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wambsgansshoelaces · 3 months

Note

hiii could you maybe write something about a first kiss with roman roy? I feel like he’s so unpredictable that it could be fluffy or angsty 💖

Vending Machine Oreos

Roman Roy x Reader

oneshot

anon I’m so so sorry this is so late!!! I hope I delivered though :( please let me know what you think and enjoy x

honestly I’m kind of worried because I’ve been struggling with life and my writing’s been suffering because of it so I’m really sorry if this seems unrealistic or rushed or just bad. I hope you guys like it anyway!!!

Word Count: 2.215k

“Roman!”

“What?” he snaps back, not bothering to look up from his desk.

“You’re going to make us fucking late! Come on!”

“It’s not even- oh, fuck, you’re right.” He abruptly gets to his feet, slamming the lid of his laptop shut, and hurries out of his office, you not far behind.

Working at Waystar was certainly an experience. You like to say Logan Roy made you see red, and it’s a sentiment you know Roman shares. When you stop and think about it, you suppose that you’re making way too much money to actually care. Besides, Roman Roy is easy on the eyes. It’s not like all of him was so horrible. If you were honest with yourself, you never really thought he was such a bad person. He was kind to you, in his own neurotic way, and made sure all of his work was done on time. You actually find him kind of endearing, and you both happen to get along extremely well.

“Is the car outside?” he asks, pulling his coat on.

“It has been for ten minutes,” you say back, ushering him into an opening elevator.

“Why do we have to do this again?” he mutters to you in question, glancing at you sideways as you slide into your seat next to him in the car.

“Because your dad wants us to mingle,” you say bitterly. “Some new hotshot piece of shit to impress.” He sighs, turning to stare out the window and watch as New York blurs by.

The event building is large and lavish, the epitome of modern day architecture. The entire thing is floor-to-ceiling windows, and the interior does not let you down. This is the corporate version of a party. You’d spend the night milling about, pretending to listen to half-assed pitches while Roman fucked with all of the corporate jockies he hated. Logan had asked you in person for you and Roman to go. Something about the mind games he was playing with rivals and the fact that a Roy needed to be present at these kinds of things.

You and Roman get your coats checked, and you’re guided into the ballroom. The room is already bustling and half-drunk, and you mentally steel yourself for the next few hours. The two of you get roped into a mind-numbing conversation about stocks and bitcoin, so much so that when you look over at Roman, he’s staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

“And what about you?”

You don’t realize the question was aimed at you until after it hangs for a few moments.

“Sorry?” you ask, returning your attention to your peanut gallery of what’s only men. You notice Roman doing the same.

“We were talking about the whore houses,” an older one chortles, immediately causing your face to sour. “We were wondering if we would see you there. What with the job performance and all.” He laughs, a loud, gaudy sound that makes you want to vomit.

All of the heat rushes to your face. You are by no means bad at your job. But despite your confidence and your skill, you can’t help how disgusting you feel.

“I speak for all of us here when I say nobody would really mind if you were,” another, younger one chimes in. You all but gag. You throw a glance at Roman, pleading, but he looks just as uncomfortable as you are. Disappointed, you realize you’re not going to get any help from him.

Without saying anything, you turn on your heel and calmly make your way out of the ballroom. You feel like ripping your skin off. Maybe then the feeling of those eyes will get off of you then.

You stroll through the halls, trying to comfort yourself. You don’t expect it, but after your second lap around the complex, you find Roman at your elbow, reaching out to take you by the arm.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something,” he admits. “That was disgusting. They’re disgusting. I’m really sorry.” He pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, rather unconvincingly at that.

Roman makes a face at you. “We both don’t believe that.”

“Really. It’s fine. I should’ve just made a scene so we could leave,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood, change the tone. Roman gives you his signature pout, refusing to take your word for anything. He’s worked with you for long enough to be able to sense when something’s wrong.

“Oh, come on.” He leans in towards you conspiratorially. “Wanna just ditch? Pretty sure I saw a vending machine while I was chasing you around. You walk way too fucking fast, by the way.”

He sets off down the hall, fishing his express card out of the zipper pocket of his dress pants. You follow, catching up so that you’re walking side by side. “You keep a credit card in your pocket?”

“Debit.” He hands it to you, and you hesitantly take it. He pats himself down, rooting through his other pockets. He fishes out some paper money and unfolds it. “Hey, look, five bucks.”

The card is sleek and impossibly expensive. You grip it tightly. Even though you don’t really know how you’d lose it, you don’t think you’ll know what to do with yourself if you do. “Do they even have vending machines in places like these?”

“Yeah, ’course they do. Saw it with my own eyes, anyway. Just told you,” he replies, letting you press the card back into his hand. He turns it over in his palm absentmindedly, eyes flitting about. “They just charge triple ’cause they know nobody’s checking the price.”

You both walk together for a short while, Roman getting a bit frustrated. He tells you that he was ‘just fucking there’ before a comfortable silence stretches, him focused on finding the damn thing. You don’t have to wait too much longer. “Hey, look, there’s an entire row,” you say, pointing.

“You know it’s fuckin’ crazy ’cause these aren’t even the ones that I saw earlier,” he mutters to you. “You like spicy chips?”

“Oh, you don’t need to get me anything,” you tell him after you process what he said. He sighs, turning back to the nearest vending machine.

“Cool. You’re getting Oreos.” Roman takes the crumpled five dollar bill and tries to smooth it out against the machine’s glass. You don’t think it’s going to help. That thing looks like it’s been through hell.

He presses a few buttons and inserts the bill. The machine eats it, and the small screen above the keypad flashes the word ‘PROCESSING’ in red, blocky text. You watch as the curly thing keeping the treats in the machine unfurls, pushing the sleeve of cookies forward, before it shuts, the cookies hanging on to the gadget instead of dropping so that you could get it.

“I feel like that shouldn’t be possible,” you say quietly.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says back. He bangs on the glass, and the sleeve sways. But nothing happens. Roman glances towards you. “Is this real? Are we in one of the most expensive fucking office buildings in fucking New York where the vending machines are holding my fucking Oreos hostage?”

You shrug, then fish out your wallet. “Here, put another five in,” you suggest, offering him another five. He pushes your hand back towards you, making a face, instead inserting his card into the machine. Again, a sleeve of Oreos gets pushed out. The previous ones finally fall from their position, but get stuck on the slot immediately below it. The same thing that happened with the first one then happens with the one just bought.

“This can’t be real,” Roman says incredulously. “Help me out, will you?”

He squeezes himself in between the vending machine and the wall, somehow managing to tilt the entire thing forward. You brace your hands on the front of the thing, keeping it from tipping all the way over. Carefully, you jerk your arms up, trying to shake the cookies free. A couple of tries later, a strange smattering of THUDS sound, spotty and horribly nonrhythmic. Roman peers out at you from his little nook, eyebrows raised.

You manage to get the machine back upright so that he can shuffle back out into the hallway. As you get your first glance through the glass, it’s painfully obvious a lot of what was once in the machine is now at the bottom for you to take.

“All this for only ten bucks is pretty good if you ask me,” you say, smile playing on your lips.

“Thank fuck this company is cheap in their manufacturing,” he murmurs back, grinning. He leans his back against the machine once you both hear footsteps approaching. The young man who’d made that gross fucking one-liner. Even though you have no proof, you get the disgusting inkling he was looking for you. He slows his pace when he sees you, and you do your best to school your face into neutrality. He stops entirely, opening his mouth to say something, look of confidence plastered over his face.

“Fuck’re you looking at?” Roman snaps, arm coming to drape across your shoulders, hand going to cup your jaw. He tilts your head up, quickly crashing his lips against yours. You’re surprised, but not even the slightest bit opposed. You grin into the kiss, and you can feel Roman smirking. He pulls back only slightly, glancing sideways at the other man. “What, you into voyeurism or something? We’re having a moment, shoo.”

You can’t help but laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth to trap the noise, and you watch the guy scuttle awkwardly away. Roman’s fingers stay on your jaw, brushing gently up the expanse of your skin. Without thinking, you lean back in and deposit a peck on his lips. He returns the fleeting kiss as he can, head then following yours back when you pull away to press his lips back to yours.

The kiss is deep, tender, needy. In between kisses, he murmurs praise. “You know you’re thirty times the employee any of those dipshits ever will be, mm?” Another lingering kiss, his hands drifting to your hips to turn you towards him. “And you’re so fucking attractive. Thank fuck this is finally happening. I think my staring at work was getting creepy.”

As his fingers travel to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, you pull back enough to be able to kiss up his neck. You line kisses along the underside of his jaw, and he lets out a strangled noise. His free hand cups your hip, squeezing gently as his face flushes with pleasure.

He turns his head to take your lips with his again, sighing happily into your mouth between kisses. Your hands are now braced on his chest, and your heart flutters.

“Did it really have to take this to get us to make out?” you ask, smiling giddily, rubbing a hand over his pecs.

“Maybe, maybe not. Another few weeks without you and I probably would’ve lost it, anyway,” he admits to you. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Roman pulls away from you entirely, disentangling your limbs from each other. He stoops down to the output compartment, your previously won treasure forgotten in the heat of the moment. He pulls out a bag of chips, sitting down with his back leaning against machine. You go down and settle in next to him, sitting as close as physically possible. He tears open the bag before winding an arm around you, keeping you close, holding the bag so that it’s easily accessible to the both of you.

“What’re we going to do with the rest of it?” you ask, cheek pressed to his shoulder so you can rest your head against him.

“Planning on taking it with us.” Roman chews a bit, swallows, then dots kisses across your forehead. “Hey, wait, your Oreos.”

He twists to reach into the compartment behind him, roots around for the bit, and turns back around to hand you what got you into this mess in the first place. You tear open the sleeve, then offer a cookie to him. He pops one into his mouth, fat smile plastered on his face. You have to admit, you enjoy seeing him happy. Roman Roy’s smile does things to you. You mirror his expression as you gaze up at him.

He plants another kiss right onto your lips.

It’s a bit of a struggle to transport all of your loot to the car an hour later, but thankfully, nobody’s around as the two of you carry all of the junk across the building.

The drive back, you sit practically on top of each other, giggling and munching all the way.

Neither of you waste any time as the weeks go on. You start going out, and you find yourselves spending more time in each others’ offices.

One morning, a few months after you’ve made things official, you step out of your office to come face to face with a vending machine.

All that’re in it are bags of Oreos, and a small sticky note pasted to the glass with a sloppy heart drawn onto it.

#succession #succession hbo #succession fic #wambsgansshoelaces #succession x reader #anon ask #roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy oneshot #requests open #first kiss roman roy

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springtyme · 10 months

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𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐫 ♡

You were seven years old when you first met the Roy kids on a sunny summer day at a New England country club. You were eight that next summer when Roman, rather matter of factly, had declared the two of you best friends. Those following summers you had shared are some of the happiest memories from your childhood. But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, and you and Roman lost contact after your eighth summer. Years later, after the carefree summers with your old childhood friend has become nothing but memories, Roman Roy comes crashing back into your life.

Roman Roy x f!reader || Series playlist || Main masterlist

Chapter 1 Chemtrails Over The Country Club coming soon

Chapter 2 I Am The Greatest Motherfucker That You’re Ever Gonna Meet

More chapters to come

#roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy x f!reader #roman roy fanfiction #roman roy fic #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession fic #roman roy fluff #roman roy angst #succession fandom #roman roy x y/n #succession x reader #springtyme writes #a heart is a heavy burden to bear

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starsandsugars · 11 months

Text

Burning Desire

PAIRINGS: shiv roy/f!reader

SUMMARY: you had hoped that working on a work assignment with shiv might make her open up to you. Instead it lead to you 'opening up' in an entirely different way. (NSFW • MINORS DNI)

TAGS: coworkers hooking up, degredation, praise, office crushes, cheating (if you squint)

NOTES: hi guys :) this is my first fic I'm posting on tumblr and my first piece of smut so please be nice and I hope y'all like it!

Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt Shiv's hand press firmer against your mouth, forcing you to keep quiet even as she continued to pump her fingers into you at that ruthless pace. Each stroke of her fingertips hit that perfect spot inside you, drawing out animalistic sounds that were just barely concealed by her. Every little touch made you feel electric, every inch of your body practically vibrating from the pleasure.

As your head tilted back and knocked back against the door, you thank whatever God there was for putting you in this situation.

You had seen Shioban Roy countless times around the Waystar offices, normally in some meeting or getting into an argument with her siblings that half the staff had to witness.

You knew very little about her initially other than what was public knowledge. You had no reason to pay her any mind, but you always felt your eyes drawn to her anyway.

At first you reasoned it was because of the effortless way she commanded the room or the fact that, as Gerri's second in command, she was kind of your bosses boss but as your curiosity began to change shape it became harder and harder to deny.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from her if she walked by your desk, the simple twirl of her hips enough to take your breath away. When she leaned over her desk to talk to you, you just about lost your ability to think clearly. And the one time you saw her kiss her husband in the lobby it filled you with a feeling you refuse to admit even to yourself.

It was ridiculous, and beyond irresponsible.

For one, she was your boss. If that wasn't enough she was married - to the head of news at the company that you work for no less!

You did your best to convince yourself that it was just an office crush. She was a beautiful woman with a touch of power that turned you on more than you wanted to admit. That was surely all it was.

Or it least, that was all it had been, until you got assigned to work on an agreement that Shiv, as President of Operations was hwading. t really wasn't an overly complicated assignment, which is why Gerri handed it over to you, and you expected to be done with it in a couple of days.

As it turns out, that was far from the case. The other company refused to sign, and what could have been a couple meetings turned into long days and nights cooped up in Shiv's office hunched over paperwork.

Your silly crush hadn't gotten away, and had gotten even harder to manage. Now you were close enough to smell her expensive perfume, close enough to hear the edge her voice took when she was telling you to do something.

You tried to push it down, smother it, but the flame only grew brighter with each day you spent together.

Finally, after a million emails and a formally worded threat of litigation, the smaller tech company signed the contract and became a part of the growing monolith that was Waystar Royco.

You had never seen Shiv happier, practically beaming as she went immediately to gloat to her father. You took your things and disappeared back to your own office, expecting that would be the end of your Shiv Roy saga.

You were a little sad to see it end, but you're sure your vibrator will thank you for a break now that you won't have to constantly be so close to her so you prepare yourself to just move on.

You should have known things with her could never be that simple.

Just as you began to catch up with your other work you've been neglecting to help her she pops her head into your office.

"Come out with me to celebrate our win." She says without so much as a 'hello', "Drinks on me."

It wasn't a request so much as a command, but you found yourself agreeing anyway.

With that she turned on her heels, leaving you with a fluttering feeling in your stomach.

You were distracted the rest of the day wondering what she was up to. Did she really just want to celebrate? What was her game here? You knew the Roys well enough to know they never did anything without an agenda.

By the time she came to get you from your office at the end of the day you were all but convinced she was going to fire you. You went with her anyway, heart thumping in your chest as the two of you sat quietly in her private car.

She had her driver take you two to a high end bar that seemed to be pretending to be a dive bar. It was busy, with warm bodies and loud music everywhere. It could almost pass for a normal bar if it weren't for the suits all around and the fact that one of their drinks rang up for twice as much as your hourly wage.

She (thankfully) bought you your drink and turned to gave you fully once you had both settled into a leather booth.

It started off perfectly innocently, talking about you success with the deal and your future at Waystar. Your anxiety began to melt as you realized she really wasn't firing you. In fact, she seemed like she genuinely wanted to talk to you.

You talked your way through another 2 drinks each, both of you slowly opening up to each other. You told her about how much Gerri gets on your case and she tells you about her open relationship with Tom.

She drops it into the conversation casually but the way she blinks her eyes gives her away. She knows exactly what she's doing.

"I mean, I don't control what he does. Why would I let him control me?" She leans a little closer, and the finger tracing the rim of her drink turned into a heavy hand on your thigh.

Her voice lowers as she continues, sending shivers down your spine.

"I sleep with whoever I want. Whenever I want."

Your voice choked up a little as you responded, voice sticking in your throat from the sheer shock of it all.

"Yeah, me too." You manage, drawing a laugh from the redhead.

"Oh yeah?" She teases, eyes twinkling as she whispers into your ear.

"Why don't you come show me?"

Before you can even begin to think better of it her ingers splayed are across your back and she's guiding you to the back of the bar.

She opens a door knowingly and you realize she had planned this. If she had to have an angle, you were glad it was this one.

Once the two of you were inside she pressed you back against the door. The cold metal pulled a shiver from you, but the second her lips were on yours it's like every other sensation melted away. She kissed you like she wanted to consume you and you would be more than happy to let her.

As if reading your thoughts she bit your lip, pulling a little yelp out of her. She grinned and moved her lips against your neck as her hands slid up under your dress. You preened under her touch, breathy moans escaping you despite yourself.

It took only a moment for your panties to be tugged down your legs but she paused before actually touching you. You tired rolling your hips but all she did was brush your clit all too softly.

"Shiv, please." You begged, tapping into the want for submission she so clearly had in her normal life. The tendency clearly extends to sex because as soon as you give her what she wants she finally pushed her fingers into you.

She was clearly skilled with her fingers and she worked you up in no time. You moaned loudly, and she gripped your chin to warn you.

"Be. Quiet."

When you couldn't comply she shoved her hand over your mouth, gripping your cheeks to keep it in place. When you whimpered enough to be heard through her attempted gag she crowded you further against the wall.

"Shut up."

She spoke into your ear, equal parts threat and promise.

"Unless you want us to get caught. Maybe you'd like that. Maybe you want everyone to see what you let me do to you in this bathroom."

She strikes just the right spot inside of you and your thighs begin to quake, fingers clutching desperately to her shoulders. You know you should try to maintain some level of basic self respect but when she looks at you with those hungry eyes you just can't find it in yourself to care.

"God you're such a slut." She says, sounding pleasantly surprised. The words send sparks down your spine and you feel yourself tumble over the edge.

Your mind is hazy and your legs shake so badly she has to use her thigh to prop you up.

Once you had calmed down enough to do something that resembled normal breathing she let you go, smiling like she's just won some kind of contest.

"Good girl. I knew you had it in you." She says, and it's a struggle not to let the praise go straight to your head.

She starts to check her reflection in the mirror over the sink as you stay against the door, trying to make your brain work properly again.

Eventually you come to your senses enough to straighten up and try to appear half as nonchalant as she is.

You approach her, leaning against the sink as you watch her fix her hair.

"You're not going to let me return the favor?" You ask with a tone od faux innocence, trying to talk as if it were about a business deal instead of the most mind blowing orgasm of your life.

"Oh trust me, you're going to." She grins at you in the mirror. "But we're not doing this again in the bathroom. We're going back to my apartment."

She strides right out of the bathroom, knowing you were going to follow her without you having to say a word.

She's not wrong, and you chase after her before you even have the time to realize your panties are still discarded on the bathroom floor.

#shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #succesion #smut #succession smut #shiv roy smut #wlw smut #succession fic #tom wambsgans #kendall roy #roman roy

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Text

Clandestine.

You and Stewy know it’s wrong. So why, pray tell, does it feel so right?

Part Two. Part Three.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x female Roy reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, allusions to sexual content

Word Count - 1.5k

Author's Note - in honour of stewy's beautiful appearance in episode 2, please enjoy this!! hoping and praying we get to see a hell of a lot more of him this season <3

Series Masterlist.

Masterlist. Requests.

You’re bored.

To the outside eye, life as a Roy is a dream. Money, cars, designer clothes, big fancy galas filled to the brim with millionaires. It sounds ideal.

It isn’t. Between family drama, backstabbing and betrayal, and directionless small talk, being the youngest Roy sibling is a stifling job. But someone has to do it. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Tonight, you find yourself at another Waystar Royco charity gala. The ballroom downtown sparkles with diamonds, champagne flowing and expensive perfume overwhelming. It’s another mandatory job on your list. Attend, smile, wave, make polite conversation, rinse rich men for their money and leave. Simple.

Or so you thought.

You arrived with Roman and Kendall, the both of them immediately separating and making their way to friends and business partners, leaving you stood alone. Fingertips brush the skin of your back that’s exposed by your dress, sending a shiver down your spine.

You smell him before he enters your eyeline. He smells like vanilla and sandalwood. He smells expensive. Not the faux, gawdy expensive like most men in the room, but genuinely luxurious. His cologne makes you dizzy. You reach out and hold onto the edge of the table in front of you before you lose your balance.

You feel him before you turn around. He’s warm, and broad, and the crisp white material of his dress shirt is pressing into you. You gasp quietly at his boldness, praying that no one sees the youngest Roy so close to a sworn enemy.

Stewy Hosseini.

Kendall’s third oldest friend. Both a rival and an asset to your family. One of the biggest assholes in New York City.

The man you’re hopelessly in love with.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You honestly hadn’t meant for it to go this far.

Originally, it was sex. Brilliant, mind blowing, earth shattering sex.

Until it wasn’t.

Now, it’s late night phone calls and clandestine meetings and holding hands and apartment hunting and kisses on the forehead. Now, it’s real. It’s become something undeniable.

They’d kill you if they knew.

They’d murder you both. You’d be shunned. Stewy would be dropped and cut from Waystar Royco like he never meant anything in the first place. Your inheritance would be taken away, all Roy privileges revoked.

Basically, it’d be hell. So why do you keep finding yourself considering it?

You’ve never been loved like this. So total, so complete, so all consuming. So unconditional. It’s no secret that the Roy siblings are strangers to love. But not anymore.

Now, you know love. You wake up to love and kiss him on the small patch of skin on his cheek where his beard won’t grow. You dance with love in the kitchen, allowing him to spin you around in your socks, catching you when you slip. You see love across the boardroom, communicating with him silently, having full conversations with just your eyes.

They can deny it all they want, but you know the truth. This is what love is supposed to be. They’re scared of it because it’s unfamiliar. It isn’t material. They’re terrified of love because they can’t touch it, or mould it, or manipulate it. They’re petrified.

You ran into love headfirst, unwittingly. Would you have slept with Stewy that night, well over a year ago, if you’d have known this is how it’d turn out? You’re not sure, honestly. But all you know is that no matter what they say when they inevitably find out, none of it matters. Love is real. And it is astounding.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“You with me, sweetheart?” he murmurs into your ear, warm breath raising the hairs on your neck.

“Yeah, baby,” you mutter back, attempting to keep a neutral expression on your face. “I’m here.”

“Where did you go, huh?”

His fingers journey down, brushing over your ass. He gives it a squeeze before stroking it up your hip, resting his hand on your waist.

“Just daydreaming,” you reply.

“About what?” he asks teasingly, caressing your skin in gentle motions. Back, forth. Back, forth. He’s making it hard to concentrate.

“You,” you whisper quietly. He hears you loud and clear. “Always you.”

He wants to kiss you. God, he wants to kiss you. He wants to grab your face and smash his lips to yours, consequences be damned. He wants to pick you up and twirl you around and scream “look at the woman I love!”.

