourself with hemlock accidentally and now here you were, seated beside a goblin.

You should thank him for saving your life. You wanted to. But these creatures always carried with them a price for good deeds.

“What do you want from me?” you asked him slowly.

He scoffed, turning away from you and standing to his full height. He left you with a tiny semblance of privacy as he shuffled over to a desk and you looked around yourself, seated on the earthy grass. It looked like an alcove and you could see a shut wooden door up ahead, everything lit with small lanterns that lined the walls.

“Who said I wanted anything from you?” he finally spoke, turning to face you again. He threw you a blanket, which you caught with unsteady hands and held to your chest. It was scratchy but warm and you spread it out over your body, relishing in the warmth as the goblin watched you from where he stood, merely a few feet away.

“You’re a goblin,” you told him. “Goblins always have a price.”

He smiled sharply, eyes hard. “And you’re a human. Humans are always ungrateful.”

You frowned, pulling the blanket up to your chin and watching him. “I’m not ungrateful. You saved my life.”

“I did,” he returned. “Hemlock does not affect goblins the way it does humans.”

“We don’t know each other,” you said lowly. “Why would you save my life?”

He sighed, fidgeting. “Death is not something to wish for.” Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth, but he continued before you could speak. “Also, I do not desire the blame for a human’s death.” He glared at you for a second too long before turning back to his desk, fiddling with something you couldn’t see.

You shut your mouth, cheeks warming. You shifted your body weight, grimacing when your ankle shot pain up your leg and tingles set in. Reaching down, you pushed part of your sock down and away from your ankle, biting your lip when you saw how swollen it was—it was even starting to bruise.

The silence was stiffening and your nerves weren’t calming, not when you were basically stuck in a goblin’s home with said creature having every advantage of you. If he really didn’t want a human’s death on his hands, he would let you leave, surely. You weren’t sure if you’d even be able to stand, let alone find your way out of the dense forest, but you needed to take the chance anyway.

“Can I leave?” you asked, breaking the silence and staring at the goblin’s back.

He turned to face you again, blinking his large brown eyes comically. You bit back an incredulous laugh—he was immensely attractive, especially for a goblin; though, you’d never actually seen one in the flesh before, only from stories told by others and what you’d learned in school.

“No,” he responded.

Anger bubbled up inside of you. “Is the price for saving my life keeping me here?” you hissed. He rolled his eyes and you scoffed. “I knew you’d have a price—goblins never do anything out of the goodness of their hearts.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “If you even have one.”

Your remarks were met by more silence and you let it fester for a few beats before facing the goblin. He was staring down at a small glass vial that he held in his large hands, turning it over while he clenched his jaw tight. The movement made his pointed ears twitch.

“There is no price,” he finally said, meeting your gaze harshly. His brows were pulled down, wrinkling the skin between them and his lips were downturned into a scowl. “If you don’t wish to die from the hemlock, you need more treatment.” Your face felt hot, embarrassment slipping into you and gripping tight. The goblin’s face was like stone, not revealing anything except his displeasure, but his eyes—his eyes reflected the hurt that your words must have inflicted.

“Oh,” you muttered quietly, tearing your gaze away from him. You couldn’t stand to look at him anymore, your pride too high for any thought of apology to form in your head.

He set the vial down on his desk and walked away from you, further into the home—which, you suspected, was just built in an alcove or maybe even the hollow of a tree. Who really knew, when it came to goblins? They were known to have magical abilities, causing the downfall of many humans throughout history.

“How—how did you heal me?” you asked, voice quieter than it had been earlier. You twisted your body to face him, watching him settle down in a very comfortable looking worn out couch. He gnawed on his lip, looking flustered, before he could meet your eyes.

“Saliva,” he answered you. “If you swallow goblin saliva, it heals the poison in your body.” You bit the inside of your cheek, remembering how he’d kissed you when you awoke. “You, uh—you ingested too much of the hemlock to fully reap the benefits of the treatment. That’s why you must stay here until all of it can be removed from your body. The paralysis was already settling in when I found you.”

It was quiet in the home, the only sound between the two of you being your heartbeat ringing in your ears. “Thank you,” you breathed.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, grabbing a book and starting to read, flipping through the pages.

“Um,” you interrupted. “I’m ____. What’s your name?” He only responded by quirking his mouth up and staring at you. You rubbed your palms on the grass beneath you nervously. “I’d like to know the name of the creature that saved my life.”

