#stevesharrlngtonswrites

[stevesharrlngtons]

bury me at makeout creek.

fezco/lexi howard

summary: in the days and weeks following her play, lexi does her best not to feel fezco's sudden absence.

word count: 4.4k

a/n: um holy shit i truly didn't know if i would ever be able to write again with the unbreakable writers block i've had, but apparently, it just took the right motivation (i.e. fexi). my first time writing this pairing, and my first time writing character x character in a very hot minute, so be gentle with me. but other than that, i hope you enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated ♥

She wished she wasn’t so bitter when she heard.

After messages had gone unresponded, and then undelivered, Lexi was filled with sour emotion. Her heart sank with disappointment and ached with abandonment.

Add Fezco to the list, she mentally chided, adding the red head under her father’s name on the list of men who had left her life without notice.

Lexi wished she could be her usual, level headed self. She wanted to be understanding. But Fez’s unexpected flight from her life had thrown off her reasonable equilibrium.

While she had told him explicitly not to share any of what he did for business with her, she was sure that his professional life (if you could call it that) was hectic, and took time and attention. He could be busy? Lexi would often hear a strain in his voice, a hitch in his breath and undeniable exhaustion in his tone, and she knew something with work was weighing on him. She appreciated that he never dragged her into his dealings, no matter how much he may have wanted an impartial ear to unload on. She appreciated that Fez respected her boundaries and wishes to stay out of that part of his life. His thoughtfulness made her heart even more tender for him.

But for the first time since they began their phone call relationship, she resented that she ever put the rule into place.

Maybe if she hadn’t, she would know where he was? Maybe he got sick of not being able to talk with her about his job? Maybe he was tired of her straight laced attitude? Maybe he realized that, like all the other fleeting male suitors she had in the past, that she wasn’t worth the trouble?

Lexi knew that her insecurities had their own vindictive way of twisting events into something they weren’t. They were likely twisting Fezco’s departure into something more than it was. Maybe his phone had broken? Maybe something with his grandmother came up? Maybe he was just busy and had yet to return her calls.

Fuck, her life was so full of maybes lately, she hated it.

Maybe her sister would hate her forever, maybe she would get over it.

Maybe Rue was her friend again, or maybe she would drop her like a hot rock at any moment.

Maybe Fezco loved her too, or maybe he just had a passing fascination with the nerdy, smart girl.

Her gut churned with possibility, sour bile filling her chest and burning her fragile heart at the thought of inadvertently driving Fezco away. Burning at the idea that he would disappear into thin air without so much as a text to let her know what was going on. After five months of constant communication, she thought she deserved as much.

Lexi tried her hardest to not feel Fez’s sudden absence in the days following her play. But she couldn’t stop the flutter in her heart each time her phone rang, the immediate thought of him whenever something notable happened in her day, or the urge to text him when she saw something she knew would make him laugh. She couldn’t bear to remove his suggestions from her playlists or somehow not notice the freckle on her neck he had pointed out one day on his couch.

“Right there,” he had said with a sideways grin, his finger gesturing to the area of skin in front of her ear and below her jaw, “it looks like a half moon, or some shit.”

She had run her hand over the section he pointed at, doing her best to tilt her head in a way for her eyes to see the freckle he was talking about.

“No way! I know where all of my freckles are, I don't have that many. I know for a fact I don’t have one there.”

“Man, who knows all their freckles?”

“I do!” she giggled, still trying to pivot in a way her body wouldn’t allow to see this made up freckle.

“Well,” he began in his slow cadence, his eyelids heaving as he zeroed in on her neck, “I’m not makin’ this shit up.”

Lexi felt his touch before she saw him reach for her. The gentle caress of his fingertip brushed over her skin, and he lingered just for a moment. Just long enough for her to notice, just long enough to feel the heat of his skin, and know that she would never be able to get enough of it.

It wasn’t that she was keeping her relationship with Fezco a secret. She wasn’t ashamed of who he was or what he did. Even with what she knew her peers thought of him, especially after the savage beating he gave Nate Jacobs on New Years, she had no problem being friends with him out in the open. The thing was, she really didn’t have anyone to tell.

Cassie was clearly out of the question. Even if she hadn’t been sleeping with the enemy, Lexi wasn’t sure she would have mentioned it to her big sister. She was always the more experienced one, the sexy one, the one men were drawn to. What was Lexi’s little flirtation compared to the stories of the men who had fallen at her sister’s feet? What would Cassie think of her little sister’s slow courtship with a man she was sure to stick up her nose at?

The knowledge plagued Lexi’s heart that she would never have the bond with her sister that she craved, even if she was often dismissed and treated poorly by the older Howard. As much as she would have liked it to be the reality, there would be no late night slumber parties for her to lament over her feelings for Fez with her sister.

She could have told her mother, but talking about boys with Susan had always been awkward, and Lexi felt weird broaching the topic with her. Although, she had offhandly mentioned a boy she was talking to her mother over dinner one evening. One when Cassie had long left for the night, leaving the two Howard women to a quiet meal without her. Her mother had grinned wide and made a conspiratorial noise that had left Lexi blushing.

“It’s about damn time some guy took notice of you! Was startin’ to think all those boys at your school were brain dead. Or just after whores.”

Lexi scolded her mother with a low whine of her name.

“What? It’s true.”

Rue and Lexi had barely spoken since the beginning of the school year. After they had reconciled following her play, Lexi had been doing her best to keep Rue at a comfortable distance. She wanted to believe the best in her friend and her sobriety, but a part of her was still hesitant. They were close enough to wave in the hallways, sit next to each other in class and share the occasional lunch, but not close enough for Lexi to spout out all her boy drama on Rue. The disclosure of a crush felt like sacred friendship knowledge, and they just weren’t there yet.

And disclosure of falling in love felt like something she shouldn’t tell anyone until she could tell the man who had spurred her feelings. Which she had yet to find the moment to do. Or now with his recent desertion, maybe she never would.

Besides Cassie, her mother, Rue and Fez, Lexi really didn’t have anyone else. None of which were appropriate options to talk about what was going on with her more-than-friend-less-than-boyfriend.

She had contemplated off-handedly asking Rue if she had heard from Fezco, but no matter how desperate for news she was, she always thought otherwise. Her friend was newly sober, and reluctantly at that. She didn’t need any excuse to search out her old drug dealer.

So, Lexi lived in stewing silence with thoughts and dreams of her life's leading man cluttering her brain. Some days her stream of consciousness about the masculine redhead skewed more negative than others, but the constant emotion that lodged itself in her as a knot in her chest was longing. She missed Fezco like nothing else. She had never experienced the Jane Austen feeling of pure and unadulterated yearning in her life. Lexi was ready to pile her hair on her head and dawn a regency gown and write letters to her slippery paramour of her anger at his for his hasty exit. That, and she gravely missed him and was anxiously awaiting his return home.

Or, something like that.

Her life would be so much easier if she were in an Austen novel. If not easier, at least a lot more palatable, because at least then, Lexi knew she’d get her happy ending.

The news on Fezco’s radio silence all came to a head four weeks from the day of her play.

Lexi was sat cross legged under the school’s west wing staircase. A hard plastic tray lay across her splayed thighs as she nibbled on a cafeteria salad and pushed around mashed potatoes and questionable gravy. She balanced her phone on the side of the tray, lazily scrolling through miscellaneous apps to waste time until the period was over.

Sometime between when she finished her salad and was still hungry enough to entertain eating the mashed potatoes, footsteps and voices sounded above her head. This wasn’t untypical for her favorite lunch spot, it was part of the reason she liked it so much. She liked hearing what other people had to say when they thought no one was listening. So as the voices grew closer, she strained her ears.

“... is gonna suck. No one holding, this town is fucking wiped out, I swear,” the first voice said.

“We can’t be out of options, man!” the second voice replied.

“I told you man, we are.”

“What about that guy? You ask that one guy?” second voice said.

“Which guy?”

“Y’know! Y’know, that guy. Runs that convenience store, slow talker, scar right here,” after recognizing the other signifiers the second voice had dropped, Lexi could only guess he was making a line with his finger across his skull.

“Oh wait, you mean Fez?” Lexi felt her stomach seize at his name.

“Yeah! Fez. Where’s he been, you know he’s always holding.”

“Nah, he got busted. My guy always goes to Fez first and he told me his place was raided bad. Fuckin’ thousands of cop cars outside or some shit.”

“Really? Damn, that sucks.”

Lexi didn’t hear second voice’s retort or the boys exiting the staircase to continue on to wherever they were headed. In fact, Lexi couldn’t hear a thing over the blood rushing in her ears and the sudden pounding in her temples.

She felt like the concrete had crumbled beneath her, sending her two stories down onto scuffed linoleum with no safety net.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be Fez, no way they were talking about her Fez, right?

No matter how many times she bargained with her new knowledge, there was nothing she could do to fight off the truth.

Fez hadn’t ditched her, but the reality of what had happened was so much worse.

For the first time in her life, Lexi Howard ditched school and walked home with snot catching on her cupid's bow and tears dripping down her chin.

Like all times when Lexi Howard was at a loss at what to do, and felt helpless in her own skin, she started researching.

Her google searches stemmed from statute of limitations, child abandonment as a use of defense, possession of an illegal substance with the intent to sell and any news article she could find about the raid that had happened close to a month before.

In her criminal research, she came up with quite a bit of information, even if the results were depressing. What she gathered was that with California’s possession of an illegal substance with the intent to sell laws, Fez could be looking at fifty years, depending on if they combined charges, plus any other charges the state may rain upon him.

It all felt so bleak, and she couldn’t even imagine how dejected Fez must feel at this moment.

The articles she was hoping would give her more insight on what happened to Fez the night of her play, gave her very little to work with. A drug bust in LA county meant little to new outlets, so she wasn’t swimming in options. The one article that mentioned the raid specifically was the East Highland New Tribune.

Four dead in South Highland Drug Raid.

LOS ANGELES, Ca. Four people died on Friday night in a South Highland in a home drug raid. According to police, the home had been a place of interest for years, but only recently was the LAPD able to gather enough evidence to obtain warrants and make arrests. LA County SWAT teams dispatched around 4PM last weekend to aid police in apprehending the suspects. Two individuals were arrested from the home, while one was found dead on the scene. One suspect was killed in a fire fight between the suspect and police. The casualties reported in the raid are one suspect and three SWAT members, another two in critical condition. An ambulance was called to the scene to transport one suspect to Mission Community Hospital.

Two suspects dead.

If not Fez, then who else? The junkie girl who was staying with him? A friend? Ash?

A calmly chill rolled through her body at the thought of Ash being killed by police in the midst of a drug bust. He was cold, violent and oftentimes frightened her with only a glance, but he was a child. One even more innocent than Fezco, he had never been given the chance to live by anything except the illegal trade he was born into.

He was a child. A child, who very well may be dead. Which left Fez all alone in the world. All alone and in prison.

Lexi could barely keep her mind away from wandering to darker places. Memories of being a child with her father next to her on the couch, watching Oz with him through her fingers and recoiling in horror.

Those couldn’t be the things Fezco was going through, right? That show was a drama, highly fictionalized for America’s violent fascination. Right?

She went to search for prison documentaries with inmate interviews, but thought better of it. With all the stress, terror and guilt simmering inside her, Lexi knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a week. No use in making it worse.

If anyone saw a change in Lexi’s behavior, they didn’t mention it. But, like her short list of potential confidants to spill secrets too, she didn’t have any people who would have noticed.

Cassie was MIA; Rue had always been her introverted, quiet companion; and her mother was too wrapped up in anger and worry over her eldest daughter to notice the depression that had undertaken her youngest.

Lexi couldn’t help but think of how Fez would have been the one to notice that something was wrong. He was far more intelligent and perceptive than anyone gave him credit for.

Lexi spent a week in sweatpants and leggings, hiding under hoodies and resting her forehead against to plastic desktops to bide her time until she could return home to her bed.

She nibbled on saltine crackers and gummy bears, and only watched reruns of The Nanny. She lived in a cocoon of blankets and her hips ached from laying down for so long. She hadn’t washed her face since she showered on Sunday, and her teeth were feeling fuzzy with plaque. She stayed in her room until the second she had to leave for school, and didn’t have any regard for the world outside her twin bed.

Becoming sullen and depressed over a boy wasn’t her style, or even something that she would think her personality would allow. Lexi had been sad over boys and friends, sure. But she never let any emotion impede this much into her day to day functions. This was more Cassie’s speed. Lexi couldn’t count the amount of times her sister had declared a hunger strike or used up all the tissues in the house as she wailed over some guy. Lexi had always pitied her, but now, she was no better.

But, no. You know what? That wasn’t true.

Cassie cried over boys who told her they loved her just to fuck her and leave. She cried over boys who took too long to text back or didn’t like her Instagram posts in a timely manner. But Lexi? Lexi was crying over the first man to ever make her feel seen, feel loved. The first man who ever genuinely made her smile and let her know that her ideas were meaningful. The first man who made her fingertips tingle with affection and the first man who ever told her she was truly beautiful. This wasn’t some run of the mill hook up or a high school fling.

This was Fez. Her Fez.

And he was gone and all alone.

And Lexi couldn’t cope.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could have sustained her dip into despondence, but thankfully, she didn’t have too.

Because five weeks and three days since the night of her play, Lexi Howard received a phone call at 4:15PM from Central Regional Detention Center.

After the quick moment of comprehension and shock that crossed her, Lexi answered the call in a flash.

“Hello?” her desperation rang out and bounced up to her ear.

“There is an inmate from a correctional facility who needs you to accept a collect call and the associated charges. Do you accept this call and those associated charges?” an automated voice replied.

“Yes.”

“Please hold while I connect your call.”

Before long, Lexi was greeted by her favorite sound in the world.

“Hello?” his unhurried tone rang out, and Lexi choked a sob.

“Fezco, is that you?” she clutched the collar of her dirty shirt tightly in her fist as she waited for his reply.

He let a beat pass, and then she heard him sigh, “yeah, yeah. It’s me, it's me, Lex.”

At his confirmation, she couldn’t hold her tears back any longer. Her chest deflated with a breath she hadn’t known had been lodged in her throat, and she wept.

“Oh, no. C’mon, now, no. None of that, c’mon, Lex,” Fez chided, but she could hear the worry in his voice.

Worry over her. When he was the one in jail. Christ, this man.

“I can’t help it, I’m sorry,” she hiccupped, “I was just so worried. I was so worried about you and so scared. I didn’t know what had happened until I overheard it in the halls. I had no idea, Fez. I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

Another sigh came through the receiver, and Fez let her cry a little longer as he consoled her with gentle noises until she was calm enough to speak.

“Sorry you had to find out that way, and not from me. I’m sorry about that.”

“No,” Lexi shook her head rapidly even though he couldn’t see her, “you have nothing to apologize for. Not one thing. You’re the victim here, you’re the one going through hell. Please, don’t apologize.”

“Not even for missin’ your play?”

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and replied with full honesty, “not even for that.”

She heard him blow a laugh through his nose.

“Lexi Howard,” he gave another pleased noise, “I ain’t never gonna know what you’ll say next. Never. Somehow though? Somehow it’s always amazing.”

Lexi felt her shoulders relax and her heart flutter. Three words she had been aching to confess to him lit a fire on her tongue, so she took a drink of water to dull it. That same tingling in her fingertips was back and the beginning of a smile was coming back to her face.

“How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“Yknow?” He chuckled, “you probably the first person to ever say that to me.”

Lexi gave a wet laugh. While she wasn’t surprised by that, it still made her a sad. How awful was it that no one had taken the time to know this spectacular man enough to let his love and care wash over them? She felt sorry for them, but she had no problem selfishly soaking it all in.

“Well it’s true. You always know what to say to me, no matter what. You are just… Fez you’re amazing. You really truly are.”

“Aw, shit. Nah.”

“Yes! Yes, you are. You are amazing, and sweet and kind and empathetic and thoughtful and funny and handsome and -“

“You think I’m handsome, Lexi Howard?” she could hear the smile in his voice.

Lexi flushed bright red.

“I was talking, you know?” She hoped he could hear the smile in hers.

“Yeah, yeah you were. Saying that I’m all nice and shit. You can keep goin’ if you want.”

Lexi's chest burst with a giggle, “well I’m going to stop. I will after I say this,” she took a deep breath, “you are one of the best people I have ever met, and without a doubt, my favorite person I have ever met.”

The line went still and Lexi felt a brief spike of apprehension. Was she too much? Was that confession too much? Especially right now, in the circumstances of how they were talking?

“I know without a doubt too, Lexi. I know that you’re my favorite person I have ever met, too.”

One last nasty spike hit her belly for doubting him, before she was drowning once more in the warmth of Fezco’s adoration.

And then the stupid tears hit her again.

“Lex, no, no! We just got you over this,” he said.

“I’m sorry I just,” she blubbered, “you’re so wonderful and I miss you. I miss you so much and I am sorry that I ever thought you would be cruel enough to ghost me out of nowhere.”

Fez swallowed, “that what you thought? You thought I’d just up and forget you? Nah. Never could do that.”

“Really?” she sniffled.

“Nah, Lex. Never. Never you.”

She let out another quiet sob and he clicked his tongue.

“You’re killin’ me, man. Crying and sad and shit, and I can’t even do nothing. Can’t even hold you to make it better.”

The thought of Fez’s arms around her soothed the cracks in her heart enough to let it beat wildly at the idea. Lexi wanted so desperately to feel his embrace, to tuck her head under his chin and smell the pheromones on his skin.

“I really wish you could. Maybe then I could help you, too. God, I'm over here sobbing like a baby when I am the one who is supposed to be comforting you!

“I had a whole speech planned out for the next time I talked to you. About staying strong and being brave, but it all seems so silly now. Especially now. Because you are the strongest and bravest person I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What else? What else would you’a told me in this pep talk?” His voice was quiet, vulnerable.

“That even when things are at their worst, I tell myself that everything is going to be ok, even if I don’t believe it. I tell myself it’s going to be ok because it has to be. It just has to be ok, so it will be.”

He hummed in understanding, “even this? You think even this time things will be ok? Cause, shit Lex, I got a feelin’ that it won’t.”

“Then I’ll believe it will be for the both of us.”

“You will?”

“Of course, I will.”

Neither of them spoke for a long while after that. Nothing needed to be said to fill the silence, just the sound of the other’s gentle breath was enough. Lexi didn’t know you could miss the sound of someone's exhale until she was separated from Fez's. She would spend a lifetime listening to his husky intakes and outtakes if she got the chance. She hoped Fez would give her that chance.

The automated voice from before soon burst their calm bubble.

“You have two minutes remaining.”

Both Lexi and Fez gave a mutual huff of disapproval.

“Well… I guess that’s it for right now, huh?”

“I guess so…” Lexi trailed off.

She wanted to ask him so badly about what had happened that night of her play; about what happened to Ash, if he was alive, and if so where was he? What happened to his grandmother and the girl who was staying on the couch? Was he fairing ok living in a cell and if he ever felt scared? If he had a lawyer and what they had said? But, she knew he wouldn’t be allowed, or able, to tell her much.

With her bottom lip being gnawed and peeled between her teeth, and their time running out, she couldn’t help but blurt out, “what happened that night?”

He exhaled loudly, “that night?”

“Yeah, that night. The night of my play.”

“Damn, Lex. Thought I was gonna get off the hook with you on this.”

She snorted, “Well, you are calling me from jail.”

“True, true.”

Lexi paused, but knew she was running out of time, “So...?”

“Well, honestly? I don’t really wanna talk about it. Yeah, I don't think I want to at all.”

“Oh, ok. Yeah, that’s fine, that’s totally ok.”

Lexi hoped he could grasp just how much she meant that. She didn’t want to fish for details (no matter how much she wanted them) he wasn’t willing to give or pry anything out of him that he wasn’t comfortable saying. All she really wanted was to be there for him. To care for him the way he deserved.

“But y’know? Maybe, shit, I don’t know. You could come visit me? Or somethin’? I wasn’t allowed to have visitors for the first month, or even call anyone, but now I can. So, yeah. Maybe you come and we can talk about your play? Or, I don’t know, talk about anything.” Fez was trying to keep his voice nonchalant, but the hope in it was evident.

“Yeah,” she replied almost too quickly, “I’d like that. I’d really, really like that.”

Lexi’s smile grew so big on her face her cheeks ached, and if only she could see Fezco, so she could see his matching expression.

“Cool, cool,” he said, “then I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“You will,” she replied earnestly.

Then, a dial tone indicated their time was up.

a/n: i really hoped you enjoyed this time bit of fix up i did to fexi's story, lol! we have to do it ourselves because we know s*m is just going to continue to fuck it up. anyway! i hope you enjoyed and if you did, i'd loooooovvvveee to hear it ♥

[stevesharrlngtons]

i measure time by days spent away from you.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: while you’re off on a girls weekend, roman is left missing you.

word count: 5.9k

a/n: ingredients: just sweetness. instructions: read when you are feeling sad. results: good feelings resulting in feedback 4 the writer (-:  

“I can’t believe you’re being such a baby about this.” 

“Fuck off,” Roman grumbled in reply, moving to lay flat against the mattress with a huff. 

You just laughed and continued to fold clothes into your bag. You were very meticulous when it came to packing, wanting everything in your suitcase to be stored efficiently to maximize space. Roman always teased you about it. Although, each and every vacation taken together, he always complained that he couldn’t fit everything he wanted to bring in his suitcase. You’d counter his irritation by offering to help him pack next time, and he’d always roll his eyes stubbornly.

But, you wouldn’t have to hear his snarky comments or annoyed ramblings this trip, because you were leaving Roman behind in Pennsylvania. 

Destiny had invited you to her bachelorette party in Atlantic City for the long weekend, and you had happily accepted. You had been awaiting this girls trip for weeks and you were excited that it had finally arrived. You didn’t have many female friends anymore, having grown apart from the ones you made in high school and college, so the opportunity to have some good old fashioned girl time was overdue. While you and Destiny were close, you had never met any of her other friends. You were silently hoping to come out of the weekend with some new buddies, a few good stories, and plans for future adventures. 

“I just don’t understand why it’s three days…” he said, watching you riffle through the closet for a party dress. 

“Hardly,” you snorted, “I’ll be gone tonight, tomorrow and Sunday morning. You’ll barely even notice.”

The sound of you moving hangers around covered Roman’s pouted not likely.

Roman had been dreading your departure all week and now that it was here, he was stewing in self pity and pubescent angst. He didn’t want you to fly to New Jersey and go partying with a bunch of rowdy women, he just wanted you to himself. Which he knew was selfish and borderline unhealthy, but he didn’t really care. He liked you right by his side, slung under his arm, safe and sound. He wasn’t used to you going out with friends and especially not for so long. If you were out for an evening, you were back and in bed snuggled to his chest well before dawn. 

“I just don’t see why you can’t fly out Saturday morning, do whatever Destiny wants, then fly home in the evening,” Roman sighed, waving his hands lazily in the air. 

“What kind of loser does that? It’s like showing up for the birthday party and leaving before the sleepover,” you took a dress from the closet and walked to the mirror to pose with it infront of your body. 

“You hated sleepovers as a kid,” he argued. 

“I never wanted to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor,” you shuttered, “but when I’m promised a nice mattress, along with tons of drinking and dancing? Count me in for the sleepover and all the party favors.” 

“So, what?” Roman pushed up to rest on his elbows, “You’re just going to get wasted and dance? You could do that here, y’know?” 

“You wanna go dancing with me, Rome?” you shifted your eyes from the dress to look at his reflection in the mirror. 

“You know I’d go with you if you asked…” 

“Then, we should totally go dancing next weekend, baby.” 

You turned to place the dress you had been modeling in your bag and Roman groused petulantly. He watched closely as you folded the slinky designer dress on top of your other clothing and toiletries, smiling when it fit perfectly. You mouthed your checklist to yourself, counting off on your fingers that you had everything you needed, before you zipped the suitcase shut. When you had finished, you shuffled around on your knees to look at him.

“What if I fly down with you and we could get our own room? Have some hotel fun?” he raised an eyebrow and you just shook your head at his pleading. 

“Ro, this is a girls weekend, meaning no boys allowed. Including you.” 

He once more threw himself back down on the mattress in theatrics. 

“You do know that Peter lives here now?” you walked over to the bed and hopped on to straddle his hips, “How can you be mad at me for leaving you to have a fun weekend with your best friend?”

“Peter has plans.” 

“I know for a fact that he doesn't,” you took Roman’s face on your hands and pivoted his chin to look at you, “so go out with him. Have some fun, get drunk, do whatever you can’t do when I’m here.”  

Roman let you handle him completely, his neck limp and suggestible. He stared up at you with sad emerald eyes. 

