#anyways if I can avoid working a closing shift I’m going to bc sincerely. fuck that bullshit that happened tonight

[jocelynships]

Finally made it home

Tonight was a fuckin’ mess

But at least my coworkers were as supportive as they could be and I really do appreciate the fact I seem to have some good people around me

[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 :-)

[jordan102791]

Velvet Lace part 9

The stillness seeped into her bones. The occasional page turn chirping from the quiet that seemed eternal until broken. Screaming so loud it made ears ring. An old smell pleasantly raining in the air. Diana leaped into the leather throne she had claimed the second day in the shop.

Quinn had pulled her from her backpack carrier within seconds of Josh stepping through the portal from the real world to this one of fantasy and mystery, romance and horror. She would argue that the people in these tomes were more real than often given credit. To escape the dull gray of this world and enter another that was closer than it seemed. Close enough to just be a finger tip's distance away. The older man had brought down a towel from the store room, preparing for her arrival. Bunching it up into the chair and tucking her in. Her own dais from which to watch the strangers pass by. Some reaching out to brush the fur on her side before continuing on.

The tinkling sounds from above the door announce the newest entrant, but not a new customer. The woman in her peach dress that the wind bites starvingly at has been in most days at least once that Diana had noticed. But this wasn't all the shadow had noted in her black book about the woman. No, she watched the way the woman's gaze lingered on Josh when she swayed passed, skirts dancing in time to her hips. The woman wasn't shy, but certainly not the type to usually make the 1st move, no matter how much the idea scrolled across her face. She would just quietly flirt and behold the man who had yet to notice her attention. Men, the cat thought. Anyone could see that her insignificant search requests were only the ruse her heart wished would communicate to his own. Anyone except Josh Wells apparently.

She would need to be going on her way soon she supposed. But perhaps, she mused, she could leave his life a bit happier than she'd found it. Maybe someone to comfort him in his time of need when she would make her escape in the night, venturing into the world of one of the adventures penned in a book she surrounds herself with each day. Yes, he has been kind to her. Kinder than any other has been to a stray on the streets. She would try to do him this favor.

The creeping black smoke rolled across the floor to where her temporary master kneeled to pull a jacketless book from a box. The ripened peach tucked around the corner, being summoned like a beacon. The predator laying in wait for her chance to strike. The woman's fair skin, glowing from the sun raining through the windows steps around the end cap bringing her knee to face with Josh. Startled, he stands. Fishing for the words to ask if she needs help. The quiet chatter awkward as they both stumble through sentences that would make a sinner's ears bleed with how polite they are.

Now. This is the chance, Diana hoped she would be strong enough, but only her actions would tell. Strolling up, she rubs her cheeks to the man's pant leg. Lulling into a false sense of safety. The black cat lunges, throwing all her weight to the backs of his legs. He fumbles the book gripped in his hand as he tries to right himself. His hands going to the woman's arms, pushing his body close to hers. Steadying himself, he makes a quick retreat. The interaction reddening both parties' cheeks, murmuring apologies. A gentle, not wholly disappointed, smile pings her lips, while her eyes cast down to the floor. "Ummm... If you're all right, I'm gonna head to the back to grab more books," Josh practically whispers before racing off.

How can he not see the heady flush that took over the woman's face at the contact? A cherry blossom blooming into spring. The cat shakes her head before heading back to the warm leather arm chair, scheming ways to get him closer to the pleasant fruit he might enjoy a bite from if he just plucked it from the tree.

*****

A screeching shatters the reverie, a peaceful one for once, jolting Diana awake. The warm blankets and solid length beside her skittering across the bed away. Her golden eyes opening, scanning for dangers she cannot perceive.

"What? Why are you screaming?" She asks in a stranger's voice that hasn't been her own in many moons.

"Stranger in my bed. Stranger in my bed," his tone edging on hysteria. "Naked stranger in my bed. Pretty, naked stranger in my bed."

"Shit," she says full of emotion.

"Shit? That's all you can say? Shit? Who the fuck are you? And why are you in my bed? And where are your clothes?"

At his final question, she finally peers down, confirming his words. Her lush body, a distant memory now firmly cemented in her face. "Shit," she says emphatically, scrambling to tug the sheet from the bed around her body. Twinning snakes coiled tightly, holding butterfly wings around her.

"Yes! You said that already, but who the fuck are you? And how'd you get in my house?"

"Shit, this is awkward. I haven't done this since I was a wee kitten," shame steeping her voice in dread. "I'm Diana. Your cat."