He let out a slow breath, shutting the book and relaxing further into the couch. He gave you an inquisitive look, running his gaze down your body quickly as he considered your request. “I do not owe you an answer,” he started. “But I will give you one. My name is Jungkook.”

You bit back the smile that twitched at your lips. “Thank you for saving my life, Jungkook,” you said.

His eyes were sparkling with mirth as a smile lit up his face, though those brown eyes of his remained dark as they focused on you. “You’re welcome, ____.”

You woke to Jungkook shaking your shoulder gently. Blinking up at him in confusion, you sat up and groaned at the twinge in your back from sleeping on the grass all night.

Your throat felt a little clogged up, rough, and you coughed into your palm. Jungkook let his palm rest on the back of your head, slipping his fingers in the strands of your hair, and pushed a small vial onto your lips, raising his brows and nodding in encouragement. You parted your lips and tilted your head back into his palm, letting him pour the liquid into your mouth—it tasted sweet, like candies that reminded you of home.

Once you’d swallowed, he set the vial down and leaned in. You put a hand on his chest and stopped him. “What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, voice hoarse with sleep.

He lifted a brow in response. “The antidote I’ve made isn’t enough. I assume you want to be on your way home soon?”

“Of course I do,” you snapped.

“Then you need some help from me,” he told you. “Unless you’d prefer drinking the saliva from the vial as well, in which case it’ll only take me a few minutes to fill it—”

“No, no, no, no—please don’t spit in it and make me drink it,” you interrupted, gagging at the mere thought of what he was implying.

The slight smirk that quirked up his lips didn’t slip by your notice. “Then the only other way is to kiss you.”

You grumbled, ignoring the tightening of your belly and the trembling of your fingers. “Can’t we do it somewhere more comfortable?”

His smirk turned into a frown as he glanced back at his bed. “No offense, but I’m not fond of having a human in my bed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, fine, whatever, just do it—”

His mouth was pressing into yours immediately, cutting you off. You made a muffled sound against his lips and parted yours, letting your eyes flutter shut. Jungkook licked into your mouth, pressing his tongue against yours as his hand moved to cup your cheek, the one in your hair tangling and tugging you into an easier position.

You gasped as he angled your head back farther, shuffling closer to your body and kissing you harder. Your hands fisted in his shirt, gripping the rough fabric tightly as you tried to push even closer to him. You met his tongue’s movements with yours, trying to lead the kiss as your body grew hotter and hotter.

He pulled away from you with a loud and obscene smacking noise. Your eyes snapped open and you met his dark gaze, his pupils dilated. He let go of you quickly, as if touching you burned him, and cleared his throat. You had to catch yourself before you fell completely on your back, chest heaving as you swallowed. Your cheeks flushed with warmth and your nerves tingled all over your body, spreading like a wildfire through your veins.

“I think that’s—that’s enough for today,” he said awkwardly, rubbing the shine on his lips away with the back of his hand.

“Okay,” you agreed simply, cursing yourself for getting carried away in his kiss.

“I have to go out and do something,” he told you blankly, grabbing a pack off his desk and shoving items into it. He turned back to you, face wiped of all emotion. “Don’t touch anything.”

You nodded and he didn’t spare you another glance as he turned and walked down the alcove, opening a door and walking out into a brightly lit forest from what you could see, shutting it after himself. The loud click of a lock quelled your enthusiasm and you huffed, slumping in your spot.

You tried to get up, but you couldn’t even bend your foot as pain seared up your calf from your ankle. You wanted to explore his home while he was gone, though you weren’t sure how long it would take him to return. Scooting back slowly, you managed to make it to the desk he had, twisting yourself onto your knees and wincing at the throb of protest your ankle gave when you lifted your foot up in the air behind you. Using the desk as support, you managed to stand on one foot, keeping the injured one lifted up off the ground. You were panting by the time you got up, pain hindering you more than it normally would have.

Looking down at his desk revealed it to be littered with gadgets and papers, vials full of liquids and scratched out writing in a language you couldn’t read on said papers. You examined some of the items, finding a watch and pens and pencils, a few books in what you assumed was the same language as what was written in his notes, and some dried herbs.

You hopped over to the couch, which upon closer inspection was a recliner, and slowly sat down in it, relishing in the soft cushions and familiarity. It was nice not to be laying on the ground anymore—which made you wonder where exactly his home was located that it had wooden walls and a door but grassy ground, like the forestry just beyond the exit.

You couldn’t get the latch on the side of the couch to work, so you slowly set your foot down and winced at the flare from the shift in position. Your elbow knocked into something on the armrest and you gasped, quickly catching it in your hands before it could tumble to the floor.