“What if I make some calls and get the jet? I could get it here in an hour and you could go to New Jersey and be home before dinner?”

You just smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly, “I love you.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a no, but I still love you.”

Again, Roman slumped and sulked.  

You looked down at your moping boyfriend and kissed his jaw affectionately. You knew that Roman loved you, but you weren’t entirely sure why he was throwing such a fit about your leaving? Sure, he liked being with you, doing things with you, fucking you; but he wasn’t one of those partner’s who was lost without their other half. Roman did plenty of things alone, even went on the occasional business trip all by his lonesome and never put up this kind of fight before. 

You had mentally chalked it down as him being a possessive worry wart, which is why you already had plans to text him often to ease his mind. 

As you continued to lay soft kisses to his skin, there was a honk outside followed closely by a buzz of your phone. Your car had arrived to pick you up. Roman groaned as you sat up. 

“I gotta go, baby.” 

“Five more minutes?” 

“I don’t think I can ask the driver to do that,” you hummed as you pushed yourself off him. 

You went to the door and you looked over your shoulder to see Roman still laying down, a scowl on his face. 

“Are you gonna walk me down, at least? I’d like to say goodbye to you.”

Roman’s scowl deepened before he released a deep breath and pushed up from the mattress and walked to you. When he reached you, you made a move to grab your bags, but Roman beat you to it. He picked up your luggage without any haste and left the bedroom without a word or backward glance. You just rolled your eyes at his childishness and followed him, catching up with his long legged strides to wrap your arms around his waist. You pressed your cheek firmly to his back, and wound your fingertips in the fabric of his shirt. It made walking down the stairs a struggle, but Roman didn’t move to peel you off, which you appreciated. 

“You off?” Peter asked from the living room, lifting the remote to pause whatever he was watching on TV. 

“Sure am,” you said from behind Roman, giving him a gentle squeeze. 

“Have fun, will ya? Say hi to D for me.” 

“I will,” you grinned as Roman stayed silent. 

You could see Peter's face screw up with confusion on Roman’s stoic behavior, but kept his mouth shut on the matter, something you were thankful for. There was another honk from outside which prompted you to start to drag your oversized boyfriend to the front door. 

“Have fun!” Peter called again, his voice muted by the closing door. 

Once outside, Roman handed off your suitcase to the town car driver. The man took your luggage, then opened the backseat door swiftly for you to enter, waiting expectantly. 

“Give us a minute,” Roman said, dismissing the driver with a little too much hostility. 

The driver gave no indication of being offended by Roman’s tone, as he nodded and went to put your bag in the trunk of the car and then returned to the driver's seat. When he was out of sight, Roman looked you in the eyes. 

“You really sure you wanna go?” 

“Really sure,” you responded with a quick nod. 

“I guess I can’t talk you out of it then, now can I?” he frowned. 

“Roman, I promise you everything is going to be OK. I’ll be fine there, and you’ll be fine here.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he slumped his shoulders. 

“Then what is it?” 

Roman just shrugged. Too stubborn to admit how much he would miss you. 

You sighed, “Well, whatever it is… I’m going to miss you.” 

Roman took his hands from his pockets and placed them on your hips. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll miss you, too.” 

You slid your hands up his chest to meet behind his neck, pulling him close. 

“I love you very much,” you placed a chaste kiss to his lips, which Roman chased. 

“Love you, too.” he returned, giving you a much longer, more passionate kiss. 

When you pulled apart, Roman spoke again. 

“Text me when you get to the airport, when you board the plane, when you take off, when you land, when you actually get off the plane, what kind of car you're taking to the hotel, get me the driver’s info if you can --” you interrupted his rambled list. 

“I will, I will do all of that and I will tell you when we get to the hotel.” you said in a soft, placating voice. You smoothed your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and felt tiny goosebumps form along the skin underneath. 

“Fine, fine, OK.” Roman’s jaw tightened. 

You leaned up and pressed your lips to the tensing muscle, “I love you and I promise to keep you posted, but I gotta go. I don’t wanna miss the flight.” 

Roman nodded stiffly, but said nothing. 

You began to wiggle away from his hold, when Roman decided to swoop down one last time to kiss you. You were sure the driver was retching by the sheer amount of times you both had done so, but you didn’t care. You loved this silly man and would drown him in smooches to his heart content before you left. 

When your final kiss ceased, you both with labored breathing and gloss swollen lips, Roman let you enter the backseat of the town car and shut the door behind you. 

As the car drove away, you unrolled the window and leaned out the opening, blowing him a dramatic kiss as you swayed your arm in the wind like a 19th century on looker to a parting ship. Roman watched you with a stilted smile until you disappeared down the road. 

When Roman came back inside the house, Peter was waiting for him.

“So, the ol’ ball and chain is out for the weekend. What are your plans?”

Roman said nothing to him as he began to march up the stairs, hand clenching the rail. 

“I’m thinking strippers? Huh? Could be fun?” Peter walked to the staircase and watched Roman until he receded into the hallway without a reply. 

“Maybe rent the fight on pay-per-view? Get some beers?” he called louder. 

Still he only received silence. He rested his chin on the banister and waited a moment before he yelled, “Fine, be a pussy and cry that your girlfriend is gone!” 

The sound of a door being thrown open was Peter’s first response, followed by a verbal one. 

“I never said no, Jesus! So fucking fine, let’s go to the strip club, asshole.” 

Peter smirked as he heard Roman’s indiscernible grumbles before he shut himself right back into his bedroom. Roman liked to pretend he was complicated, but Peter could play him like a fiddle. 

Roman was surrounded by body oil, neon lights and gyrating women. A few years ago, this would have been his heaven, his domain. But now, it all felt trivial and antiquated. It felt played out and pathetic. With the neck of a beer bottle cradled lazily between his fingers, he watched on as the beautiful women of the club stripped from their skimpy costumes and revealed themselves in new and arousing ways. 

Peter, who sat next to him at their small circular table, was transfixed by the women around them. Reclined in his seat with a smile on his face, his eyes followed the dancers as they spun around poles, as they groped and shook themselves. Roman knew that he should have the same appreciation for the dancers as his friend. He knew that he should be calling over the ones who eyed him up and down with lust, he knew that he should be paying for private dances until his bank account ran dry. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t feel like it, at all. 

Peter picked up on his friend's lack of enthusiasm when he found him slipping his phone from his pocket every few minutes to check for notifications. He let out a snort through his nose, one that was muffled under the booming music, but still heard by Roman. 

“What?” he asked as he tried to discreetly put his cell back in his front pocket. 

“Nothing,” Peter hummed, raising his eyebrows, “Just find it funny.” 

“Find what funny?” 

“That you’re so whipped.” 

“Fuck off,” Roman scoffed, taking a swig of his beer. 

“Sure, sure, whatever. It won’t make you any less whipped, though…” Peter smirked. 

“I am not fucking whipped.” 

“Yeah? Then why do you look like you just put your fucking dog down when you should be looking like a kid in a candy store? Huh?” 

“I’m just not feeling it, OK? These girls are ugly. If I see one more cesarean scar I might vomit,” he sneered. 

“These girls are all tens and you know it! You’re just being a pouty little whipped boy because your girlfriend’s gone.” 

Roman’s face hardened as he turned to glare at Peter, “Fine, y’know that? Fuck you, you goddamn prick. Have fun with these busted bitches. I’m out of here.” 

Roman shot from his seat and slammed his beer on the table, causing a few other patrons to look over. He was already gathering his things to leave. 

“Hey, hey, hey, cool down, bud,” Peter said, trying to pacify a Godfrey level tantrum, “I was just joking around, OK? I’m just bustin’ your balls, that’s all.”

Roman’s mouth pressed into a thin line as he loomed over the table with a glower in his wide eyes. 

“C’mon man, just sit,” Peter pleaded, “Don't be weird about it, just sit.” 

Roman eventually relented after a long pause, collapsing his long limbs back into his chair with a loud sniff, his posture rigid. Roman picked his beer back up and took a pull from the bottle. 

“Look, I really was just kidding around, alright? Don’t take it to heart or anything,” Peter said, leaning toward his friend so he wouldn’t have to talk over the music. 

“Yeah, Ok. Fine,” Roman replied, refusing to make eye contact by letting his gaze wander around the club. 

Peter sighed, “I get it, alright? I do. When you’re in love, things are different. You have blinders on to everything but that one person, and as easy as it is to make fun of, it’s not a bad thing, Roman. It’s good, and it’s a good feeling to have.” 

Roman finally looked over the table to Peter, whose gaze had wilted and saddened. He could practically see him thinking about Letha, her face forming and twisting in his irises. 

He swallowed thickly before he slapped Peter on the shoulder in a search to break the tension, “No hard feelings. I’m gonna head out for a smoke, yeah? And I promise when I get back I’ll have a better time. OK?” 

Peter pursed his lips in an attempt to ward off the bubbling curse of his fallen love's memory and nodded, quickly downing the remainder of his drink and calling a waitress over for another. 

Roman took his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the exit. Once outside, he collected his pack of Marlboros from his pocket, then a cigarette and the lighter that fit snuggly beside each other. 

As he sucked on the filter under the club’s awning and fluorescent flood lights, he felt his phone vibrate. He scrambled to retrieve it from his jeans and read the text hurriedly. 

just got to dinner and im ordering a vodka soda and thinking of you. miss u already, ily!

Roman’s heart flipped and fluttered in a way that made his cheeks tinge with pink, while a smile fought to curl on his lips. As he quickly typed out a reply, a little voice in the back of his head told him that maybe Peter was right, maybe he was whipped. 

drink slow, baby, remember what happened in ibiza when you had to many lol

And immediately after

i love you too, keep me posted

When he pocketed his phone once more, Roman pondered. Flicking the ash off of the end of his cigarette, he decided that there were worse things in life than being in love with a woman, and being devoted to her. If that made him whipped, then so be it. Though, he would never admit that to anyone but his consciousness (even a bit painfully at that).  

The sheets were warm with body heat and Roman had lost the cool side of his pillow hours ago. He tossed and turned. He shucked off the blankets, just to retrieve them moments later. His limbs danced under the sheets in search of comfort and a portion of the bed that wasn’t sticky with his sweat and a high temperature. His hips hurt from laying on his sides and his shoulders hurt when he rolled on his back. He was crawling out of his skin with discomfort and soreness as the moon illuminated the bedroom. Around 1AM, he had tried to close the blinds, but they only ever budged for your magic touch, and Roman had only mangled them into an unrelenting slope. 

Roman had checked his phone every ten minutes since he got under the covers. He had texted you a succinct good night around eleven and had received a jumbled good night in response. He had typed out a text that had bordered on passive aggressive, asking about how your night had been going and how much you had had to drink, but deleted it before he hit send. He was doing his best to avoid playing into the overbearing, resentful boyfriend role that he felt he was in. You deserved to let loose, he just wished he was by your side as you did (and not thousands of miles away).

He had typed another text out just after midnight, then another after the blinds incident, but deleted those as well. Part of his pouting was pretending that you didn’t want to be bothered by his messages, so he would just lock his phone and return it to the night stand each time. But, that was before the irritation had set in on his bones and just the thought of trying to fall asleep made his skin waver and blister. 

But he still didn’t text you. 

Because this time he called. 

He shuffled around as he listened to the phone ring in his ear, squirming under the covers as the top sheet seemed to be holding his ankle hostage. He felt an overwhelming urge to snap and strip the bed of its clothes and throw them all out on the lawn, when he heard you begin to pick up.

“Ro?” you shouted into the receiver, the loud blare of club music accompanying your voice. 

“Hey, you’re still out?” he asked, twisting his leg around erratically until his ankle was free. 

“I can’t hear you! Hold on,” you said loudly again, followed by muffled shuffles as you moved through the crowd.   

“Wait! Hold on! Roman! Wait!” he heard your far away voice say as you exited the club. 

The music grew further away and the static shuffle ended, Roman could finally hear your voice and only it. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you giggled.

“Having fun?” Roman asked, trying to mask his interest. 

“Yeah,” he could hear your shrug, “dancing is lots of fun.”

“You sound like you’re having fun.” 

“Well, I can be lots of fun after a few Moscow Mules,” you chuckled at your own joke. 

“Switched from vodka sodas?”

“Yeah, the other girls were drinking them so I thought, ‘Hey! Why not?’”

Roman could hear the sound of your high heels echoing on the pavement. 

“How are you getting along with them? No bad blood?” 

There was a beat of pause on your end before you sighed, “It’s hard to make new friends, Rome.”

“Did something happen?” Roman felt a flare of anger in his chest. 

“No, no,” you replied, “they’re nice girls, I think I’m just in my head about it.” 

“Are you sure, baby?” 

“Yeah, everything's fine, really. I am having a lot of fun.” you reassured. 

“You sure?” 

“I mean, they’re nice. They are… but they’ve all been friends for years, and I’m just this new girl coming in and trying to fit in with them. That’s the only bad part; feeling like I have to prove myself or something… I don’t know. Girls are weird,” you peeled away at the skin on your lip as you spoke. 

“They’re excluding you? The fuck is wrong with those fucking women? Who the fuck do they think they are?” Roman’s heart beat began to accelerate and suddenly sleep was the last thing on his mind. 

“No, of course they aren’t excluding me. Destiny wouldn’t let that happen and you know it,” you said, “it’s just… they all have inside jokes and years of history together and y’know, here I come, Destiny’s new friend whose main bond with her is weird vargulf trauma.”

“I swear to God, baby, if I hear anything about them bullying you, no one will ever find the bodies. I’ll drain those snotty bitches for you,” he swore. 

You replied with a light hearted giggle, “I highly doubt that will be necessary. But is there something very wrong with me, that you threatening homicide for me, sorta turns me on?” 

Your comment was the pin to burst the anger that had begun to balloon in his chest. 

Roman snickered, “No, at least not to me. I think that’s what makes us work together.” 

You made a noise in thoughtful agreement.

“Roman? Can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why aren’t you asleep? You came home from the club hours ago.” 

Roman let a beat of silence come over the receiver as he collected his thoughts. He was slightly embarrassed by the reason, and while he had come to the conclusion there were worse things in the world than being whipped, he didn’t want you to know how whipped he was for you. 

“Jus’ hard to sleep alone,” Roman mumbled into his phone, picking at a loose thread on the duvet. 

He heard you snort a laugh and twinge of shame flared in his belly. 

“Ro, you sleep without me all the time! I’m the needy one who can never sleep without you, remember? We go over this everytime you go out of town.”

“What? So, I’m some frigid monster without feelings? I can’t miss you? I can’t possibly not be able to sleep without you because I’m such an unfeeling asshole?” Roman carped defensively. 

“Mm, baby, I love when you put words in my mouth,” you were happily drunk, so while this could have been said with malice and venom during a fight, you said it with warmth and giggles now. 

“I never said that you are unfeeling or cold or an asshole. You are sometimes, but that’s beside the point,” Roman grumbled bitterly as you continued, “You’ve just never brought up not bein’ able to sleep when you’re away, is all. You go to Tokyo quarterly and it’s never come up when you get home.”

A jumbled, muffled response came from Roman’s end as his cheeks burned red. 

“What? Ro, I can’t hear you?” 

“I said, I… Jesus, fine. I said that I always refill my sleeping pills when I leave, ok? I pop an Ambien or two and that’s how I can sleep away from you,” he confessed, “and I don’t know, I guess I forgot to refill them before you left. So, yeah, whatever.” 

You didn’t immediately reply to Roman’s admission and his stomach began to churn with hot worry. Rationally, he knew that you wouldn’t ridicule him or tease him for his attachment to you and his acknowledgement of it. But the irrational side, the side that grew up with Olivia Godfrey as his mother, who would dull out affection only as a form of manipulation, made him feel sick. 

“Oh, Rome,” you cooed, your voice tender and comforting, “I never knew that… I, that’s actually really sweet.” 

Roman’s shoulders dropped, “Yeah?” 

“Yes! I think it’s very sweet. We can’t sleep without each other. I think it’s cute. I think that means something.” 

“Something good?” 

“I’d say so.”

Intense warmth flooded under Roman’s skin and filled his body with loose relaxation. He could hear the smile in your voice, and he could see you swaying in your heels, propping yourself up on a brick wall that bordered the building, and he knew you were wishing it was him. He wished it was him, too. He had never felt such a perverse envy of brick in his life, because it got to feel your soft skin and caress your flowing hair while Roman was a million miles away, craving the taste of you. 

Roman wished he could curl up inside your voice, that he could let your syllables embrace and pet him, let your sentences of sweeter things and kind compliments rock him to sleep and help him forget how far away you truly were.

After a few silent moments of simmering in each other’s long distance affection, Roman reluctantly spoke.

“You gotta go back in soon?” 

“Probably,” you gave a heaving sigh, “I don’t want them to worry or anything.” 

“Or have them give you shit for being whipped,” Roman said with a forced chuckle. 

He knew that this showed another chink in his armour, that his vulnerability glowed from underneath his comment. Sleep deprivation and loneliness was taking a toll on his filtering ability. 

“Pft,” you blew out the sound from your lips, “they already know that I’m whipped, Rome. I’m not much of a secret keeper.” 

You disclosed this without any stuttered worry or fear. You told Roman of your love and devotion to him without having to grit your teeth or wipe your clammy hands on your pants. It helped him feel comfortable in admitting his affections for you, but it was still much harder for him than it was for you. He knew that he needed to continue to work on divulging to you often and regularly of his love, because whenever you did, it filled Roman with the most remarkable and indescribable feeling. The feeling of stability and trust and happiness and the giddy feeling of knowing that the person you love most reciprocates. And Roman wanted most in life for you to feel that same way. 

“I miss you, Rome. I love you so much, but I gotta go,” you said, breaking through his thoughts. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I miss you, too. I love you,” Roman hoped you could hear his sincerity through the phone and your drunken haze. 

When you hummed contently, he knew you had. 

“Bye, baby,” 

“Make sure to text me when you’re back at the hotel, ok?” Roman interjected quickly before you hung up. 

“‘Course, honey. I love you!” and with that, the line went dead. 

Roman still tossed and turned and ached for your presence in his arms, but your short conversation had helped him eventually lull himself to sleep. His dreams were filled with short vignettes of you, sparks and flickers of your face. 

Just after mid-morning on Sunday, you gently stuck your key into the lock of your home’s door. You had texted Roman after you had boarded the plane home and when you landed in Pennsylvania, but you had yet to get a response. You were hopeful it was because your high strung boyfriend was still asleep, something you knew he needed.

After your over the phone heart to heart in the early hours of Saturday morning, Roman still only got fitful rest. Saturday night was much of the same, as he sent you a litany of text messages, ranging from attempts to sext to requests for Netflix show recommendations. You were beginning to feel slightly guilty for the sleep you were able to get on your hotel queen, but you mainly accredited your ability to fall into the grip of slumber from the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed over the weekend. Even now, the effects of the alcohol still had you in a clutches. With sunglasses perched high on your nose and four Tylenol simmering in your stomach, all you wanted to do was finally be back in Roman’s arms and kiss him wherever your lethargic lips could reach. 

Once you had opened the door, you heaved your suitcases over the threshold and set your keys in the crystal dish that held Roman’s as well. You stretched your arms over your head with a squeaky moan, and inhaled deeply the smell of your home. There was something so comforting about coming home, no matter the extent of time away, and smelling the scent that your living space held. The smell that your senses accommodated to, the smell that you didn’t notice every day. Your and Roman’s shared home smelt like warm fabric softened linen and Roman’s favorite pine candle he had a stockpile of. It smelled like a hint of lemon from Anna’s disinfectant and a tad like cigarette smoke that lingered on Roman’s clothes. It smelled like Roman’s wafting cologne that made your knees buckle and your stomach flutter, and you swore you could smell your own in the air somewhere too. Maybe Roman had sprayed it in the air to comfort himself? You wouldn’t ask him if it was true, but it made you smile anyhow. 

You made your way deeper into the house, headed for the kitchen in search of a Gardorade and a granola bar before you went up to join Roman in your bedroom. Though as you rounded the corner to look into the living room, you were surprised to find Roman splayed out on the couch. Folded underneath his head was his pillow from upstairs, and draped over his lanky limbs was the thick duvet from the guest bedroom. The excess fabric pooled on the floor next to him, most of it having slipped off his body. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as you looked at him. His plump lips were spread and his jaw was lax. One of his arms was thrown over his head and the other over the back of the couch, while one of his legs had fallen off the cushions, causing his foot to lay flat on the floor. He must have been running on fumes for him to be so deep under while laying on the stiff designer couch so loosely. 

After a few more moments of admiring him, you decided to obtain your food before you went to wake him. Of course you had the option to leave him be, but you knew when he woke he would be angry if you came home and didn’t. That, and you wanted to be in his attention, even if it was just two and half days, you had missed him. 

With a few bites of your granola bar chased down by Gatorade, you walked over to Roman. You set your items down on the coffee table as you knelt next to his head. His nose scarcely scrunched and his eyelids twitched. You placed a gentle kiss to all three and he started to stir. 

“Roman? C’mon, wake up,” you whispered, brushing back a curled piece of his hair that had fallen on his forehead, “I’m home.” 

He let out a throaty groan as his eyes fought to flutter open. His adams apple bobbed and he pursed his lips before his beautiful emerald green eyes were revealed to you between languide blinks.

“Hey,” you grinned, finger combing his hair, “you finally get some sleep?” 

“(Y/N)? How long have you been home?” he asked, voice graveled from slumber. 

“Not even five minutes.”

“And you didn’t wake me?” 

“I’m waking you now,” you smiled, gripping his hair playfully. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, his arms that had been flung behind his head coming to grip you waist, “come here. C’mere, c’mere, c’mere.” 

You giggled as Roman grappled you with sleep soaked limbs to pull you on top of him. When he did, he brought his other arm down to snake around you, keeping you firmly to his body. You moved your hands up to cup his jaw, kissing him listlessly on his cheeks. 

“I missed you. Oh, I missed you,” you uttered and Roman’s arms tightening. 

“Fuck, God fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much,” Roman keened sleepily. 

You were sure he was being more candid because of how tired he was, but you didn’t care. 

“You’re never leaving again, ok? Never leavin’ my side again. Taking you everywhere with me from now on,” his hand skirted underneath the hem of your sweatshirt, his finger eagerly exploring your missed skin, “never letting you leave my sight.” 

“I’m ok with that,” you purred in his ear, kissing him with finality on his lips, “I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.” 

Roman gave you a heavy lidded expression of pure bliss, “You make me happy.” 

“You make me happy, too.” 

You smiled down at him and propted yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him, “Let’s go upstairs, baby. Our bed is better than this couch.” 

“Nah,” he groused, pushing you back down to his chest with a huff, “just here, just like this. Too tired to move.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, things are better now anyway.” 

Your cheeks ached from smiling as you nuzzled your nose to the column of his neck and Roman’s chest rumbled with happiness. 

Roman’s fingertips pressed into your back with comforting pressure and his other hand moved down to slip into the back of the waistband of your pants to feel the skin of your ass. 

He felt such a flood of contentment, he wondered just how he had survived at all these past few days without his fix of your skin, your smell, your kisses and you. He buried his face into your hair and ignored the way some of it found its way into his nose as he inhaled. He ignored the kink in his neck and the pain in his shoulders and the fact that he had accidentally ripped down the blinds in the bedroom the night before. Because now, nothing else mattered except you. Roman wished he could tell you just how he felt, all about this feeling. He wished he could tell you how he loved you with the entirety of his being and that you truly made him happier than anything else in the world. He hoped he figured it out soon, but for now, he knew this was enough. 

i hope you enjoyed! if so, i would love to hear your feedback (-:  and i know i am overloading you on fluff, but a very angsty story is in the works!

[stevesharrlngtons]

There were still two hours until sun down, but you weren’t worried much about missing the extra moments of daylight as you returned home. Usually, you would bask under the sun’s rays until it disappeared behind the horizon, and until your love could join to revel under the stars. But, it had been a long day, and you wanted nothing more then to be in the comfort of your own home and out of the scorching southern heat. With bags loaded across your arms and hung from your shoulder, you debated finding your way down to the basement to climb into Eric’s coffin to relax. The idea of waiting another two hours to be with him sounded more like torture then your day had been.

Though, before you could even set your items down in the foyer and continue your mental deliberation, you were seized by the waist and swept up off the ground. If you didn’t know that the home you lived in was as secure as a fortress, this action would have terrified you. With the knowledge however, you only gasped with glee.

You realized that he must have been waiting in the wings for you to enter, because once the light tight door had shut, he pounced.

Two arms secured you to a toned chest and a cold, chiseled nose buried its way into your throat, soft lips followed the curvature of your neck as a pleased groan sounded from behind you.