Instead, his fingers tighten on your waist. He looks around carefully before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to the spot just below your ear. Then, he moves to stand in front of you. To anyone else, it looks like two old friends having a conversation.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful in that dress,” he tells you, his voice laced with sincerity and admiration. His eyes are raking up and down your frame. The heat of his gaze is making you warm.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Hosseini,” you tease. That’s an understatement. His suit fits him like a glove, perfectly tailored to all of his curves. It’s all crisp edges and careful lines. He’s wearing the cufflinks you got him for his birthday, the ones engraved with the both of your initials. The letters are small, tucked away on the underside. No one knows they’re there – your little secret.

Stewy winks at you and goes to take a step forward, but a hand on his arm stops him. A gorgeous woman with flowing brown hair and a silk gown appears at his side, smiling at you politely before turning to him.

“There’s a couple of guys over there asking where you are. They want to talk about the Williams deal.”

He gives you a look drenched in apology before allowing himself to be dragged away. He takes all of the warmth with him, leaving you stood in the ballroom, cold and alone.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You knew he was bringing a date. It’d been a point of discussion the night before.

“We have to keep up appearances, Stewy. It makes sense. I know it doesn’t mean anything, okay. I’m not worried,” you reassure him, carding your hands through his hair. He’s lying with his head in your lap on his couch, eyes closed and brows scrunched. You smooth your thumb over the crease in his forehead, before kissing the spot gently.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he sighs defeatedly. The idea of having some random supermodel on his arm at the gala is killing him. What he wouldn’t do for it to be you.

“It’s only one night, baby,” you soothe gently. “I’ll come back here afterwards. It’ll be a couple of hours at most. You know people are going to talk if Stewy Hosseini, the most eligible bachelor of New York, turns up without a date.”

He chuckles heartily, and the vibrations settle in your bones.

“One night,” he agrees. “Just one night.”

With that, he sits up, cradling your face in his hands. He kisses you softly, carefully. He’s so tender with you. No one else in the world gets to see him like this. No one else gets to see him vulnerable. He likes it that way. You do too.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

There’s a pull between you and Stewy. It’s like a magnetic force, dragging you together no matter where you are, or what you’re doing. You feel it in the monotonous board meetings. You feel it at the family events he’s reluctantly invited to by Kendall. You feel it now, as you float around the ballroom, praying for the night to be over.

You allow your mind to drift away, dreaming of what awaits you later tonight. You can picture it perfectly. You and Stewy, curled up in bed, his penthouse bedroom illuminated by candlelight. Glasses of wine discarded on the night stand, sheets thrown across the mattress, legs tangled together. Skin pressed to skin, warmth seeping into your bones. Gentle melodies filling the room, the man underneath you humming softly into your ear. This is heaven, you’ll think. Bury us like this, please.

You can feel when his eyes are on you. Heat prickles over your skin, goosebumps rising. It’s become like a sixth sense, this silent communication between you. You catch his gaze and wink, and you swear you see him blush slightly. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and nods in the direction of the door. You get the hint, and follow him, trailingly behind subtly.

You reach the hallway and look around, but Stewy is nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, you feel a warm grip grab your hips, pressing you into the wall.

“Been waiting to get my hands on you all night,” he murmurs into your ear lowly.

He’s trailing his fingers up and down your sides. You can feel him, hot and hard behind you, groaning as he bites at your throat. He kisses the hinge of your jaw, and then your cheek. It’s forbidden and it’s sexy and it’s so gentle it makes your knees wobble.

“Come home with me,” he begs. “Let’s blow this off and get out of here.”

The offer is tempting. So, so tempting. But you know people would put the pieces together. Stewy leaves, you leave… suspicions arise. As easy as it would be to just say fuck it and tell everyone, you want to keep this a secret for a little longer. You want to stay in this little bubble of warmth and love and trust a little longer. You want to stay happy a little longer.

“We can’t,” you whine. “They’ll notice.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he replies. “You shouldn’t either.”

You want to disagree, but the way he’s moved his hand to sit at your throat while pressing himself into you is making it hard to think.

“Live a little, baby,” he teases, nipping at your ear.

“Fine! Fuck, fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

He grabs your hand, giddy smile etched on his face. He’s practically running with you to his car, dress flowing in the breeze behind you, heels clacking against the marble floors. You tumble into the backseats, his lips pressed to yours as you make your way home. Home.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your eyes blink open, sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. You’re resting comfortably on Stewy’s chest, both of his strong arms wrapped around you. You yawn sleepily, wondering what’s awoken you.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Oh. That. You check the clock on the nightstand, realising that it’s only 7am. On a Saturday. Who’s knocking on the door at 7am on a Saturday morning?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Fuck, is the noise getting louder? You nudge Stewy carefully, waking him.

“There’s someone banging on your door,” you whisper.

He groans and untangles his legs from yours. He throws on a pair of boxers, and moves to investigate the source of the knocking. You listen intently, curious to know who’s trying to gain Stewy’s attention so determinedly.

The door swings open.

“Ken?” Stewy questions, and you can almost hear the fear in his voice.

“Hey, man. Where the fuck is my sister?”

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jaebeomsbitch · 11 months

Text

All I Want Is You (R.R.)

Summary: Roman learning to heal through the pain and eventually realizing he’s capable of so much more than just being a Roy. He learns to love and laugh and eventually gets married!

Warning: Mentions of Logan's death, Roman's insecurity, and one mentions of his eating disorder. GN! Reader except literally one line just hinting.

A/N: I had this idea of calling Roman "Roro" and it turned into this. I just love him so much, he deserves the world.

Nicknames had been spilling from your mouth all day, you loved to annoy Roman. Calling him any and everything, “Pookie, honey, Romey bear,” especially in front of board members. You loved to rile him up, he’d sometimes lash out but for the most part he’d play it up. Following you around calling you equally embarrassing nicknames, it had become a game of sorts. Trying to see who could embarrass the other worse.

You’d have a sickening display of affection as you feed him an hors d’oeuvre at some company party. Whispering how “sweet your love bug was for you,” Gerri would clear her throat asking to pull Roman aside. They’d talk in hushed tones as he sighs and comes back to you. Muttering a half-assed apology but he has something urgent to take care of. You usher him away, knowing he’s here on business and not to entertain you even though he promised you’d have his undivided attention.

You muck around taking a champagne glass joining Willa and Connor in a conversation about cryogenics. You pretend you’re interested, nodding your head as you tip your head back gulping the alcohol. It was going to be a long night.

You drink a couple more glasses before leaving them, walking toward a window to watch the view. You couldn’t even remember where you were. Roman had told you to pack a bag and an hour later you were shoved into a private plane. He was too busy talking logistics to inform you of where you were going or what you were doing.

Cousin Greg tries to make conversation, asking some absurd question you’d probably see in a “how to make friends” blog. You relent because watching Greg squirm is entertaining. You answer asking him an equally absurd question, watching as he juggles the question in his head as he stumbles over his words. Your gaze unlike most people doesn’t move from his face, you like the way it makes people nervous. He gives you a non-answer mostly just stuttering noises as his eyes dart around the room for an escape. His eyes landed on Tom before excusing himself.

You can’t help but chuckle, Roman walks up to you. What the fuck was that all about? Was Greg trying to put the moves on you? He laughs but a piece of himself feels uneasy. He never likes the feeling of falling which is why he never allows himself to feel it. He’s always surrounded himself with faux relationships, ones he could pull around the room as arm candy to appease his father. Not that he was ever happy with Roman’s endeavors or conquests.

But you were different. You had this ability to pull him apart like a lobster at dinner. You broke him limb from limb, throwing the pieces of shell in the garbage as you exposed the soft tender meat of his heart. He’s panicked, panicked that you can be ripped away from his hands like his favorite toy. Panicked that he’ll have to watch his dad stomp on the piece of plastic destroying you into a million little pieces. He doesn’t think he’d recover if you left so he stays cowering in the back of his cage.

Slowly you unravel Roman, even when he asks stupid questions. You let him win on most occasions, you want seafood for dinner but he wants steak? Steak it is. Something about being with you is everything he’s ever wanted and not just because you let him win. You made him feel something he’d never was allowed to.

His father never had high hopes for Roman’s partner. However he didn’t feel any particular way about you. Didn’t say some mean comment, didn’t embarrass you in private, he watches you with a scrutinizing gaze but you don’t buckle. You had nothing to hide because to the Roys you were just another fling.

To Roman however you were everything. You were the reason he wanted to wake up in the morning, you were the reason he stopped counting calories as he joined you in a midnight ice cream snack. Laughing as he smears ice cream across your face because you called him your “precious little prince.” He tells you to fuck off, rolling his eyes as his ears turn red. Blood rushing up his face at all your praises. He was so unused to it, unused to the feeling of someone being proud of him.

You were never shy with Roman, always showing him off. Calling him your trophy husband as you twirl him around. Slapping his ass on the airplane, joking that his was better than yours.You show him off with pride to your parents, after you’d mentioned they were at the same restaurant as you were. He noticed their judging gazes, recognizing his face from the newspaper but you beamed. Holding his hand tight, teeth on full display as you press yourself into him, cheek resting on his shoulder as your parents say something you’re not paying attention to.

Roman doesn’t know how to act, he’d never made it to this stage. Most people weren’t willing to accept someone with sexual trauma, always leaving him because he was too emotionally scarred. They’d always give him the line that they weren’t fulfilled but you were always willing to wait. So he nods, cracking an occasional joke until you’re waving goodbye on the sidewalk and you follow him into the Escalade.

You help him through the after effects of a panic attack. He’d never done that, never really cared what people thought of him unless he could benefit in some way. So teary eyes, that he tries to pretend is caused by the window cracked open, he asks how that was. He looks away afraid of what you might say, afraid that you might end it right there because your parents hate him.

“Roro, I could give a flying fuck what they think. All I want is you, okay?” You try to reassure, reaching for his hand. He blinks away the tears, silently nodding. Someone wanted him? Even when he’s wholly broken, even when he can’t fulfill every boyfriend duty, even when he has to abandon you at boring parties? He’s afraid of the feeling in his chest, it feels like he just jumped off the balcony of his penthouse, free falling, waiting to hit the ground. He shoves away the feeling of doubt and plays those words over and over again in his head, a small smile forming as he stares at the city passing by.

He lets himself grow attached to the silly nicknames, attached to the feel of your skin under his hand, the feeling of his fingers running through your hair, the way you massage his scalp, the way you hold him in bed. Your sleepy eyes blinking at him as you whisper a new nickname before cuddling into his chest.

He liked the domesticity of you in his apartment, he’d usually feel disgusted only ever liking the feeling of being alone. But somewhere he grows accustomed to the way you leave your shoes at the entrance, seeing your toothbrush next to his, and even though he complains, the way you take half of his closet. He liked seeing your clothes together, promising he’d either upgrade the closet to fit both your needs fully or buy a new penthouse. He wanted you to have a say in the building, he was ready to let go of his “bachelor” pad, wanting you in every trace of the new home. Wanting you to be in the fiber of the new apartment so even if you left he could never forget what you shared.

Soon enough the Roys lump you in with Roman like you’d always belonged. You were practically married without the certificate, Logan would give Roman shit about it. Telling him you were a fine piece of ass and that he should lock you down before you realized the mistake you made.

In all of Roman’s sureness the doubt creeps in but you’re there through his fathers death. You’re there to console him and let him cry. You let him be vulnerable in a way he was never allowed, never judging, just reassuring. You’re there when Gojo buys Waystar. You’re there to enjoy him even when he’s lost. When he realizes that all his sacrifices were for nothing and that his entire being was bullshit.