It was the book you’d seen Jungkook reading yesterday.

You opened it to where it had been marked, a gold string leaving his place. You pouted when you realized you couldn’t understand anything, but you tried to read the strange sounding words anyway, cocking your head.

Only a few minutes had passed when the door burst open, slamming against the wall, and you flinched harshly, snapping your head up from the yellowing pages to look at the source of the noise.

Jungkook was standing in the doorway, panting.

And he looked furious.

He marched over to the couch, shutting the door behind him with his foot and twisting his hand—you heard the lock click into place even though he hadn’t touched it and your heart leapt into your throat at the recognition of magic. It didn’t take long until he was standing before you, your body trapped on the couch and staring up at him with wide eyes, and he snatched the book from your grasp.

“I told you not to touch anything,” he hissed.

“I only wanted to see what was in the book—”

He made an odd sound, similar to a growl, and tossed the book back toward his bed. Your heart was hammering inside of your chest, loud enough that you were certain he could hear it, and you yelped when he reached down and shoved his hands under your thighs and back.

“What are you doing?!” you shouted, moaning in pain when he lifted you into his arms and the movement jostled your injured limb.

He didn’t answer you, walking a few steps and crouching down, dropping you unceremoniously back in the spot you were before he left in a hurry. You blinked away the tears pricking your eyes as he stood back up, glaring at you with a gaze so menacing it made a chill run down your spine.

“Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you, human,” he snarled. Without waiting for a reply, he stormed over to his bed further in the home, still completely in your sight as there were no separate rooms or halls, and twisted his wrist as he kicked off his shoes and climbed into his bed. The lights flickered out and you heard him rustling before all was quiet in the small space you shared.

You gnawed on your bottom lip for a few minutes before deciding to try to sleep, laying down on your back and choking back the tears that threatened to break free. You lay awake on the ground for what seemed like hours, listening to the sound of your own breathing and wishing for the comforts of your own home and your own people.

The same routine followed as another two days passed, your hair knotting and your skin irritated. You felt gross with everything sticking to your skin, unaccustomed to being in the wilderness for so long at once, along with an added shame twisting your insides with every flicker of heat in your body at Jungkook’s touches, his kisses.

You didn’t dare touch his book again, leaving it be and instead focusing on trying to decide what to do. Jungkook had said earlier that it would be the last treatment you needed from him and you could leave whenever you wished.

Which left you with two problems; your foot was still killing you and you had no idea where you even were, let alone knowledge of how to get back home.

You decided to wait for his return, unsure if you would even be able to open his door without him present. You didn’t know what he left to do each day, but curiosity did not win out when you thought of who he was probably meeting—other goblins.

You perked up on the couch when the door opened hours later, the dim light from outside shadowing his figure. Jungkook walked in, handing you some fruit as he had done before, which you gratefully ate. He stretched his arms while you finished and then gave you an inquisitive stare.

“I told you that you could leave,” he said.

“You did,” you replied.

“So why didn’t you?”

You swallowed the remaining bites of fruit, fidgeting awkwardly. “I don’t know where I am,” you told him. “And my ankle still hurts. I suspect it’s broken.”

He hummed, walking over to stand in front of you and then crouching down so his head was level with your lap. He dragged his fingers down your leg, eyes flitting up to meet yours, his gaze heavy on yours. You hissed when his fingers pushed gently on your ankle. “Probably,” he murmured, the corner of his lips twitching up.

“You healed the poison,” you started, keeping your voice low.

“Mhm,” he agreed, letting his gaze wander back down your body as his fingers caressed your ankle, tugging your shoe and sock off.

“Can’t you heal my foot too?” you whispered.

He snapped his gaze back up to your face, his eyes twinkling and his mouth spreading into a grin. “I can,” he said easily. Before you could ask him to do it, he suddenly held your ankle in his grip, pain shooting up your calf. You let out a strangled noise, your instinct to remove your limb from his grasp but he wouldn’t allow you to. He pulled himself up to his knees, sliding his torso between your legs quickly. “But that kind of favor is one that comes with a price,” he continued, voice pitched low and deep.

“What kind of price?” you asked. You swallowed past the lump forming in your throat, the grip he had around your ankle still spreading sparks of pain through your leg.

Jungkook leaned in closer, the tip of his nose barely brushing against yours as he whispered his price. “You.”

“What do you mean?”

“One night,” he told you. The smile was still present on his face, his eyes dark and every touch of skin releasing sparks in your veins. “Your body.”

