i measure time by days spent away from you.
roman godfrey x reader
summary: while you’re off on a girls weekend, roman is left missing you.
word count: 5.9k
a/n: ingredients: just sweetness. instructions: read when you are feeling sad. results: good feelings resulting in feedback 4 the writer (-:
“I can’t believe you’re being such a baby about this.”
“Fuck off,” Roman grumbled in reply, moving to lay flat against the mattress with a huff.
You just laughed and continued to fold clothes into your bag. You were very meticulous when it came to packing, wanting everything in your suitcase to be stored efficiently to maximize space. Roman always teased you about it. Although, each and every vacation taken together, he always complained that he couldn’t fit everything he wanted to bring in his suitcase. You’d counter his irritation by offering to help him pack next time, and he’d always roll his eyes stubbornly.
But, you wouldn’t have to hear his snarky comments or annoyed ramblings this trip, because you were leaving Roman behind in Pennsylvania.
Destiny had invited you to her bachelorette party in Atlantic City for the long weekend, and you had happily accepted. You had been awaiting this girls trip for weeks and you were excited that it had finally arrived. You didn’t have many female friends anymore, having grown apart from the ones you made in high school and college, so the opportunity to have some good old fashioned girl time was overdue. While you and Destiny were close, you had never met any of her other friends. You were silently hoping to come out of the weekend with some new buddies, a few good stories, and plans for future adventures.
“I just don’t understand why it’s three days…” he said, watching you riffle through the closet for a party dress.
“Hardly,” you snorted, “I’ll be gone tonight, tomorrow and Sunday morning. You’ll barely even notice.”
The sound of you moving hangers around covered Roman’s pouted not likely.
Roman had been dreading your departure all week and now that it was here, he was stewing in self pity and pubescent angst. He didn’t want you to fly to New Jersey and go partying with a bunch of rowdy women, he just wanted you to himself. Which he knew was selfish and borderline unhealthy, but he didn’t really care. He liked you right by his side, slung under his arm, safe and sound. He wasn’t used to you going out with friends and especially not for so long. If you were out for an evening, you were back and in bed snuggled to his chest well before dawn.
“I just don’t see why you can’t fly out Saturday morning, do whatever Destiny wants, then fly home in the evening,” Roman sighed, waving his hands lazily in the air.
“What kind of loser does that? It’s like showing up for the birthday party and leaving before the sleepover,” you took a dress from the closet and walked to the mirror to pose with it infront of your body.
“You hated sleepovers as a kid,” he argued.
“I never wanted to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor,” you shuttered, “but when I’m promised a nice mattress, along with tons of drinking and dancing? Count me in for the sleepover and all the party favors.”
“So, what?” Roman pushed up to rest on his elbows, “You’re just going to get wasted and dance? You could do that here, y’know?”
“You wanna go dancing with me, Rome?” you shifted your eyes from the dress to look at his reflection in the mirror.
“You know I’d go with you if you asked…”
“Then, we should totally go dancing next weekend, baby.”
You turned to place the dress you had been modeling in your bag and Roman groused petulantly. He watched closely as you folded the slinky designer dress on top of your other clothing and toiletries, smiling when it fit perfectly. You mouthed your checklist to yourself, counting off on your fingers that you had everything you needed, before you zipped the suitcase shut. When you had finished, you shuffled around on your knees to look at him.
“What if I fly down with you and we could get our own room? Have some hotel fun?” he raised an eyebrow and you just shook your head at his pleading.
“Ro, this is a girls weekend, meaning no boys allowed. Including you.”
He once more threw himself back down on the mattress in theatrics.
“You do know that Peter lives here now?” you walked over to the bed and hopped on to straddle his hips, “How can you be mad at me for leaving you to have a fun weekend with your best friend?”
“Peter has plans.”
“I know for a fact that he doesn't,” you took Roman’s face on your hands and pivoted his chin to look at you, “so go out with him. Have some fun, get drunk, do whatever you can’t do when I’m here.”
Roman let you handle him completely, his neck limp and suggestible. He stared up at you with sad emerald eyes.