“But you’re not bullshit to me,” you whisper. Forehead leaning on his back as you hug his abdomen. He lets himself be held, no quip on his lips as he leans into your hold.

“Roman… it’s just you and me forever and always,” you finalize. You knew in your heart it was always Roman. You were two broken puzzle pieces that somehow fit together and in your brokenness you made each other better. In your time together he transformed into the phoenix you knew he was. He opened his eyes to the abuse he endured and refused to continue the cycle.

You spent almost a year on a self healing journey, traveling the world together now that he had stopped nipping at your hand. He let you pull him out of the cage and he was free, completely free. He was fearless to love, you both relished in your time together even though his smart mouth got ahead of him sometimes. You find ways to be intimate figuring each other out. You live in the ups and downs of the relationship. Realizing that he never needed to be in a loveless marriage like his parents.

He proposes unsurprisingly to everyone. The Roys finally have something to look forward to in the life of mundane nothingness. They Pat him on the back for ‘finally not being an idiot and making the right decision.’ He surprisingly offers to take your name, says he’s ready to shed the Roy name and try out a new skin. Kendall calls him a cuck for even suggesting it, that was his legacy after all. They might not have the company but they’d always have the name and blood. You knew Roman wasn’t serious, knew that calling you a Roy would elate his little heart so you deny him.

The word fiancé is always at the tip of his tongue, he loves the word. Loves that he’s finally able to say it. When you become his wife he becomes unbearable but you’re the same. Going to restaurants and talking about the “ole ball and chain” making him late when in fact, it was him fixing his hair that made you late. Nonetheless you whip your hand around showing off your wedding ring set at everyone that glances at you, holding your head high as you walk with him. Roman was yours and you were his and somewhere you forgot where he ends and you begin.

—side story—

You notice the way his eyes light up when you call him ‘Roro’ because no one has ever called him that, so it was special to you. Also because he remembers the day in the Escalade when you didn’t outright but basically admitted your love for him. His siblings take to jokingly calling you Scooby Doo because he was

“Roro Roy” to you. It starts after you ask him to pass the salt, “Roro, pass me that please.” The Roy siblings turn to look at you and Roman. They were used to your nickname antics, sometimes jumping in with their nasty names but this was new. Seeing Roman beat red as you kiss his temple, unaware of Shiv and Kendall’s knowing smiles. Connor looking at Roman with a small smile before turning back to Willa.

“Roro raggy, Roro shit the bed” Kendall would joke in a fake accent, that just sounds horrible. The table laughs, including you.

Roman quips back something stupid but you were happy. Happy that you had a nickname and that you were a part of their lives. That Roman gets to be an uncle to Shiv’s little boy.

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saint-boudica · 13 days

Text

oc = original character

reader = where the reader aka YOU are the main character

your fic shouldn’t be tagged [character name] x reader when it’s CLEARLY an oc

please, i beg start tagging your fics correctly

#fic writing #farleigh x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #jordan li x reader #kendall roy x reader #roman roy x reader #tom bennet x reader #joel miller x you #roman roy x you #succession fic #saltburn #succession #kendall roy #roman roy #saltburn fic

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miistymemorii · 11 months

Text

Rock The Boat

pariring: shiv roy x fem!reader

summary: You and Shiv find yourself getting to know each other a little better when the two of you are accidentally stranded at sea.

rating: 18+ (smut smut SMUT, no minors!!!!)

wordcount: 2k

A/N : to say i am a placemat for shiv roy (and sarah snook) to stomp all over is an understatement. happy pride bitches. please enjoy.

It was a beautiful moment. You were perched at the very front of the boat, the soft waves causing the ocean spray to sprinkle your skin, the sun beating down on you as you closed your eyes and took in the sound of the water against the boat. Your hair was down, your shoes off, and for once in your career, you found yourself able to relax.

You had been less than enthusiastic when your boss, Shiv Roy, had told you on very short notice that you were to accompany her in Italy for some business meetings with her family. You were a new hire, and you had not had the pleasure of meeting the rest of Shiv's infamous family. To say you were dreading it was an understatement. Shiv had surprised you, though. She wasn't making you do any real work, instead just allowing you to follow her around like an obedient lapdog, letting you take advantage of the fine cuisine and drinks that were being offered.

You had been the one to suggest the boat ride. You and Shiv had gone to dinner with her family, and the entire time you could see the subtle shifts in her demeanor as her father and brothers refused to take her seriously. You figured she deserved a break from her family, so you coaxed her onto a small boat that you had made sure was loaded with her favorite foods and booze.

You heard Shiv clearing her throat behind you, so you opened your eyes and swiveled, smiling at her. She had her usual smirk on her face, but her eyes were softer than usual. She was cautious about enjoying herself, clearly, but you could tell she was trying. "So, do you do sneaky shit like this for all of your bosses, or am I just special?" Shiv teased, sitting down on the seat across from you.

You gave her a small smile, shaking your head. "No, most of my other bosses were pretty insufferable."

Shiv looked away, pretending to focus on the waves. She took a beat, then said, "You don't think I'm insufferable, then, nice to know." She let out a humorless laugh then added, "I think you might be the only one, actually."

Sure, Shiv could be a bitch. You had seen her get cold and snippy with her family and even her husband, but you had also seen her the way she beat herself up, the emotional toll she was taking on herself as someone who had been clearly resorted to bitterness.

There was a lapse of silence, your eyes on her as she kept her gaze on the waves. Shiv finally turned her gaze to you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You know, it would be a shame if we let all that booze go to waste."

You pretended to feign shock. "Should we really be drinking if we're operating a small nautical vessel, Shiv?"

Shiv let out a short laugh and stood up. "Please, y/n. I can operate this boat drunk better than Rome and Ken can sober. C'mon, show me where you stashed them."

You giggled and hopped up, leading her to the small cooler filled with various cans of alcoholic beverages. You pulled out two cans and held out one to Shiv, who looked at it in your hand then laughed. You realized she was used to finer liquor, of course, but she eventually took the can out of your hands and opened it.

"Sorry, I didn't think to bring anything nice-"

She was already downing it, and your mouth hung open slightly in shock. You had seen her drink before, but it was all sipping the priciest drinks from the daintiest glasses. Now, she was greedily drinking from a can of cheap beer, and she looked so... normal. You opened your own can and started sipping, figuring one of you should be more sober if you wanted to get back to shore. Shiv reached down and scooped up some more cans, then wordlessly made her way back to the seated area at the front of the boat.

You went to resume your seat across from her, but Shiv grabbed your wrist and gently tugged you into the seat next to her. You watched with wide eyes as she set off on another can, a few droplets of beer dripping past her lips and running down her chin. Down to her breasts, which were sitting quite nicely in her bathing suit. You looked down at your can, praying the heat in your body wasn't visible to Shiv.

"You know, you're kind of my best friend, y/n." Shiv remarked. You hummed in appreciative agreement, still not able to look her in the eyes. You could tell she was looking at you, which made your blood run even hotter. Shiv gently nudged her shoulder against yours, forcing you to look at her. She had a look on her face, one you had only seen on her brother, Roman, when he was looking at their coworker Gerri. It was the softness in the eyes that comes from being vulnerable, something you knew Shiv wasn't used to being. Shiv continued, "I mean, I can't think of anyone else who would've done something nice like this for me. Maybe Tom, but..." She sighed then switched took another sip from her drink. "Why did you do this, anyways? What's the end game?"

You raised an eyebrow at her. "End game?"

Shiv scoffed, and your heart broke a little as you realized she still didn't completely trust you. What really hurt was that you were fine with it, because she had been betrayed by so many people before. "I mean, you want to take time off? Paid vacation? A raise? You know I already pay you a fuck ton more than anyone else would reasonably pay an assistant-"

You gently put your hand on her shoulder, frowning. "Shiv, no, it's not like that. You seemed stressed, that's all. I wanted to help."

Shiv set her can in the cupholder next to her and crossed her arms, studying you. "You're telling me you did this just... out of the kindness of your little 'ol heart?" When you nodded, she added quietly, "Aren't you a sweetheart?"

You shrugged. "I just know that when my family pisses me off, I like to do something fun and try forget about it. For your family... well, I thought booze would be the best remedy."

Shiv let out a giggle, a genuine giggle, which made your slightly booze-tainted self giggle as well. You nudged her shoulder and added jokingly, "I mean... if you want to give me a raise-"

"Oh, fuck you!" Shiv laughed, reaching over and flicking your nose. The gesture was so small and childish, but the feeling of her touch just barely against your skin lingered. You were sure you were going to burst into flames.

Shiv often asked you questions, mundane ones about the life of a "normal person", as she called you. The two of you continued to drink and talk, Shiv becoming more comfortable as the sunlight burned away. "So much for swimming," you thought, but you didn't mind. Spending time with Shiv was enough for you.

The sun was beginning to set, more time having passed than you had realized. You cleared your throat, wanting to be the reasonable one. "Well, we should probably sail back. We've gotta pack and get on the plane by 8 a.m., and I know how grumpy you get when you don't get enough sleep."

You stood to leave, but Shiv grabbed your wrist, tugging it gently. "No, please stay! I can sleep on the plane."

You shook yourself out of her grasp and Shiv pouted, making you giggle. You shook your head with a grin as you made your way over to the steering wheel, watching Shiv for a moment as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, a small smile on her face. You turned the key to start the boat back up... but nothing. You frowned a little then tried again, but the boat only offered a weak sputter in return. "Uh... Shiv?"

She was still in a blissful state, soaking in the remaining sunrays. "Hmm?"

You were a little drunk, which made you panic even more. "I don't think the boat will start." You said quietly.

Shiv opened her eyes, her head lolling as she looked at you. "What was that?"

You tried to start the boat again, but the sputtering sound was even louder. Shit. "The, uh... the boat won't start."

Shiv sighed, then shakily got to her feet. She giggled at her own wobbliness, but still made her way over to you. She put her hand on your shoulder for stability, so close next to you that you could smell her expensive perfume and feel her boozy breath on your neck. She reached around you, fiddling with the wheel. "Oh my gosh, y/n, what did you do to the boat?" Shiv teased.

You turned your head and Shiv was right there. You held your breath, trying to get yourself together. You wanted to look away, but you couldn't tear yourself from her gaze. Her eyebrows furrowed a little but you couldn't decipher her expression. Her eyes flittered down to your lips, and you abandoned all your morals and gently pressed your lips to hers.

Your lips lingered against hers for a moment, but something in you snapped you back to reality, and you were the first to pull away.

"Shiv, I'm so-"

"Just-" Shiv held up a finger, a smirk on her lips. "Just kiss me again."

Shiv leaned in to kiss you, but you stopped her by gently pushing her shoulder back. "Shiv, we can't. You're married, and Tom-"

"Fuck Tom, I'll divorce him when we get back to land, whatever." Your eyes widened at her statement, but she shook her head. "I won't but... I don't feel anything for him. Nothing that's real, anyways. But you..." She sighed. Shiv looked down, a mischievous smirk forming on her face. "You're real, and what I feel is real. So just... can you kiss me, please?" She gently took your hands in hers, her thumb tracing over your finger. You shivered, which made her look you in the eyes again. She leaned in and softly pressed her lips to yours, and you couldn't resist. Shiv's fingers were instantly in your hair, holding you in place as your lips moved in sync. No-one had ever kissed you like this before, so passionately but not aggressively. There was feeling behind it, overwhelming you in the best way possible. The taste of her in your mouth was addicting, and you prayed it would linger after this whole affair was done. Your lungs were screaming for you to pull away for a breath, but Shiv removed her lips from yours and attached them to your neck, the hand in your hair tugging back slightly, exposing her ravenous mouth to your neck. Your hands shot behind you to grip the control panel, your knees buckling as Shiv suckled gently into your skin.