You licked your lips and your stomach twisted with satisfaction when his eyes darted down to watch the movements of your tongue. “I thought you said you didn’t like the idea of a human in your bed,” you breathed, biting down on your bottom lip.

“You don’t have to,” he commented. His hand’s loose hold on your ankle remained and his other hand came up to your face to tuck it behind your ear, letting his finger tips graze the outside of your ear. “The price for your ankle has been set. Take it or leave it.” His look was steady, the smile gone from his face, as he spoke. “It is your choice.”

Your heart was hammering into your ribs, the arousal heating your body and drowning out the shame at the attraction you felt for him. You couldn’t think about what your family and friends would think of you, you didn’t care about how people treated sympathizers—all you knew in that moment was that you wanted Jungkook, wanted more of his skin on yours, his mouth all over you; you wanted everything.

“I’ll pay the price,” you whispered to him, surging forward and pressing your mouth to his. He made a muffled sound against you and then he was pushing forward, nipping at your bottom lip and licking into your mouth as his grip on your ankle tightened to an almost painful degree. You cried out against his lips, heat building in your foot—and then it was gone, leaving a dull throb as pleasure ran up your calf. You gasped into his mouth, kissing him back fervently and tangling your hands in his dark hair while his own hands ran up your legs to your thighs.

He stood up, pulling away from you abruptly, and held out his hands for you. Slipping your hands into his, you let him pull you up from the couch, and he led you over to the unmade bed, where he gently pushed you to sit down on it. He followed after quickly, towering his body over yours before he kissed you again, trailing chaste pecks all the way down your throat to your collarbone as he tugged your tattered skirt up your body. His hands moved to your blouse, ripping it halfway down to expose your breasts to him.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled into your skin, trailing his mouth down your chest to the top of your breast. You arched your back and threw your head back as he wrapped his mouth around your nipple, sucking and licking it as his hand kneaded your other breast.

His free hand trailed down to your belly, slipping it under the remains of your shirt to caress the skin before slipping down to your thighs and sliding up to your soaked panties. He yanked them down to your knees in one go, growling against your skin as he pulled back from your chest, sniffing loudly and moaning softly. He met your eyes and your cheeks felt warm, thighs attempting to close to subside the ache that had begun between them.

“You smell so good,” he mumbled, shifting back on the bed and using both hands to spread your thighs apart at the knees, the strength he used ripping your panties. He tossed them aside without another thought. You bit down on your lip hard enough to break the skin and tasted copper in your mouth while you watched him stare at you. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how aroused you got during your treatments,” he said, a sly smile spreading on his face as he met your eyes for a brief second before focusing back down between your legs.

Jungkook ducked down iirmmediately, not even giving you a second to prepare yourself before he was nosing at you, the tips of his ears brushing your inner thighs as he licked a stripe up your slit. Your legs were pinned down by his hands as he continuously licked up your slick, the vibrations from his moans making your hands shake as they found purchase in his dark hair. His fingers dug into your skin as his mouth worked on you, tongue dipping into your entrance and making you mewl. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked on it hard a few times before he detached himself from you, propping himself up on his knees and leaving you sopping and aching for more.

“Will you be a good girl and suck my cock?” he purred, eyes hooded as he changed positions, sitting properly and spreading his legs apart. You nodded your head immediately, sitting up and crawling between his legs, undoing his pants as he praised you softly. He was hard and you shoved your tongue into your cheek as you tugged him out of his pants, eyes widening at his size. “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “I know you can take it all, baby.”

You rubbed your thighs together as you took the head into your mouth, sucking hard and looking up at Jungkook through your lashes. He breathed out harshly and placed his hand on the back of your head softly, looking down at you and gnawing on his plump bottom lip. You focused on pleasuring him, wrapping your hand around the base of his dick as you worked on it, sucking and bobbing your head lower. You managed to fit most of it in your mouth when his hips jerked and the head hit the back of your throat. You gagged briefly and swallowed hard around him, making him groan loudly in response before pulling you off of him by your hair. You detached from him with an obscene popping sound and when you met his eyes, they were dark and the pupils were blown so wide you could barely see the brown of his irises.

He held your head up by your hair and you blinked owlishly, licking your lips and feeling the precum and saliva smeared across your mouth and chin. Jungkook made an animalistic sound and pounced on you, pushing you to your back on his bed and pushing his mouth on yours, licking into it hotly and fitting his hips between your legs. His cock pushed against your folds, sliding in the slick of your arousal and spit. The head rubbed your clit a few times and you wrapped your legs around his hips to bring him closer, fisting the sheets in your hands and moaning brokenly into his mouth.