“What if I make some calls and get the jet? I could get it here in an hour and you could go to New Jersey and be home before dinner?”
You just smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly, “I love you.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a no, but I still love you.”
Again, Roman slumped and sulked.
You looked down at your moping boyfriend and kissed his jaw affectionately. You knew that Roman loved you, but you weren’t entirely sure why he was throwing such a fit about your leaving? Sure, he liked being with you, doing things with you, fucking you; but he wasn’t one of those partner’s who was lost without their other half. Roman did plenty of things alone, even went on the occasional business trip all by his lonesome and never put up this kind of fight before.
You had mentally chalked it down as him being a possessive worry wart, which is why you already had plans to text him often to ease his mind.
As you continued to lay soft kisses to his skin, there was a honk outside followed closely by a buzz of your phone. Your car had arrived to pick you up. Roman groaned as you sat up.
“I gotta go, baby.”
“Five more minutes?”
“I don’t think I can ask the driver to do that,” you hummed as you pushed yourself off him.
You went to the door and you looked over your shoulder to see Roman still laying down, a scowl on his face.
“Are you gonna walk me down, at least? I’d like to say goodbye to you.”
Roman’s scowl deepened before he released a deep breath and pushed up from the mattress and walked to you. When he reached you, you made a move to grab your bags, but Roman beat you to it. He picked up your luggage without any haste and left the bedroom without a word or backward glance. You just rolled your eyes at his childishness and followed him, catching up with his long legged strides to wrap your arms around his waist. You pressed your cheek firmly to his back, and wound your fingertips in the fabric of his shirt. It made walking down the stairs a struggle, but Roman didn’t move to peel you off, which you appreciated.
“You off?” Peter asked from the living room, lifting the remote to pause whatever he was watching on TV.
“Sure am,” you said from behind Roman, giving him a gentle squeeze.
“Have fun, will ya? Say hi to D for me.”
“I will,” you grinned as Roman stayed silent.
You could see Peter's face screw up with confusion on Roman’s stoic behavior, but kept his mouth shut on the matter, something you were thankful for. There was another honk from outside which prompted you to start to drag your oversized boyfriend to the front door.
“Have fun!” Peter called again, his voice muted by the closing door.
Once outside, Roman handed off your suitcase to the town car driver. The man took your luggage, then opened the backseat door swiftly for you to enter, waiting expectantly.
“Give us a minute,” Roman said, dismissing the driver with a little too much hostility.
The driver gave no indication of being offended by Roman’s tone, as he nodded and went to put your bag in the trunk of the car and then returned to the driver's seat. When he was out of sight, Roman looked you in the eyes.
“You really sure you wanna go?”
“Really sure,” you responded with a quick nod.
“I guess I can’t talk you out of it then, now can I?” he frowned.
“Roman, I promise you everything is going to be OK. I’ll be fine there, and you’ll be fine here.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he slumped his shoulders.
“Then what is it?”
Roman just shrugged. Too stubborn to admit how much he would miss you.
You sighed, “Well, whatever it is… I’m going to miss you.”
Roman took his hands from his pockets and placed them on your hips.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll miss you, too.”
You slid your hands up his chest to meet behind his neck, pulling him close.
“I love you very much,” you placed a chaste kiss to his lips, which Roman chased.
“Love you, too.” he returned, giving you a much longer, more passionate kiss.
When you pulled apart, Roman spoke again.
“Text me when you get to the airport, when you board the plane, when you take off, when you land, when you actually get off the plane, what kind of car you're taking to the hotel, get me the driver’s info if you can --” you interrupted his rambled list.
“I will, I will do all of that and I will tell you when we get to the hotel.” you said in a soft, placating voice. You smoothed your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and felt tiny goosebumps form along the skin underneath.
“Fine, fine, OK.” Roman’s jaw tightened.
You leaned up and pressed your lips to the tensing muscle, “I love you and I promise to keep you posted, but I gotta go. I don’t wanna miss the flight.”
Roman nodded stiffly, but said nothing.