Shiv's lips left your skin with a small 'pop', her eyes studying you. Your chest was heaving, desperate to her feel her against you again. You felt pathetic, how badly you wanted more, but you wouldn't dare say it out loud.

Shiv spun the two of you around, landing you in the chair next to the steering wheel. Her hands were on the armrests, her lips diving into yours once again. The angle was a little awkward, but you figured Shiv would be the one in charge, so you were happy to let her do whatever she wanted with you. When Shiv's lips left yours again, you couldn't help the whine that came out, which she laughed at. Your cheeks burned as you felt embarrassed, but her hands moved to your thighs, which let you know she wasn't making fun of you. Shiv kept her eyes on yours as she slowly sunk to her knees, her hands moving up your thighs to the band of your bathing suit bottoms. You shameless lifted your legs slightly, her hands moving in sync to remove your bottoms. The sun had gone down, the air a little chilly, and you shivered again, goosebumps blossoming on your skin.

Shiv used her hands to let your legs be open to her, totally exposed. She bit her lip slightly before saying, "You know, consider this a thank you for the boat ride."

Before you could reply, her mouth was on you. She began at your thighs, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses against your soft skin. You squirmed and you could feel her lips smiling into your skin. She gave you the smallest of licks, her eyes flickering up to yours as you let out a whine at the contact. Your head dropped back in pleasure as she started to suckle on your clit, but you could feel her eyes on you. Shiv moaned against your clit, the vibrations like lightening up your spine. Shiv detached from your clit, and you looked down at her, slightly confused, but she straightened a little and held her hand up, her fingers tracing your lips. You weren't even thinking as you poked your tongue out against her fingers, taking them into your mouth. Shiv smirked and drove her fingers a little deeper, letting the wetness of your mouth soak her fingers. She hummed in contentment and pulled her fingers out, tilting her head up to kiss you on the lips before whispering, "So obedient, as usual."

You were a loss for words, but it didn't matter because her mouth was back on you in an instant, one of her fingers slowly entering you. You gasped and reached out to grab her hair on instinct, tugging slightly which made her moan loudly against you. You became lost in her, the sound of her moans, the feeling of her as she entered another finger into you, her fingers curling up in the most delicious way. Your legs begin to shake as you drowned in the feeling of her, calling to Shiv softly in between whines and moans. You could feel your release building, Shiv's hand speeding up as she watched you try not to unfold against her fingers. She didn't dare speak, but everything she wanted to say you could see in her hungry eyes. The thought of her stopping just to tease you briefly crossed you mind, but it was washed away by the feeling of your orgasm as you clenched down on her fingers. Her tongue lapped at you greedily as she tried to taste every drop of your release. You loudly moaned her name and gripped her hair, abandoning any shame you had left in your body.

Your chest was heaving, your body on fire, your hair sticky to your forehead as you opened your eyes and relaxed your body, looking down at Shiv. She was still kneeling below you, her fingertips making their way out of her mouth as she licked her bottom lip. She gave you a small smile before pressing a gently kiss your inner thigh. "That was pretty fucking amazing."

You blushed, bending forward to kiss her on the cheek. "Oh please, I didn't even do anything." You replied bashfully against her skin.

Shiv delicately shimmied your bathing suit bottoms back up your legs, helping you fix yourself up. "It doesn't matter, y/n, I really, really enjoyed doing that."

The two of you spent a moment in bliss, standing up and kissing each other softly on the lips. The moment was interrupted as you suddenly remembered the predicament with the boat. You pulled back from her lips and pressed your forehead against hers, sighing. "We need to call someone to come get us." You reminded her softly.

Shiv closed her eyes and hummed in agreeance, but her hands were still on your waist, her fingers tracing small patterns into your side. "Didn't you bring a little shirt or whatever to wear in case you got cold?"

"Yeah, I did-"

"Good, you'll need it." Shiv opened her eyes and leaned in impossibly closer to you, her lips so tempting as they just barely moved against yours as she said, "Make that phone call."

Her head dipped down as her lips attached themselves to your neck, and you fought the urge to sink back in the chair and let her have her way with you again, instead reaching behind her to find your phone. Your mind was only on her, but you managed to call Jess, Kendall's assistant, and ask if a boat could come pick you up. You were aware of how hard you were stuttering though the phone call, your tone a little high pitched as Shiv sucked a trail of hickies into your neck and chest. You hung up quickly, your legs opening on instinct as Shiv's fingers trailed to the apex of your thighs.

"Shiv..." you breathed out. "Jess said it'll only be a few minutes; we don't have time..."

Shiv groaned against your skin but pulled herself away, her hands instead going to straighten out your bathing suit top. "It's fine, really... we can continue this tomorrow. She gave your cheek a small pinch before adding, "Get ready to join the mile-high club, honey."

#shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #shiv roy smut #succession #succession fic #succession smut #siobhan roy #smut #x reader #wlw smut #wlw #succession x reader

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youreirrelevant · 1 year

Text

Skyglow

pairing: kendall roy/reader

summary: “I want you to take care of me.” That makes him ache. Fills him with that heavy, hot feeling- the one you get when something’s a little wrong.

words: 1787

tags: explicit, sickfic, daddy kink, praise kink, but also a little degradation kink, pwp, established relationship, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, playful sex, like the tiniest bit of fluff, implied age gap, there's really nothing that establishes when this is so

a/n: I started writing this when I was sick a few weeks ago and I thought I'd finish it. It's just for fun. It's a little silly. It doesn't all have to be serious or good.

It always felt like a waste, to stay in bed all day. Somehow scrolling through your phone in the living room seemed more productive than if you did it in bed. You barely even had the energy to do that. Left thinking. Wanting. Always find your mind wandering to him and what he can do for you. A warm, soft place to rest your hands. Press your lips against.

A deep voice to coax you through what his cock brings out of you—

But the exhaustion was bone-deep. Bending a finger, lifting an eyelid- both felt nearly impossible. Even while lying down you felt weak, like you couldn’t get deep enough into the pillow, into the mattress. You needed to pool and bubble out; water spilled on the counter.

The door opening wakes you from what must’ve been the fifth nap of the day. You were in a guest room- you didn’t want to get Kendall sick. He had shit to do, things that were “unmissable.”

It’s dark. You can see out of the window from the bed; the sky is blue-black, a yellow edge on the horizon that fades up into it. Planes blink red and white across it. Only some of the windows in the other buildings are lit, and you wonder how late it really is. It's quiet; you can hear the AC running. The apartment is thrumming with a sleepy energy, like the way voices sound when you’re dozing off- blurred and smoothed at the edges.

“Can I, uh, can I sleep with you?”

You mumble that he can, voice croaky and gone. Scooting further in on the bed to make room for him- every joint aching so badly you almost whimper. He wraps his arm around you, kisses the back of your neck, and breathes. The heat on your skin makes you melt.

“I couldn’t sleep without you in there with me.”

He brings you a little closer, for emphasis.

“I’d like to say the same, but I’m exhausted.”

A little huff of air from him, an affectionate smile you can’t see. Another kiss, right along your hairline.

You both lay there for a while, but you don’t fall back asleep. The thoughts are much worse when he’s flush against you, firm thighs and a softer chest. His arms around you- you want him to use them to pull you down over him.

“Why aren’t you sleeping? You said you’re tired.” He sounds groggy, as if maybe he’d fallen asleep, for just a second.

“I know I was just- I was thinking of this,” you giggle a little, “of this tweet. Where this guy said that pussy, when someone has a fever, is crazy because it’s so hot.”

He grins so wide it hurts his face.

“Is this your way of, uh, telling me you want me to fuck you?”

“I mean- we gotta at least find out for ourselves.”

Kendall slips his hand beneath the waistband of your pajamas, uses the pads of his fingers to guide your leg up, to drape over his leg. He’s surprised to find you so wet, skin scorching against his. Wonders how long you were thinking about it. Rubs your clit slowly, and you’re practically boneless already. But then fingertips work down, towards your cunt, and you tense in anticipation. He knows you’re sick; he should be nice. But he can’t help but tease, doing it a few times until you whine his name.

“You need it that bad?”

“Please- ” you sound kind of annoyed, as if his denial doesn’t warm you.

His clothes are moved just enough, but he grips the waistband of your pants to yank them down as far as he can from his position- he wants to get at you fully. They get stuck above your knees, and you huff and whine as you kick them free clumsily. Kendall’s undeterred, puts you back where you were. Presses in easily, and maybe they were right. Your groan is distant in his ears. When he’s seated fully, he rests his forehead against your shoulder.

“Well?”

“It- it is hotter. It could be, uh-,” he makes a muffled sound, like he’s steadying himself, “be in my head, though. Placebo effect, or something.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the noise scraping out of you so badly he almost couldn’t tell what it was.

“You’re ridiculous. You’ve been asleep all day, I come in to sleep with you and you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to take care of me.”

That makes him fucking ache. Fills him with that heavy, hot feeling- the one you get when something’s a little wrong. He places a big hand on the back of your thigh, slides it up to lift your ass cheek, spread you open.

“Like, a daddy thing, or-?”

Oh… man.

“I don’t know if we- if we have to be so- if we need to go quite that far.”

As soon as you say it you’re prepared to recant. It makes your stomach fill with butterflies and warmth but it seems so much more taboo than other things that people would actually consider worse. So heavily stigmatized, something everyone knew about and mocked. His teeth press into your shoulder, like he’s squeezing it out of you.

“Well- it does sound… kind of hot. Maybe we ease into it? Maybe ‘daddy’ doesn’t have to be said, but implied?”

His hand slips over your hip to rest on your lower stomach, a slow pull and push of his hips as his fingers find your clit again. Not wasting any time.

“You want me to ‘take care’ of you?”

Plush lips slide beneath your ear as he speaks, and every inflection and hard consonant fills you with heat. It’s your words, but from his mouth, it sounds good and perfect and right. His voice is soothing in this condescending way and it makes your lashes flutter.

“Yes, Kendall.”

He uses his palm against your pubic bone to pull you close, allow him to get deeper, fuck a little rougher. Insistent. You reach behind you to grab at his waist, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Your voice is fucked- every moan and whimper is broken and raspy and quiet. He kind of likes it, drags his lips over your neck, laughing affectionately when his finger presses harder, rubs at just the right angle, against just the right side and you cry out hoarsely. Barely able to keep your eyes open before but you want him so fucking bad.

It’s like you’re next to a fire; you can practically see a red glow coming from your skin, penetrating your closed eyelids. You’re limp, melted into the smooth sheets, rolling weakly against him when you really need it. His brows pinch and his jaw falls open with a desperate noise before his lip is tucked beneath his teeth. Kendall props himself up on his elbow, fingers slipping into your hair, damp from sweat, turns your head enough to kiss you. So slack and pliant. You don't even think to stop him.

“Does that feel better? Is this what you needed?”

Jesus. It’s as if your brain is already fried- you’re already gone. Making some noise that’s probably the saddest attempt at an ‘mhmm,’ ever been done. Trembling, pulled tighter, breathing ragged and uneven and burning in your chest and throat. He brushes the tip of his nose over your temple- his own breath puffs rapid and hot against you. Grunting when you grip even tighter.

When you cum, it's so good it hurts. Like massaging a sore muscle, or fingers into your cheeks when your sinuses ache. It seeps into your hips and belly and back and you lean into it, into him. He shushes you and you can’t help but let out this startled ‘ god .’ You want to tell him he feels perfect, fucking perfect, but the words don’t come out. His pace doesn’t falter -no matter how snug and plush and slick you are around him- and it makes it seem like it’s lasting forever.