"Ok, so you're a very pretty, insane, naked girl in my bed. Fantastic. I'm gonna go ahead and call the police now."

"No, no, no! Josh, stop! Don't do that!"

"How do you know my name?"

"I told you. I'm Diana. Your cat," her tone hinting the answer should be obvious. Listen, if I wasn't Diana how would I have gotten in? Or know you work at the book store? Or know that the cat's name, my name, is Diana?"

"Bc obviously you're stalking me." His fingers ppised to dial the emergency number.

"Josh I'm not stalking you. Just stop for a second. Let me explain!" She takes a step towards him, tripping in the sheet. His retreat hasty to keep the space between them. "Josh please," she pleads. "5 minutes. Just give me 5 minutes to explain and convince you. And if after that you still don't believe me than call the police and have me hauled away."

"Oh, so I need your permission to call the police?"

"No of course not, but please, I'm begging you. Just 5 minutes." The sincerity in her golden eyes that he shakes the familiarity off at the sight of, warms him only mildly. But it's still just enough the thaw his fingers from their rigor mortis around the phone.

"5 minutes. That's it. Starting now. Go!"

"I really am your cat," she says holding up a hand, waving off his denials. "I'm a shapeshifter. This is what I really look like, but I can become a cat too. In fact, I've been a cat for a very long time now. And last night was the 1st time I've lost control of a shift since I was a kid. I'm sorry, you were never meant to find out, especially not like this. I was just supposed to slip out one night and you never see me again."

A confused stricken look envelopes his features. "Say I believe you, you were just going to leave?"

The embarrassed shame she already felt being drowned and twisted into the shame that now ate anyway at her belly. Eating her, consuming her from the inside out. Chasing heat up into a face that felt it might burst from the blood packing in. She doesn't answer him. Her bright eyes avoiding a meeting in the middle with his own.

"Right." He sucks his teeth and nods. "So you're a cat, huh? Fine. Show me."

Her eyes snap up to his finally. "Show you?"

"Yes. Show me. Turn back into my cat. Prove that you are what you claim to be. Seeing is believing and frankly I'm not sure I'll believe it until then."

Running throught the scenarios in her head, she nods to the carpet. "All right. I'll show you." She looks to him, searching his face. Preparing heraelf to run when things go badly. She knew she needed to leave soon, she just didn't expect it to be like this. Taking a step back to the middle of the room, she drops the sheet. His gaze too startled by the bones crunching and reforming to think on her brazen behavior.

And the shouting began again. He hadn't thought she really could change, the midnight fur running from her curly hair across the curves and planes of her body. A tail creeping from her skin, swishing and slashing the air. Compacting down to the feline he had shared his bed with for almost a week. The only thing remaining of the gorgeous woman in the equally remarkable cat were those amber eyes that glowed in any light. The blood slamming down into his feet making him sway and catch himself on the dresser.

His furry companion shifting her weight on her feet before growing and becoming again. "You really are a cat," his eyes wide, showing whites like a horse reading to bolt.

"I am," her voice barely a whisper, but he still hears it in the gelatinous silence filling the room. Her nakedness not seeming to concern her, he bends to snatch up the sheet handing it back to her. She nods her thanks before cacooning herself back in it.

[killer-barnes]

You Have No Idea

Peter Parker x Shy Reader

Request: Yes

Summary: Peter and the Reader go to school together, however once Peter shows up at Stark tower, the Reader is curious as to why he is there.

Word Count: 1,930

Warnings: language, fluff, adorableness, talk of powers, annoying Tony, shy reader (bc I’m trash). (Err, that’s it?)

A/N: To the anon that requested this, I hope you like it! I sort of changed it up a little bit, so I hope you don’t mind. The length of this, I apologize, holy shit. I could not find a way to end this. *Also, the Reader’s powers are based on the character Catiana (in case you are wondering!) Please let me know what you guys think of it, I’d love some feedback. Enjoy reading!

Walking into school, you held tightly to your backpack and moved swiftly through the crowd, avoiding an “accidental” bump in with anyone that came unexpectedly.

Since you had a few minutes before your first class, you went to your locker and replaced the books in your backpack with the ones you needed today for classes.

Rolling your eyes and groaning as you picked up your heavy Algebra book, you stuffed it roughly into your backpack.

It’s not that you hated math, it’s just you weren’t that great at it, which definitely bothered you since you were in a class full of legit geniuses.

Not only did that class give you anxiety with being called on or not understanding anything, but it was also because there was one nerd who always caught your attention. The one that should probably be in college level math rather than Algebra in some high school. The one who looked so soft and cuddly. The one with the never ending collection of sweaters.