“You smell like the sun. It has heated your skin,” blunt teeth ran over your flesh as you began to melt into his embrace, “you smell of cut grass, new blossoming life, and salt mixed with the pheromones of your blood.”

Eric pressed you even closer to his form then, as one of his hands found delicate purchase at the base of your throat and the other snaked its way down to the short hem of your dress.

“I swear I could smell you for miles,” he purred against the shell of your ear, “I woke from my sleep to the vision of you in the sun. I could feel your every movement, every ray on your skin, every breeze that touched you,” he kissed your jaw chastly, “I could feel your every breath, your every ache,” his fingers drew further down the exposed skin of your thigh, then reveled in the languid journey back to your hem, making it known with just the sweep of his fingertips how he cherished every bit of you he was graced to touched. You let out a throaty moan when he began to gather the scarce material into his gasp.

“I couldn’t stand to be away from you any longer.”

With a sudden movement, you were rushed forward to the back of the couch, Eric bent you to his will and you obliged with no contention. This pleased him greatly and he rewarded you with a roll of his hips to your backside. The thrust had your breath stifled in your throat as your eyes fluttered backward.

“Eric,” you gasped with need, a day full of tribulations far from your mind now as his deft grip neared where you yearned for him most.

Eric clicked his tongue in disapproval from behind you, and the hand that had vanished underneath your skirt diverted from its original trajectory toward your center.

You did your best not to writhe against him in frustration as he trailed his maddening touch everywhere except where you wanted him. He swept it along the cleft of your thigh; danced it along your hip bone with the added bite of his nails; painted it anywhere he pleased until goosebumps enraptured your body. All the while, his mouth sucked sinful trails to your neck, playing with your flesh between his skillful lips and dangerous teeth. You were at his mercy completely, trapped between his body and the furniture in front of you to be the helpless receiver of all his stimulation.

“Please,” you begged in the sweetest tone you could muster, desperate for more.

“Please, hm?” he taunted in return, his fingers finally stilled as his large hand flattened to your lower abdomen, “you are right to beg, my pet.”

You let out a pitiful noise. Between the ministations and teasing he had dulled out, and your general after-work exhaustion, the use of your vocal chords had been cut off.

“Yes, very right to beg,” he pet the soft skin of your stomach along the elastic of your panties as the heel of his palm stayed firm, “do you know why?”

Luckily, Eric knew you wouldn’t be able to answer him at this point and let his question be rhetorical. With the way your heart was beating; the way your hips let out involuntary jerks and twitches; and with the emotional fatigue he had felt through your bond; he knew you were close to crumbling.

“While I could see you, my beauty, swathed in light and wearing all the blessings of Freyja… while I could feel you, sense you, and smell so much of the earth’s aromas on you, do you know what I could not smell? What I could not see?” he didn’t wait for any sort of mangled reply, “I couldn’t smell myself on you. You smell only deliciously you,” he punctuated his words with a nip to your shoulder, “I could not see my mark on your body, only the smooth expense of your exceptional flesh.”

“And this is unacceptable. You know this, yes?” he asked simply.

You nodded frantically against him, wanting nothing more than to move your hips as they pleased, but his stoney grip still prohibited you.

While Eric always had a special talent for unraveling you in mere minutes, you hadn’t felt this needy for him so quickly in a long time. Unfortunately, you knew why. And so did he.

Between booming summer business at Fangtasia, and your own increasing professional responsibilities, you and Eric had recently found less time to be intimate. With your burn out and Eric’s preoccupation over the business running smoothly, your schedules and stressors had bore the result of two weeks without sex. A hefty and almost unheard of drought for the two of you. A weight that you both had begun to notice in the past day or two, the lack of physical intimacy becoming too much to bear.

And this afternoon, Eric had finally taken matters into his own hands.

“Because, as mine, you not only must wear my mark, but you must smell of me also.”

The gentle hand that had kept your upper half supported quickly changed it’s function and gripped your throat with a dizzying purpose. With his new leverage, Eric used it to crane your face back to look him in the eyes.

“So everyone knows exactly who you belong to,” he muttered, his lips inches from your own and his hold offering no give for you to seize them.

“Yes,” you managed as your eyes locked with his own, that were filled to the brim with lust and possession.

You felt totally and completely desired in that moment. Though, to Eric’s credit, he made you feel desired in every moment you were in his presence.

“Good,” he smirked, almost condescendingly, “then I think I have some work to do, lover.”

And you happily surrendered to his claim.

[stevesharrlngtons]

amore mio aiutami.

roman godfrey x reader

word count: 5.5k

summary: once more, he took your hand and gave you the permission to mend him.  

a/n: long time so see! at least in the realm of one shots. this came out of aboutle nowhere and is probably super similar to my other stories but guess what? idc  ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ so, i hope you enjoy (: 

“Darling, tell me what you need?” 

“(Y/N).” 

So, as much as Olivia detested you, she did as her weeping son asked and found you. 

You hadn’t seen Roman since the scene at the hospital. After he disappeared after Pryce and Peter had fled the waiting room in a hysteric flurry, you were left alone. You felt as sterile as your surroundings. You felt utterly still and useless. While both boys had crumbled into a fit of emotions, you had remained motionless when the news of Letha’s death had been so crassly and unceremoniously announced over the intercom system. It was like your brain had begun to malfunction, and instead of grief-stricken screams and body quaking sobs, it chose to retain its energy and stay dormant. The news was so blind siding, so heartbreaking, so earth shattering, that it was impossible for you to comprehend. Impossible for you to react correctly. 

So, you had sat for what seemed like hours, all alone, staring into space. Because Letha and her baby were dead. And there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. There was no going back. This morning you had held her hand as hospital staff had wheeled her back into the OR, matching smiles on your faces as she called you ‘auntie’ and you called her ‘mama’. You should have been holding a small little human right now. You should have been looking up at your best friend, palling from excursion but looking upon you with love as you held her bundle of joy. 

Instead, you had been abandoned and left stagnant in The White Tower, unable to function. You could still taste the smoke on your tongue from when Roman had cheerfully pressed his cigar to your lips and told you to inhale. You could still taste copper on your tongue from where you had unknowingly gnawed a gash into your cheek with your teeth. 

A page came over the intercom once more, and for some reason, it was enough to snap you out of your stupor. One minute your eyes were fogged and glassy, and the next, you had been thrust back into reality. The reality of being alone in the waiting room, your nails creasing into your palms uncomfortably, and pending a current decision. 

After a moment of blinking away the dryness in your eyes and swallowing any sick remnant from your chewing incident, you slowly looked down the small hallway to the door Roman had disappeared through. You knew it was best to find him, for both of you, to find him immediately. His gut wrenching sobs still rung in your ears. 

With timid strides, you made your way toward the door and pushed it open. It was likely placebo, but you swore the stench of death hit you like a wall of heat when you passed the threshold. Your eyes began to water from the weight of the smell, but you trekked on. You needed to find Roman. You needed to know he was ok. You needed him to be ok.

You aimlessly wandered the vacant halls, the sound of your own footsteps echoing menacingly around you. You debated calling out his name, but you already knew your voice was out of order for the evening. Possibly forever. 

You rounded a corner, and something in your stomach knew. The cosmic tether that still bound you to your best friend whispered in your ear and twinged in your belly, and told you that she had been there. 

Turn to your right and see what’s left.

And that’s where you found the room Letha had been in. A collection of monitors haloed a hospital bed, that lay behind a puddle of blood. Thick, dark, crimson blood dripped from the stark white hospital sheets and pittered into the puddle below, filling itself out so it could inch toward your feet. 

You knew from that moment on, that that puddle of blood would haunt you forever. Whenever you would start to feel good, or whenever you would see someone with a cut or whenever you would hear her name, this puddle is what would come to mind. This sentient puddle that seemed to be growing larger by the second, and the smell of her freshly dead corpse somewhere in the building. 

You didn’t find Roman. But Norman found you. 

“(Y/N),” his voice called, “You can’t, don’t, look at it…” 

“I should have done something,” your voice croaked, “I should have insisted on coming back here. I should have been here.” 

You should have held her hand while she pushed. You should have wiped the sweat from her brow. You should have cheered her on while she pushed. You should have been there to fucking cut the cord. You should have been there to watch her die. 

“You can’t start. You can’t start that,” you distantly felt him place a hand on your shoulder, “you can’t play a game of what if’s and should have been’s.” 

You managed to tear your gaze away from the growing puddle to look at Norman. Norman, whose face was splotchy and streaked with tears. Norman, whose lip was trembling as he blinked away another onset of sobs. Norman, who still jumped to action to help you when bile flooded your throat and suddenly burst from your mouth. 

Norman, who did his best to console you as you heaved up swilly vomit and choked back tears. 

When you opened your eyes all you could think of was the puddles mixing. Your insides mixing with Letha’s. 

You began to shake uncontrollably then, sobs finally erupting from your chest. Norman wrapped you in his arms, you were sure to console you, but also himself. Maybe he was pretending you were Letha as he held you. 

It was then that Roman finally found you both. 

“I’m leaving,” he said flatly, any emotion he had previously had had been stripped away. 

“You can’t drive like this, Roman. Not after everything,” Norman said from over his shoulder, while he still held you tight. 

“And like you can?” he bit out. 

“Then we’ll all take a cab.” 

And so Roman called a cab for the three of you without another word. 

You tried to look at him. You tried to touch him, talk to him, but it seemed Roman had an aversion to all things in that moment, especially you. You had reached out a weak hand to grab a hold of his jacket as Normal held you to his chest, in a desperate search for his comfort, in a desperate search to comfort him. But, at the feeling of your stretching fingers, he quickly shrugged off your touch and turned his back to you. 

So, you stayed in the arms of your best friend’s father. You tried to ignore the hurt you felt when you all piled into the cab and Roman lifelessly rattled off your address first, making it clear that you were to go home alone, without him. He chose to sit in the front seat, while you and Norman sat in the back. Roman looked out the window the entire way, he didn’t even acknowledge you as you got out of the car and turned to face the yellow vehicle, waiting for a reaction. But you got nothing, just the vision of Roman framed by the widow, lips pursed and eyes cast down. 

The cab soon drove away and you stood in the middle of your front lawn, watching it’s taillights disappear. The street lights were on and you could hear the distant sound of your neighbors sprinkler. You fell to your knees, then to your side, curling up on the grass in the hopes that nature could heal you. Maybe grow around you and help you blossom new in the spring, happy and void of this pain in your chest. 

But your mother found you before then, hours later and brought your inside. Your fists full of blades of grass. 

You slept for twenty one hours after, without a call or text from your boyfriend. You sent him a few stray messages but never heard anything back. You thought it best to give him space, but you were yearning for him so completely. 

And then Olivia showed up. 

You had just sat down for dinner when the doorbell rang. Your father, while long dead, had always had a rule about never answering the door or phone calls while sitting down for a meal. Even though he was gone and it was just your mother and yourself, the rule had stuck, even though neither of you cared that much about if it was disrespectful, like he had. 

You had both looked up from your pot roast when the bell rang, but exchanged a look that you always did in times like this. We’ll deal with it later. But the bell continued, quite consistently and obnoxiously.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a smile in a search to soothe your mother (who took it as an offense when someone wronged a rule from her deceased husband). 

With sock feet, you went to the front door with every intention of politely asking them to leave or come back later, when you were met with Olivia. To say you were surprised was an understatement. 

“Olivia?” you blurted out, because you simply couldn't help it. Her appearance was so unexpected, her name just dropped from your lips. 

“Good evening, I hope I haven't disturbed something,” her elegant voice said as she clasped her hands in front of her. 

“We just sat down to dinner,” you responded, voice sounding as skeptical as you felt. 

“Oh, well, I am sorry to interrupt your supper,” she said with a deep sigh as a period, “but I’m afraid I require your immediate assistance.” 

Which made sense, she had never been this polite to you in the past. 

“With?” 

“My son, I’m afraid.” 

You didn’t need to hear anything else she had to say. You rounded up a pair of shoes and jacket and kissed your mother’s cheek, then fled your home for Olivia’s truck without a second thought. 

She didn’t wait for you to buckle in before she started to drive. She smoked with all the windows up except for a small crack in the driver’s side. The radio hummed an old country ballad and your leg bounced restlessly against the floor mats. 

“How have you been faring?” she asked as you were stopped at a light. 

You didn’t feel like bearing your bleeding heart to her or engaging in any small talk, but you answered anyway. 

“Dreadfully.” 

Olivia hummed as the light turned green. 

“I’m sorry, truly. If it is half as bad as how my son is grieving, I know you are going through something so hideous... going through feelings that humans are not equipped for.” 

You nodded at her lukewarm attempt to console you and watched the world pass through the window. 

“I know what you think of me, your distaste for me. You are less than subtle about it. But then, I suppose so am I.” 

This drew your attention back to her. 

“Just because I don’t, well, enjoy your presence, that doesn’t mean I don’t see what you do for my son’s happiness. It doesn’t mean I don’t see how well you treat him, even when he bloody well doesn’t deserve it. You’re good to him, for him. I see it all,” she continued, eyes briefly leaving the road to look at you, “As his mother, I have always wanted to protect him, to be the only woman he loves with such feriousty. And I know that is a reason why I hold such a contempt and resentment toward you. Misplaced, possibly, but I can’t help it. He is my only son and I would do anything for him. Which entails me… weeding out the riff raff. But here you still stay, ready and willing to take me on to love my son. Not an easy feet, but an admirable one.” 

As she was finishing, you came up to the Godfrey mansion. 

“I do accept you, you know? I do, in my own way. And I hope through the thunder and the rain you will accept him too,” she turned off the engine but made no move to exit the car, “it is such a pity that things couldn’t have been different. That you couldn’t have been the one to bear the weight of all of this, isn’t it?”

Olivia then reached out and ran the back of her hand gently over the apple of your cheek, examining you in the way you would a prized pig at auction.

“But, I know that you will play a part in this before it is all over.” 

She carefully took a single stand of your hair between her finger tips and slowly ran them down to the end. Her beauty had always been intimidating, but in this moment with the lowlight of the moon, her face was frightening. Like someone had pulled back her mask to reveal her ghastly, maleficent exterior. The hair stood up on the back of your neck as she surveyed you, and you had never felt like you had ever been in more immediate danger as you were in that moment. While you couldn’t see your expression, you could feel it was confused and slightly horrified. But Olivia could, and so she sighed. 

“You better get in there now. The attic. He’s expecting you.” 

She returned to her cigarette and looked out the windshield like she had been alone the entire time. Like she hadn’t been looking at you like the last gulp of water in the desert. You didn’t need any more prompting to flee the vehicle.

You found him in Shelley’s room, that was now bare of any signs of life. If you hadn’t been in this room just last week, you would have never known that it had been someone’s residence. You would have likely ruminated on the gross action on Olivia’s part for gutting her missing daughter’s room if it hadn’t been for Roman. Your sweet, broken Roman. 

He sat with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around his middle. He wore an old flannel shirt and the most pitiful look on his face. His lower lip quivered and his doe eyes widened with grief and need. 

“(Y/N)...” he choked out your name, half question half relief. 

“Oh, my love,” you simpered before you ran to him and fell to his feet. 

Once your knees hit the hardwood, Roman burst into tears, his long arms reaching for you. You went to him easily, effortlessly; you wormed your way between his legs and shuffled forward until you met his chest. Roman wound himself around you like a snake devouring its prey: with no way of you getting out of his hold. He clutched onto you like a lifeline as he sobbed into the crook of your neck, spouting apologies on an endless loop. 

I should have called. I’m sorry. I missed you. I needed you. I wanted you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, please, please.

What? Please, what? 

Make this pain go away. 

And you wanted to tell him that if you knew how, you would have remedied yourself days ago. But that wasn’t helpful, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear or what you wanted to say. So, all you said was: 

“Ok.” 

You sat with him on the floor until his tears ran dry. Your back throbbed in discomfort and your knees ached from your position on the hardwood, but you didn’t move a muscle. What was going to help you get through this, was to help Roman get through this. You would save the one Godfrey you could. 

You had luck with suggesting you move to his bedroom after his body stilled from it’s cries. Roman nodded against you, and when you pulled away he left gritty tear tracks and dried snot smears on your skin. He wiped his eyes childlike, with the back of his hand, before he seemed well enough to let you stand from his hold. He let his tired hand skirt its way down your back as you stood and then promptly took a hold of your hand.You stuck your other out for him to take, which he did gratefully and you pulled him to his feet. 

On the way to the elevator, you bore most of Roman’s weight. His arm was around your shoulders and both of yours were around his waist, keeping him upright. He momentarily wrapped his other arm around you as the elevator lurched down to his floor, before returning it to his side once the doors opened again. 

You led him to his bedroom and felt a pang in your chest when you saw the state he had been living in. Discarded clothing and food wrappers covered the floor, empty cups and beer bottles held purchase over every surface they could, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts and whatever he was smoking were scattered about. 

“Let’s sit, baby,” you said, moving Roman to his unmade bed and placing him on the corner, “do you wanna change into something?” 

He shook his head swiftly and reached his hands out to tug on the hem of your t-shirt, “Just take it off.” 

And you understood. 

You helped him strip first, down to nothing at all, then did your own clothing. Adding both sets to the sea of laundry on the floor. 

You stood in front of Roman in a position that would usually lead to a night of passion, but now was going to lead to a night of reassuring intimacy. Roman skated his fingers along your skin, cataloging every part of you with his fingertips and green gaze. Like he was proving to himself that you existed. He ran his thumbs under the flesh of your breast and moved in clean vertical lines to touch your nipples. He kept his thumbs in place as palms and remaining fingers came to cup you delicately. Roman met your eyes for a brief moment before he bowed his head against your sternum and deflated with a sigh. 

Tears stung your eyes as your hands, that had been laying listlessly at your sides as he examined you, came to weave into his disheveled hair. Tugging periodically at his roots in a reminder of your everlasting presence.  

You felt his chapped lips place soft, barely there kisses against your chest intermediate with his strained breathing. He nuzzled his face against your skin like he was trying to tunnel his way inside you for safe keeping, and when his efforts failed, he had to settle for the small kisses to taste you after your short separation. 

“I need you. I needed you. Stay,” he whimpered to your body, gripping your breasts tighter as you did the same to his locks. 

“Ok, yes. I’m here. I’m here now.” 

He nodded, before you gently pulled him away so you could look at his beautiful face. That was still as stunning as the day you met him, even with the profound sadness in his expression. 

“Let’s get some sleep, alright? I think that would do you some good,” you didn’t know for a fact, but the circles under his eyes told the story of his insomnia. 

He sniffled, but nodded once more. He let you go to scoot back on his bed and rummage around for the corners of his blankets so you both could slip underneath. He collected the haphazard covers the best he could, then draped them open. Roman looked to you with a soft, frighteningly innocent expression for your boyfriend, and patted the spot next to him. 

You crawled over to the spot and laid down. When Roman covered you both up and under his bedding, you could smell the wafting smell of smoke, body odor and beer coming from the sheets. Roman settled next to you and wrapped you back into his arms, he pulled you so suddenly to his chest you couldn’t help the tiny gasp from your lips upon the impact. He mumbled an apology as he got comfortable around you. His arm around your waist, his nose buried into the crown of your head, his leg thrown over your own. Roman created you a human cocoon, one that left you no option for escaping from.

Though, you really had no interest in leaving. You had missed this man with your entire being and to be near him again, made your heart swell with love and drain a fraction of the sadness in your chest. Roman’s embrace could cure a lot, but unfortunately not this agony. But, it was a start, and he was a salve you would never turn down. Roman always made everything better for you (even if in the moment, it felt like he was making it worse). 

You pressed your lips to his knuckles and let out an encompassing sigh and let your eyes shut. You ran the tip of your tongue over the cracks in his skin and he hummed sweetly behind you, like a cat’s purr. You hoped that when you woke, you would feel better and Roman would be healed, even if you knew that was impossible. It was impossible, but you were allowed to dream as much as you wanted. 

Forty five minutes later, you woke with a thin sheen of sweat heavy on your skin. Following your marathon sleep session after your mother found you on the lawn, you hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time. You had hoped Roman’s presence would help, but it seemed it was something in your body that would just have to run its course. You thought about seeing a shrink as you ran your nose along Roman’s radial bone. It could help you… but maybe Letha’s death was still too fresh to be searching for help. You’d give it a month, maybe six. Maybe then it would be easier to talk about. 

Your whole life seemed to be composed of maybe’s lately. 

Maybe things would get better. Maybe Letha would still be alive if you were in the room with her. Maybe Roman will call. Maybe he would hold you together when you broke apart. Maybe taking care of him would fix you both. 

You just had to hope you figured it all out soon, because you didn’t know how much uncertainty you could take. 

The longer you laid in Roman’s arms, no matter how much you had missed his embrace, you became restless. The room seemed to be closing in on you, the clutter unavoidable and ignorable. The mess was so awful that you couldn’t shake it from your mind. Some of the beer bottles had gained mold and there was a fly buzzing around an old fast food bag in the corner, not to mention the hills of dirty clothes that barricaded you from his en suite. The maternal, coddling feeling you felt in the attic to protect and fix Roman flared in your stomach and seeped into your blood stream until all you could think about was cleaning up the grieving mess he’d made. 

So you did. 

You gingerly extracted yourself from Roman’s hold, which had thankfully loosened from the depths of his slumber. You tiptoed over to where you had discarded his flannel from earlier and buttoned it up on your body. The last thing you wanted was to be caught going in and out of Roman’s room stark naked by one of the staff or God forbid Olivia. At that chilling thought, you slipped on your panties as well. 

You left Roman’s room, leaving the door cracked so you didn’t have a chance to wake him. Then, you scurried down to the kitchen and gathered a box of trash bags and a pair of rubber gloves from the side of the sink. On your way back upstairs, you found Annalisa and told her there would be a few trash bags to collect from outside Roman’s room. You whispered, even though you were separated from Roman by two floors. 

Back in Roman’s room, you crept around on light feet as you stuffed pizza boxes, rotting receptacles and overflowing ashtray contents into each white bag until they were full. You tried to pad the beer bottles with layers of other trash so they wouldn’t make as much noise, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t look over at the bed with baited breath each time they clinked together. You managed to fill four garbage bags without waking him, and set them outside his room for Annalisa to retrieve. When the trash was handled and the shapes of his living space were appearing again, you moved onto the laundry. You had planned on taking arm fulls down the hallway to the laundry shoot, then take the elevator to the basement to do as many loads as you could before Roman woke. Unfortunately on your third trip down the hall, you heard Roman’s throat crackling wail of your name. 

You raced to Roman’s room and burst through the ajar door to find Roman, blankets pooling at his waist and tears in his eyes. 

“Where did you go? You were gone!” he shrieked at you in anger as he battled off his cries.

“I was just trying to clean up a bit, Ro,” you replied, rushing to his side and sitting side-saddle on the bed.

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“I was just down the hall, honey. I never left.” 

“You can’t leave me, you can’t leave my side. You can’t leave too,” he voice wavered at the end of his sentence. 

Roman’s face soured and a scream erupted through his teeth and his face fell into his hands. He was furious he still felt so broken. 

“Roman, baby, no. No, I’m not gonna leave. I’m here, I’m here, always. Always, always, always…” you said as you rested your chin on his shoulder and wrapped your arms around him, “I have you, Roman. I’m not leaving.” 

You rocked him gently and cooed to him sweetly. You ran your hands over his skin and kissed the curve of his jaw until his breathing slowed once more and excess tension seemed to dissipate from his body. 

“Do you wanna go back to sleep?” you asked, placing your cheek where your chin had been, so you could look at him, “I won’t get up this time.”

Roman shook his head, almost petulantly. 

“Do you wanna shower? No offense Ro, but you smell kinda ripe,” you played. 

“I haven’t had the energy,” he snapped. 

He tried weakly to pull away from you, but your arms held strong. 

“What about a bath? It’s low energy? I could take it with you if you want?” you proposed, not letting his bitter response deter you. 

“You probably wouldn’t want to...because I smell like shit and all,” he pouted indignantly. 

“Ro, I would bathe with you even if you actually smelled like shit. I’d do absolutely anything to take a nice bath with you, baby.”

You looked up at his profile and laid a series of pillowy kisses to his shoulder and trap muscle, before Roman sighed. 

“Ok, we can take a bath.” 

You smiled, “I’ll go get it started.” 

You stood and walked to the bathroom (that you had made accessible) and started the water for the tub, and ran your fingers under the tap until it was Roman’s desired temperature. When you turned back to Roman, he had craned his neck to watch all your movements, his face full of worry. He didn’t trust the universe enough to take his eyes off you, again. 

As you went toward him and Roman’s gaze never left yours. Not as you approached the bed, not as you walked across its surface on your knees, and not as you took his face in your hands. 