Kendall thinks it’s lasting forever; you’re over a cliffside, on the other end of a rope, trying to pull him down when he has to keep you up. He makes sounds like he’s struggling; when you finally relax, he sounds relieved.

Part of him wants to keep it up, and he can’t help, for a second, seeing the new ease with which his fingers slip over you, pressing three flat against your labia to make you squirm from the sensitivity. But that doesn’t last long, arm moving to wrap around your waist to hold you in place. Insistent.

You’re awash with fatigue, fingers curling around the edge of your pillow, lids low over your eyes. Each time his hips meet your ass you make these pathetic little noises from the impact, sometimes barely even audible. He grabs your face again to turn you toward him- you feel hot, cheeks flushed to show it. Skin around your eyes, shiny, blueish, almost cartoonish. But you look up at him dutifully.

“You’re so pretty when you take it for me.”

That reignites something in you, makes you moan and grab at him.

“Such a pretty, perfect little girl deserves to feel good. Always desperate to cum on my cock- thinking about it when you can barely fucking think.”

You let out something between a gasp and a laugh, stunned. Thrown against the ledge but you can’t go over until you get that little bit more.

“I- Ken, can you- would you-?”

This is how it always goes- just one more. Kendall gives it to you and goes to get his, but it always puts you right there, and he can’t help but oblige. He wants to tell you to do it yourself, because you’re tired, and maybe you won’t get off and you’ll get frustrated and whine. That makes him feel orange-hot and tingly, makes his hips stutter at the thought. But that’s not what this was tonight. The wide pad of his middle finger is tight against you -swollen, slick- and even with how fast you cum, he cums faster, hips so rough against yours that you whimper and wince.

He’s almost as light-headed as you are, almost as lax, weak. Every inch of you is unbearably heavy; it's like your skin could slough off your face. It’s so good.

“I might bring a whole new, literal level to sleeping like the dead.”

Your voice cracks and you slump forward onto your stomach, keeping your face turned from him.

“At least you’ll feel better.” Smiling softly, rubbing your back.

“You’ll join me shortly, since you fucking kissed me.”

#kendall roy #kendall roy/reader #kendall roy x reader #succession hbo #succession fic #succession #reader insert #ig i'll make a masterlist or a tag for my fics or something tomorrow #my writing

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richeeduvie · 25 days

Note

Im deathly curious to know what baby and roman’s personal wedding vows were to eachotherrr 🥺 roman with his messy chicken scratch index cards dying of embarrassment as theyre sat facing eachother after the reception stumbling across his words 🥺 how would baby tell hers?? A bit more composed than him? I wanna knoowww

The Wedding Vows

Roman Roy x Reader HC's

Now I can actually look at my own masterlist for reference. Thank you, Tumblr, for releasing me.

Here's Baby Reading Roman's Vows

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

We've decided Roman did not have the strength to do their most vulnerable vows. He would've been a little bitch at his wedding. He wouldn't have been able to handle you and everyone else listen to him trying to put the way he loves you in actual words.

Like, good ones. Not calling you a whore or a slut whenever you get needy or pffting when you get mad at him for cutting off your hair to keep it in his bedside dresser.

He still teared up at the ceremony, though. That's his fault.

It was chicken scratch vows. Childish writing he stayed up in the night for.

"What are you doing?"

"Fuck off!"

"I haven't seen index cards since we had to that presentation in-"

"Go away, you burden baby. You don't deserve these."

After the funeral, it's best for him not to make speeches in front of anyone.

With your vows, Roman still managed to be a bumbling mess listening to them. He thought he'd be just fucking peachy. All alright - but people don't deserve to hear the way you love him. And it's just weird. Like all the...the feelings. In his chest and stomach and arms when you are so easily able to tell him everything.

"And I do not love you in spite of anything, Roman. I love just you. I think you pretend to know that, but I also think you'll hate the way I will try to remind you of it every day."

Tom wows softly, like a sappy idiot.

You're composed, maybe a bit teary with it, but your smile drops in watching Roman's face get increasingly more twisted. Eyes blinking fast and he's not able to look at you.

"...Roman?"

"Just...just keep fucking going. Don't stop in the middle of your vows, that's un-"

He giggles high and softly, head twitching.

There's tears. You want to coo.

"That's unromantic."

He cries fully. His siblings stare, but Connor thinks it's sweet. Roman wipes his eyes with the crook of his elbow.

"Um, I think I'm finished with my vows now."

"...Is Mr. Roy able to do his vows?"

"I can fucking do them. Do I look like a corpse? Just read the traditional ones to me."

"Roman, do you want to-"

"You'll be my wife, calm down. Don't look at me, I'm weepy. But not that - I'm not even that weepy. This is your fault, by the way."

He takes a deep breath before he has to say his vows.

Roman almost eats your mouth when he's able to kiss the bride. It's a hungry, weepy kiss.

He just wants to keep himself with you during the reception. People should not be talking to him. He needs to prepare for when he has to read his actual fucking vows to you. Roman guesses it's what you deserve, you are his wife.

#inbox #hc's #drabble #dog and bone!au #roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfic #succession fic #succession fanfiction #succession x reader #roman roy imagine

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strang3lov3 · 21 days

Text

Invisible Line

Summary- Boundary after boundary is crossed when your boss is left with no choice but to share his bed with you.

Roman Roy x F!Reader | 5.8k words

Tags- one bed trope mothafuckas!! mutual masturbation, unprotected piv, cream pie, oral (f receiving), come eating, dirty talk, soft dom!roman, power imbalance, needy and desperate reader, light degradation, manipulative Roman, Roman’s not the nicest but he does let you snuggle him

A/N- This is my first Roman Roy fic, so please be gentle 🫣 I know he’s got his issues with sex, so just play pretend with me. My usual Joel readers, I haven’t forgotten about you, he’s cumming soon 🫡🍆 but if you were feeling so inclined I’d appreciate it if you gave Roman a chance 🥺🩷

I had a fucking team of editors for this fic!! Thank you thank you thank you @noxturnalpascal, @papipascalispunk, @beefrobeefcal and @pinkypromisepascal for polishing this baby up

Fic notifs, Masterlist, Ko-Fi

You’ll never get used to the type of hotels you now stay in. All the lights glittering, floors shining, ceilings so high. You’d call it luxurious, but to your boss, Roman, this is considered modest. You’re always reminded that you and he come from two very different worlds.

As his assistant, you’re accompanying him on his “bullshit amusement park safety meeting in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere,” as Roman had so graciously put it. He’s got such a way with words. He’s exaggerating of course, always so hyperbolic. You’re not in the middle of nowhere, you’re in Nashville, Tennessee. It’s early June and the air is finally beginning to cool for the evening.

“We’re fully booked,” the receptionist says to you after first explaining that no, there’s no mix up of sorts, you had only booked one room and not two adjoining rooms like you’d thought.

Just fifteen minutes earlier, you helped Roman with his bags and such up to his room. Roman carried the heaviest of his own bags to be a gentleman, call it his soft spot for you or whatever, but just to be a dick, still had you carry his briefcase that he was more than capable of carrying on his own. It is your job, after all.

When you arrived with him to the spacious room, decorated with abstract wall art and odd sculptures, Roman wasted no time in flopping on the single king sized bed. After seeing no door to connect to an adjoining room, Roman sent you back to reception. “Well, better figure it out,” he said, waving you away, his eyes never once looking away from his phone screen. “I’m set here, so thanks. You can go fuck off. Have a nice evening and all that. Enjoy masturbating in your crispy white bed sheets, courtesy of Hyatt hospitality.” Always so vulgar. You’re not shocked by it anymore.

“Nothing?” you ask the receptionist. “There’s no way. I just need a single queen, I don’t care what floor it’s on. Isn’t there something?”

“Bonnaroo,” the receptionist explains, once more typing on her keyboard to double check and see if there’s a room for you. “Yeah, I’m sorry, we don’t have any other rooms available. Bonnaroo weekend is always when we’re busiest. People book months in advance. I wish I could help you,” she frowns apologetically.

You’re not upset. It’s your own fault. And you’d seen Bonnaroo posters around the lobby advertising the shuttle that transports people from the hotel to the festival. And you’d seen the headliners, too. Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers, LCD Soundsystem. Friday and Saturday tickets are sold out. You’re not surprised it’s all booked.

“No, I know,” you reply. “It’s my fault.”

You sigh deeply, and the receptionist types into her computer, prints a piece of paper and hands it to you. “This is a list of hotels nearby. Call around, they might have something.” She wishes you good luck, and you pull out your phone to begin making the calls, only then realizing your battery is at 2%. Now you have nowhere to go but back to Roman’s room.

–

You knock on Roman’s door and wait. Nothing. You knock once more, nothing again. You’re about to knock for a third time when Roman finally opens, his shirt a few buttons undone and his belt loosened. “What do you want?”

“Can you let me in?” you ask, “I need to use your phone, please.”

Roman’s taken some getting used to. You never quite know where you stand with him, what exactly he thinks of you. Moment to moment, you never know which Roman you’re gonna get – the flirting Roman, the occasional sweet and tender Roman, or the cold, sarcastic, uncaring and taunting Roman.

“Can you let me in?” Roman mocks, opening his door wider and guiding you into his room with his hand on your lower back. Taunting Roman. His touch makes your tummy flutter. Something about his unpredictability thrills you, excites you. You’re attracted to it, and you don’t know why.

Your phone charges by a nearby outlet as you sit at the desk with the room phone as Roman paces around, rifling through his suitcase to find his pajamas. They’re simple looking clothes, pale blue bottoms and a plain white shirt, but you know the cost of the outfit is equivalent to someone’s rent. He changes in front of you, something he’s always done. You’re not exactly sure why he does that or what he’s trying to do, but you do your best to not steal any glimpses of him as you begin calling the numbers on the paper, though the task proves to be difficult. Flirting Roman?

The first hotel on your list is The Hermitage, which is a bust. The Joseph is also a bust. Conrad Nashville, same deal. You’re keeping your voice as low as possible, hoping Roman doesn’t overhear your conversation. The last thing you want to do is give him more ammo. You sigh as you cross out the names on the paper one by one with one of the hotel’s branded pens.

Roman’s on the bed, smirking, rolling his eyes. You can see it in your peripherals. “You fucked up, didn’t you? Forgot to book yourself a room?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, now calling the fourth and final hotel on your list.

“You shut up,” Roman says. “Told you to double check.”

You wave a hand in his direction to quiet him. After asking your now three times rehearsed ‘Do you have any rooms available?’ and being met with an apology and a no, you reply to the person on the other end of the call with a “Yup, Bonnaroo, understood. Thank you.” Sighing, you hang up the phone and bury your face in your palms. You know what your only option is here, and you’re scared to look at it, to look at Roman. You know that even if you don’t verbally ask, your eyes will say it all.

Roman slides off the bed and makes his way to you, then nudges your foot with his own. “Am I doing you a favor tonight?”

“I uh…”

“Oh, of course I am. Good thing I’m feeling generous, huh?” Roman’s lips are curled into an almost-sweet smile when you finally look at him. “Bed is mine,” he enunciates. “You can take the floor, I don’t care. Or push those chairs together or some shit.” You look at the chairs he’s referring to and nod. Roman goes back to his bed, and you pull your own set of pajamas from your suitcase, then change in the bathroom. Once out of the bathroom, you push together the chairs that Roman was referring to.

“Oh god, I didn’t think you’d actually do that. No, no, I was just joking – we’ll share the fucking bed. Yeah?” Roman pats the other side of the bed. “I’m not cruel like that, Christ. Making me feel like some fuckin’ sort of - sort of sadist. Not gonna bite you.”