The one named, Peter Parker.

Because of your tendencies to hang in the shadows at school, you thought you were unnoticed by Peter.

You liked it that way, though. You wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of trying to talk to him and miserably failing, due to your crush on the nerd.

As your day went on, it felt as though it was moving at the pace of a fucking snail.

Slow and annoying.

Once the day finally hit lunch, you tried to cherish the time you had left before your last class that you dreaded oh, so dearly.

As lunch was coming to an end, you prayed as you were walking to your last class that it would be fast and easy, especially since afterwards you were heading to Stark tower to meet a new recruit.

Tony had said the kid was around your age, which you appreciated. You were getting tired of the team’s old jokes and their incoherence of yours. You needed someone to relate to.

Quickly entering the classroom, you headed towards the back closest to the door, so you could get out fast once the bell rings at the end of the day.

Taking a seat, you let out a sigh, which is quickly turned into a choking of air as Peter fucking Parker enters the room.

Covering your choking with a cough, you lower your gaze to your desk blushing profusively, as you see Peter and his friend Ned take a seat to the direct left of you.

Fuck me…

He’s wearing that blue sweater again.

Ugh, why does he have to be so cute?

And that hair, oh my god.

Don’t even let me get started on tha-

Your thoughts were pulled as your teacher strides into the classroom shouting, “Welcome Class! Hope you all did the homework assigned last class!” while giving us all a strict, yet sincere stare.

As the teacher said this, your eyes widened in fear.

Shit!

I forgot… again.

As your fellow classmates were passing up their homework, the girl that sits in front of you, Mary, turns and asks if you have any to turn in.

Averting her gaze, you reply, “u-uh, I-uh, forgot it… at home.”

Giving you a sympathetic look and a nod, she turns back to face the front of the classroom.

Letting out another sigh, you sink down into your chair, blocking out the lesson for today, knowing you could just ask Tony or Bruce for help, since they never mind from what you could tell.

Blankly staring off into space, you hear your teacher call you name.

“Y/N, do you know the answer?”

Not even remembering a single thing the teacher had been talking about, you reply, “u-uh, I-uh…”

Stop stuttering you idiot!

Say a random number!

Say something!

“Uh, 4?” you answer, more as a question.

“No, I’m afraid that’s wrong. Please pay more attention, Y/N,” the teacher calmly replies, annoyance evident in her stance.

“Anyone else want to give it a go?” she adds, eyeing her students.

“Peter?”

You see Peter’s head whip up from scribbling rapidly in his notebook.

He’s probably working on the homework right now.

You think, jealous of his smarts.

“Oh, u-uh, x equals 89.27,” Peter stutters, a light blush of pink appearing across his cheeks.

“Ah, that’s correct, Peter! Alright, let’s move on!”

Once again, your attention was elsewhere.

After doodling in your notebook for the rest of class, the bell rung and you were quick to get out and head towards your locker to retrieve your other books.

Making your way out of the school building, you head towards the Stark Tower, excited to meet the new recruit.

Your head was filling with several different scenarios.

I wonder if they can fly?

Or teleport?

Oh! Or shapeshift!?

Okay, calm down, Y/N.

You don’t want to scare them away.

As you enter into the building, you see the lady at the front desk give you a welcoming smile, which you return as you head towards the elevator to the main part of the building.

Once the elevator opens to the area where all the Avengers live, including yourself, you see Nat and Sam chilling on the couch, while Wanda and Bruce are in the kitchen making some treats for the new recruit.

Nat’s eyes flicker towards your tired ones, as she welcomes you back.

“Hey, Y/N. How was school today?”

Turning your attention towards hers, you mumble, “oh, uh, it was fine. Nothing exciting.”

Before Nat or Sam can reply, Bruce shouts from the kitchen, “Y/N! How was Algebra?”

Closing your eyes and groaning, you see Nat and Sam giggle at your response.

Sulking to the kitchen, you see Wanda and Bruce carefully frosting some cupcakes in bright colors as you take a seat at the island.

Avoiding his question, you ask, “who are these for?”

Sensing your diversion of the question, Bruce presses the question again with a chuckle.

“Y/N, don’t avoid my question. How was Algebra today?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention…” you mumble out, looking away.

“Y/N, we’ve talked about this. If you don’t understand, you should be asking your teacher for help, on top of the help you get from us. We don’t like seeing you struggle,” he softly responds.

Sighing for the millionth time today, you mutter, “I know, I know.”

“Anyways, to answer your other question, these are for the new recruit coming today!” Wanda interjects, excitement present in her voice.