“My beautiful boy,” you hummed quietly as you studied his face. 

His creamy silk skin, his cherry stained lips, his fluttering eyelashes that framed perfect emerald eyes. You ran your thumbs over the expanse of his cheek bones, around the hollow of his eyes and followed the bridge of his nose to trace the arch of his eyebrows. 

“My sweet boy,” you moved closer to his lips and Roman let out a distinctive mewl and you reveled in the pleasure of knowing you were making him happy. 

You placed a soft kiss to his plump mouth and poured as much love and affection into it as possible. You nudge your nose against his and Roman sighed peacefully at the feeling. 

The kisses shared were simple, chaste, but earnest. Your hands stayed clasp on his cheeks and Roman’s lay lax on his lap. You hadn’t kissed so soft or so innocently since you had first started seeing each other. While it was a change of pace for the two of you, it was well appreciated and savored.

When you pulled away from Roman’s mouth, he followed yours until you held his head study. 

“I think the bath should be about ready by now.” 

You got off his bed and held your hand out from him like you had in the attic, your way of asking him to let you usher him into comfort. Once more, he took your hand and gave you the permission to mend him. 

You walked together to the en suite and you turned off the tap and shed yourself of Roman’s flannel and your underwear. You carefully stepped over the lip of the clawfoot tub and tried not to hiss at the obscene temperature he preferred and delicately lowered yourself into the steaming water, as Roman watched. Once you were submerged you looked up at him in question. 

“Get in, honey,” you encouraged, shrinking back against the porcelain to give him room. 

“I always hold you in the bath. That’s how this works.” 

“Not this time. Now, get in.” 

Roman looked on at you with a scowl.

“The water is getting cold, Ro. You either waste this lovely bath or you get in and just let me hold you.” 

He looked over his shoulder, like a stranger may burst in and revoke his masculinity card if he let you be the big spoon. You wanted to poke fun at the action, but kept your mouth shut. He was unbelievably fragile at this moment, and all he needed was your kindness and protection. 

“I’m supposed to take care of you,” he carped, “I’m supposed to protect you, y'know? Not the other way around.” 

“I’m not allowed to take care of you?” 

“No, it’s just,” Roman frowned, “I’m supposed to be the one who fixes. I’m supposed to take care of you.” 

“And you do. But right now, I am taking care of you. And I always will, whenever I can and whenever you need it. It’s just a part of the deal.” 

“Why?” he asked, his voice suddenly null of all angry testosterone, and full of vulnerability. 

“Because I love you, Roman. I am hopelessly and utterly in love with you,” you shrugged lightly, “and that just means that I will always take care of you.”

You said this to him so frankly and so decisively that it left so room for him to argue or pout. You had told him a resounding fact and it was clear you wouldn’t hear otherwise. 

After an uncomfortable thirty seconds of shifting his weight between his heels as he stood on the cold tile, Roman stepped into the water and settled against your chest. 

You rounded your arms into the water and to hold him around his middle and hooked your feet over his shins. 

Roman’s height, even now, dwarfed your own. He could easily and comfortably recline his head over your shoulder and against the tub. You hummed with peaceful satisfaction and slowly felt Roman relax against you. His tight muscles unraveled from their persistent tension, and he let his body be molded by the soothing water into his usually relaxed stature. 

For a while, you both sat in content silence. The only sound in the room was the gentle slosh of the water and your matching even breaths. You stroked the skin of his stomach with nimble fingers, rounding his belly button and going through the hair above his groin. You ran your thumbs over the hollow of his ribs and over his protruding hip bones.

“(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah?” 

Roman twisted against you to be able to look you in the eye, “I love you, too.” 

“I know, honey,” you placed a kiss to his nose and he smiled softly. 

Though, his lips slowly flattened again and he looked at you earnestly, “I don’t want you to worry about protecting me. It really is my job.” 

You weren’t going to argue gender roles and Roman’s twisted ideas of honor and rights then, so you just nodded. 

“Ok, baby. You can protect me again tomorrow.” 

And that seemed to satiate whatever macho part of his was blazing in his chest to turn back around and snuggle into you. 

Surrounded by tempted water and all things Roman, your pain was briefly smothered by love, which really, was the best you could do. And that was more than ok for now. 

is it strikingly similar to my other one shots? ya. do i care? meh, not really. do i still hope you liked it? yes!!! 

feedback is greatly appreciated, so if you did enjoy this, lemme know (:

@girlinthecorner​

[stevesharrlngtons]

adam, carved from the rib of eve.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: godfrey industries throws a party in the honor of their new ceo. roman is less than thrilled to be attending, but at least he has you. 

word count: 3.4k (a shortie)

a/n: i am such a slut for the “i hate everyone but you” trope as you can probably tell and that’s basically this fic lol. i ended up not loving the ending to this, but i like the beginning so i’m posting it anyways lol

Roman’s hand hadn’t left the small of your back for hours. His fingers widened and drummed and stroked and squeezed you through the slinky fabric of your dress, to both soothe himself and to keep you intune with his moods throughout the evening. His nails would probe into your skin when someone would approach him that he disliked, telling you with his fingertips of his distaste. Leaving small crescents in your dress and the smooth skin underneath kept him from showing his true loathing for an employee on his face. At certain points during the evening, you were worried that Roman would draw blood from his ministrations, fearing little lines of crimson would blot your dress and force you to tie his suit jacket around his waist like some midwestern mother. During these moments, you’d reach out to stroke his lapel or lean your temple to his shoulder in a show of affection and warning. Roman would ease his prodding and smooth his fingertips over his marks in sweet apology. 

Tonight was a big night for Roman. Tonight was the night that he was being officially inducted as the new CEO of Godfrey Industries. Large posters had been unrolled from the ceiling that pictured his signature pout and chilling glare; a slideshow that was being projected on a far wall of the rented ballroom showed pictures of Roman, Pryce and JR; napkins were leafed across tables with a congratulation message for Roman’s succession. Tonight was a momentous night in the history of The White Tower and the Godfrey legacy, and Roman was miserable. 

He hated that everyone wanted to talk about his father and Norman and his mother and Pryce and what he would do for the company in the future. He hated that he had to put on a neutral face and hob knob with men and women he deemed to be serfs and peasants. He hated that men eyed you up and down and women tried to grope him and he hated that anyone thought they were worthy of your combined presence. If either of you were forced to shake another hand he’d blow his brains out (hyperbole, unfortunately, because he could see a fat man with a wet upper lip approaching him).

But, he thanked whatever higher power that was out there that you were by his side, looking gorgeous and regal and supportive. Roman Godfrey said a silent thank you to every God his mind could name that you loved him and he loved you back, because he could not fathom attending this party without you. Without you smiling when he couldn’t conceal his hatred, without you lightening the mood with sweet anecdotes and pretending to look interested when his employees talked to you. 

You nodded and hummed and asked thoughtful follow up questions that left the impression on his lessers that Roman Godfrey and his girlfriend were good people; the kind of people who cared about the lives of their workers. He would be utterly lost without you, a thought that crossed his mind every time he glanced down at you, huddled into his side with a glass of champagne cradled in your dainty hand. 

Well, that and how much he wanted to fuck your brains out when you both returned home. You looked down right delicious in your evening gown.

Unfortunately when there is a party thrown in your honor, people are interested in talking to you. Soaking up your presence without any regard for how the honoree might feel. The mouth breathing attendees wrapped in their rented Men’s Wearhouse tuxedos didn’t care that Roman just wanted one minute alone to cozy up to his girl, as they formed a line to congratulate him and try to perform for him as a way to prove their keep. Little did they know they were just doing the opposite, only fueling his ire for them. Thankfully, the line had diminished for the first time that evening, leaving you and Roman to your own devices by the bar. 

“Thank fucking God,” Roman murmured as he order a bourbon and another glass of champagne for you. 

“Just try to grin and bear it. We can leave in an hour.” You reply, squeezing his hand that still resided near your backside. 

He groaned, “An hour?” 

“Yes, an hour. This party is for you. You don’t want to seem ungrateful or stuck up.” 

The bartender placed your drinks in front of each of you. Roman took his quickly and took a long pull from the glass. 

“You my PR director now?” He muses. 

“Hell yes I am, and you better be thankful,” You say, quite matter a factly, “I make you look good, approachable, the boy next door. Not the playboy who snorts coke off of hookers tits. I am the Persephone to your Hades. And people love it.” 

Roman chuckles, “I can’t say I don’t like that comparison.” 

You smile at him over the rim of your glass. Roman takes a drink from his own glasses and swallows thickly before speaking again.

“You know I am thankful for you, right?” 

Your grin softens at the uncharacteristic confession and you place your glass back on the bar so you can cozy up to him, “I’m thankful for you, too.” 

Roman stared down at you, love and appreciation pooling in his green eyes as his hand loops around you to link with his other. You place both hands on his chest and kiss his chin chastley as Roman melts into your embrace. You make him feel so needy and weak in a way he had always chased away and feared. But you made him love it, revel in it, look forward to the feeling. Though, it made his guard fall, you and your sweet kisses and sweeter touches, and right now, while he was in a room full of judgmental employees that he was trying to make see him as their alpha, probably wasn’t the best time for him to be turning to honey and sun shining warmth. 

Luckily (or not so luckily) the haze you two were in was broken by an onlooker. 

“I believe congratulations are in order.” 

Roman’s glare hardens within seconds as he looks away from you to Pryce, who stands behind you, hands clasped behind his back. 

“I don’t need them.” Roman replies, letting you untangle yourself from him. 

“Well, I offer my sincere pride and happiness for you, anyway.” Pryce says with a tight lipped smile. 

Roman doesn’t respond, just raises his eyebrows at the other man. 

After a beat of uncomfortable silence, Pryce moves his attentions to you, “(Y/N), you look stunning tonight.” 

“Thank you, Doctor.” You respond politely. 

“I’ve heard from many patrons tonight that you have bewitched them, they are all fat and happy with the care you’ve shown them.”

“I do what I can.”

“I would enjoy it if some of that good will would rub off on you, Roman. It isn’t becoming for any of us for you to look like a tyrant.”

Roman scoffs, “I don’t want them to like me. I want them to be fucking scared of who I am and what I can do.” 

“I believe Mussolini said something similar.” Pryce quips back quickly. 

“I’ll be their fucking Mussolini if I have to be.” 

“Let’s hope you’ll be more effective.” 

And again, there is a tense pause between the three of you. You sip the bubbles from your glass and try to burrow into Roman’s side to calm him. You knew Roman was capable of explosive outbursts, and you really preferred if he didn’t have one tonight in front of all these people. Especially at Pryce, when they were supposed to be creating a united front for the company. 

“Well, unfortunately I didn’t just come over to offer my congratulations,” Pryce begins. 

“It’s never just one thing with you,” Roman responds spitefully. 

“I came over to inform you that you are expected to give your speech soon.”

Roman’s jaw ticks, “What fucking speech?” 

“The speech we discussed last week.” 

“We didn’t discuss shit.”

“Believe me or not, we discussed a speech last week. Though, I suppose I am not surprised you don’t remember, as you seemed less than thrilled with the news when I gave it to you.” Pryce lamented. 

“I am less than fucking thrilled about it now.” He snapped. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Roman. This is a part of the job; addressing the troops.” 

“I don’t address the troops, I delegate someone to do that for me. Which is you, in the scenario.” 

“I am already giving a speech tonight, Roman. The one before your own that introduces you.” Pryce informs. 

Roman doesn't retort, just clenches his jaw tightly, you could see his muscles pulse through his skin. The glare he was giving Pryce would have made a lesser man quake, make them sweat and tremble with fear. But, the good doctor was used to Roman’s stares. 

“Go fuck yourself.” Roman spat, his face so close to Pryce’s that you could see flecks of spit freckle his skin. 

Roman then stormed off, pushing his way through the crowd and disappearing. 

Pryce gives a deep sigh, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his face while you simply shrug. 

“I can’t say it doesn’t worry me that a bonafide child will be taking over this company.” 

“Easy.” You say, reminding Pryce who he is talking too, “He’s just overwhelmed. He’s not much for public speaking.”

“But public tantrums he has no problem with.” 

“He’s very passionate. Something that will take this company far. Don’t forget that he is JR’s son, who himself was a very passionate man.” 

Pryce eyes you, “Will you continue to spin his outbursts into good omens?” 

You shrug again, this time with a budding smile, “I don’t mind.” 

He snorts, “What we do for love.” 

“Tell me about it.” You reply, before leaving Pryce by himself at the bar and going to search for Roman. 

You found him in a back hallway of the ballroom, back pressed to the wall with his knees to his chest, a lit cigarette between his lips.

“You look very modelesque right now. Very sexy,” You smirked and Roman looked up at you, “Like this in black and white? Boom, Vogue cover guaranteed.” 

You walked toward where he sat and smoothed your dress against the backs of your thighs so you could do the same. You faced him and rested your cheek to his bent knee. 

“You’re very funny,” He replied sarcastically, taking another drag from his cigarette, “Maybe I’ll just quit now and work on finding an agent.” 

“Well, you have the bone structure for it.” You played, but Roman still seemed less than amused.

“I’m serious. What if this is a sign?” He said, twiddling the filter between his thumb and forefinger. 

“What, the speech?” 

“Yes, the speech. What if me fucking it up, forgetting about it, is some sign from the business Gods that I’m just bound to mess this all up in the end? That I’ll embarrass myself and my father…” Roman’s voice shook at the periods. 

He was terrified, but had done a good job at hiding it. Over the last few weeks, you had been asking him how he felt about taking over at Godfrey, and everytime his answer was succinct and indifferent. Each time he told you that he was perfectly fine with the idea, as it was something that had been promised to him since birth. You never pried or pushed, but you made sure to keep a closer eye on his feelings than you normally did. You had a feeling the other shoe was going to drop and Roman would feel the weight of this decision lay on him, you were just waiting for when. 

“Baby, hey,” You cooed, snuggling closer to his folded up form, “None of that is going to happen, and you forgetting some stupid speech doesn’t mean anything. It means that you forgot, that's it. You’re human, you’re allowed to make human mistakes.” 

“Not in this job. Not when everyone is already waiting for me to fail.” Roman said.

“Well, you still are, because I’m telling you. You are allowed fuck ups and mistakes. It makes you seem more relatable.” You pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and take a drag. 

“I don’t want to relatable to those people,” Roman spits, “My God, nothing sounds worse.” 

You giggle, “Good thing you will never be like those people out there. Because those people, the ones out there desperately searching for your approval? Those people were born to worship men like you, Roman. You were born the man to be worshipped, the man to be followed.” 

Roman looked at you with his big doe eyes, both filmed with unshed tears as his lips pursed. You moved to place his cigarette back between his pouted mouth and let your thumb sweep across his bottom lip as you did.

“You, Roman Godfrey, will be amazing. You will shock and awe any and everyone. You’re not going to fail, because you don’t know how, baby. You are the man that I love, and no matter what, that won’t change.” 

A few tears had fallen on his cheeks as you spoke and Roman sniffled quietly, “You promise?” 

“I do.” And you leaned forward to slot your lips with his. 

The kiss was gentle and reassuring, you could taste the salt of his tears and the bourbon and smoke on his tongue. Roman’s hand came around to rest on your side and you purred at the contact. 

When you parted, it was because you could both hear the muffled sound of Pryce’s booming voice over the microphone. 

“Fuck,” Roman groaned, thunking his head against the wall, “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” 

“This is what you’re going to do,” You leaned forward and took his face in your hand, “You’re going to go up there, thank Pryce for his words about you. Then, mention how much this company meant to your father and how proud you were of him, and how proud he would be of you. Then say something about how much you love the company, how much it means to you and the world of medicine, blah, blah, blah. Then round it out with something light hearted, maybe make a joke? Then you’re done, you’re out of there.” 

“Are you sure that’s enough?” 

“It’s gonna have to be.” 

Roman nodded, before crushing the remainder of his cigarette under his dress shoe and pulling you into his side. You both sat in silence as you listened to the faint sound of Pryce’s speech. He was a well spoken man, which you knew made Roman nervous. 

“You know,” You said, breaking Roman from ruminating on what was to come, “I heard this couple talking shit about us.” 

“What?” Roman barked, snapping his head to look down at you. 

“Yep, when I was coming out to look for you, I heard them.” 

“What in the ever loving fuck did they say?” He fumes. 

“They were talking about how we were eye fucking each other all night, and how are PDA was inappropriate for the event.” You snort a laugh. 

“Who were they? Did you get a good look?” He was angry, you could feel it in the rigidity of his body. Your plan was working.

“Nah, just overheard them.” 

“Well, they better fucking hope I don’t find out who the fuck they are. Fucking rip their fucking eyes out for looking.” 

You giggle and Roman looks down at you again, anger and curiosity in his eyes. 

“I just love it when you get all riled up, it’s hot, baby,” You reach out to press a lingering kiss to his pulse point, “Love it even more than when you show everyone that I’m yours.”

Roman’s expression changes on a dime and pure hatred shifts into a sauve look of arousal, “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You hum, leaning to give more kisses to his throat, “I love how your hands feel on me, love that everyone can see, love how possessive you are, baby.”

A moan rips from Roman’s chest and he quickly grabs you and forces your legs around his hips to straddle him, “You like it when I show everyone you’re mine, huh?” 

He subtly bucks his crotch into your own and you whimper at the contact, “I love everything you do to me, baby.” 

His lips descend on yours once more, but this kiss is anything but soft. It’s hot and passionate and intense and fucking raw. His teeth clanging against your own, his tongue pushed deep in your mouth, both his hands groping your breasts. He occasionally broke apart from you to curse or to whisper an obscenity. You loved when he got like this, and you knew he needed it. He needed to feel in control, he needed to feel desired and strong. He needed to know he was still powerful; a protector. 

“You wanna know what you’re gonna do?” You moan, pushing his face to mouth at your neck.

“What, baby?” He asked breathlessly as he covered your skin in filthy kisses.

“You’re going to go out there, and fucking nail this speech. Show them that you’re the fucking boss, that you are in charge. That you own them and this fucking company. And you’re gonna do it knowing that I am in the audience, watching you, waiting for you to take me home and fuck me so good I can’t see straight.” And you pulled him away from you. 

His pupils were blown, his mouth red and kiss bitten and he panted as he gazed at you. 

“What the hell? Your plan was to give me blue balls then throw me on stage?” 

“A little, but mostly make you remember who you are. Roman Godfrey, the most powerful man I know, the only man who gets me soaked in seconds.” 

“Damn right I am,” He kisses you hard once more before you pull him off again. 

“Now go give your speech so we can go home,” You patted his shoulders firmly then stood from his lap. 

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” Roman complained, standing as well. 

But he didn’t, he really fucking loved you. Because somehow you knew every part of him, every nook and cranny of his twisted brain, every emotion and feeling before he had it. You knew him, and you always knew just what to do. He had been preening at your earlier praise and then fully immersed in your kiss and had totally forgotten about the speech altogether, along with his nerves. You had pumped up his ego with acclaim and hot touches and suddenly he wasn’t so scared anymore. Because all those stupid fucks out there, they didn’t matter. Like him or not, he owned this company, he owned them. They would learn to fear him, to want to be him, and that was something Roman knew was true (something that you had helped remind him). He fucking loved you so much, for always knowing what to do when he felt lost and helpless in the dark. Roman knew that taking over Godfrey Industries was the first in many steps he would take for the rest of his life to take care of you, and guide you through the blackness when you needed it.

“Sure you do,” You laugh.

“I’m supposed to go up there with this? You gonna let that happen?” He gestured to the bulge in his pants. 

“Think about baseball.” You shrugged and started back to the ballroom. 

Roman groaned loudly before catching up to you. 

As you both came through the double doors to the event, Pryce seemed to just be finishing up, catching Roman’s eye in relief that he hadn’t bounced. You reached down and gripped his hand as Pryce introduced Roman and gestured him to the stage. 

His face fell as all eyes moved to him, but you were there to plant a strong kiss on his lips and whisper, “Just giving that couple somethin’ to talk about.” 

Roman couldn’t help the cocky smile that spread over his face after that. He walked to the stage and you took your seat at one of the head tables. 

Roman cleared his throat and shook his blazer over his shoulder to resettle it as he looked out over the sea of his new employees. The sea of his new employees and you: who gave him an excited thumbs up and a wink. 

And Roman knew this would be a piece of cake. 

i really hope you enjoyed!! if you did, i would love to hear any and all feedback <3 also, bear with me for a while, i am not sure when my next story will be out bc the ones i have working on rn are kinda long, but! until next time (:

[stevesharrlngtons]

a/n: this is 110% inspired by @skarsgard-daydreams and her wonderful eric x reader series unto dead. if you haven't already, GO READ IT, it will change your life.

this is literally just filthy smut. that's it, nothing else, you've been warned why am i nervous? is everyone nervous posting smut? this came out of loving marie's stories with a passion, and wanting to bring some good solo pam smut to the table. with that being said, 18+ and sorry if it sucks lmao ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ enjoy!

Time meant nothing in the dungeon, and even less when you were under Mistress Pam’s rule. It didn’t matter to her if she went against her word and five minutes of spankings turned into fifty. She didn’t care if she promised that after she counted to three you could cum, and then let hours lapse between one and two. And she certainly didn’t care about your opinion on her lack of concern over the loss and fluctuations of time during your sporadic sessions.

Your sessions only happened on the rare occasion Eric was out of town, and the even rarer occasion that he allowed Pam to play with you without him.

Tonight, the stars had a lined and allowed both of the requirements to be met for her to handle his girl all alone. Although, his presence was never really left out of these affairs. The security camera in the corner always reminded Pam, and you, of his omnipresence.

As Pam looked over your restrained naked body now, she knew without even having her maker in the room that he was enjoying himself. Your lithe form shone under candlelight as sweat drenched your skin and wetness slicked between your thighs. Your chest was rising and falling in great succession. You squirmed uselessly in the binds that secured your wrists and ankles to the steel table, as your body subconsciously tried to curl inward for comfort after another orgasm had been cruelly ripped away from you. Pam smirked, lashes batting down at you as she weighed the heavy wand vibrator in her hand.

“Stupid girl, thinking she gets to cum whenever she wants. So greedy,” she ran the wand on low vibration over the length of your form, enjoying greatly the way it made you gurgle and whine, "I own your orgasms, your pussy isn’t allowed to pulse unless I choose to make it do so, correct?”

She rounded your pert nipple with the wand, “Correct?”

“Yes! Yes, Mistress!” you gasped out, knowing that not responding at all would only make your deprivation worse.

“Look at that, maybe you aren’t just a stupid little cunt after all,” she slowly moved the wand away from your nipple to draw it between the valley of your breasts, up your throat and along your cheek, just to press it hard into your jaw and chatter your teeth, “you’ll learn your place one day. Until then, I do enjoy teaching you.”

She said this in a mock sympathy, she said it like you should be grateful for her torture and her lessons.

Though, nothing that had happened this evening was surprising, and you should have mentally prepared yourself for the tribulations she would put you through. The foreplay and the lead up to penetration when you were alone with Pam was always maddening.

“He might be big, but no one fucks like me. We have to make sure you’re really ready,” she’d say in her signature drawl as she’d pull out a new toy to use on you.

“Do you think you’ve had enough?” Pam asked flippantly, pushing the head of the vibrator into your cheek firmly once more before taking it off all together.

This time, you knew better than to answer. Both answers were wrong.

“Let’s check, why don’t we?” she posed it as a question but it was rhetorical. Anything Pam wanted to happen, would.

She turned off the wand and placed it to the side, along with many of the instruments she had already or planned on using on you. Unable to crane your neck far enough to watch her walk to your bottom half, you relied on your peripheral vision and the sound of her stilettos on the concrete to alert you. Soon, you felt her icy soft hands part your thighs wider and the sound of a hum leave her lips.

“Would you look at that?” manicured nails came to spread your lips that were dripping with arousal, “quite the excited little slut, aren’t you? You don’t hate your punishments as much as you let on, it seems.”

Her touch felt so good you could barely control the moan that ripped through your chest when three of her flat fingers started to rub the outside of your pussy.

“That’s right, let that brain of yours melt out of your little cunt. You’re so much better when your Mistress’s little fuck doll and nothing more.”

Pam could smell the delicious aroma of your eager pussy and the sweet blood pumping steadily through your femoral artery. She wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into your skin and let your oozing blood mix with your arousal so she could slurp up her favorite cocktail. But she knew she had to refrain. Eric was always very strict with her biting his pets, especially when he wasn’t around.

“You just can’t resist, can you?” she chuckled lowly and your breath hitched, “pretending to struggle but soaking yourself between your legs.”

You wanted to reply, you wanted to say anything even if it was just to continue to play into the evening, but the second you felt her fingers breach your center, your brain powered down like a TV set.