“Please fuck me,” you breathed, pushing your chest into his and hissing with pleasure as the rough material of his shirt rubbed against your nipples. He bit down on your lip and moved to your jaw, kissing and nipping as he brought a hand down to grip himself and line the head up with your entrance.

He rubbed the head against your slit a few times, breathing roughly into your neck as he ducked his head to watch. “You’re so wet, all for me,” he mumbled. “How badly do you want my cock?”

“So bad,” you keened. “I want it so bad, fuck me, please—”

He thrusted in harshly, cutting you off with a startled gasp as his cock stretched your walls. He was halfway in and rocked his hips gently, pushing a little deeper with each thrust. You swallowed roughly and gripped his arms tightly in your hands, fisting his sleeves as you clenched around him.

“Relax,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

You shook your head, screwing your face up as you tried to rock your own hips. “No, just—you’re so big.”

He huffed a laugh as he continued to roll his hips until he was fully inside of you, cock nestled in your folds and skin sticking to yours. You were so wet and aroused you could hear the sounds even as he barely moved, only grinding his hips into yours as your walls adjusted.

You managed to relax, but it lasted merely a second as he felt your walls unclench and his hand dipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it mercilessly as he pulled halfway out and shoved back inside. He kept up his brutal pace, fingers digging into your clit without pause as he moved. Your moans were so loud you would’ve been embarrassed had you not completely given in to the pleasure, pressure building in your abdomen.

He bit down on the juncture of your shoulder hard and your body couldn’t handle it, your orgasm hitting you fast and harshly. You’d never felt this much pleasure from a man before and you knew you’d never be able to sleep with any man again without comparing them to Jungkook. He kept rolling his hips into yours, helping you through your orgasm until you winced. He held himself still inside you and you could feel his cock throbbing, hard and hot within your walls. Your sporadic squeezing around him made him twitch and you mewled at the feeling of it.

After a minute of labored breathing and stillness, he pulled back slowly and began a much gentler pace, thrusting his cock into you slowly before pulling it out to the head and repeating. You whimpered, but then his fingers were tapping your abused clit and your breath hitched, your back arching as the pain turned into pleasure.

“You’re going to come again for me,” he demanded, licking the spot he’d bitten. “You’re so tight and so warm,” he continued, moaning as his thrusts picked up speed. “You’re never going to want anyone but me.” His cock was shoving in and out of you quicker and quicker, the head rubbing against your sweet spot and making you see stars. You brought your arms around his shoulders and dragged a hand into his hair, gripping it tight as you keened loudly, bucking your hips against his in search of release. “You’ll never be able to fuck anyone, touch anyone else, without thoughts of me. That’s your price to pay,” he mumbled into your skin. You were barely coherent, muttering nonsense as he gave a particularly well-aimed thrust and the head of his cock brushed your g-spot again, his fingers pinching your clit harshly, and your pleasure washed over you even more intensely than the first time.

As you rode out your high, Jungkook’s movements became erratic and his thrusts grew sloppier as he chased his own high, moving his hand away from your clit to grasp at the bedsheets on both sides of your head. Your chest heaved as you clenched tighter around his cock, the lewd noises from where you were joined echoing throughout his home and flushing your face red.

Your hand in his hair worked gently as he shoved into you so hard your body shifted up a few centimeters with every thrust. Your fingers brushed the tips of his pointed green ears and his entire body tensed, a startled noise tearing itself from his throat as he stilled inside of you, hunching his body over yours and resting his forehead on yours as he came. Spurts of come painted your walls as he rolled his hips through his orgasm, his seed filling you up and leaking down to the sheets.

When his cock softened he pulled it out of you, his come slipping out along with it and dirtying you even more. He laid down beside you on the bed, turning his head to look at you. You met his look with your own, smiling weakly at him. He shifted his body to face yours and rested a hand on your thigh. Jungkook watched you carefully as he trailed it up, gathering his dripping come and shoving it back inside you with his fingers. You whined and clenched around his fingers as he repeated the action a few dozen times before relenting, bringing his hand up to your mouth and smearing the come on his fingers on your mouth before leaning in to kiss you deeply.

Neither of you said anything as he grabbed the rumpled blanket and brought it up to cover the both of you. He fell asleep quickly afterwards, one arm draped across you; but you lay awake, body trembling and rolling your freshly healed ankle a few hundred times before you could even think to sleep.