You began to wiggle away from his hold, when Roman decided to swoop down one last time to kiss you. You were sure the driver was retching by the sheer amount of times you both had done so, but you didn’t care. You loved this silly man and would drown him in smooches to his heart content before you left.
When your final kiss ceased, you both with labored breathing and gloss swollen lips, Roman let you enter the backseat of the town car and shut the door behind you.
As the car drove away, you unrolled the window and leaned out the opening, blowing him a dramatic kiss as you swayed your arm in the wind like a 19th century on looker to a parting ship. Roman watched you with a stilted smile until you disappeared down the road.
When Roman came back inside the house, Peter was waiting for him.
“So, the ol’ ball and chain is out for the weekend. What are your plans?”
Roman said nothing to him as he began to march up the stairs, hand clenching the rail.
“I’m thinking strippers? Huh? Could be fun?” Peter walked to the staircase and watched Roman until he receded into the hallway without a reply.
“Maybe rent the fight on pay-per-view? Get some beers?” he called louder.
Still he only received silence. He rested his chin on the banister and waited a moment before he yelled, “Fine, be a pussy and cry that your girlfriend is gone!”
The sound of a door being thrown open was Peter’s first response, followed by a verbal one.
“I never said no, Jesus! So fucking fine, let’s go to the strip club, asshole.”
Peter smirked as he heard Roman’s indiscernible grumbles before he shut himself right back into his bedroom. Roman liked to pretend he was complicated, but Peter could play him like a fiddle.
Roman was surrounded by body oil, neon lights and gyrating women. A few years ago, this would have been his heaven, his domain. But now, it all felt trivial and antiquated. It felt played out and pathetic. With the neck of a beer bottle cradled lazily between his fingers, he watched on as the beautiful women of the club stripped from their skimpy costumes and revealed themselves in new and arousing ways.
Peter, who sat next to him at their small circular table, was transfixed by the women around them. Reclined in his seat with a smile on his face, his eyes followed the dancers as they spun around poles, as they groped and shook themselves. Roman knew that he should have the same appreciation for the dancers as his friend. He knew that he should be calling over the ones who eyed him up and down with lust, he knew that he should be paying for private dances until his bank account ran dry. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t feel like it, at all.
Peter picked up on his friend's lack of enthusiasm when he found him slipping his phone from his pocket every few minutes to check for notifications. He let out a snort through his nose, one that was muffled under the booming music, but still heard by Roman.
“What?” he asked as he tried to discreetly put his cell back in his front pocket.
“Nothing,” Peter hummed, raising his eyebrows, “Just find it funny.”
“Find what funny?”
“That you’re so whipped.”
“Fuck off,” Roman scoffed, taking a swig of his beer.
“Sure, sure, whatever. It won’t make you any less whipped, though…” Peter smirked.
“I am not fucking whipped.”
“Yeah? Then why do you look like you just put your fucking dog down when you should be looking like a kid in a candy store? Huh?”
“I’m just not feeling it, OK? These girls are ugly. If I see one more cesarean scar I might vomit,” he sneered.
“These girls are all tens and you know it! You’re just being a pouty little whipped boy because your girlfriend’s gone.”
Roman’s face hardened as he turned to glare at Peter, “Fine, y’know that? Fuck you, you goddamn prick. Have fun with these busted bitches. I’m out of here.”
Roman shot from his seat and slammed his beer on the table, causing a few other patrons to look over. He was already gathering his things to leave.
“Hey, hey, hey, cool down, bud,” Peter said, trying to pacify a Godfrey level tantrum, “I was just joking around, OK? I’m just bustin’ your balls, that’s all.”
Roman’s mouth pressed into a thin line as he loomed over the table with a glower in his wide eyes.
“C’mon man, just sit,” Peter pleaded, “Don't be weird about it, just sit.”
Roman eventually relented after a long pause, collapsing his long limbs back into his chair with a loud sniff, his posture rigid. Roman picked his beer back up and took a pull from the bottle.
“Look, I really was just kidding around, alright? Don’t take it to heart or anything,” Peter said, leaning toward his friend so he wouldn’t have to talk over the music.