“Even wetter inside,” she said in faux surprise, “with no resistance.”

“But you know what, little slut? I think I want more. I want your cunt to drool so much it makes a puddle on the floor for me, and then, but only then, will I think about putting a cock in you.”

The idea of finally being filled had you delirious, and when Pam crooked her fingers and started to pump them inside you, you felt crazed. Her skillful finger tips hooked and rubbed over your g-spot so well, you had the brief worry of passing out cross over you.

“Finally being a good girl, huh? A good little toy for me. You were such an insolent little brat earlier, weren’t you? But after a few hours with mistress, suddenly you're the perfect little pet Daddy and I deserve.”

Her fingers started to pick up their pace, “keep this up and who knows what will happen.”

Faster.

“But you better not cum. You better not even think about that pleasure.”

Faster.

“Because good little pets don’t own their orgasms. No, no they do not.”

Faster.

“Pa- Mistress, please, I-” you stuttered, anxiety started to blossom in your chest as you felt your stomach clench.

“Hold it,” she replied firmly, but didn’t stop her assault.

“I’m gonna- please, slow down!”

“I said to hold it.”

But it was too late, you had already started to tip over the edge before you could do anything else to warn her or ward her off. The way she was hitting your g-spot combined with the heavy edging she had subjected you to made your resistance useless.

The second she felt your muscles tighten hard around her fingers, she saw red. She didn’t even contemplate working you through your orgasm as she immediately pulled her fingers out of you, ruining the euphoria of your high as you were left pulsing around nothing and starved of the release you wanted. An involuntary scream left your lips as you began to thrash hard again, but a hard slap to your thigh stopped you.

“You dirty fucking slut! You’re nothing but a greedy little whore whose cunt rules her. You can’t even follow directions,” she stormed around the table to stand by your face, her hand coming to grip your jaw tight and angle it toward her, “fucking say it.”

You were still trying to catch your breath, to come back to your body as salvia caught in your throat.

Another brutal slap sounded through the room as Pam whacked you across the face with anger and conviction. The sharp sting made tears well in your eyes.

“Do I have to make you say it? Move these useless lips myself? You’re supposed to be a good little toy and yet I still do all the work.”

“I’m, I’m nothing but a greedy, a greedy little whore whose cunt rules her. I can’t even follow directions,” you did your very best to choke out.

“Not even an apology,” she scoffed and dropped your head back to the table with a clang.

“I’m-” but she cut you off.

“Save it. I don’t want to hear another word you have to say. Toys don’t need to talk. They have nothing important to say.”

Tears finally fell over your lash line and streaked your cheeks. But you weren’t ready to tap out yet. You didn’t want to.

“You will prove your atonement to me, and you’ll do it with that tongue of yours buried deep in Mistress’s pussy,” Pam sneered as she slapped your face even harder (if that was possible) in the opposite direction, “you better get to work to prove to me that I should show you any semblance of mercy.”

She started to hike up the latex dress she wore, “and you better get to work. We have a long night ahead of us.”

And you as strange as it may have sounded, you looked forward to it.

xx

i haven't written smut in years, and haven't written good smut maybe ever lmao, so i hope this was up to par! forgive any errors, i wrote and edited this at 2am

once again, plllsss read marie's series (and just everything she writes bc holy fuck are they are all so good) also very much blushing reading this back in the light of day who knows if this stays up lmao

[stevesharrlngtons]

just a little downhill.

mickey x reader

summary: after a hard day of work, mickey comes home to a very unwelcome and unexpected guest: his little brother.

word count: 4.5k

a/n: mickey and his brother goodness! as briefly discussed, kevin’s face claim is pete davidson (: and if you’re curious, here is another discussion of mickey’s parents. i hope you enjoy and if you do, i’d love to hear it (:

Although Mickey had been out from under his parents order for years now, he never seemed to shake the responsibilities they had assigned him. 

When Mickey was old enough, with a high school diploma under his belt and not much else, he escaped two towns over to flee his parents and their needs. To, at the time, do his best to escape their overbearing asks and assumptions of him. He took very little when he fled in the night; a few articles of well worn clothing; his box of drugs and corresponding paraphernalia; an envelope of mementos of his relationship with you; and you, as well. You both escaped your grim situations with wild eyes and hearts, between flurried kisses and giggles, you made your way to your new lives. 

Now, all these years later, you both were still shacked up in your cozy ground floor apartment, with it’s warped tiles and shag carpets, and Mickey had never been happier. Sure, he worked a demanding manual labor job and he had few future prospects, but he was on his own and living with the woman he loved. To Mickey, there truly wasn’t anything better than that. He suspected he could be forsaken to any living conditions, demands or labor, but as long as he had you by his side, he would be happy as a clam. 

You were the one who kept him sane. The one who taught him how to float instead of thrashing in the water. The one who taught him the gentle caress of love. The one who was the only salve for any and all problems that were thrown his way. 

And when it came to his chaotic life, he needed your healing touch more often than he would like to admit. 

Because while the distance between him and his turbulent family offered excuses for why he couldn’t invariably swoop in and save the day, the milage didn’t often deter his parents from calling on Mickey whenever they needed something. Their expectations still held true no matter the separation.

Mickey was expected to come over and soothe tensions when their fights reached a volume to where the neighbors got involved. 

Mickey was expected to drop everything, no matter the circumstance, to help wrangle their old mutt whenever he escaped and began to terrorize the neighborhood kids.

Mickey was expected to drive the hour to their trailer whenever there was an appliance that needed fixing. Usually after his father had stormed off in frustration when he couldn’t do it himself. 

Mickey was also expected to fix a litany of other things that his parents refused to call in an expert about, but had no problem pawning it off on their son (even if he was no more qualified to fix things then they were).  

But above all, Mickey was expected to look out for his little brother. To watch out for him, and to take care of him when he couldn’t take care of himself. This had always been his most fervently requested task, and possibly the one he resented the most. 

And when he came home to find his fuck to of a little brother with his back against the brick siding of Mickey’s apartment building, a joint between his lips and his head angled toward the sun, he knew his everlasting duty to care for the kid was about to rear its ugly head once more. 

Today was just an exceptionally bad day for this to happen. 

Because before he even saw Kevin’s face, it had been a day where he had just wanted to come home, lay his head on your lap as you pressed delicate kisses to his skin. He needed to be enveloped in your soothing smell and coaxed into relaxation by your voice. He just needed you, because today had been awful. The last thing he needed was to deal with any member of his fucking family.

The day started off with the buddy he carpooled with burning a hole in his brand new seat cover on the way to work. Then it was announced that OSHA would be monitoring their site they were at for the morning, which meant nothing got done and the crew was way behind schedule. When lunch rolled around, Mickey dropped his sandwich on the ground, which caused his coworkers to start an uproar of teasing and laughter whenever he was around. And, of course, after he was already in their crosshairs, his drill decided to stop working, which only fueled the other mens mocking. 

And to make it all worse, his mother had been calling on a loop since noon. He refused to answer, not wanting to deal with her drunk ramblings or vicious criticisms, which just meant that the calls kept coming. Now that he thought of it, he was sure the sudden vibration in his pocket had been the reason he had dropped his sandwich in the first place.

Thanks mom. Fuck you.

“The fuck are you doing here, Kev?” Mickey grunted from around his cigarette as he approached his front door. 

“Didn't Ma call?” 

“I don’t answer her calls sober,” he shoved his key into the lock and pushed the door open with his shoulder.

As the door opened, Mickey cringed as Kevin quickly sprang to his feet and pushed past him into his home. He had expected it, but it still made his stomach drop as it happened. When Kevin planted himself somewhere, he was often hard to peel back up. Last time Kevin had come over to beg for money, he didn’t leave for four days, leaving a permanent lanky body print in Mickey’s couch. 

“Can’t really blame you for that,” Kevin chuckled as he collapsed onto the living room couch in a huff, “we didn’t invent The Scale for nothin’.” 

The Scale referred to the made up increment system the two invented in middle school on how high they had to be to pleasantly deal with their parents. Their mother was usually a Bill and Ted and their father was always at very least Cheech and Chong. The brothers sometimes would still refer to The Scale when they were going through a spurt of getting along. But this was not one of those times. 

Mickey hadn’t seen Kevin on an unencumbered social call in over two years. Kevin used to visit every weekend; to party, play video games or just spend time with his older brother; but now it was only under the guise of extorting money (that Mickey really didn’t have to give) or in a search of a place to crash while he was on the outs with their parents or whatever girl he was currently seeing. 

Because of his mother’s incessant calls and Kevin’s mention of her, he assumed it was the latter this time. 

“Yeah, well clearly you’ve already started,” Mickey grouched, as he tilted his head to the blunt that was still between his brother’s lips. 

Mickey was anything but a prude, but when his deadbeat brother came swaggering into his home with no humility or shame, smoking pot and bogarting his couch, Mickey suddenly turned into a stuffy Christian mother, sticking his nose up and huffing at the mention of any illicit substance. 

“Oh, I’m sorry man, you wanna hit?” Kevin asked, completely oblivious to his brother’s annoyance. 

“What are you doing here, Kev?” 

Kevin’s eyebrows raised at Mickey’s bluntness and whistled low under his breath, before settling back against the couch. 

“Take the stick out of you ass, Jesus Mick,” 

“I’m serious, Kev. What is it? Spit it out, I had a long fucking day. I don’t have the patience to deal with this.” 

“You sound like dad,” Kevin chuckled, smoke billowed from his mouth as he propped long legs onto the coffee table. 

His tolerance for Kevin running thin already, Mickey marched over to the couch and shoved his legs from the coffee table with haste. Kevin’s eyes grew wide with surprise and slight betrayal when he looked at his brother again. 

“I’m not fucking around, Kevin! (Y/N) is gonna be home any minute and I want you gone when she gets here,” Mickey raked a hand through his tousled locks and went in search of his work coat to find a new cigarette. 

“(Y/N) loves me,” 

“Yeah, because you prey on her kindness. Now tell me what it is or I’m calling dad to pick you up.” 

That seemed to scare him enough to reveal the reason for his visit.

“I need a job.” 

And there it was. Mickey let out an encompassing sigh as he turned his back to his baby brother. This wasn’t the first time Kevin had asked for a job, and Mickey doubted it would be the last. 

Others might applaud his brother’s initiative to better himself and search for personal contacts to find him work, but Mickey knew better. He had tried to help him get a job more times than he could count, and Kevin always did something to fuck it up. 

Whether it be never showing up, being high on the clock, failing drug tests or fighting with customers and coworkers, something always went wrong. Mickey had burned many a bridge to defend his brother from these employers, because no matter how insane Kevin made him, he was still his brother and he would be damned if anyone said a bad word about him. Other than him, of course. 

“Yeah? And what the fuck am I supposed to do about that?” Mickey challenged. 

“Talk to Stephen,” Kevin replied simply. 

“Fuck no!” Mickey almost laughed, “Man, I need this job, I can’t have you fucking it up for me.” 

“I won’t! I won’t fuck it up!” 

“Yeah, ok. Whatever you say, Kev.”

“I’m being serious!” 

“No, no way, dude. No, Kev. I can’t lose this job. I got bills and shit, now! Did you know you have to pay for garbage pick up at a place like this? Because I sure as shit didn’t! We can’t even bury it like dad did,” Mickey lectured, “and y’know what? I got a girl, one I’d really like to fucking keep. Which means actually keeping this stupid construction job to keep paying for fucking garbage. I can’t have you gettin’ us both canned.” 

“I’ve changed, Mick. I have!” Kevin reinforced when his brother rolled his eyes, “I’m twenty four now. I got like, perspective on stuff, and shit.” 

“Kev, -“ Mickey started, but didn’t continue as he heard a key in the front lock. 

Seconds later you appeared, hair piled high on your head and still adorning your work uniform. Even with his brother pissing him off and the weight of an awful day on his shoulders, Mickey couldn’t stop the goofy smile that spread over his face when he saw you. Worn from a hard day and in your boxy hotel maid get up, you were still the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on. 

“Hey, baby,” Mickey said as he crossed the living room quickly to greet you. 

“Hi, baby,” you looked up at him, a similar lovesick smile on your lips as Mickey wrapped you in a crushing embrace. 

You craned your head back to capture his pouted lips in a kiss. They will tinged with more nicotine than usual, and you knew something was off before you pulled apart. Your hands had begun to inch toward Mickey’s nape when you heard movement on the couch. When you pulled away, you saw him

“Oh, hey, Kev. I didn’t see you there, honey,” you offered him a kind smile as you moved to rest your cheek on Mickey’s chest.

Mickey tried to keep the scowl off his face as his brother grinned at you. 

“How ya been, (Y/N/N)? Man, it feels like it’s been ages!” his brother charmed, pushing up from the couch to come meet you for a hug. 

When you pulled away from Mickey to do so, Mickey swore you were taking a part of his resolve with you.

“It has, you don’t come ‘round like you used to,” you said, parting from Kevin to smoothe your hands over his broad, boney shoulders. As you inspected Mickey’s baby brother, you spied something new, “this a new addition?” 

You poked the ridge of black ink peeking out of his t-shirt, just below his collar bone. 

“Awh, yeah. Yeah it is,” Kevin pulled down the collar of his shirt enough for you to see the tattoo that joined the ranks of his many others, “it’s the Brooklyn Bridge.” 

“Oh,” you said, a little surprised by the choice, but admiried it nonetheless, “I like it. It’s nice linework. Can’t say the same for the rest of ‘em, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny!”

You winked up at him before you removed yourself from his orbit to return to Mickey’s. Though, on your way back to your man, you saw the firm look of displeasure on his face, and that face was directed firmly at his brother. You stopped in your tracks and traded glances between the two boys, one angry and one bashful, before you spoke. 

“Alright, what’s goin’ on?” 

“What do you think is goin’ on?” “Nothin’.” the brothers spoke in unison. 

You turned your gaze hard at Mickey. He let silence hang in the air for a long beat before he spoke.

“Kev is lookin’ for a hand out. But what’s new?” Mickey scoffed. He planted a swift kiss to the crown of your head before he walked past the both of you to the kitchen. 

“Hey, fuck you man! All I was asking for was help!” Kevin shot back, he turned quickly on his heel to face his brother. 

“I can’t give you any fuckin’ help, Kev! Look what I got,” Mickey waved widley, “there ain’t shit here to give!”

“You could give me your contacts, I could start sellin’ the shit you have left from -” 

“You aren’t taking my contacts and you’re not touching the shit I got from Georgia. That’s mine to do what I please with,” Mickey bellowed, yelling louder than you’d ever heard before, “I don’t need you fucking up the relationship I have with my clients, either.” 

“Clients,” Kevin said in a mocking, posh accent, “their fucking drug addicts!” 

“Yeah? And what the fuck are you, again?” 

“What the fuck am I? What the fuck are you, man?” 

The two had slowly begun to advance toward each other in their squabble, and now were only a pace apart. You knew if they were to get any closer, fists would be thrown. It wouldn’t be a good fight, neither boy had ever been good in physical altercations. The fight would likely consist of misthrown punches and cheap shot kicks, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t want either to get hurt or take anything too far. 

“That’s enough!” you shouted over their bickering, “Mick, c’mon. Come talk to me in the bedroom, please.” 

Mickey’s angry expression faltered the moment he looked over Kevin’s shoulder at you, “Baby, I can handle this.” 

“Mickey. Bedroom. Now.” you had already started to head that way, and Mickey knew if he wasn’t right behind you, he’d be in deep shit. 

With a petulant sigh, he followed you down the hall to the bedroom and shut the door behind him when he entered. You had sat on the edge of the bed and Mickey found his place to slouch against the opposite wall. 

“I can’t deal with him, baby. I can’t deal with his bullshit anymore,” he said, defeated. 

“He’s your brother, Mick. You love him. And sometimes the people you love need more help than you do.” 

“But that’s the thing, he needs so much more. He takes and he takes and he takes, and somehow, he still needs more. I can’t give him anything else. No one can. He’s more of a fuck up than I am, and that’s saying something,” Mickey puffed. 

“You’re not a fuck up, Mick,” you frowned, your brows peaking with heartache. 

Mickey gave you a pointed look, “I kinda am. You don’t gotta sugar coat it.”

You stood from the bed and crossed the short space between you two. When you reached him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and nestled close to his chest. Mickey accepted your embrace easily and gratefully. 

“You are not a fuck up, baby. You have a good job, you have a good life. You provide for me, for our little two person family. And you make me happier than I ever thought possible... you simply aren’t a fuck up because no man I love could be,” you smiled at the tail end of your sentence. 

You propped your chin on his chest like you had minutes earlier and looked deep into his green eyes, both soft and brimming with adoration. 

“I fucking love you so much, you know that?” he smiled, little crow's feet growing by his eyes as he did. 

“I do. And I love you, too.” 

Mickey sighed, relaxation soothing his muscles at the sound of your confession. He gently pressed your cheek back to his chest and reveled in the feeling of your body against his. 

“But really, baby, what are we gonna do about Kev?” you asked after a moment of calm. 

Mickey’s brows furrowed, the pressure behind them intense and blaring. 

“He’s not our problems, baby. He’s an adult.” 

“He is. But he’s also a sweet kid with a good heart, and he just needs some extra help. And I think we should try to help, at least the best we can.” 

Mickey’s head made a thud as he collapsed to the wall behind him, “baby, we can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep bailing him out. We can’t keep bailing them out.”

The image of his parents popped behind his eyes, both fragile and gray and somehow even crueler than ever. He didn’t want to spend his life being their eternal whipping boy, cleaning up their messes when they couldn’t. And that included the mess they had made in his brother.

“This isn’t about them, alright? Fuck them, you know precisely what I think of your parents,” you frowned, and Mickey felt his heart pick up with pride at your protectiveness, “but you also know what I think about Kevin. He really is a good kid deep down. He’s talented. He just needs a little more support before he’s gonna feel comfortable jumping out on his own.” 

“He still drives me fucking insane…” Mickey retorted.

“He’s your little brother, of course he does.”

“Baby, he really does. You have no idea how much that little shit gets under my skin.”

“Oh, c’mon! You love him! He’s like, sad, high, tattooed Big Bird,” you giggled as you heard a grumble vibrate in Mickey’s chest. 

“Yeah? Well, then what am I?” 

You pulled away from him once more, but only far enough to look him in the eyes. 

“You’re like, strong, sexy, smart Big Bird,” you said, your voice a seductive purr as you placed a few chaste kisses to his jaw, “or Snuffleupagus.” 

Mickey’s face twisted in confusion and slight disgust, “why?” 

“Because he was always my favorite when I was a kid.” 

And his expression instantly extinguished into one of warmth and tenderness. Emerald eyes bathing you in liquid love. 

“You just never stop being cute, do you?” he grinned. 

“Nope,” you said, letting the work pop from your lips. 

He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead and took a deep breath of your pheromones; your sun bathed skin and your sweet smelling hair. And as he let his lips stay perched on your skull, he realized that he would do anything for you, no matter the request. He had had this feeling many times before; of his overwhelming and striking devotion to you; though it never ceased to rattle his swelling heart in his chest, and remind him the exact reason he was put on this earth: to make you happy. 

So, if you wanted him to try and help Kevin, then he would. It was the least he could do for all the happiness and love you brought to him. 

But, if he was being honest with himself, there was always going to be a part of him that wanted to nurture his baby brother in any way he could. 

Somewhere in his mind and his heart, Kevin would always be the small blushing bundle handed off to him in a dingy hospital room. It was one of his first formative memories, his little brother wrapped in a white blanket as his mother’s groggy eyes looked upon both of them. Mickey had never held a baby, let alone a newborn, and the tiny writhing creature looked very strange to him, red and angry and crying.

A month before Mickey’s mother would give birth to Kevin, their father had stormed out of the house, and by the time her water had broken he had still yet to turn. So pained and afraid, his mother had piled Mickey in the car after her and drove them both to the hospital. A cigarette in one hand, while her other gave the steering wheel a death grip. As she groaned with contractions and cursed at the traffic, she said something to him that he never forgot: 

“You are the real man of the house, Mickey-honey,” she said in her graveled voice, “this little boy is always gonna look up to you. You gotta live up to that.” 

And that message had bounced around between his ears as his mother, alone and in extraordinary agony, gave birth to his brother. Who as he had held him in his tiny spindly arms, Mickey knew that he would keep him safe forever. No matter what.

A part of that soul promise to his blood now seemed to be finding Kevin a job to keep him afloat. To keep him out of trouble and away from falling down the path their parents had. He honored past his past self in that moment, continuing on with the pledge to keep his brother safe. 

“Fine,” Mickey muttered to your skin, “we’ll help ‘im.” 

“Really?” 

Mickey simply shrugged. 

You moved your hands from where they had been secured behind his waist to come and cradle his cheeks, “you’re a good man, Mick.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he played off, eyelids fluttering. 

“The best man I know,” and you kissed him tenderly, the soft feeling of your lips electrifying him.

He hummed when you pulled away, but with more anguish than pleasure. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Mickey said. He quickly untangled himself from you and exited the bedroom before you could even process your post kiss haze. 

“Kev,” Mickey called, finding his brother laying down on the couch now, the television remote in his hand as he flipped channels, “get the fuck up.” 

“Hey, woah, listen Mickey, alright? I’m sorry! I am, I’m sorry,” Kevin began, stammering nervously. 

Mickey could tell that his brother was trying to save face. That he was trying to bargain for his help, and that he believed that Mickey was coming back to tell him to leave and never come back. But he didn’t stop him, Mickey thought Kevin deserved to squirm a bit. 

“I know I’ve fucked up, like really fucked up over and over again. But I got this this time, ok? I’m like, I’m ready for, I don’t know, a fresh start. I’m ready to do better.” 

Mickey simply crossed his arms as his brother stared up at him with heavy set brown eyes. They were flickering around the room, scared to look at his older brother who loomed over him. Mickey was sure he was searching for you, knowing he could always grovel at your feet for sympathy. 

“Fuck! What am I supposed to say, stop being such a-“ but Kevin stopped himself before he finished, knowing it likely wasn’t smart to start name calling the person he was asking a favor of. 

“No, no, continue. What am I being? Hm?” Mickey raised an eyebrow. 

Kevin’s jaw tightened, “.... a really, good guy.” 

His pained voice would have made Mickey laugh if he wasn’t wearing a stoic persona. It reminded him of when Kevin was forced to apologize as a child, their dad’s hand pulling up his ear as he spat out an apology. 

“Imma ask around, alright? Been hearing about some landscape work a buddy of mine has been talking about. I’ll call you tomorrow.” he finally said, putting his anxious brother out of his misery. 

“No shit?” Kevin asked with a suspicious lilt. 

“No shit. And if you get the fuck out of my house in the next five seconds, I might even put in a good word for you.” 

“Fuck,” Kevin exhaled, his body deflated like a balloon against the cushion, “you have no idea-“ 

“Nope, I don’t,” Mickey interjected, “and I don’t want to. Now fuck off, dude. My lady is home and I don’t need you here.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright!” Kevin said as he was shooed off the couch and to the door, “thank you, (Y/N/N), you hear me, babe?” 

You heard the commotion from the bedroom and popped your head out to watch Mickey escorting Kevin out. Stripped down from your uniform and now bundled in a pair of Mickey’s thread bear sweatpants and his favorite Scorpions t-shirt. 

“You look gorgeous, by the way! So good, does Mickey tell you enough?” Kevin had widened his gangly limbs in the door frame to keep his brother, who was shoving him quite hard, to stop him from leaving. 

“He does, Kev. I promise,” you grinned at the brotherly exchange as they threw jabs at each other, “I’ll see you soon, honey.” 

“Bye, (Y/N/N)!” was the last thing Kevin got out before Mickey slammed the door in his face, not worrying about if there were stray fingers left behind. 

“That fucking kid…” Mickey said under his breath, locking the deadbolt with a resound click. 

You pushed away from where you had leant against the wall and walked toward him, “my man… my sweet, strong man who has such a big heart and helps out his family.” 

You plastered yourself to his back, bringing your hands down to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, “my man who provides for me,” you pressed a kiss to his shoulder, “for the people he loves,” one to his trap, “who is the best person I’ve ever known,” one to his neck. 

Mickey whimpered under your ministrations, caught up in the whispered pleasure of your lips and nimble fingers that greedily took inventory of his torso.

“You’re really tryin’ to start something, huh?” he chuckled as you began to suck on his pulse point. 

“And if I was?” 

As soon as the last syllable left your mouth, Mickey had twisted around to take handfuls of your thighs to hitch you up around his waist. 