“Won’t you?” you tease.

That was the wrong thing to say. Your blood goes cold as Roman glares at you, displeased with your teasing. Reminding you of your place, that even though Roman can joke, make however many unsavory comments as he’d like, you can’t always do the same. Cold Roman. But then Roman cracks a smile, flashing his pretty white teeth and winks, his eyes sparkling. The boss-employee dynamic between you and him is always inconsistent, things going from professional to unprofessional, from friendly to friendlier.

He pulls the covers down the bed, once more patting the space next to him, indicating his invitation for you to join him. You round the bed and slide under the covers, the sheets feeling cool against your bare feet and legs. “You’ve got ulterior motives, don’t you? You fucked up the booking on purpose.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed. “No, Roman.”

“You totally did,” Roman says as you adjust the pillows behind you, “You’re trying to entrap me. You’ve weaseled your way into my bed so you can sue me later for harassment or some shit but I��m telling you, it’s not gonna happen. Trust me when I say that it’s in your best interest to behave yourself.” Roman drags his finger down the center of the bed, bisecting it evenly. “Don’t cross this line. Not even your fuckin’…pinky finger. Got it?”

“Understood, Mr. Roy.”

“Attagirl,” he chirps. “Wait, ew. Jesus Christ, Roman, you call me Roman. Not that Mr. Roy shit. God, that’s gross.”

You’ll take any chance you can to get under his skin after all he does to you. Flipping over on your side, you face the window and watch the city lights dance before pulling out your phone and silently scrolling through Instagram. Roman does similar, though he doesn’t reciprocate the courtesy of doing so quietly. He watches videos at full volume, shaking the bed with his giggles.

You shift to your other side, now facing Roman, who lays on his back. Your phone rests on the bed as you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks. You don’t often see him look relaxed like how he does now – how sexy he looks in those thin pajamas of his, his biceps toned and his bulge protruding from beneath the fabric of his pants. His usually sleek hair is slightly messy, and you wonder how those silky strands would feel between your fingers as you tug on them, with him holding you close in a tight embrace and his lips connected to yours, swallowing your moans.

You tell yourself not to think about it, about him. Don’t think, don’t think, god, do not think about him. Don’t think about his thick bulge or his hands or their wrinkles, the bluish-green veins that climb up his knuckles. Don’t think about his waist, don’t think about his soft tummy, or the thin line of hair leading down his groin and beneath his pants.

Roman’s looking at you, wearing that sly, cocky grin of his, pleased with the knowledge of what he does to you. He shuts his phone off and turns off the light on his nightstand, the faint glow coming from the open curtains now the only light.

He doesn’t take long to drift into a slumber, though you do, still thinking of the things you shouldn’t be. Images of Roman still dance in your mind for hours, you watch the time go by when you check your phone’s lock screen. You hear his voice in your head, that two word instruction from him playing over like a broken record. Behave yourself. And god, you can fucking smell him. He smells clean, like he always does, with notes of Caroline Herrera’s Bad Boy filling your nostrils – a cologne with a truly obnoxious bottle and an even more obnoxious name. Roman picked it out one time you were with him while he was shopping, just to piss you off. You’ve never hated the smell, though, and you love it even more on his skin. But he smells like sweat too, just a bit. So masculine and slightly musky, you can almost taste him.

Your hand has moved on its own accord underneath your shirt and between your breasts. You’re not sure when it happened, but you become acutely aware of it when your knuckles brush against your nipple and you gasp.

Roman stirs in his sleep, but he’s dead to the world. And you’re good at keeping yourself quiet – at least you think you are.

You turn your head to look at Roman, pinching and twisting at your nipples. Alternating between soft and hard, gentle and rough touches. Roman’s got his arm draped over his head, his palm so close to you. You imagine it’s that hand, his hand, squeezing and groping the soft flesh of your breasts, pretending that tingling feeling when you drag your thumbs over your sensitive buds is his tongue, all hot and wet. You let yourself breathe, the quietest moans escaping your lips.

And then you let your fingers dip lower, your fingertips skating down your body, feeling your sides and the soft curve of your tummy, your hips. Your hand goes lower and lower, your thighs parting as you find your core but not moving your legs wide enough to cross Roman’s invisible line. Tracing your lips first, your fingers travel closer to where you need to feel them the most. You’re wet, so fucking wet as you press your middle finger against your hole, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit.

You shift in the bed, spreading your legs wider and now circling your clit with your middle and ring fingers, dipping them into your entrance once more to gather your arousal and drag it up through your folds. Massaging yourself, you still pretend it’s Roman’s hand as you take in that sweet feeling that’s quickly beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each circle of your fingertips on your clit, fighting yourself to keep your hips as still as can be.

Romans voice startles you. “For a second I wondered if we’re near a fuckin’... earthquake, or uh– fault line or something, but you’re just rubbing one out next to your boss. Wow. Do you always shake the bed this much when you masturbate?”

You gasp, “Roman.”

“Or just when you’re next to me?” You’re not really sure what the right move here is. You could pull your hand from under your pants, but Roman’s already caught you red handed. Leaving your hand between your thighs is not the right move either. “Funny,” he adds, “I thought we just had a conversation about behaving. Didn’t we?”

“I know, I–”

“I mean, you get brownie points for not crossing the line in the bed, I guess,” Roman lifts the covers of the bed, then reaches for your knee and gently pushes it back on your side of the bed. “But you are crossing all sorts of other lines. You must think you’re sneaky. I heard you moaning, you know,” he accuses. He mocks you then, all snark and derision as he lets out exaggerated and breathy moans you’re almost sure you weren’t making. Roman, oh, Roman! Yeah, right there, Roman, please…

“Are you trying to get yourself in trouble?” he asks as he reaches for your jaw with one of his hands, turning you to look at him. He pinches, fingertips digging into the softness of your cheeks. No hiding now. “Is that what gets you off?”

“No,” you stammer.

“Liar.”

The air feels thick and Roman’s hazel eyes are dark, inky black, perhaps from the lack of light or maybe, you think, his own arousal? No, probably not. He looks genuinely pissed and you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, his intense gaze making you squirm. But you can’t seem to look away, either. He allows a silence to hang heavily between you both as he stares at you with a look in his eyes you can’t quite read. And that’s when you notice it – with the hand that’s not holding your jaw, he’s stroking his cock underneath his pants. You can see the bulge, the shifting of his hand.

“You’re touching yourself too,” you point out.

“Yeah, now I am. I’m a man. You made blood rush to my penis with your fucking moans and your Roman this and Roman that,” he huffs. Pulling down his pants and letting his cock spring free, he continues, “So my dick is hard. It should be your problem to deal with, but I’m bailing you out yet again. Always cleaning your— fuck,” he stutters, “Your messes.”

You have no clue what’s happening here. Roman lets go of his cock for a moment and he reaches for your arm, guiding you to start moving your hand once again. “Get it out of your system,” he says. “Go on. You didn’t have an issue fucking yourself next to me five minutes ago, did you?”

Cautiously, as with Roman you know full well that this could be a trap, you begin to move your hand with his guidance. “Yeah, good girl,” he whispers in a hushed, almost imperceptible tone, one that you probably weren’t supposed to hear. “God, I can’t believe you,” he says more clearly this time. “You better make it quick. We’re getting this over with, and we’re not looking at each other. Call it your punishment or something, just fuckin’— take care of yourself.”

Roman adjusts so he’s flat on his back and resumes stroking his cock. His eyes are screwed shut and you’re watching his chest rise and fall, fully breaking the rule he just set. But you can’t help yourself, he looks so gorgeous like this. His pubic hair is longer than you would have expected Roman to have, but gorgeous nonetheless. He’s not the longest but his head is wide and round, with thick veins climbing his shaft.

“You’re watching, you fucking creep,” he says in a breathy tone, his words slightly broken. He’s not looking at you, only at the ceiling above. “Breaking the rules. You have a hard time with that, don’t you? Look, I can follow rules. Why can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

Roman rolls his eyes at that, then flips on his side to finally look at you. A flicker of what looks to be relief quickly washes over his features, but quickly disappears. He reaches for your shirt, hiking it up your torso and tugging – up, take it off. You do as he asks, taking off your top and exposing your breasts to the chill of the air in the hotel room.

“I hope you know that I’m not gonna touch you,” Roman says.

“I know,” you breathe. “I know you won’t, I just, I just…”

“Just what?” Roman asks, still stroking his cock. You take off the rest of your pajamas and adjust yourself slightly, then spread your legs wide, the invisible line be damned as your knees fall back toward your chest and you rub your swollen clit. God, how you need his fingers inside you. You’d fuck yourself on your own fingers, but it won’t satisfy you in the way you think Roman could. “Spit it out,” Roman demands.

Fuck it. You’ll deal with whatever consequences later. In the boldest of moves, you reach for the hand that strokes his cock and bring it to your pussy, guiding Roman’s middle and ring fingers to your entrance and pushing them inside.

Roman wears a twisted sort of smile as he curls his fingers inside you, now playing his own game with you. He taunted you with an accusation of ulterior motives, but it was all talk, like how most of Roman is. He suspected this before, but now he's certain: you have nothing but need for him. Amused by it, he’s now playing his game with you. As you moan for him he wonders, how much can he toy with you, drag this out? How much will you beg for him? Your hand is wrapped around his cock now by your own choice, he wonders how low will you sink, and how high will he feel by the end of whatever this is?

You’re inching closer to him. Desperate.

“Your hand is wrapped around my cock,” he whispers. “And you buried my fingers inside your cunt. Is something not clicking in that head of yours?”

“So good,” you breathe. You work his shaft, twisting your hand up and down. He’s thick, veiny, his head feels smooth in your palm. Roman’s touch is firm as removes your hand from his cock to hover it beneath your chin. “Spit,” he tells you. You’re so pliant, and do as you’re told, spitting into your own palm, Roman putting it back where he wants it. “Wow. I pull my cock out and you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

All you do is nod.

“God you’re soaked. Are you always this soaked for me? Just walking around all day, panties fuckin’ ruined?”

“Sh– shut up.”

Oh, you’ve still got some bite left. Roman wonders how quickly he can make that diminish. “Poor thing, did I hit a nerve? You wanna fuck me that badly? Are you really that desperate for your boss?” You say nothing, just inch even closer to Roman now. You hook a leg over his hip, moving your cunt towards what you need most from him, slowly guiding him in your hand ever closer to your entrance and hoping he’ll remove his fingers from you and replace them with his cock. And thank god, he does it. He pushes your hand away, gripping his member and notching the tip in your entrance. Fucking finally.

But he only collects your wetness on his tip, then spreads it down his shaft. He pushes his pelvis forward, rubbing his cock against your hooded clit and making you shiver.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he taunts, now dragging his cockhead down your dripping seam.

“Roman,” you whine.

“Roman,” he says, mimicking your whine, exaggerating how pathetic you sound. “Is that all you can say?”

“Fuck me,” you gasp. “Just fuck me, Roman.”

“Yeah, I know. You know my name and how to nag me to fuck you. I get it. What you’re not getting is that I don’t care. It’s not gonna happen tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that… Just gonna fuckin’ play with you like this,” he hums, now pushing his cock up against your clit again, tapping you. “Yeah, you’re good. This is… this is good. I’ve been so bored recently, you know? Wonder what happens when I do this,” Roman stops tapping his head against your sensitive clit, now sliding himself left and right across your sex. He bites his bottom lip when you gasp and squirm.

“I wonder if I could make you come just doing this,” he muses, continuing to tease you. “I know I could. I could blow my load on your pussy right now and make you clean up a mess for once. Is that what you need? For me to show you what you’re meant for?”