She always gets excited when she has the opportunity to bake her famous cupcakes, especially for someone new.

Smiling up at her, you question, “Oh, right! When are they coming again?”

Handing you a cupcake Wanda answers, “hmm, in a little bit. Tony will let you know when they’re coming.”

Sliding off the chair with the cupcake in hand, you grab your bag and start heading towards the elevator to your bedroom a few floors above.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me, guys,” you mentioned before closing the doors, hearing replies of “okay” and “see you later.”

As you enter your bedroom, you leap towards your bed, quickly engulfing its warm and fluffy exterior.

Taking a break before starting your homework, you scroll aimlessly through your phone, soon getting bored and switching towards your school work.

Moving your backpack onto your bed, you decide to start out easy, grabbing the book you are required to read for your English class.

After reading for what seems like hours, you wonder if the new recruit has arrived and decide to go investigate, knowing Tony forgot to tell you if they were here or not.

Making your way towards Tony’s lab, you hear chatter as you enter.

“Hey, Tony! Is the new recru-”

Your words are lost as you see the one and only Peter Parker sitting across from Tony in the lab.

“Ah, yes, Y/N. Sorry I forgot to let you know he was here.” Tony said, filling the gap you left open.

Before you had the chance to speak again, not that you would be able to anyways, Peter gazes towards you and asks, “Y/N? Wait… don’t I sit next to you in Algebra?”

“Hmm, so is this why you aren’t doing well in Algebra, Y/N?” Tony questions, finally making the connection.

Opening your mouth, you are left speechless after what Tony said, your face feeling as though it was on fire from the intense blush that rose upon your cheeks.

Giving Tony a death glare, you gaze back towards Peter, his face plastered with a light pink across his cheeks.

Covering your face with your hands, you mumble, “Tooony.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two alone. No funny business, ya hear?”

Peter’s face turns a darker shade at Tony’s comment, but shakes it away, looking towards your embarrassed figure.

“S-So, uh- you’re an Avenger? T-That’s awesome.” Peter says, trying to rid the air of embarrassment.

Whipping your eyes towards him you rapidly shake your head no, realizing he knows what you are now.

That you have powers.

“U-uh, w-why would you think that, I-I don’t know wh-”

Peter smiles at you, chuckling at how you are trying to figure a way out of him finding out.

Knowing there’s no way around it, you add, “a-alright, yeah. I’m an Avenger. I’m guessing, uh, you’re the new recruit?”

Shifting in his stance, Peter blushes, realizing the situation he is in too.

“Oh, u-uh, yeah. I-I’m Spiderman.”

Hearing a gasp, Peter looks at you, your mouth agape and eyes wide.

Before he has the chance to say anything, you silence him.

“W-What? No way! Well, now that I think about it, that makes sense, I-I mean with all those bruises and cuts you show up at school with I saw when I would look at your adorable face. I mean, I just assumed you got into a fight bu-”

“Y-You think I’m adorable?” Peter inquires, shutting up your rambling.

Feeling the familiar fire rise to your cheeks you look towards your feet and stutter quietly, “w-well, I-I… yes.”

Giggling and smiling brightly, Peter says, “r-really? I didn’t think you noticed me. You’re always looking away from me.”

Scoffing, you reply, “that’s just because I didn’t want to get caught looking at you a-all the time!”

Blushing, Peter chuckles, “understandable, but you’re even more adorable. And, hey, since you know who I am and what I can do, can I ask you the same?” His eyes shining bright, yet curious.

Looking towards him, you nervously laugh, “uh, I-I guess that’s only fair.”

Giving you a smile, you take that as a signal to begin.

“O-Okay, well, uh I can shape shift into any living being if I touch their blood and I gain their memories in the process.”

Not even bothering to look up at Peter, since it’s nothing compared to what he can do, you add, “I-I know it’s nothing like your-”

“Are you kidding me?! That’s amazing, Y/N! Wanna trade?”

You stare at him like he’s crazy.

Taking in your expression, Peter is quick to back himself up.

“I’m just kidding, but seriously, Y/N. That’s really fucking cool.”

You just blush and mumble a quiet thank you.

Your guys’ conversation is put to a halt as Tony appears outside of the lab, his hand covering his eyes.

“Guys! I’m walking in. You better not be doing any funny business! This is not the place nor the time!”

“Toooony,” you groaned.

“He never gives you a break, huh?”

“You have no idea, Spiderboy.”

A/N: Sigh, I know I do shy reader all the damn time, but I relate to that the most. Anywho, sorry if this is shit. As always feedback is appreciated!