You couldn’t hold in the excited giggle that bubbled from your chest as he marched you both back toward your room in quick succession. His long strides getting you both back between the sheets in no time. All thoughts of  dropped sandwiches and burn holes and faulty equipment and pesky little brothers, gone. Now, there was only you, and that was just the way Mickey liked it. 

if you follow me you know that i have been going through a major writing block and a creativity dry spell, so while i don’t think this is my best work, it is fun and silly and soft and nice to write (:  if you enjoyed, i would really love it hear it <3 ‘til next time!

[stevesharrlngtons]

this one might be too much but 😩 mutual pining between reader & Roman and it’s a formal event and someone is pissing him off and then reader comes in all dressed up and cute like “you said you would be nice ro 🙄” because theyre the date! and then he goes soft idk JKDFNF and people are like 😳 because they’re so cute together 😔

hi! i love this idea, and i hope you don’t mind if i tweak it a lil (-: enjoy!

so here’s the thing

roman is always looking for an angle

he loves a grift and a scheme and a plan

he’s always looking for a way to work smarter, not harder

and luckily, he has you to go along with them

since junior high, you had been roman’s accomplice, sometimes willingly and sometimes reluctantly

he had this annoying knack for knowing each and every one of your buttons and just how to push them to get his way and rope you into a plan of his

and of course, just fucking of course, that’s what he did this time

because you were incredibly skeptical about being set up on a date with some slimy businessman roman was trying to shmooze

in hopes of you becoming the man’s earworm for the night and getting him to invest millions in a new vaccine that the white tower was developing

“you know actual models, roman. i don’t know why you are asking me for this”

“because you are the only person i trust with this, and anything for that matter”  

you were sat on his couch in his living room while roman stood above you, giving you his best pout which he knew you couldn’t resist

“you could ask letha”

“i don’t want letha, i want you” in more ways that one, he thought

“you could ask destiny, maybe she could cast a spell or read his palm to help you out,” you crossed your arms

you really didn’t want to do this, even for roman

was it because you didn’t want to go on a date with a notorious creep? yes, of course

was it also because you didn’t want to date anyone but the man who stood in front of you, who also happened to have friendzoned you at the age of fifteen? yeah, that too

but it was mostly the gross old man thing

“i don’t want models, i don’t want letha, i don’t want destiny or any little trick she can pull. i want you there, with your cunning little mind and pretty little face,” roman dropped to his knees and jutted out his bottom lip in mock sadness, “don’t make me beg, baby”

and fuck, there was that little nickname that made your stomach flip and your heart race and you can barely keep the blush from your cheeks as you reluctantly agree

and so, the plan was set

next week you were to meet with mr. daniel reynolds, a sixty something medical investor who knew more hookers than manners and wouldn’t take his hand off your ass since the moment he saw you

in which his first words were “damn! godfrey is really pulling out all the stops for me, huh?” as he gazed at you with a smarmy expression

while your skin crawled at the gesture and you had to fake giggle to cover the retch your stomach gave, you did know he was right

you looked fucking hot and it was all on roman’s dime

a contingency for you agreeing to this night was getting to take his credit card for the afternoon to buy whatever you needed for the date, price be damned

daniel picked you up in a brand new aston martin, his hand high on your thigh as he blathered on about... something, you didn’t know or care

and neither did he, truly

you were there for his to grope and stare at, he didn’t care about what you had to say

when you got to the event, all eyes were on you

you swore that people stopped their conversations to stare at you and daniel, but you didn’t know if that was just anxiety or if was true until he whispered in your ear gross

“no one can take their eyes off you, gorgeous. feels good to know you’re all mine”

and before you could reply with your now perfected canned girlish giggle, roman approached quickly

“daniel, i see you could make it.”

and immediately, just from hearing his voice, you knew this whole plan was a bust

because roman was pissed, and he was barley containing his anger

upon turning to see his face, your suspicion was proven

roman was standing to his full height, hackles raised, predatory eyes set on daniel in a straining stare, his lips pressed in a thin line as his jaw was clenched

“roman, great to see you,” daniel slaps roman on the should to which roman didn’t budge, “you already have a leg up on this investment after you sent me this peace offering,”

he patted your ass in recognition as he appreciated your body with his eyes once more

“i don’t know where you found her, but tell ‘em i don’t know if i wanna give her back!”

you just looked straight ahead at roman with a fixed smile and a look in your eyes that said i swear to god, you owe me big

“yeah, well,” roman’s voice is wound tight as he closes his eyes and takes a swift step closer to daniel, “the thing is, i’ve decided to rescind my offer. both business and personal. you don’t get to invest and you don’t get to keep her.”

“what?” daniel said, at the same time that exact thought crossed your mind

“yep,” roman popped the word from his mouth, spit coming to splatter on reynolds skin, “i don’t need your money, i don’t need you. no one does, except maybe a nursing home or an erectile dysfunction seminar”

“you little prick! who the fuck do you think you are?”

“i’m roman fucking godfrey,” roman seethes through his teeth, “who the fuck are you?”

you stood in shock as you watched daniel do the same, before roman spoke again

“that’s what i thought. now, go stand with your nose to the wall and don’t fucking bother me again,”

and sure enough, daniel’s hand went limp and fell from your butt to his side and he turned robotically on his heel and walked at a simple pace to the nearest wall to place his nose against

roman watched with an intense anger the entire time to make sure he did what he was told

“hey -- what the fuck was that?” you whispered harshly under your breath

“i changed my mind,” he growled

“since when? you practically begged for me to do this plan with you just to ruin it the second he walked in?”

roman snapped his head to look at you with that same intense gaze as before

his body followed slowly, rotating beneath him like an owl

“i am allowed to change my mind whenever the fuck i want. and i decided i had changed my mind when i saw his filthy fucking arthritis fingers on you”

“that was the plan --”

“fuck the plan! fuck. it.”

you met his stare, doing your best to match his anger, but you couldn’t

because all you could think about was how roman had seen a man touching you and hated it

because all you could think about was how fucking sexy he looked when he was mad, when he was yelling at someone and coming out on top

all you could think about was how much you wanted to beg him to touch you and kiss you and wash away daniel’s touch with his own

and roman, for his own part was thinking similar thoughts

because he really thought that this plan could work, that he could use his jealousy to his advantage, that he could harness it and use it to be a better businessman

that he could use another man as your date as a motivator to do his best to impress you and to do anything in his power to seal the deal because nothing was more motivating to roman than getting a business deal out of the way so he could have you all to himself again

but the second you walked in, looking like that, in that fucking dress, but with that fucking man? touching you? everything left roman’s mind

all he could think about was how much he wanted you, how much he needed you, how much he was the only person allowed to touch you

and how much he wanted to maim daniel reynolds, investment be damned

“i would have loved a little heads up on this. would have been nice to know you were gonna bail on the plan so i could have just blown you off,” you bit

“well, here’s your heads up for now on,” roman stepped closer, his lips only a breath away, “no more plans where any other human being touches you. no more plans where someone touches you like that, that isn’t me. no more plans where anyone thinks that you are theirs and not mine. get it?”

his voice palpated for much passion and authority your head began to spin

and your eyes widened, and your heart raced and your palms started to sweat

for a moment you swore you might faint

for another, you swore you are just going to kiss him something roman would have no objected

but all you did do was say:

“ok.”

and roman gave you a swift nod

“good. now let’s dance, i don’t want to talk business anymore. everyone here is fucking stupid and old.”

so, with his hand around your waist, roman led you to the expansive dance floor

for the rest of the night, roman’s hands help erase the memories of their predecessor. big and warm and possessive all over your body

and anytime someone looks at you for more than a passing glance, roman pulls you in tighter

he kisses your forehead and rubs his cheeks and nose to the sides of your face, like a cat marking its territory  

showing everyone there what they all should fucking know

you. were. roman’s.

[stevesharrlngtons]

it’s just what you do.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: “my problem is that if you bring anymore whores around and it’ll start to feel like a brothel in here. and i am far too young to be a madam.”

word count: 6.0k

a/n: if you’ve read some of my st stories, you know i have a little bit of a love for bratty, bitchy readers lol so here ya go! a bratty bitchy reader in the hg universe! (though the reader is pretty tame for what i usually write for a bitchy!reader) i hope you enjoy, and if you do let me know in some feedback (:

You padded down cold stairs in bare feet, yawning as you did. You could already hear Roman and Peter talking quietly at the breakfast bar over cold cereal and sleep graveled voices as you reached the bottom landing. You stretched your arms above your head with a resounding squeak that announced your entrance.

As you push away unruly strands of hair from your face, you rub your cheek, still sheet streaked and warm to the touch.

“G’morin’ (Y/N).” Peter greeted through a mouth full of milk soaked Sugar Crisp.

“Morning, love.” You replied, placing your hands on his bare shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

You let your hands linger on his skin a moment longer before you stepped around him and to the pantry.

“Good morning,” Roman called after you as he watched appreciatively as the hem of your short negligee dusted the tops of your thighs.

You acknowledged him with a hum, but gave him no further greeting. No good morning, no kiss, no smile. Just a hum as you rummaged around searching for your box of oatmeal.

Roman hadn’t come to bed until just before dawn the previous night, only furthering the animosity you felt for him. The new, deep and unrelenting displeasure you held for him now that he had let another woman into your home.

“What? Peter gets a fucking endearment and I don’t get anything?” Roman griped. His voice grated on your ear drums and his angry breathing only served to churn your disdain for him.

You kept mute, clenching your teeth as you gathered a bowl and some milk to make your morning oats.

You pictured turning around to spit in his face, and how it would feel to watch his reaction as your saliva splattered his skin. You’d then tell him to go fuck himself, maybe break a glass while you were at it, anything to get his attention. Or maybe you’d go hop on Peter’s lap, place his hands on your bare thighs and stick your tongue down his throat. That was probably better than any tantrum you could throw. Your boyfriend was nothing if not possessive of what he deemed as his. You fell under that laundry list of Roman’s possessions, though you were unsure if you were soon to be erased and replaced with five new letters.

Because it had been a little over a week since Annie had taken residence in the second guest bedroom. A fucking week of seeing her and Roman eye fuck each other and share whispered conversations. A week of her connecting with Roman on a level you couldn’t understand, of being a part of schemes, of helping him and Peter (something you were never allowed to do) and talking about Nadia. You’re fucking daughter. You swore the next time her mouth began to form the syllables to the child’s name, you were going to strangle her to death. Upir or not, you were sure your pure maternal rage would be no match for her.

And, it had been a goddamn week of you sulking and pouting and seething without Roman taking even the slightest notice, or if he did, not caring a bit. That, more than anything else, is what was truly making you irate.

“(Y/N)? What the hell?” Roman cursed again as you slammed dishes around in cabinets.

Before he could say anything else, another pair of footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Good morning!” Came her happy french lit as she bounded toward the three of you.

You didn’t acknowledge her presence, simply continued on with your oatmeal.

“I still haven’t gotten over the water pressure here. It’s so wonderful,” Annie says, and you’re sure Roman is half hard at her stupid compliment.

You still haven’t looked at her, but you’re picturing her with damp hair and ruddy cheeks from the hot water. Her face smooth and freckled with youth. Her damp hair turning her already light sleepwear see through and sticky.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Roman chimes and your neck prickles with anger.

The ice he was treading on with you was growing thinner and thinner by the moment. Melting under your fiery ire for his behavior. When he finally fell through, you hoped he’d drown.

“What are you planning on doing today? Do you have work?” Annie asks.

“I do, but do you need me for something?”

You scoff much louder than you had anticipated and you can feel three pairs of eyes on your back. You square your shoulders and turn toward the group, but don’t look at any of them. The stupid Hardy Boys with their brand new Nancy Drew, resigning you to be the villain, you supposed.

You walk around the breakfast bar with purpose, turning your body obnoxiously to avoid touching Annie as you pass. You weren’t close to her as she leaned against the counter, but you wanted her to know just how much you loathed her. So much so, that the idea of touching you made you recoil.

“Uhm, no. I was just making conversation.” She replied, her voice wavering after your subtle outburst.

You held back a pleased expression as you went to the couch, sitting at the farthest corner from the kitchen and taking the throw blanket from the back and wrapping yourself in it. You took your first bite of oatmeal and clinked the spoon loudly back in the bowl in protest.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” You hated how your name sounded so melodic coming off her tongue, “Are you feeling alright?”

You don’t reply, just continued to eat your breakfast, looking straight ahead. The tension was palpable in the room as Annie shifted her feet and waited for your response. You wish she would pick up on your clear animosity toward her and quit trying to engage with you. Her efforts were admirable, you’d admit, but with the way she looked at Roman, and the way she spoke to him, there was absolutely no way she could possibly expect you to indulge her.

You could feel Roman’s glare on you, his green eyes burning holes through the knit throw to sear your skin with displeasure. Peter was still turned toward the island, shoulders tense with discomfort at the scene you were creating. You almost felt sorry for him, it wasn’t his fault Roman was being an oblivious asshole (and that you were retaliating the way you were). He didn’t deserve to be caught in the awkward crossfire. Maybe you would sneak him into a corner and feel him up for a bit? He did deserve some pleasure for living with Roman’s pain (and hey, if it made Roman jealous in the process, that would just be a bonas of your good deed).

Soon, Annie recovered from your echoing silence and moved back to talking with Roman and Peter. You could see her out of the corner of your eye, sleep shorts hanging low on her hips and flimsy white t-shirt you had imagined, dipping down from her relaxed stance, giving both men a perfect view down her top. You didn’t have to be looking at Roman to know he was stealing glances.

You stayed on the couch, trying to eat your breakfast, but the oats were soggy and not as good as when Roman made them with cinnamon and maple sugar. You toyed with the beige mush until Roman announced he was off to The Tower. He gathered his jacket and briefcase before saying goodbye to Peter and Annie.

“I’m leaving,” Roman called over to you.

You kept your vow of silence and pretended to be interested in the curdling food before you.

“Jesus fucking-- fine! Goodbye.” He spat, irritated.

You continued to fold your oatmeal around your bowl until the front door slammed shut and Annie spoke after a moment's pause.

“I think I’ll be off, too. I have some errands to run.” Biding you both a quick adui before she exited the kitchen for the stairs.

You huffed to yourself. She could only stand to be around you and Peter when Roman was in attendance.

“I feel like I’m in a high school cafeteria and Annie just took your seat next to Roman.” Peter joked, having heard your annoyed sound.

“Well, she should know I always have an assigned seat next to him,” You said, setting your bowl on the coffee table and crossing your arms.

“Oh my God, (Y/N)! Do you hear yourself?”

“I do, and I know I sound childish but I’ve lost the will to care.”

You hear Peter sigh, then the sound of him getting up from his stool to come sit next to you.

“What’s next? Are you going to spread a rumor about her to make Roman think she’s icky?”

“Like anything I said could make him stop mooning over her,” You reply with disdain.

“He loves you, you know that. He’ll ask you to prom, buy you the most valentines and all that shit.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.” You pout with a furrow of your brows.

“Have you considered just telling him how you feel about Annie staying here?” Peter asked.

“If he can’t figure out on his own why I’m so angry, it’s not my problem.”

“Do you really think that’s fair?”

“No,” You tighten your arms across your chest, “But it’s not my fault that your gender has no emotional intelligence or inference skills.”

Peter chuckles, “All the more reason to just come out and tell Roman how you’re feeling.”

You roll your eyes and give him a half hearted glare, “Don’t you have a job to be getting too?”

“Yes, but I want to make sure you at least mull over my option first.” He nudges you gently with his knee

You give a small pause before a small smirk breaks out over your lips, “I was actually thinking about making out with you to make him jealous. Would you be willing?”

Peter claps his hands down on his thighs and pushes up from the couch, “And with that, suddenly I’m late.”

“Oh c’mon!” You giggle and get up to follow him, “Not even a little peck? Just put your hand on my ass!”

“I would rather keep all my limbs attached, thank you very much.” Peter says as he trouts up the stairs.

“You’ll like it!” You call up after him with a laugh.

“That was never in question, sweetheart! I just like my head on my shoulder and not on Roman’s mantle.”

“It’s my mantle, too.” You mutter, going up the stairs after him and heading to the master bedroom in hopes of avoiding Annie before she left for the day.

You had taken an angry nap until noon and then went downstairs to your office to get some work done. It was during this time that Jane, Roman’s new housekeeper after Anna, informed you there were some nice cuts of meat that would be going bad soon, and if you’d like it for dinner that evening.

“That sounds wonderful, Jane. Thank you.” You replied, peering at her over your computer screen.

“Would you like to ask Mr. Godfrey if he would like steak for this evening? Or if another night would be better?” Roman was known to work late, so this question wasn’t unreasonable to ask.

“I’d call him and ask, but unfortunately I am about to hop on a conference call and don’t have a spare minute. Would you mind calling to ask?” You asked in your sweetest voice.

“Of course, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Anna gave you a smile before she parted from the room.

You sighed, and went back to your riveting game of solitaire.

That night with burgundy stained lips, you sat at the head of your long dining table waiting for Roman to return for work. The beautiful reclaimed wood table that you had excitedly picked out at an estate sale that you had seen Annie sitting on just two days before. Swinging her legs like a child and eating a peach while letting Roman ogle her as the juice dripped down her flawless skin. You had slammed the front door so hard that the frame shook.

As you guzzled down your third glass of Merlot, Peter kicked your foot. A silent plea to slow down, so this evening didn’t explode with your loose lipped temper. But, you paid him no mind. You mostly just thought about how much you hated Annie for making you hate her. Hate her, and Roman. Because, really, you weren’t one of those women who stewed in jealousy or was in a constant fear of their partner cheating. Maybe that was because Roman had always been clear in his devotions to you. Sure, his eyes would wander when an attractive woman passed, but you knew he never acted on it. You had a trust in him that had never wavered until now.

You didn’t want to be one of those women who hated other women or demonized them for having your boyfriend’s attention. You didn’t want to be the girlfriend that men could point at and make stereotypical remarks about your possessiveness and label you “crazy” because of your actions in this scenario behind the three of you… but you were near the end of your rope and the woman had barely been staying with you two weeks. You were starting to question that unmoving trust you placed in Roman and it made you sick. All you could hope was that you were wrong… or at least that Peter would have told you if something happened between Annie and Roman by now.

Half way through your fourth glass, the front door sounded open and in sauntered Roman, with Annie in tow.

“Nice of you both to join us,” Peter teased, though you saw a split second of panic cross his features. You knew he didn’t want to play into your paranoia and had just done so unwillingly.

“Oh yes, we just happened to run into each other in the driveway,” Annie said, throwing a beaming grin over her shoulder at Roman who offered her a smile.

“How coincidental,” You offered over the rim of your glass. 

Everyone in the room darted their gaze to you, clearly surprised that you had decided to end your silent streak.

“Yes, I suppose it was.” Annie replies, her smile still intact, “Now what’s all this then?”

“Jane noticed some food that was going to go bad in the fridge and offered to make a nice meal for us.” You said evenly.

You remembered when us just meant you and Roman.

“How thoughtful,” Annie said, looking to Jane who thanked her quietly.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) was a great help with it as well,” Jane said, opening another bottle of wine as you had almost polished off the one she had originally opened for the evening.

Ms. (Y/L/N). Not Mrs. Godfrey. You were easy to be rid of, exiled at a moments notice.

Jane was been modest. You had sat with her while she cooked and idly chatted, handing her utensils and chopping up garlic, but nothing else. You were sure she was trying to get Roman to take notice of your efforts, which you thought was sweet. You hadn’t come out and explicitly talked about your problems with Roman to Jane, you were sure she had figured it out on her own.

See that Roman? Your housekeeper knows more about what’s wrong than you do!

“Well, thank you, (Y/N). It looks wonderful.” Annie said.

You might have even thanked her through gritted teeth, had Roman not just pulled out a seat for her and gently pushed it back in. Instead, you settled back into your discontented humming and poured what was left of the original bottle of wine into your glass.

Peter could sense your inebriation level bordering on dangerous, so he quickly raised a glass in distraction.

“Let’s make a toast! We don’t get to have such a fancy dinner this often, y’know?” He smiled through his unease, and if you weren’t almost five glasses deep you might have even caught the desperate looks he was throwing you.

The please-for-the-love-of-god-don’t-start-a-fight-with-me-here looks.

“Well, how about to (Y/N) and Jane? For making this feast?” Annie offered, raising her glass to match Peter’s.

“Yes,” Roman said, his voice tight, “To (Y/N). And Jane of course.”

His eyes bore into you, both of you on opposing heads of the table. He raised his wine in the air like he was challenging you to a game you weren’t sure the rules of. You had never felt so uncomfortable in his presence ever before, and suddenly the idea that something was really wrong between the two of you seemed more plausible.

You raise your glass to your honor, but don't cheer’s anyone, just simply place the glass back to your lips.

Everyone then went around dishing out food on their plates and passing bowls to each other. Annie was always sure to pass to Roman first and he was always the first to offer her what he was holding. You felt like you and Peter were intruders on the romantic dinner that you had cooked for them (well, helped cook).

“Oh, I have some of Pryce’s plasma left in the fridge, do you want any?” Roman offered to Annie as she took a dish of mashed potatoes from him.

“If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you,” She accepted his offer so meek and polite you almost gagged.

Maybe this was meant to be? She was the perfect little wife for Roman after all. Sweet, attentive, was just subversive enough to seem interesting, an upir. The latter was likely the best contender for why Roman would be kicking you to the curb soon. It made sense, they were the same and she was new. And don’t all men want some new pussy after a while? You were no stranger to Roman’s reputation, and you had been reminded by many a peer of his serial adultery in the past… you had just hoped he’d outgrown it when he fell in love with you.

Roman came back with the plasma and leaned over Annie’s shoulder to fill her glass. You heard her take a sharp intake of breath at his closeness and watched as she glanced up at his face, which was mere inches from her own.

You ground your knife hard into the porcelain of your plate, and the sound broke her from her Godfrey trance. You pretend nothing happened and put a green bean in your mouth.  

You tuned out the table’s conversations about their days and recent events, feeling isolated and somber. The wine was no doubt contributing to your sadness, but the residual feelings of neglect and rejection were getting to you. Because if Roman really cared, wouldn’t he have pulled you aside by now and just asked you if you were alright? Why you had been avoiding him, why you wouldn’t kiss him goodnight or good morning? Or did he just truly not care at all? Had you been replaced so easily?

You continued to sulk and play over a fictional break up in your head when a topic caught your attention.

“Any news on Nadia?” Annie asked as she swallowed a piece of bread.

Not the baby. Not your baby. Not the child. But Nadia. This woman who was trying to usurp your place in Roman’s life while you were still very present, had just again spoken your daughter's name. Like she had the fucking right.

Before Roman could answer, you pushed up from your seat, again causing all eyes to attach to you. You walked over to the fridge and obtained an old bottle of steak sauce (that you didn’t even want, you were just angry) and returned back to the table with a scowl.

And it seemed this most recent outburst was Roman’s tipping point.

“What the fuck is up with you?” He bellowed, throwing his hand in the air with similar fervor.

“Nothing.” You replied with a snap.

“Sure as shit fooled me! Because you’ve been acting like a fucking brat for the past week. So, why don’t you share with the class what’s on your mind, hmm?” Roman leaned back in his seat and dramatically gestured for you to speak.

“You wanna know my problem, Roman?” You bit out.

Peter was likely already planning his escape.

“That’s what I said.”

“My problem is that if you bring one more whore into this house, it’s gonna start to feel like a brothel. And I am far too young to be a madam.”

And there it was. Grievances were now aired, and unfortunately in front of your two house guests.

Roman’s jaw tensed and flexed as he stared you down, “Peter. Annie. Would you excuse us?”

Both stood without any more prompting and scurried to the stairwell as you and Roman continued to glare at each other in silence. When you heard the twin sounds of doors shutting, Roman finally spoke.

“So you’ve been a fucking nightmare because Annie is staying here? Are you kidding?” He scoffed.

“Don’t belittle me,” You ran a hand through your hair and looked away from his piercing gaze.

“What? Like you just did to Annie?” He motioned to where she had sat.

“Oh,” You mock, “Roman, her knight in shining armour. I’m sure it’s hard to save her when you’re up on your high horse.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about this fucking obsession you have with this woman! This obsession your culviating right under my nose and in my home.”

“Are you fucking serious?” He spits.

“Yes, I am. And don’t play so god damn naive. If the roles were reversed, you would have thrown a fit by now! Fuck, a fit! Fuck any amount of tantrums I could even begin to think of throwing! You would have murdered someone by now.” You seethed.

Roman looked at you with a bewildered expression, his eyes bugging and his mouth agape, stuttering for words, “So, you’ve really just been jealous? Fucking Christ!”

“Like you wouldn’t be if the tables were turned.”

“Fuck off about if the tables were turned. We’re talking about you, not me.”