“Yeah, Ok. Fine,” Roman replied, refusing to make eye contact by letting his gaze wander around the club.
Peter sighed, “I get it, alright? I do. When you’re in love, things are different. You have blinders on to everything but that one person, and as easy as it is to make fun of, it’s not a bad thing, Roman. It’s good, and it’s a good feeling to have.”
Roman finally looked over the table to Peter, whose gaze had wilted and saddened. He could practically see him thinking about Letha, her face forming and twisting in his irises.
He swallowed thickly before he slapped Peter on the shoulder in a search to break the tension, “No hard feelings. I’m gonna head out for a smoke, yeah? And I promise when I get back I’ll have a better time. OK?”
Peter pursed his lips in an attempt to ward off the bubbling curse of his fallen love's memory and nodded, quickly downing the remainder of his drink and calling a waitress over for another.
Roman took his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the exit. Once outside, he collected his pack of Marlboros from his pocket, then a cigarette and the lighter that fit snuggly beside each other.
As he sucked on the filter under the club’s awning and fluorescent flood lights, he felt his phone vibrate. He scrambled to retrieve it from his jeans and read the text hurriedly.
just got to dinner and im ordering a vodka soda and thinking of you. miss u already, ily!
Roman’s heart flipped and fluttered in a way that made his cheeks tinge with pink, while a smile fought to curl on his lips. As he quickly typed out a reply, a little voice in the back of his head told him that maybe Peter was right, maybe he was whipped.
drink slow, baby, remember what happened in ibiza when you had to many lol
And immediately after
i love you too, keep me posted
When he pocketed his phone once more, Roman pondered. Flicking the ash off of the end of his cigarette, he decided that there were worse things in life than being in love with a woman, and being devoted to her. If that made him whipped, then so be it. Though, he would never admit that to anyone but his consciousness (even a bit painfully at that).
The sheets were warm with body heat and Roman had lost the cool side of his pillow hours ago. He tossed and turned. He shucked off the blankets, just to retrieve them moments later. His limbs danced under the sheets in search of comfort and a portion of the bed that wasn’t sticky with his sweat and a high temperature. His hips hurt from laying on his sides and his shoulders hurt when he rolled on his back. He was crawling out of his skin with discomfort and soreness as the moon illuminated the bedroom. Around 1AM, he had tried to close the blinds, but they only ever budged for your magic touch, and Roman had only mangled them into an unrelenting slope.
Roman had checked his phone every ten minutes since he got under the covers. He had texted you a succinct good night around eleven and had received a jumbled good night in response. He had typed out a text that had bordered on passive aggressive, asking about how your night had been going and how much you had had to drink, but deleted it before he hit send. He was doing his best to avoid playing into the overbearing, resentful boyfriend role that he felt he was in. You deserved to let loose, he just wished he was by your side as you did (and not thousands of miles away).
He had typed another text out just after midnight, then another after the blinds incident, but deleted those as well. Part of his pouting was pretending that you didn’t want to be bothered by his messages, so he would just lock his phone and return it to the night stand each time. But, that was before the irritation had set in on his bones and just the thought of trying to fall asleep made his skin waver and blister.
But he still didn’t text you.
Because this time he called.
He shuffled around as he listened to the phone ring in his ear, squirming under the covers as the top sheet seemed to be holding his ankle hostage. He felt an overwhelming urge to snap and strip the bed of its clothes and throw them all out on the lawn, when he heard you begin to pick up.
“Ro?” you shouted into the receiver, the loud blare of club music accompanying your voice.
“Hey, you’re still out?” he asked, twisting his leg around erratically until his ankle was free.
“I can’t hear you! Hold on,” you said loudly again, followed by muffled shuffles as you moved through the crowd.
“Wait! Hold on! Roman! Wait!” he heard your far away voice say as you exited the club.
The music grew further away and the static shuffle ended, Roman could finally hear your voice and only it.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” you giggled.
“Having fun?” Roman asked, trying to mask his interest.