You awoke a handful of hours later, Jungkook sleeping soundlessly beside you as he had been when you finally let yourself slip into a restless sleep. You lay in his bed for a few more moments as your heart pounded in your chest and you decided it was time to leave. Your thoughts were threatening to drown you as you slipped out of his bed and out from under his arm carefully, fixing your clothes as well as you could.

You faced Jungkook again, biting the inside of your cheek as you leant down and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for everything,” you whispered, knowing he’d never know just what he’d done for you. It was really a shame that he was a goblin and you were a human—the butterflies bombarding your belly every time you looked at him had grown in the past few days and you wished you could spend more time getting to know him, maybe even growing to—

You shook your head, getting rid of the thoughts plaguing your mind quickly. You grabbed your bag, which had been thrown to the side by the desk, and pulled it over your shoulder. You decided to grab his small blanket off the couch, wrapping the prickly material around your frame to cover your torn shirt and keep you warm when you ventured outside in search of your home. Before you left, your eyes caught on his book, sitting on the arm of the recliner. In a split second decision, you gently pushed it into your bag, looking back at Jungkook to make sure he hadn’t woken up.

He was still asleep, his chest moving up and down peacefully and undisturbed.

You slowly made your way to the wooden door, the lock seeming nonexistent as you pushed it open slowly and walked out into the brightly lit forest. You came out of a tree trunk and you marveled at it—goblin magic really was amazing, more so than you’d ever heard or learned about in school. When the door shut, it dematerialized until there was nothing left but the hollow tree trunk. Your lips parted in wonder and you rushed back in but saw no signs of a goblin home anywhere.

Shaking your head, you dragged yourself away from the tree and started to make your way through the forestry, an unusual feeling tingling in your limbs; you had no idea where you were or where you were going, but it was as if your body knew on its own where it was headed.

Before long, you saw the edges of your home village and a smile tugged at your lips as you rushed toward it, running down the hilly grass and jostling your bag against your thigh. You ran through the town, ignoring the villagers cries at your reappearance as you reached your own home, the door shut and the lights inside on. You knocked on the door excitedly and when the door opened to reveal Namjoon, his own appearance looking worn down, your face broke out with a huge grin.

“____!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. You threw your arms around him, beyond relieved that you’d come home to him and that his was the first familiar face you saw. “We thought you went missing and something happened, you—you didn’t come home for days!”

“I’m okay,” you said, smiling into his skin. You pulled away from the hug, though his hands remained on your back. “I got lost but—I found my way back home.”

Namjoon ushered you into your home to see your family again, your mother shouting and crying as she wrapped you up in her arms so tight you could barely breathe as you laughed her worry off.

The book in your bag felt heavier, its presence burning against your thigh. You paid it no mind, smiling and waving your family’s concern away as Namjoon slipped his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers. You grinned at him and tightened your hold on the strap of your bag, thoughts of the goblin already swirling through your brain at the touch of another.

all rights reserved © junqkook | 07/18 — no reposting and/or modifying of any form on any medium is allowed. DO NOT RE-IMAGINE THIS UNIVERSE AS YOUR OWN.

[thelastspeecher]

Superhero/villain AU - Back to School

Clearly, I’m very good at this whole “taking a break from writing so I can focus on research thing”.  But what can I say?  When your muse hits you over the head with a frying pan of inspiration, what else can you do but write?  Especially when you’ve had a shitty day like I did.

So here.  Have Emmett going to his first day of villain school in the Superhero/villain AU.

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              Stan’s red El Diablo came to a much more careful stop than usual.  Slumped in the passenger seat, Emmett morosely stared out the window at his new school.  Nothing about the outward appearance of Sycamore Grove High School would indicate it was anything special.  In fact, it looked almost exactly like the school Emily had been dropped off at a few minutes ago, only nicer, almost like it was private, not public.  The dread that had been churning in Emmett’s stomach amplified.

              “Emmett?”  Emmett didn’t respond to his father’s voice.  “Emmett.”  Emmett slouched further down his seat.  Stan sighed. “C’mon, kid.  You gotta get out.”

              “Just homeschool me,” Emmett mumbled.

              “Your ma and I have jobs.”

              “Yeah, and yours is being a stay-at-home dad. You’re supposed to do things like homeschooling.”

              “You really don’t want me to be your teacher, okay? Trust me on that.”

              “Uncle Ford-”

              “Emmett.”  Stan’s voice got sharper.  Emmett’s shoulders slumped.