“No! We are talking about you, Roman. This is just as much about you as it is me.” You shout, “And it has everything to do with the tables being turned. Because if I invited a man to stay in this house -- our house -- and all he ever did was fawn over me and I batted my eyelashes at him and giggled at everything he said while in nothing but a towel you would give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Roman snarled.

“Can you tell me with absolute and utter certainty that if I offered some guy a room, then spent all my time with him, had little inside jokes with him and touched him, you wouldn’t be angry?”

Roman doesn’t respond, just resets his jaw.

“So, if this man told me how beautiful I was, flirted with me and would never shut up about how similar we were, you wouldn’t be mad?” Roman just clenched.

“What if you started to suspect that I was fucking him, huh? What if you started to think about him inside me? Kissing me? Making me cum? Making me--”

Roman’s fist connecting with the tabletop cut you off.

“Enough! You win, OK? I would hate it, alright? I’d fucking kill him.”

“Thank you! That’s all I wanted. I just wanted you to see my side of this fucking story. Why I have been so mad.” You deflate against your chair, though you know this fight is far from over.

“And you didn’t just tell me, why?” Roman inquires.

“Because you should have known! I know that sounds ridiculous and I can see you rolling your eyes, but you should have known that I was upset and asked me what was wrong.” You said, tears bubbling up, causing your throat to constrict.

“I did ask you! I asked you this morning.”

“Yeah, in front of fucking Peter. Like I was going to tell you then… and you didn’t even mean it when you asked. If I would have told you, you would’ve just yelled at me and made me seem like I was crazy. I wasn’t going to open up to you when I already thought you thought I was being stupid.”

“You thought that I thought? Jesus… I have no idea what you want from me…” Roman sighs, reaching around the back of his chair to retrieve his cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“I want you to hear me when I say that having Annie here, a woman who so clearly wants to fuck you, bothers me. A woman who you are clearly attracted to, a woman who is clearly attracted to you. It hurts me that you’re letting her stay here, especially when you didn’t even ask me if she could.” You were barely holding off the overflow of tears from your eyes at this point and you knew the second you started to cry this would all be over. Because you would start to blubber and Roman would get irritated that you couldn’t get a word out.

“Let me get this straight: I’m attracted to Annie, she’s attracted to me? So I’m going to have sex with her? And what? Leave you? Is that right?” Roman puffs around his cigarette, the condescension in his tone unbearable.

And your dam broke, the tears threatening to breach your lash line were flowing freely now. Why Roman wasn’t able to just see that something was hurting you and help change, was beyond you. You decided right then and there that you refused to let him have the satisfaction of watching you cry. You were done, for an unforeseeable amount of time.

“You’re so fucking mean.”

You sucked your teeth loudly before pushing up from your seat and heading for the front door.

“C’mon, what are you doing now?” Roman groaned, turning to watch you leave over his shoulder.

“I’m done. I’m going to Destiny’s.” You said curtly, taking your purse and keys from the hook in the entryway.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m done, Roman.” You slung your purse of your shoulder and clutched your keys tight.

“What for tonight or forever?” He asked like he was calling your bluff.

“If you can’t understand why I am so hurt, then I don’t know. Maybe forever.”

“Hey, woah, what?” Roman’s voice was startled as he got up from his seat and rushed to the door, “No, you aren’t leaving. This conversation isn’t over.”

He planted a large hand on the door handle, preventing you from opening it. You could feel his hulking figure behind you and you wanted to shrink under his size, but stayed strong.

“Roman, move your hand.”

“You’re not fucking leaving. Let’s just talk this out, OK?” He bargained.

You tried to pry Roman’s long fingers from the handle, but even with all your might working to untangle their hold, he was just too strong.

“I’ll listen, OK? I’m sorry, just let’s talk. Let’s talk about this.” His knuckles were turning white below you. You could see his bones threatening to break the surface of his reddening skin.

“Are you going to listen to me, or just dismiss and make fun of me? Because if you do Roman, I’ll just go out the back door.”

“I will. Promise.” He sounded sincere. Maybe now that he knew you were serious, he was more receptive to what you had to say.

You turned to press your back to the door and look up at him. The fear on his face was surprising to you. You hadn’t expected him to be so scared at the prospect of your leaving, he sure hadn’t cared that you were around since Annie arrived.

“I’m mad at you.” You stated frankly.

“Yeah, I caught that.” He sighs.

“I don’t like how you act around Annie. It’s disrespectful to me. I’m not a woman who cares when you look, but when you start to flirt and threaten to touch? I’m done, Roman. I’m not kidding.” You raised your eyebrows as Roman listened intently.

“I never touched.” He swore.

“Yes, but you’ve flirted and “innocently” touched. Flirted, touched and now you are starting to look at her like you looked at me.”

“I have never looked at her the way I look at you.”

You scoffed, then pantomimed his love lorn expression for him, clasping your hands over your heart theatrically.

He just rolled his eyes, “I’ve never looked at Annie like that.”

“Trust me, you have.” You say, ducking under his outstretched arm to walk back to the kitchen.

“Baby…”

“Don’t baby me, I’m still pissed.” You started to gather the abandoned plates to put in the sink for Jane.

“Then what can I do, huh? How do we work this out?” He asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Let me just ask you something,” You abruptly turn from the sink to face him, “Do you want to fuck her?”

Roman sucks in a deep intake of breath and opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly.

Your tears threaten once more. You already knew his answer was yes, though all but hearing him say it was worse.

“Ok, let me ask you something else. Have you slept with her?”

“No! Absolutely not, baby. Never.” Roman said, taking a step toward you.

“And why should I believe you when I know that you want to have sex with her? Hm?” You crossed your arms.

“Because you know I love you. Because you know that I can’t even stomach the idea of my life without you,” Roman says, his tone frighteningly serious.

You look at him for a long moment, his eyes pleading for you to speak while you collected what you wanted to say next.

“Do you want to leave me for her?” You finally said, trying your best to sound collected.

“Baby, hey--”

“No, just listen Roman,” You took a breath, “Because, you know, if you wanna be with her, be with her. Just do it. Don’t string me along because you’re scared of losing more people. Because I get it, I mean I do. She’s an upir, you’re an upir... You have shared experience and she can teach you about what you are and just… Roman if you leave me just don’t be a pussy and cheat on me. Just break up with me.”

Roman looked at you bewildered and once again stammered for his words. For a moment, you were planning on looking at the price of U-Hauls; on how long you could stay with Destiny before you were intruding; if you would stay in Hemlock Grove because it was less expensive or just go straight to shopping for places in Philly?

But Roman doesn’t sigh and tell you it’s over. He doesn’t let you down easy or even scream and stomp his feet.

He just says:

“I love you more than I have loved anyone in my entire life. Family, friends, whatever. It doesn’t matter because you win. You always win. I’m not breaking up with you, alright? Jesus fucking Christ, nothing sounds worse to me than that.” Roman takes a long stride toward you to look soulfully into your eyes.

“Yeah, I think Annie’s hot and yes, she’s an upir. So fucking what? I’m not going to leave you because of that! I could give a shit about either of those things when you’re right under my nose.”

Your pick at your nail polish as you listen to him, feeling embarrassed. But Roman doesn’t let you wallow as he tilts you by the chin to look at him.  

“I should’ve asked you if she could stay, I’ll admit that. I shouldn’t have been so chummy with her, either. And yeah, I probably should’ve just asked you why you were being so fucking moody. But you should have told me what was wrong without pouting.”

“I just wanted you to come to me and ask… for some reason I convinced myself if you asked me what was wrong, it was a sign that you still loved me.” Saying it out loud made your face heat uncomfortably.

“I love you, but that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Roman chuckles.

“Don’t be rude,” You huff, pushing him gently by the shoulder, “Letting another random woman stay here was the real stupid thing.”

“How about we call it a draw?”

“I think I can handle that…”

“Ok, then it’s a deal. I’m sorry, you’re sorry, it’s all good.” Roman pinches your chin lightly to hold your face in place to place a soft kiss to your lips.

You hadn’t kissed him in days, and the feeling made you whimper.

“Is there anything else you need to get off your chest crazy lady?” Roman asks, his breath dusting your mouth with a smirk on his face.

You push him again, with more strength this time.

“I don’t like when Annie mentions Nadia. She is our daughter and hearing that woman say her name makes me go into like, hyper lioness mode and all I think about is punching her.”

Roman’s eyes widened.

“I do not need another woman sticking her nose in our business with our daughter. May I remind you that’s how we got into this whole mess in the first place?”

Roman sucks in a deep breath through his nose, “That’s fair.”

“I already miss her, I don’t need some woman who’s trying to hop on my boyfriend’s cock talking about her.” You were starting to get angry again.

And fucking Roman, he just smiles.

“Hearing you call her our daughter, calling me your boyfriend, all while being on a little jealous rampage? I gotta admit baby, it’s got me hard as a rock.”

“It always comes back to your weird primal possession,” You roll your eyes.

“Eh, you knew that from the beginning.” He shrugs.

“You’re still not totally forgiven, y’know?”

“Yeah? And what do I have to do to get out of the dog house, baby?” His smile turns devious.

“I want Annie out of this house,” You began.

“Done.” Roman cups your face as he started to walk you back toward the counter.

“I don’t want you seeing her without someone else present, or without telling me first. Not because I don’t trust you, but because--”

“--You don’t trust her. Got it,” Roman says, firmly pressing your lower back to the marble slab now.

“You know I have an intuition about these things,” You purse your lips in a pout as Roman begins to trail kisses across your jaw, “You should really be thanking me. I just know Annie’s going to turn out to be bad news. I have a feeling.”

He laughs, “Is there anything else, baby?”

“Yes…” You pause, “I want an inground pool. You promised me one when we moved in and the plans keep getting pushed back. I want to go swimming.”

“I’ll get the plans drawn up tomorrow,” He sucks on your pulse point.

“And you have to buy me as many bikinis as I want, designer ones, and I don’t want to hear one peep out of you about the price.” You crane your neck to give him more access to continue his sweet assault on your skin.  

“I’ll leave you with my credit card so you can order as many as you want.”

Roman moves from your neck to look down at you, his cocky persona flickering for a moment so you can see the sweet eyes of a lovesick boy hoping for forgiveness.

“Like I don’t already know the number,” You smile, letting him know that it had been granted.

He groaned, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I love you, too.” And you reached up to kiss him fiercely.

i hope you enjoyed! this was fun to write, i love writing a moody!reader lol. if you did enjoy, let me know with a comment or reblog (: ‘til next time, ily! *lets hope third times the charm and this ends up in the tags lol

[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 :-)

[stevesharrlngtons]

Ooh, I really wanna see Roman all grumpy at a flea market 😂

41. flea market

the scowl that roman’s face held was not only completely unignorable, but came with sound effects. 

ew’s and ugh’s and scoffs and tuts left your boyfriend as you wandered from booth to booth, all the while inspecting each vendor with villainous intensity. he would stiffen if you picked something up and only exhale when you put it down. you were getting quite sick of his eccentric performance. 

“you know, you could at least pretend that you’re having fun,” you commented. 

roman awkwardly shifted his feet behind you as he muttered a disgusted noise. 

“how in the hell am i supposed to pretend to have fun, here?” he sneered, “a gathering named after a pest?” 

he watched as you picked up a set of betty boop salt and pepper shakers and practically slapped them from your hands. 

“absolutely not.”

“what? i like them, they’re campy!” you chided, reaching for them again. but roman interrupted your search and took you by the wrist and drug you away. 

“hey!” 

“i am not going to put food, that i will ingest, in something used, (y/n).” he shuttered. 

“so, i’m not allowed the betty boop salt and pepper shakers, i’m not allowed the armoire because you’re convinced it has bed bugs, and i’m not allowed the creepy clown dish because it’s tacky, is that correct?” you crossed your arms. 

you scoffed as roman nodded, his face telling you he thought all his gripes were justified. 

“i mean, tacky and cursed.”

“roman, listen, this is a partnership, is it not? that means that in this partnership, i am allowed to buy what i want, if i like it, to decorate my home with.”

“our home,” he stressed.

“yes, our home. and i’m apart of that our, and i don’t want it all to be the weird bachelor pad bullshit that it is currently filled with.” 

roman rolled his eyes, “i can’t believe you are calling my stuff weird. i saw that weird nude sculpture you wanted!” 

“it’s abstract. it’s not my fault you don’t get expressionism,” you shrugged and walked around him to continue through the market. 

you heard him grumble before he followed. 

“i guess i’ve never been one for kitschy crap or metaphors.”

“and i’ve never been one for sterile monochrome blandness, but hey, i’ve never complained,” you replied with a tight lipped smile. 

“are you seriously mad about this? because i don’t want to invite bed bugs and cursed clown dishes into our space?” roman stepped in front of your path to stop you. 

“yeah, a little.”

“jesus fucking christ, you’re being ridiculous” he swore and you pushed past him once again. 

“well, then maybe i should rethink this whole thing! maybe i should go back and get my creepy clown dish, and my betty boops and my amorie! and i’ll have my own apartment full of ridiculous, used, cursed items full of bed bugs! and i’ll love it because it’s my style. and no one will be around to make fun of it,” and you turned on your heel and marched with purpose away from him. 

it wasn’t the end of the world if you didn’t get to decorate the way you wanted. the individual items meant little to you, but it was the principal. it was the point of the matter, that it seemed that roman did not want any evidence of your existence in his space. yes, you knew that he struggled with change, but you thought if he could jump the hurdle of asking you to move in, your belongings strewn throughout wouldn’t matter. 

as you made your way deeper and deeper into the flea market, you wondered if this was a sign. a sign that roman didn’t want your touch on his home because he knew he wouldn’t be able to give up his womanizing ways, and he didn’t want evidence of a live in girlfriend all around. was this an omen? was this a red flag that you would look back on? or one you would act on now? 

you fumbled through a rack of vintage t-shirts, barely registering the designs in your contemplating new funk, when you heard roman’s tell tale retch behind you. 

over your shoulder, you watched as roman kept his arms close to his body as he weaved through other patrons. he avoided them like they would burn him with acid if he got to close and the unbridled judgment and disgust on his face with shocking, even for him. as he neared you, you spotted a brown paper bag in his hand. 

“i thought you would have left,” you said when he reached you, your nose stuck up and your hands stuffed in your jacket pockets. 

“here,” roman said, not addressing your claim. 

when you didn’t take the bag immediately, he extended his arm further and shook it with impatience. 

“take the fuck shit, alright?” 

you cautiously took the bag from him, and inside was the salt and pepper shakers, the dish and a gorgeous silk scarf you had pondered after for a moment. 

you looked up at him with wide eyes, and roman’s shoulders rolled under your gaze. 

“the armoire is being delivered tomorrow. i got a good deal on it, too.” 

“ro, i --” but roman stopped you. 

“i love you. i do... and if this is you, and this is what you like, and what will make you happy... then yeah, i don’t know. i can live with it.” he tried to speak as casually as possible, like this revelation of compromise wasn’t a giant moment in your relationship and in your worried pondering moments earlier. 

“i love you, too. thank you.” you grinned. 

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” roman sniffed loudly and avoided your lovesick gaze.

it only made you grin wider, before you flung yourself into his arms. he caught you with ease and pulled you tight to his chest.

“thank you for letting me have all the weird, creepy junk that i want!” 

“so, you admit that it is creepy and weird? and junk?” 

“just for that, i’m buying that creepy victorian photo album i found,” you patted his chest firmly, kissed him sweetly, then extracted yourself to go quickly in search of the album before he could stop you. 

roman sighed deeply, following you as he pulled out some hand sanitizer from his pocket. he was going to have to sage the whole fucking house by the time you were done with it.     

[stevesharrlngtons]

wherever i’m going -- i’m taking you with me.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: you run through roman’s dreams nightly, but this time it’s different. this time it’s an omen where you dawn a white dress with blood pouring for your mouth, your body ripped to shred. and this time peter sees it too.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: kinda short for me, i hope that’s ok! got a couple of other stories in the works tho. but, i really hope you enjoy! 

“I gotta run,” You said as you stood from the couch in the Godfrey’s sitting room. 

Roman let out a childish groan as he deflated into the stiff cushions, lanky limbs melting across the furniture like a Dali clock. 

“No, you don’t. At least stay for one more episode?” 

“I promised I’d have dinner with my mom before she has to go in to work graveyard tonight.” You reply, gathering your discarded sweater and shoes and redressing in them. 

“Come on,” Roman practically whines, reaching out with his foot to hook you around the back of your knee, “One more episode.” 

You turn to give him a reprimanding look, a look that was utterly ineffective as a smile threatened to form on your lips. 

“Shelley, can you please call him off?” You look over your shoulder toward the younger Godfrey, holed up in an armchair with a grin. 

“He’s not used to hearing no.” She typed out and you snort. 

“Some help you are!” Shelley just giggled. 

“Yeah,” Roman pushed himself up with a grunt, quickly snaking his arms around your waist, “I’m not used to hearing no. Let’s not start today, yeah?” 

You looked down at him, his chin resting against your abdomen while he gazed up at you with his most convincing puppy eyes. 

You move your hands to hold his cheeks, squeezing them together causing his lips to pout, “Everyone’s right, you are a brat.” 

You lean down and peck his pursed mouth, “Walk me to my car?”

Roman gives a heavy sigh in defeat, collapsing back into the couch for a moment before begrudgingly getting up, making the movement seem like a great effort. 

“You owe me,” He responds in a grumble. 

“Oh, of course,” You reply dramatically as you walk over and give Shelley a chaste kiss to the forehead in goodbye. 

Roman waits for you by the door for you to finish your farewells with his sister, then leads you outside. 

At your car, you toss your bag through the open window into the passenger seat, then lean against the door to look up at Roman. 

“I think you should just move in here, you’re over enough.” He comments, placing his hands on your hips. 

“I’m sure our mother’s would love that,” You counter swiftly. 

“Fuck my mom,” Roman says, “And yours, well she could finally travel like she’s always wanted.” 

“So what? I’m just the dead weight holding her back?” 

“Oh c’mon, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” Roman sighs, moving closer to you. 

You stay quiet, letting him squirm a bit. You knew he meant nothing by his comment, nothing more than a desperate search for you to agree to his offer. 

“I would, but I’d only be giving into your spoiled-rich-boy complex. I can’t do that. I have to be the one to teach you hard work and perseverance. I want you to turn out to be a well rounded young man.” 

The scowl that overtook Roman’s face made you burst into giggles. 

“Fuck that, and you for saying it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” You say, giggles dying down as you lean up to give him a kiss. A longer one to appease him, “I’ll call you later, OK?” 

“OK,” Roman says breathlessly to your lips, “Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” And you pulled away from him. 

Parting from Roman was always a five minute process, or longer. Because he would kiss you deeper, and beg for one more, and whisper sweet words and begs for you to stay, trying your resolve each and every time. Tonight was no different. You finally left the Godfrey grounds seven minutes later with swollen lips and the beginning of a love bite on your neck. 

You ran through a field of grass and wildflowers. Looking over your shoulder with a wide smile and echoing giggles. 

“Catch me! Faster! Before I fall! Catch me, Roman!” Your voice carried far and wide. 

The dress you adorned was white, gauzy, and thin. Roman could see the hazy outline of your body beneath the fabric, your soft curves shining through as the sun basked you in it’s buttery glow. The world was saturated in warm tones and smelled like fresh laundry on his skin.

“Please, Ro! Catch me! I’m going to trip!” Your melodic voice begged, as you remained just out of arm's length.

Roman ran as fast as he could, panting and heaving as he tried to keep up with your light feet. His fingers would dust the fabric of your dress, feel the fibers and loose threads on his nails, but he could never get close enough to wrap you his grasp and capture you. He tumbled through the tall grass and felt a distinct tightness in his chest of yearning and fear. He just wanted to reach you. 

As he continued the chase, Roman’s legs began to feel utterly heavy and stiff. A smattering of pins and needles danced under his skin and began to numb his extremities. It felt like he was pushing through water and running through sand. When he looked down to his feet, suddenly he was. He was encased in thick slimy sand and he could barely move. 

“Roman?” Your voice was far away and trembling. 

Roman snapped his head back up to look at you, still in your field of wildflowers and fragile gown. 

“Roman, please, it’s going to happen…” You were suddenly crying, your face streaked with tears that left unforgiving wet trails over your delicate skin. 

“I won’t! I won’t!” Roman calls, trying to dig himself from the swallowing sand. 

“Baby… it hurts,” You whimper and groan and Roman watches as you reach down to clutch your stomach. Your crisp white dress now swathed with red. 

A long, jagged cut marred your abdomen, blood pouring out of you like rushing water. 

“No!” Roman screams, chanting the word until his throat was thick and hoarse.

You hiccup, and heavy currents of dark crimson drip past your lips. Your sputtering as the blood splatters your once spotless face, freckling your draining cheeks as a new outpour of blood furthers to ruin your dress. 

Roman claws at the sand sucking him under, the little particles cutting into his fingers like shards of glass as he continues his tireless efforts to escape. 

He watches as you stare at the blood in question, trying to push it back into your jutting abdomen wound fruitlessly, only managing to push more out. 

“Stay right there, I’m coming! I’m coming!” Roman shouts, but the sand has sucked him down despite his best efforts and is up to his chin. The sun was so bright now, it was beginning to blinding him. 

“No, you’re not.” You say with blood painted lips, teeth slimy with cardinal colors and sickly browns. 

Roman tries to shout again, only for the sand to begin to enter his mouth and fill his lungs, before it engulfs him completely. 

Roman shot awake, slick with sweat and an intense weighing heat covering every inch of his body. 

His eyes stung with unshed tears as he scrambled to reach his phone on his nightstand. It told him it was just after two in the morning before he dials your number. 

With his trembling hand to his ear, he listens to the incessant ring and waits for you to answer. 

But the phone just rings, and rings and rings. And Roman swallows down the bile that raises in his throat as he gets your voicemail. 

He calls back immediately, listening to the endless tone with shallow breaths. Once more, he gets your voicemail. 

“Fuck!” Roman shouts, his voice carrying in the silent bedroom. 

He starts to kick away his blankets and press your contact once more, when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t hesitate to answer. 

“Hello? Baby?” Roman gasps. 

“No, it’s uh, it’s me.” The voice on the other end isn’t yours, but Peter’s. 

“Peter, dear fucking -- did you have it? Did you see her?” Roman asks, his voice frenzied. 

“Yeah, I… I needed to call and see if she was with you. But I guess not.” 

And Roman starts to hyperventilate. He tries to gulp in as much air as he can, but his lungs are tight and constricted with tears and terror. 

“Peter, she’s next. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck! This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening!” Sobs wracked his body as Peter did his best to calm him. 

“Hey, hey! Calm down, alright? She’s probably just fine.” 

Probably, probably, probably. 

But not definitely. 

Roman’s mind began to churn out pictures of your pretty little face on the news next to Brooke Bluebell and Lisa Willoughby. A newscaster reciting your name mournfully and telling the world that you were the latest victim of this horrific animal prowling after young girls in a sleepy Pennsylvania town. 

“She’s not answering, Peter! She’s not fucking answering her phone. She’s not -- fuck!” Roman could barely get the words out. 

Your face in print, the ink smudging and transferring to the pads of Roman’s fingers from the amount of times he strokes your still features. Perfect and frozen in time. The headline saying something about another teen dead. Another beautiful girl with so much potential… torn from the world and limb from limb.

“Calm down, Roman! We need to find her, OK? I’m sure she’s just asleep and didn’t hear her phone. Let’s find her before we have a fuckin’ melt down, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yeah, Ok, yeah.” Roman nods, running a tense hand through his hair. 

“So, why don’t you sit tight and I’ll go over to her house and bring her to you?” 

“No!” Roman shouts, “No! I’m going, she needs me.” 

Roman stands from his bed and rushes around his room to gather any discarded clothing he could find crumpled on the ground or splayed over the back of a chair. 

“Roman, let’s just think about this for a minute. You’re worried, stressed out of your mind, you’re not thinking straight. You’re gonna fuckin’ crash your car if you drive like this.” Peter tries to reason. 

Roman scoffs, “I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re really not,” Peter lets out a humorless chuckle. 

“Yeah, y’know what? You’re right, I’m fucking not,” Roman spits. 

He’s running down the stairs in a mismatched outfit in a search for his car keys, “I’ll be fine when I see she’s OK.” 

Roman hangs up his phone before Peter can argue anymore.

When Roman gets to your house, he doesn't waste time knocking. He just picks up the trick rock in the front flowerpot to retrieve the spar key from inside it, and storms into your house. He barely remembers to shut the door behind him. 

“(Y/N)! Baby!” Roman calls, searching around for any signs of disturbance or foul play. 