“Yeah,” he could hear your shrug, “dancing is lots of fun.”
“You sound like you’re having fun.”
“Well, I can be lots of fun after a few Moscow Mules,” you chuckled at your own joke.
“Switched from vodka sodas?”
“Yeah, the other girls were drinking them so I thought, ‘Hey! Why not?’”
Roman could hear the sound of your high heels echoing on the pavement.
“How are you getting along with them? No bad blood?”
There was a beat of pause on your end before you sighed, “It’s hard to make new friends, Rome.”
“Did something happen?” Roman felt a flare of anger in his chest.
“No, no,” you replied, “they’re nice girls, I think I’m just in my head about it.”
“Are you sure, baby?”
“Yeah, everything's fine, really. I am having a lot of fun.” you reassured.
“You sure?”
“I mean, they’re nice. They are… but they’ve all been friends for years, and I’m just this new girl coming in and trying to fit in with them. That’s the only bad part; feeling like I have to prove myself or something… I don’t know. Girls are weird,” you peeled away at the skin on your lip as you spoke.
“They’re excluding you? The fuck is wrong with those fucking women? Who the fuck do they think they are?” Roman’s heart beat began to accelerate and suddenly sleep was the last thing on his mind.
“No, of course they aren’t excluding me. Destiny wouldn’t let that happen and you know it,” you said, “it’s just… they all have inside jokes and years of history together and y’know, here I come, Destiny’s new friend whose main bond with her is weird vargulf trauma.”
“I swear to God, baby, if I hear anything about them bullying you, no one will ever find the bodies. I’ll drain those snotty bitches for you,” he swore.
You replied with a light hearted giggle, “I highly doubt that will be necessary. But is there something very wrong with me, that you threatening homicide for me, sorta turns me on?”
Your comment was the pin to burst the anger that had begun to balloon in his chest.
Roman snickered, “No, at least not to me. I think that’s what makes us work together.”
You made a noise in thoughtful agreement.
“Roman? Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?”
“Why aren’t you asleep? You came home from the club hours ago.”
Roman let a beat of silence come over the receiver as he collected his thoughts. He was slightly embarrassed by the reason, and while he had come to the conclusion there were worse things in the world than being whipped, he didn’t want you to know how whipped he was for you.
“Jus’ hard to sleep alone,” Roman mumbled into his phone, picking at a loose thread on the duvet.
He heard you snort a laugh and twinge of shame flared in his belly.
“Ro, you sleep without me all the time! I’m the needy one who can never sleep without you, remember? We go over this everytime you go out of town.”
“What? So, I’m some frigid monster without feelings? I can’t miss you? I can’t possibly not be able to sleep without you because I’m such an unfeeling asshole?” Roman carped defensively.
“Mm, baby, I love when you put words in my mouth,” you were happily drunk, so while this could have been said with malice and venom during a fight, you said it with warmth and giggles now.
“I never said that you are unfeeling or cold or an asshole. You are sometimes, but that’s beside the point,” Roman grumbled bitterly as you continued, “You’ve just never brought up not bein’ able to sleep when you’re away, is all. You go to Tokyo quarterly and it’s never come up when you get home.”
A jumbled, muffled response came from Roman’s end as his cheeks burned red.
“What? Ro, I can’t hear you?”
“I said, I… Jesus, fine. I said that I always refill my sleeping pills when I leave, ok? I pop an Ambien or two and that’s how I can sleep away from you,” he confessed, “and I don’t know, I guess I forgot to refill them before you left. So, yeah, whatever.”
You didn’t immediately reply to Roman’s admission and his stomach began to churn with hot worry. Rationally, he knew that you wouldn’t ridicule him or tease him for his attachment to you and his acknowledgement of it. But the irrational side, the side that grew up with Olivia Godfrey as his mother, who would dull out affection only as a form of manipulation, made him feel sick.
“Oh, Rome,” you cooed, your voice tender and comforting, “I never knew that… I, that’s actually really sweet.”
Roman’s shoulders dropped, “Yeah?”