              There goes the idea I could talk my way outta this at the last second.

              “You need to go here.”

              “I was s’pposed to go to high school with Emily.”

              “If you get things under control, that might still work out.  But right now, this is the school you’re gonna go to,” Stan said.  “I’m not happy about it either.  You know that.  But we don’t have any other options.”  Emmett didn’t respond.  “Get your stuff.”

              “…Fine.”  Emmet reluctantly grabbed his backpack and opened the door.  He didn’t make any move to get outside.

              “For the love of-”  Stan exited the car and made his way to Emmett.  “Emmett Stanley McGucket.  Get your butt out of the car now,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. Emmett did as he was told.  “You better not act like this all day, you hear me?”

              “Loud and clear,” Emmett mumbled.  Tears began to prick the corners of his eyes.  Stan let out a soft sigh.

              “C’mere, sport.”  Stan wrapped Emmett in a tight embrace.  Emmett returned the gesture, burying his face into his father’s shirt.

              “Dad, I don’t like this.”

              “I know, I know.”  Stan’s voice was gentler than it had been a moment ago.  “I don’t, either.”

              “It sucks.”

              “Yeah, it does.”  Stan broke off the hug and held Emmett at arm’s length.  “But you’re a Pines man.”  Emmett nodded.  “And what do Pines men do when they get knocked down?”

              “They get back up.”

              “That’s right.”  Stan smiled at Emmett.  “You’ll be fine.  Find yourself a friend or two and before you know it, you’ll be graduating.”

              “…I guess.”  Emmett looked over at the students mingling in the courtyard.  “How am I gonna make friends, though?  No one from my middle school is gonna go here. And you and Ma never had me spend time with her coworkers’ kids.  I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

              “Feeling like you don’t belong anywhere is part of the freshman experience.  Your ma said most kids here have never been to a villain-only school before either. Trust me.  Everything’s gonna go great.”

              “Okay.”  Emmett swallowed.  “Are ya sure ya can’t homeschool me?”

              “Sorry, kid.  No dice.”

              “Will you at least pick me up?” Emmett asked. Stan’s face fell.  “What?”

              “This is a one-time thing.  It’s too dangerous for me to drop you off and pick you up all the time.  We can’t risk anyone recognizing me.”

              “Do I have to take the bus home?”

              “Hell, no,” Stan said firmly.  “Your Uncle Lute is gonna pick you up.”  He forced a grin.  “And pretty soon, you’ll be able to drive yourself to school and back home.” Emmett nodded silently.  There was a loud honk.  “Dangit,” Stan muttered.  “People are getting upset I’m parked.”  He met Emmett’s eyes.  “If something happens and you need to come home early, just call.  But try to make it through the day, okay?”

              “Okay, Dad.”

              “That’s my son.”  Stan embraced Emmett one last time.  “Have fun, sport.”

              “I’ll do my best,” Emmett said.  Stan smiled at him, then got back into his car, waving off the frustrated driver behind him.  Emmett watched the car pull away.  He took a deep breath and turned around to face his school.  He swallowed.

              It’ll be fine.  Like Dad said, it’ll be fine.

----- 

              Emmett walked into his first class, Advanced Art History.  He looked around the room.  Students were clustered in small groups as they chatted about their summer vacations. Ducking his head to avoid eye contact with anyone, Emmett made his way to a desk in the back of the room.  He set his bag down.

              “Hey.”  Emmett looked up.  A girl with dyed green hair eyed him suspiciously.  “That’s not your seat.”

              “It doesn’t look taken,” Emmett said softly. The girl rolled her eyes.

              “It’s assigned seating, freshman.  So there aren’t any interactions between different powers.  God.” She turned to her friends.  “Why do they let freshmen into upper level classes? It’s so stupid.”  Emmett snatched his bag up and held it close to his chest.  He could feel panic starting to build.

              “Do you need some help?” someone asked.  Emmett spun around.  A boy about his age smiled sheepishly at him.  “You look a bit nervous.”

              “It’s- um-” Emmett started.  The boy grinned.

              “Your first time at an all-supers school?” he asked.  Emmett nodded reluctantly.  “Don’t worry, most of the freshmen are dealing with that.  And most upperclassmen are nice to freshmen who don’t know the rules,” the boy said, glaring at the girl who had spoken to Emmett earlier.  She rolled her eyes.  “Ignore Lacey.  She’s just angry her boyfriend’s going to a normal school this year.”  The girl – Lacey – glowered.  “C’mon, the seating chart’s always at the front of the class.” Emmett silently followed the boy to the teacher’s desk.  “Right here.” The boy pointed to a piece of paper on the desk.  Emmett nodded.  The boy quirked a half-smile.  “It doesn’t bite.”