He bounds up your staircase, frantically calling for you all the while. When he reaches your bedroom, he plows his way through the door without ceremony. His grip warping the thin gold plated knob, fingers molding into the cheap tin with worried fury.

You shot up from your mattress when Roman burst in with a shriek, clutching your chest as Roman stood dumbfounded in your doorway. 

“Jesus Christ, Roman! What the hell? You just about gave me a heart attack! Fuck,” You let out a loud breath and fell against your pillows, sucking in calming breaths, “What is wrong with you?” 

Overwhelming relief rushed through Roman’s viens as he watched you, annoyed and disgruntled in a sea of sheets and blankets from his entrance.

“Oh my God,” Tears sprang back to his eyes as Roman quickly closed the short distance between himself and your bed and vined his arms around you. 

He blanketed you in his body, crushing you to the mattress as he sobbed into your neck. 

“Whoa, hey, Ro? Baby? What happened? What’s going on?” You asked, anger turning quickly to worry as you moved to wrap your arms around his shaking shoulders. 

His forearms press into the base of your neck and the hollow of your back uncomfortably, arching you into him in an awkward position. But the pain only served as a reminder to Roman that you were real. You’re here and you’re breathing and your bones clash with his and your breath fogs his brain. He couldn’t speak, all he could do was inhale your clean scent and the pattern of your heartbeat. 

“Roman, you’re scaring me. What the hell is going on?” You tried again. 

“Just stay right here. Be safe,” He hushed, nuzzling closer to you, pressing his cold nose to your clavicle. 

A distinct prick of worry and fear made itself known in your gut, but you tried your best to subdue it.

For now.

“Alright, but please just tell me you’re OK?” You whisper, gripping the back of his shoulders tightly. 

“Yeah. And so are you.” 

You woke the next morning with a stabbing pain in your side and with stiff limbs. The sun had peeked over Roman’s head and cast onto your tired lids. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, resting loosely on the nape of his neck, having stopped combing through brunet strands sometime around dawn when sleep finally took you back under. 

You tried to shift your weight around to alleviate the discomfort, but a small voice stopped you. 

“Don’t get up,” Came Roman’s throaty plea. 

“I wasn’t, just getting comfortable. M’back hurts.” 

Roman doesn’t reply, just moves his arm from where it had been digging into your muscles and moves onto his side so you can too. His other arm stays firmly coiled around your shoulders. 

You sigh in relaxed pleasure as you stretch out the kink in your back and are able to snuggle back into Roman with no pain. 

“Thank you,” You mutter and kiss the hollow of his throat before you begin to drift off again. 

His warmth, his soft pine cologne, the weight of his arms around you, the safety he offered, it was hard to stay awake all while under the thick cloud of blankets and early morning heat. Roman began to drag his fingers gently up and down your spine, helping to lull you back into sleep. That was until you remembered that Roman hadn’t just snuck in the night before to sleep next to you. You two hadn’t fucked and smoked and passed out in each other’s arms. He had come storming into your bedroom last night with crazed glazed eyes, looking like he’d seen a ghost, or something worse. So, you blink away any residual urge for slumber. 

“What happened last night?” You asked, running your nose along his thrumming pulse. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Roman moves his palm up to cup the back of your skull, “We’ll talk about it when you wake up.” 

You wiggle away from his embrace far enough to see his face. He looked pensive and worried. His sweet lips chapped and gnawed raw. 

“I don’t want to wait, Ro. You really freaked me out last night.” You lean further back, “Was it Olivia? Did she do something?” 

“No, no,” Roman sighs, “Not this time. It wasn’t her.” 

“Then what was it?”

Roman ran the tip of his tongue over his cracked lips and sniffs loudly. He makes a scene to look anywhere but your eyes. He looked scared, and Roman never looked scared. Angry? Interested? Annoyed? Curious? Yes, but never scared. 

“Ro? What is it? You're freaking me.” You reach for his hand that is resting on your hip and wrap it in your own.

His jaw flexes and swivels, his bottom teeth jutting out before he finally sighs, “You were in my dream last night…” 

“And?” 

“Peter had the dream, too.” 

It felt like the wind had been knocked from your lungs. You knew Roman could feel your hand tighten around his own, because he pushed your face back to press into his chest. 

“But it’s OK. It’s going to be alright. I have you, I have you, I have you,” He chants, slipping his long calf around your legs to further his point. 

“Peter saw me, too?” You asked, voice quivering with uncertainty. 

“Yeah, baby. He did.” 

“And it was the same dream?” 

Roman took a long pause that told you more than his words ever could. 

“Did you see it, too? Did it get me?” 

You can feel Roman shutter against you. Like someone had poured ice water down his back. 

“No, we didn’t. It wasn’t there. It was just… it wasn’t pretty, I’ll spare you the details but it wasn’t fucking pretty. It freaked us out.” 

“Oh God,” You muttered, your mind moving a mile a minute, “Oh my God. I’m next.” 

“No.” Roman says, an animalistic roar from deep in his chest, his arms working to pull you even closer, “No. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let it.” 

“What if something happens that you can’t stop? Or you’re not there? Or I’m alone? Or, or, fuck! I don’t know!” You gasp, your heart palpating in your chest. 

You had never been faced with your own mortality before. You had never had a near death experience or even anything close to one. You sometimes felt embarrassed when your peers would talk about terrifying advantentures they had embarked on that almost ended fatally but they triphumpanlty survived. Or activities they foolishly starred in and swore they saw their lives flash before their eyes. The stories were likely embellished, but you still felt square. You weren’t an adrenaline junkie, you didn’t even like carnival rides. You liked knowing you’d wake the next day, safe and sound with two feet planted firmly on the ground. This feeling of possible and even probable death by crazed werewolf made your vision blur and bile coat your tongue.

There wasn’t enough air in the world to satisfy your thirsty lungs.

“Hey, hey, stop!” Roman said sternly, his voice working to break through your wave of panic, “Nothing is going to happen, OK? Nothing. I will do whatever possible to keep you safe. I don’t care what it takes.” 

“Ro --” Tears had begun to fall from your eyes without your knowledge, and his name came from your lips weak and whimpered. 

“I have you, I’ve got you. I am going to be with you 24-fucking-7 until we kill this thing. I am not going to leave your side until I have a fucking Vargulf head in the trophy room.” He reassures. 

“How can you be with me when you are going off to kill it?”

“Then I’m gonna lock you in Shelley’s room and make you stay put until I’m back. We aren’t taking any chances with this.”  

You pull back once more to look at him with glazed eyes; his face pink from sleep and tears. 

“You’ll stay at the house until we kill this thing, alright? I don’t care what Olivia or anyone else says, you’ll stay with me.” 

“What if it comes here anyway? What if it hurts my mom? Oh my God, Roman, my mom!” Your blubbering again. 

“Fuck it, she can come, too. We’ll make something up, have Peter forge some documents from the city that say you guys have to get out of this house, then I’ll offer up guest bedrooms. We’ll figure it out.” He replies, smoothing your hair against your head. 

“Do you really think it’ll work?” 

Roman sighs, “I mean if it doesn’t I could, y’know, persuade her.”

“Roman, no.”

You knew Roman would never do anything to hurt your beloved mother, but the thought of him using his eye-thing on her made your stomach twist. 

“I would and I will if I have to. I’ll do what I have to to keep you safe. That’s just how it is.” 

He was your protector. Your warrior. Fuck Peter, fuck his mother and Destiny. Fuck anyone who told him this wasn’t his fight, that he should bow out and let the Rumanecks handle this. Because now it definitely was. Now, he was to be the one who saved the town and you and Peter and Letha and Shelley. He was to be the one who cut off the head of this wolf or ripped it apart with his bare hands to keep his loved ones safe. He was strong, he was the warrior. 

“OK.” You surrendered to his declarations of safety and tried to let his presence lull you. 

You’d have to pack some things in a few hours, help come up with a lie to convince your mother, then move into the Godfrey mansion and hope it’s walls were enough to shuck this black omen from your soul. 

“I got you, I promise I do.” Roman hushes, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead. 

Your burrow deeper into his embrace and refuse to tell him about the dream you’d had the night before. The dream about spitting your teeth into his hands and running your tongue over your coppery gums. You needed to call Destiny or Peter’s mom to get the prognosis on if it meant anything. If it was just unsettling or apart of whatever Roman and Peter were seeing at night. For now, all you could hope was that it was the former, and Roman’s energy was enough to heal your fearful heart.

hi (-: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, i’d love to hear from you <3 

[stevesharrlngtons]

Headcannon for Roman- reader visits Roman at work

ok i love this

roman fucking loves when you visit him at work, contrary to what some may believe

roman seems like the type of guy who would be angry that someone had interrupted his work flow, or he would greatly like a seperation between his personal and professional life

while the latter is true to an extent, he just really really likes having you around

he likes showing off his empire, and seeing how your face lights up

he likes seeing his employees’ faces twist in envy

he likes having you in his little office, seeing you take something from your purse and set it on a shelf so he can be reminded of what he works so damn hard for throughout the day

and yes, because it’s roman, he really likes to fuck you in his office, too

he loves when you come by for lunch and you both are eyeing each other up, both flirting with each other like you hadn’t been together for years

and roman fucking loves when he gets to open the door to his office and yell at his assistant to clear the floor immediately

he loves that everyone on the floor knows what that means at this point, and he loves knowing that when they see you both in the elevator later, that they all know that roman had just fucked you so good and hard

but anyways lmao

i don’t think that his girl would come once a week or even once a month, but when she does it is a happy affair

roman is always in a better mood after you leave and is less likely to fire anyone for looking at him wrong

a buzz will over take the office when you’re seen on campus, employees sharing a collective sigh knowing that roman will be in a good mood now

he also usually approves something that he had been putting off for a while, just so he could get home to her quicker

other little things that roman loves:

when your waiting at reception to be buzzed in, and he can take you in fully without your knowing gaze

when you’re sat on the leather couch in his office together and you snuggle up to him as you both look at his floor to ceiling windows

when he’s touring you around and you convince him to race you up and down empty hallways i live and die for silly laid back roman who is allowed to act his age

when he’s showing you something he worked on and your praise him for it

whether it be for his intelligence or how the plan will help so many people

when he walks you down to the lobby and you let him grope you and give you very not safe for work kisses

nothing makes him feel stronger than making out with you, or fucking you, in the white tower, surrounded by his subordinates

roman just loves to have you stop by for any sort of visit, whether it is to just drop of something he forgot, to have lunch or to be given a little tour

he fucking thrives off of it

it really does, as cheesy as it sounds, remind him what he’s working for

i realizes after i finished this that you might have wanted an isolated incident of his girl visiting him at work so I hope this is still ok!

[stevesharrlngtons]

45+ Roman

45. baby shower

swathed in a white linen gown and a daisy chain headpiece, you watched as letha glew with light and love as she caressed her swollen belly. she was surrounded by discarded tissue paper and crumbled pastel wrapping paper, a tied ribbon from one of her gifts around her neck as a makeshift necklace.

the baby shower was small and intimate, a few girls from school and a cousin or two from her mother’s side. norman had been shooed out of the house by marie a few hours before, so you both could set up the festivities for her daughter. marie, while still totally against letha having a child, seemed to have embraced it enough to get excited about a baby shower. she had planned it to a tee, not letting your input disrupt her vision of danish style party; all linen and burlap in muted colors, with large elaborate flower displays around the home.

you had to admit, it was beautiful. It felt very scerne, and it was something that you knew letha would love. and when she arrived downstairs after sleeping through until mid morning, it was clear she did. the smile that had crept up on her lips hadn’t washed away all day. you had never seen a woman so excited and overjoyed to be pregnant and having a child.

with a mimosa in hand, you sipped it leisurely as letha gushed to a cousin about a onsie in her hand. she had been spread thin this afternoon, everyone wanting to touch her belly and give her their warm wishes for her and her child. you had barely gotten a moment alone with her, or a moment to steal her attention, but you really didn’t mind. you were enjoying just watching her be happy. totally and completely happy.

as your drink dwindled, you felt your phone vibrate. you already suspected who it was, and it was confirmed by the large R❤️ that popped up followed by here. you downed the flat champagne and remnants of orange juice, before you discreetly snuck out the back to let roman and peter in.

you crept to the back door where you found peter and roman both holding sides of a large box.

“try and be quiet,” you whispered, leaning against the door as they filed in.

roman wiggled his eyebrows at you and you grinned.

“nice get up,” he murmured as he passed you.

you stomach clenched at his comment and you rolled your eyes flirtatiously.

as the heads of the part, marie had gotten you and her similar dresses to letha’s. it was a bit long for you taste, but it was quite thin and see through, which made it feel more like a sexy nightgown than anything else, which you appreciated; especially when you knew roman was going to be coming over with the crib. 

before you could even turn around from the back door, you heard all the women squeal with excitement. you returned back to the living room to see letha hugging roman tight and pecking his cheek warmly, then throwing herself onto peter and smothering him in kisses. you couldn’t help but chuckle at roman’s scowl, knowing that he paid for the lion's share of the crib.

you watched from a distance as the boys described the crib to letha, as she thanked them profusely. you watched as the other girls in attendance stood on at the corners of the room, making eyes at roman and giving each other whispering giggles when he looked at them. you wished you could tell them they weren’t cut out for roman and all he came with. hell, sometimes you didn’t think you were either. 

maybe that’s why you were just as you were with him; for years, much more than friends, but still much less than a relationship.  

 soon, marie lost her patience with the boy started to push them out the door. she practically had her hands on their shoulders to escort them out when you cut in on her strong arming. 

“i got it,” you assured her, as peter gave letha one last kiss goodbye and was followed by roman to the door.

as the three of you headed for the back door, where peter’s truck was parked, you felt roman’s hand come to press against the small of your back. the little show of affection made the flutters in your stomach so much worse. every time he touched you made your nervous system go crazy. his hand slide up in between your shoulder blades as you reached the back porch. you watched as peter retreated down the steps and he and roman exchanged a look before he got into the driver’s seat without a word.

“so,” roman drawled, his fingers coming to fiddle in your ends of your hair, “i now know that you would look very sexy as a member of a cult.”

you hummed, “good to know. i will keep that in mind in if i ever fall under a jim jones spell.”

his fingers made their way from your hair to cup back of your neck, his thumb gently stroking the side of your throat.

“so what? no godfrey cult for you?” he smirked.

“nah,” you sighed dramatically, “i know that that guy is a sham.”

he quickly moved back to grip your hair, tight at the scalp, and grumbled something deep in his chest.

all you did was smile.

“am i seein’ you later?” he changed the subject lowly, his face descending close to your own, that he had titled up.

“hmm, i don’t know,” you pretended to ponder, “all this baby talk is getting me a little squeamish. i don’t think we need any godfrey-(y/l/n) babies running around any time soon.”

“i’ll pull out.”

“i don’t know if i trust you,” you theatrically fluttered your lashes and looked over his shoulder.

your barely contained smile was hurting your cheeks with restraint. roman quickly moved his head back into your line of sight.

“oh honey,” roman’s cooed, his menthol breath dusting your lips, “you know that’s not true.”

the heat from his skin radiated off him in waves, along with his intoxicating clonage, making you feel all sorts of relaxed and dizzy. shit, maybe he was a cult leader? 

you craned your face the best you could with his restriction in your hair, but roman simply steeled his grip and pulled his face away. 

“you want anymore, then you’ll have to see me later,” he purred seductively, followed by a laugh at your disgruntled whine.

he released you from his grip and took a far step away from you. the farther he got, the foggier your brain became. all you wanted was to be able to think clearly of nothing by roman, as you were in his arms. 

“i’ll see you, my little cult member.” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with devious passion. 

“sorry father godfrey,” you called out to him as he made his way down the back steps, “i’m not who you’re looking for. though, there are about six girls inside who are ready and waiting to hear your gospel.”   

roman turned quick and efficient on his heel as he reached the passenger side of peter’s truck, “well, too bad. i choose my disciples, and i chose you. be by my side, or else.” 

he stuck a pointed finger out at you, followed by a wink that showed the full extent of his charisma. you leant against a wood pillar of the porch and watched him with amorous eyes and a full, gleaming smile. roman got in the car beside his friend, but never tore  his gaze from you.

you waited until peter had pulled from the driveway and driven down the street, roman totally out of your sight, before you returned to the baby shower. you entered the kitchen with the same giddy smile on your face to see marie, a scowl on her own. her brows stitched together in worry and disgust. it was clear that she had just watched the display between you and her nephew. 

“is it time for the baby naming game yet?” you asked with cheer, quickly making another mimosa and passing her without a second glance. 

you didn’t care about her judgment, you had a best friend to pamper and an erotic night with her cousin to anxiously await. marie’s problems with you weren’t even on your radar. 

[stevesharrlngtons]

I just remember that a while ago u did a headcanon or something like that about Peter meeting reader and he has a a little crush on her, so how Roman would react when he found out that Peter have a crush on the reader; headcanon

i am so happy you sent this in!!! (-:

((the headcannon referenced))

when roman finds out, it’s not pretty

remember how mad he got about peter and letha???? ya let’s multiply that by a million

even though nothing ever happened, roman was furious

it all came out one night, when you, peter, letha and roman were on a double date

everything was great, roman was in a particularly good mood

he had his girl, his best friend and his favorite cousin all in the same place. how could he have not been happy?

until the bomb is dropped

“oh please, i was not the first girl you thought was hot here!” letha giggled to peter

“scouts honor,” he said with a grin, holding up three fingers in salute

“well i know you were never a boy scout so that doesn’t mean anything. especially because you and i both know you had a monster crush on (y/n).”

all laughter ceases and tension fell over your little group

letha, who had been bubbly off of wine coolers and good vibes, now seemed to be realizing what she had done

“you what?” roman asked, leaning forward in his seat to glare at peter

“it was, oh fuck, c’mon roman, that was ages ago!” peter chuckled humorlessly, trying to save the evening and his skin

“so you wanted to fuck (y/n)? am i hearing that correctly?”

“roman, no one said—“ you tried say

“i know perfectly well what was said,” his jaw tensed and pulsed

“do you still want to fuck her?”

“no! jesus roman, no. i just thought she was pretty, alright? it was way before i even knew you two were together.”

“would you have made a move? if you never knew she was mine? would you have done something about it?”

peter stammers and looks between you and letha for support, but you two were in the same boat

“no, i wouldn’t have.”

“i don’t fucking believe you. because even when you first met her, when you met her and i was there? i could tell something was up! i could tell you were pissed, that you were jealous,” roman spits

“the only person jealous here is you,” peter retorted

“you know fucking what, you piece of shit—?”

“that’s enough roman,” you interject, voice stern and serious

“yeah, i think i’ve had about enough of this fucking backstabbed, too.”

roman stands up from the table abruptly, his thighs jostling the wood and sending everyone’s drinks flying

“let’s go, (y/n),” roman demands, extending his hand for you to take

you didn’t want to take it, you didn’t want to reward him for his bad behavior, but you wanted to avoid and all out category five godfrey tantrum

so you took his hand and sent silent apologies to the couple across from you

roman doesn’t talk to peter for two weeks after that

he keeps an eye and a hand on you at all times, scared that around any corner would be a new man, ready and willing to get in his good graces and steal you away

you originally chastised him for his behavior, but after his lashing, you simply showed him that you loved him

you knew this wasn’t about roman not trusting you

it was just roman’s abandonment issues spiking

so you loved up on him in every possible way

wrapping him in your arms and laying sweet kisses all over his face

“you look so cute today baby, i am just gonna eat you up” you would say, blowing a raspberry to the crook of his neck while he squirmed and held off giggles (and failed)

after a while, roman started to feel better and admittedly, started to feel bad about what he had done

he also missed his friend

“i have to apologize, don’t i?” he said out of the blue one evening, not prefacing his thought, but he didn’t need to

you knew

“yeah, you do baby.” you sighed, rubbing his shoulders, kneading them with your thumbs

“fuck,” he groaned

“don’t worry, he’ll make you sweat a little, but he’ll accept your apology.”

“yeah, how do you know?”

“because letha already told me he misses you. don’t tell him or her that i told you though. i was sworn to secrecy.” 

[stevesharrlngtons]

Romans girl begs him to do face mask with him after he keeps saying no. he finally says yes and they go into the bathroom and she puts all types of creams and mask on him. He pretends he hates the moment but secretly cherishes it.

you said it would only take a minute. said that that is would soothe him, tingle pleasurably on his skin and make it glow for weeks after.

you said that it would be fun. something fun for you to do together, as you stood with your face mask already on, pouting and shifting your weight at the threshold of his home office.

you said that it would be a nice reprieve from paperwork. said that once he waited the twenty minutes the mask took to take effect and perfect his skin, you would let him return to office without a fight.

he griped and sighed and asked you to come back in an hour and ask him again. that he was too busy to be goofy off. but you always got him. you always got him, using your verbal talents or not, you always got your way.

and tonight, he wasn’t sure if you were conscious of your persuasions. he was sure you weren’t as you tried your best to hold together your composure, your light mood falling murky. as you darted your eyes around his office to avoid his eye contact, and made up some wilting lie about catching up on the reality shows he hated (or claimed too).

the slightest of pouts came over your plump lips, rimmed by the opalescent pink goo that you so desperately wanted to smear on his face.

he could never resist you when you were like this; needy and desperate for his attention. he could barley resist you when you were doing something painfully ordinary and simple. he wanted to wrap himself around you at all times, smother you in him so you could never escape him or his affections.

the best part? that’s exactly what you wanted. always.

roman let out a deep sigh, setting down his pen as he reclined in his chair, “just twenty minutes?”

“just twenty,” you perked up, miming an x over your heart.

“fine,” he threw his hands up in defeat, putting on a show of indifference as he hide his smile at your excitement.

“baby, i swear you’re gonna love this!” you cheered, reaching for his hand and ignoring his petulant grumbles.

once in your shared bedroom, roman waited as you brought out your arsenal of creams and pastes and goops and scrubs. you set them all out in a row on the nightstand and described them to him in depth.

“this smoothes and plumpens, and it has hyaluronic acid in it, which is really good —“

“and this one is a peel, but it’s medical grade, like from a dermatologist, so it’s not gonna make your skin come off in clumps or anything, it’s good for removing blackheads and dead skin —“

roman watches you with a serious expression, nodding and actively listening to your descriptions. it was nice to hear what exactly his money was going too, you spent enough at sephora, and he was always left wondering what came in the large packages you got every few weeks.

“and this, this is the one i have on. it has roses and peonies and it plumps like the other one, and is super hydrating.”

when you were done, you looked up at roman with large, awaiting doe eyes. on your knees and excited to share your interests with him, roman felt such an intense warmth for you bloom in his chest. his sweet girl. that and blood rush to his cock he could never keep his mind from going to fucking you for very long.

“i’ll do the one you have,” he shrugs, picking up the glass jar and inspecting it.

“are you sure? don’t just do the one i am because you don’t feel comfortable asking for another one,” you gingerly took the jar back from him and set it with your others.

“i don’t think there has ever been something i wasn’t comfortable asking for,” he drawls with a suggestive smirk.

you scowled and slapped his thigh, “you’re gross.”

“which is why your gonna spread these rose petals and shit all over me to make me clean, right?”

you narrowed your eyes, but your mood was soon wiped away as you retrieved the jar once more and stuck your fingers in to start spreading the mixture on his skin. roman flinched at the cold and chided you for not warming him about the temperature.

“baby,” you muttered and be opened his eyes to see a small smile playing on your lips.

he continued to watch you as you worked with purpose around his face, gliding the mask over his chin and cheeks and nose and brow. he suspected that he was getting a far more pampering experience than you gave yourself or anyone else.

you massaged gently at his temples and pressed firmly on his jaw to release any tension. you tapped lightly over the mask with wide fingers, lull roman happily into relaxation.

“now, you just wait twenty minutes to wash it off,” you whispered, tracing your clean fingers down his throat and to his décolleté.

“can i just lay down?” he asked, opening his eyes once more (that had delightfully closed during your ministrations).

“‘course, baby. whatever helps you relax,” you begin to pull away from your space between his splayed legs, when roman’s hands came to take hold of your hips.

“aren’t you staying?”

“just gonna go wash my hands, i’ll be right back.”

and when you returned from the en suite, you found roman laid back against the pillows; his cuff links abandoned, along with his tie and dress shoes. he looked down right good enough to eat, pink face mask be damned. if anything it only made him sexier.

roman had the tv remote in one hand and the other was outstretched for you, arm wide and inviting for you to come to him. you quickly scampered to his side and snuggled to his large form as roman nestled you there. he patted your hip firmly, but not enough to sting. he then rubbed the spot with long fingers and a solid touch.

roman felt the mask begin to take its affects as his skin felt cool and tingling. he thought he could get used to this feeling, especially with you content and purring at his side.