“Yes! I think it’s very sweet. We can’t sleep without each other. I think it’s cute. I think that means something.”
“Something good?”
“I’d say so.”
Intense warmth flooded under Roman’s skin and filled his body with loose relaxation. He could hear the smile in your voice, and he could see you swaying in your heels, propping yourself up on a brick wall that bordered the building, and he knew you were wishing it was him. He wished it was him, too. He had never felt such a perverse envy of brick in his life, because it got to feel your soft skin and caress your flowing hair while Roman was a million miles away, craving the taste of you.
Roman wished he could curl up inside your voice, that he could let your syllables embrace and pet him, let your sentences of sweeter things and kind compliments rock him to sleep and help him forget how far away you truly were.
After a few silent moments of simmering in each other’s long distance affection, Roman reluctantly spoke.
“You gotta go back in soon?”
“Probably,” you gave a heaving sigh, “I don’t want them to worry or anything.”
“Or have them give you shit for being whipped,” Roman said with a forced chuckle.
He knew that this showed another chink in his armour, that his vulnerability glowed from underneath his comment. Sleep deprivation and loneliness was taking a toll on his filtering ability.
“Pft,” you blew out the sound from your lips, “they already know that I’m whipped, Rome. I’m not much of a secret keeper.”
You disclosed this without any stuttered worry or fear. You told Roman of your love and devotion to him without having to grit your teeth or wipe your clammy hands on your pants. It helped him feel comfortable in admitting his affections for you, but it was still much harder for him than it was for you. He knew that he needed to continue to work on divulging to you often and regularly of his love, because whenever you did, it filled Roman with the most remarkable and indescribable feeling. The feeling of stability and trust and happiness and the giddy feeling of knowing that the person you love most reciprocates. And Roman wanted most in life for you to feel that same way.
“I miss you, Rome. I love you so much, but I gotta go,” you said, breaking through his thoughts.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I miss you, too. I love you,” Roman hoped you could hear his sincerity through the phone and your drunken haze.
When you hummed contently, he knew you had.
“Bye, baby,”
“Make sure to text me when you’re back at the hotel, ok?” Roman interjected quickly before you hung up.
“‘Course, honey. I love you!” and with that, the line went dead.
Roman still tossed and turned and ached for your presence in his arms, but your short conversation had helped him eventually lull himself to sleep. His dreams were filled with short vignettes of you, sparks and flickers of your face.
Just after mid-morning on Sunday, you gently stuck your key into the lock of your home’s door. You had texted Roman after you had boarded the plane home and when you landed in Pennsylvania, but you had yet to get a response. You were hopeful it was because your high strung boyfriend was still asleep, something you knew he needed.
After your over the phone heart to heart in the early hours of Saturday morning, Roman still only got fitful rest. Saturday night was much of the same, as he sent you a litany of text messages, ranging from attempts to sext to requests for Netflix show recommendations. You were beginning to feel slightly guilty for the sleep you were able to get on your hotel queen, but you mainly accredited your ability to fall into the grip of slumber from the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed over the weekend. Even now, the effects of the alcohol still had you in a clutches. With sunglasses perched high on your nose and four Tylenol simmering in your stomach, all you wanted to do was finally be back in Roman’s arms and kiss him wherever your lethargic lips could reach.
Once you had opened the door, you heaved your suitcases over the threshold and set your keys in the crystal dish that held Roman’s as well. You stretched your arms over your head with a squeaky moan, and inhaled deeply the smell of your home. There was something so comforting about coming home, no matter the extent of time away, and smelling the scent that your living space held. The smell that your senses accommodated to, the smell that you didn’t notice every day. Your and Roman’s shared home smelt like warm fabric softened linen and Roman’s favorite pine candle he had a stockpile of. It smelled like a hint of lemon from Anna’s disinfectant and a tad like cigarette smoke that lingered on Roman’s clothes. It smelled like Roman’s wafting cologne that made your knees buckle and your stomach flutter, and you swore you could smell your own in the air somewhere too. Maybe Roman had sprayed it in the air to comfort himself? You wouldn’t ask him if it was true, but it made you smile anyhow.