              “I know,” Emmett mumbled.  He didn’t move.  The boy put a hand on his shoulder.

              “It’s gonna be all right.  I know all-supers schools can be scary the first time.  I’m just lucky that I’ve been going to them my whole life.  Legally required to.”  Emmett furrowed his brow.  The boy shrugged.  “Psionics usually don’t get their powers until they’re like twenty.  But mine showed up when I was one.  So right off the bat, I couldn’t be around people who weren’t trained on how to handle powers.”

              “My sister’s power manifested when she was one,” Emmett said quietly.  “She’s an elemental, though, so…”

              “Kinda expected,” the boy finished.  He looked down at the seating chart.  “What’s your name?”

              “Emmett.”

              “Emmett…M?”

              “That’s my last initial, yeah.”

              “You’re sitting next to me.”  The boy stuck out his hand.  “I should probably introduce myself, then.  I’m Carter.  Carter Jones.”  Emmett shook Carter’s hand.

              “Nice to meet you, Carter.”

              “So, what brings you to Sycamore Grove?”

              “My power.”

              “Lemme guess.  Psychic?” Carter asked.  Emmett shrugged.

              “Technically, I guess.  How’d ya know?”

              “Psychics and psionics are usually paired up.  I’m immune to psychic powers, after all.”

              “Oh.  Well, that’s not necessary.  I’ve got a power dampener.”

              “You do?  Dude, that sucks,” Carter said emphatically.  Emmett blinked.

              “It does?  Why?”

              “‘Cause kids who rely on power dampeners have to take a special class on controlling their powers.”

              “But my grandma’s been giving me lessons-”

              “Is she a professional villain?”

              “No.”

              Professional, yes.  Villain, no.  Carter nodded.

              “That’s why you still need dampeners.  You haven’t gotten proper training.  But don’t worry, the psychic teachers here are really good. My big brother’s power manifested late, so he got stuck with a power dampener while he was a junior.  Before the year was even over, he didn’t need it anymore.”

              “…I would like to not have to use it.”

              “Well, duh.  It’s basically training wheels.”  The bell rang.  “We better sit down.”  Emmett followed Carter to the back of the room.  Carter pointed out his desk.  Emmett sat down.  Carter followed suit, letting out a small chuckle.

              “What?” Emmett asked.

              “I just think it’s kinda funny.”

              “What is?”

              “I’ve been going to all-supers schools my whole life, so I basically know everyone in this room except you.  And so far, you’re the only person in here that I actually like.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah.”  Carter grinned at Emmett.  Emmett smiled back.  “At lunch, want me to introduce you to some other people who don’t suck?”

              “That would be nice.”

              “You got it,” Carter said.  The teacher walked into the room.  Silence fell.  Emmett smiled down at his desk as the teacher took roll call.

              Dad was right.  I can make friends.  Carter nudged Emmett.  Emmett looked up.  Carter nodded at the teacher.  She had gotten to last names starting with “L”.

              “Thanks,” Emmett mouthed to Carter.  Carter winked.

              “Emmett…” the teacher started, reading off a piece of paper.  Her eyes widened.  “McGucket?” Emmett raised his hand.

              “Present,” he replied.  The entire classroom turned to stare at him, including the teacher. “Um, is there a problem?” he asked.

              “No.  Not- not at all,” the teacher said.  “…Thank you for attending Sycamore Grove, Emmett.”  She resumed going through the roll call.  Emmett chewed on his lip.

              That was weird.  Someone poked him.  Emmett looked over.  Carter had gone completely pale.

              “What’s wrong?” Emmett whispered.

              “You’re a McGucket?” Carter hissed back.  Emmett nodded.  “Like, the Twister Twins?  Sirocco? Hemlock?”  Emmett nodded again.  “Holy shit, dude.”

              “Is that a bad thing?”

              “Bad thing?  No, it’s the exact opposite.  You didn’t know?”

              “Know what?”

              “The McGuckets are famous in the villain community,” Carter whispered.  Dread began to grow in Emmett’s chest.  “And if you’re a McGucket, that means you’re gonna be famous, too.”  Emmett’s eyes widened.  He looked towards the front of the classroom.  A few students were still watching him, visibly intrigued. Emmett swallowed.

              Oh.  Oh, no.