You made your way deeper into the house, headed for the kitchen in search of a Gardorade and a granola bar before you went up to join Roman in your bedroom. Though as you rounded the corner to look into the living room, you were surprised to find Roman splayed out on the couch. Folded underneath his head was his pillow from upstairs, and draped over his lanky limbs was the thick duvet from the guest bedroom. The excess fabric pooled on the floor next to him, most of it having slipped off his body.
Your heart thudded in your chest as you looked at him. His plump lips were spread and his jaw was lax. One of his arms was thrown over his head and the other over the back of the couch, while one of his legs had fallen off the cushions, causing his foot to lay flat on the floor. He must have been running on fumes for him to be so deep under while laying on the stiff designer couch so loosely.
After a few more moments of admiring him, you decided to obtain your food before you went to wake him. Of course you had the option to leave him be, but you knew when he woke he would be angry if you came home and didn’t. That, and you wanted to be in his attention, even if it was just two and half days, you had missed him.
With a few bites of your granola bar chased down by Gatorade, you walked over to Roman. You set your items down on the coffee table as you knelt next to his head. His nose scarcely scrunched and his eyelids twitched. You placed a gentle kiss to all three and he started to stir.
“Roman? C’mon, wake up,” you whispered, brushing back a curled piece of his hair that had fallen on his forehead, “I’m home.”
He let out a throaty groan as his eyes fought to flutter open. His adams apple bobbed and he pursed his lips before his beautiful emerald green eyes were revealed to you between languide blinks.
“Hey,” you grinned, finger combing his hair, “you finally get some sleep?”
“(Y/N)? How long have you been home?” he asked, voice graveled from slumber.
“Not even five minutes.”
“And you didn’t wake me?”
“I’m waking you now,” you smiled, gripping his hair playfully.
“Mmm,” he hummed, his arms that had been flung behind his head coming to grip you waist, “come here. C’mere, c’mere, c’mere.”
You giggled as Roman grappled you with sleep soaked limbs to pull you on top of him. When he did, he brought his other arm down to snake around you, keeping you firmly to his body. You moved your hands up to cup his jaw, kissing him listlessly on his cheeks.
“I missed you. Oh, I missed you,” you uttered and Roman’s arms tightening.
“Fuck, God fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much,” Roman keened sleepily.
You were sure he was being more candid because of how tired he was, but you didn’t care.
“You’re never leaving again, ok? Never leavin’ my side again. Taking you everywhere with me from now on,” his hand skirted underneath the hem of your sweatshirt, his finger eagerly exploring your missed skin, “never letting you leave my sight.”
“I’m ok with that,” you purred in his ear, kissing him with finality on his lips, “I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.”
Roman gave you a heavy lidded expression of pure bliss, “You make me happy.”
“You make me happy, too.”
You smiled down at him and propted yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him, “Let’s go upstairs, baby. Our bed is better than this couch.”
“Nah,” he groused, pushing you back down to his chest with a huff, “just here, just like this. Too tired to move.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, things are better now anyway.”
Your cheeks ached from smiling as you nuzzled your nose to the column of his neck and Roman’s chest rumbled with happiness.
Roman’s fingertips pressed into your back with comforting pressure and his other hand moved down to slip into the back of the waistband of your pants to feel the skin of your ass.
He felt such a flood of contentment, he wondered just how he had survived at all these past few days without his fix of your skin, your smell, your kisses and you. He buried his face into your hair and ignored the way some of it found its way into his nose as he inhaled. He ignored the kink in his neck and the pain in his shoulders and the fact that he had accidentally ripped down the blinds in the bedroom the night before. Because now, nothing else mattered except you. Roman wished he could tell you just how he felt, all about this feeling. He wished he could tell you how he loved you with the entirety of his being and that you truly made him happier than anything else in the world. He hoped he figured it out soon, but for now, he knew this was enough.
i hope you enjoyed! if so, i would love to hear your feedback (-: and i know i am overloading you on fluff, but a very angsty story is in the works!