Maybe, you think. Maybe not. You don’t know what you think. You need his cock. Roman pushes himself forward, fitting just his head into your hole again. And you think it’s coming, the fullness, the pressure, the ache and the stretch and the burn. He’s bent on his two prior rules, but compromise never comes. He doesn’t give in to you. Roman’s grinning, giggling to himself as he draws his hips backward, denying you. Watching how you struggle for him, how you whine and squirm and push your hips towards him. “Is it?” he asks.

“Fuck, is what?”

“Is that what you need?”

“Yeah, I need you to fuck me. Roman, please. Need it – need you inside.”

Roman pushes out an exhale somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh, that’s funny. That’s not what I asked at all. Is listening really that hard for you? What do they call that, tunnel vision but for hearing. Tunnel hearing? I don’t think that’s right.”

“I’m sorry–”

“Google it for me.”

“Roman.”

“What the fuck do you think I hired you for? Google it. For me. Thanks.”

Roman lifts his dick again, rubbing it against your clit and then lining himself up again, all as you scramble for your phone and quickly open Safari. ‘Funnel visipn bur for hearin g’ is what you type, the combined sensations of Roman’s teasing and the too-bright screen making your task difficult. “Audi-auditory exclusion,” you manage to tell him.

“Lemme see it,” Roman takes your phone from your hand, squinting at the screen. “Auditory exclusion is a form of temporary loss of hearing occurring under high stress,” he reads in his phony serious tone, still teasing you, bumping into your clit and then notching himself at your entrance, again and again and again. Giving you just a taste of what you know he could offer you instead. He’s opening Wikipedia now. “Auditory exclusion happens as a result of the physiological effects of the acute stress response, specifically an increased heart rate.”

“Fuck me, Roman, fuck me, please, I’m begging, please, please…”

“Begging’s nice, good. Very good. Very cute. But uh–” Roman points to your phone, “I’m busy reading here, so maybe quiet down. I really don’t want to hear it,” he laughs breathlessly, but nothing about this is funny to you. You’re in tears now. Tears of anger, frustration, shock. Roman lines up with your slick hole, just as he’s done repeatedly before. He notices your tears, “My god, you’re crying for it. So desperate, aren’t you?” he mocks your pout, wiping away your tears. You tell him you need him. “Need me? What a strong word. Yeah, I know that you need me. Message clear. God, you repeat yourself a lot. Fucking annoying.”

Fuck this. Roman’s still on Wikipedia and down some rabbit-hole not even related to auditory exclusion. He’s stopped teasing you, his cock just resting, nestled at your entrance as he scrolls. And you take your chance.

You reach for his shoulders and flip yourself so you’re above him, then sink down on his cock. Roman’s startled but he moans as he disappears into you and you sigh, finally feeling that stretch of his cock you’ve been craving since you don’t even know when – long before tonight. Roman watches where your body connects to his, seemingly shocked. He scoffs. “Oh, fuck you.”

Roman pushes your body off of his, he’s small but stronger than he looks. He flips you on your tummy and his touch is harsh but just what you need when he finally grabs your hips, placing his palm between your shoulder blades and forcing your chest down to the mattress. He was somewhat gentle when he was teasing you before, but all of that is gone now, as he lines up with your entrance and slams his hips into you, rocking you forward. He pulls out almost all the way before doing it again, harder. So many noises. You – gushing on his cock, moaning, crying out for him. Roman – his thighs slapping against yours, his grunts and his curses and breathy groans. The bed creaking with each of his thrusts. Roman fills you up better than you could imagine – fucking perfectly –hitting your walls, that sweet spot inside you.

“So fucking wet for your boss. What’s that say about you, huh?”

Roman grips your hips tight – too tight. He’s denting his nails into your skin and it hurts, his thumbs are digging into your lower back. There’s no fluidity to his thrusts, no steady roll of his hips. Just Roman, parting your insides with the harsh rutting of his hips. His heavy balls swinging, bouncing against your clit, his soft tummy warm against your back.

He sets a steady rhythm, a rhythm for his pleasure alone. Fucking you seemingly in two, exactly how you want it. Of course you want it this way. He can hear it in your muffled whimpers and cries, he wonders if the sheets are stained under your face, soaked with your tears. Roman holds your waist, forcing you up with your back against his chest. “Fuck,” you cry, and Roman wraps a hand over your mouth, the other is groping your breasts. Not that he doesn’t love the sounds you’re making for him, he just wants to give you another reminder of who’s in charge here – of how this is gonna go down, according to Roman.

He tugs your earlobe between his teeth, his nose nudging your cheek. His mouth travels lower then, he bites at your neck where it meets your shoulders, the stubble on his cheeks scratching your skin. He’s sucking at your flesh hard enough to leave a mark – for what reason, he’s not entirely sure. To punish and to hurt you, humiliate you, maybe even mark you as his. It’s possessive and primal in essence, how the way you need him so fervently makes him feel powerful in a way he often does not. And you’re not helping your case at all, with your squirming and your whimpers only egging him on. You tried to take what you need from him, but he’ll drill into your head that you’ll only receive what he’s willing to give to you.

He wonders what comes after this. If you’ll turn on your side in bed, leaking with his come and hiding yourself from him, or if maybe you’ll cling to him instead. He knows that he’ll lay next to you after this and wonder what you’ll be like for the rest of this trip. Will you be shyer, about the same as usual, or maybe even bold? He’ll experiment with you, see how you react to a cold shoulder or a shower of attention. See what you’ll do when he squeezes your ass, or when sitting next to him in the car, the helicopter, or at dinner when his hand finds your thigh and inches closer to your sex. Will you lean into it? Will you squirm and push his hand away?

His hands travel along your sides and down your torso, he can tell you’re loving his touch. You’re shameless in your reaction to him, your pussy squeezing him, your wanton moans. Curious, Roman reaches for your clit just to see how you’ll respond. He teases you, tries to write his name with his fingertips into you. Lewd sounds of skin slapping skin, the obscenity of your pussy’s slick noises. He’s not going to last much longer, that is quite clear.

He doesn’t care to try to make you finish first, as a gentleman should, although Roman nor anyone else would describe himself as such. You’re on his time. He knows how desperate you are to come, but he doesn’t care. He’ll get his first, something he doesn’t often get otherwise. And so his pace quickens, still biting and nipping at the flesh of your neck and shoulders. He bets that in all those late-night fantasies of yours about this moment, touching yourself in the dark, you didn't picture him being a biter. This much is evident with your pussy clenching on him and your short gasps showing your surprise.

He savors that feeling in every inch of himself – the power he holds knowing you’re aching not only to come on his cock, but to feel his touch, to experience him. It’s still just a game to Roman. Maybe it’ll always be a game. He’s not sure yet.

His cock twitches inside you, that warm and sticky feeling in his balls is beginning to crescendo. “I need to come,” you beg. “Roman, please make me come, I need-.”

“Shut up. I don’t care.” Roman fucks you with frenzied thrusts, and he doesn’t pull out to stroke himself above you, doesn’t ask you if you’re on the pill or if you want him to come on your ass or your tits or in your mouth. Roman shamelessly lets himself go and fills you with his hot spend. His noises are like music as he comes inside you, melodic grunts and moans coming from deep within him. And you take it all, everything he gives you because that’s what you’re meant for.

Roman takes heaving breaths above you, pulling out and his spend spills onto the comforter. He doesn’t give a shit. And as you collapse down onto your hands and knees you think that’s that, that he really doesn’t care. That all of this was probably about Roman savoring the feeling of having control over another person, and that dangling pleasure over her head is how he’ll get it.

Roman climbs off the bed and you’re trembling. He flips you onto your back, pulls you forward by your legs so that your sex is centered with his face as he kneels at the edge of the bed. His mind has changed quickly – first he wanted to know what would happen if he didn’t make you come. He thought next about eating you out from behind, denying you connection as he tastes you, buries himself in your most intimate place. But you’ve done well for him, and it’s clear that you’ll take what he gives you at any cost. Roman watches you with hooded eyelids, offering you that connection as he brings his face to your center, licking a thick stripe up your cunt. Call it his soft spot.

“Don’t say I don’t do anything for you.”

Roman dives back into you, and you hesitate before reaching for his scalp. Tentatively, you do it anyway, just to see if he’ll react. He might smack your hands away, maybe he’ll place them down on the bed. You’re sure he won’t hold them.

He lets your hands linger. Your fingers tug on those sleek strands of hair as he eats you, his scruff chafing your thighs. His eyes alternate between fluttering shut and peering up at you as dips his tongue into your entrance, licking his spend from your folds. He brings a hand to your cunt, two of his fingers pushing into your heat as his tongue dances circles around your clit. He’ll never tell you how sweet you taste on his lips.

“Yes, oh god, Roman.” He’s kissing your cunt, lapping at your folds, his tongue teasing all of that sensitive flesh. His fingers curl inside you at the same time he sucks your clit between his lips, making you writhe for him. “Right there, Roman.”

You’re not sure if he’s indulging himself or you at this moment. He eats you like a man starved, he eats you like it's his artwork. Nipping at your folds, his fingers inside you never once faltering their movements. You grind against his mouth as his tongue flicks and swirls. After all that’s taken place tonight, it doesn’t take you long to come. You bite down on your moans as pleasure washes over you, and you come on Roman’s tongue, gushing into the palm of his hand. When he’s ensured that he’s milked you entirely, he pulls away and takes his place back on his side of the invisible line.

Roman had wondered if - once in bed - would you cling to him or turn away, but he doesn’t allow you that choice. Instead, he takes your wrist between his fingers as he turns away, curling on his side, effectively wrapping your body to spoon around his. He keeps your arm secured firm under his, tucked around his torso. Tender Roman. You’re on edge, he’s been relatively quiet this whole time, and you’re expecting some snarky comment or a vulgar insult. “I swear to god, I will smother you with my fucking pillow if you snore,” is all he says. His threat, albeit baseless, comforts you.

Tagging some folks I think may be interested? I posted a few weeks ago about writing Roman and he’s finally here!Those of you that engaged with that post plus some other friends, I hope you check this out. If you want me to remove your tag, lmk 🩷 @ievutebebe @notjustjavierpena @dorims @molt3ngold @sweetenerobert @tightjeansjavi @i-smoke-chapstick @w73n @lilipads @annoyingtheoristcloud @meyelowe @I-ange-maudit @val1821 @ladygrey03 @mommymilkers0526 @motions1ckness @wellthisisjustridiculous @marytudorr @yangyangsbitch @trexwithwings-blog @ay3mily @brooklynb8by @cru3lfools @apocolyqse @foreverasleep717 @anyukadfasza @clocksonthewall79 @dumb--blonde @littlevenicebitch69 @mads198-9 @yazsos @smokietaylor

#roman roy smut #roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #succession #succession fic #succession x reader #strang3lov3

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wambsgansshoelaces · 3 months

Note

Hi there! How are you doing? I just recently found your account and LOVE it! Thank you for sharing all your stories! I particularly loved the head cannons for clingy Roman and comforting Roman!

After reading the comforting Roman one, I had an idea for some more head cannons or a story (truly whichever you prefer if you want to write this idea). But maybe something along the lines of standing up to Logan somehow and defending Roman? Seeing him so hurt and vulnerable because of what his father said broke my heart and I definitely think he needs someone in his corner, privately and publicly!

Thank you so much if you do write something around this idea, but please don’t feel pressured to if it doesn’t spark any ideas. I hope you have a fabulous day/night! 💛

In My Corner

Roman Roy x Reader

Oneshot

this is literally the sweetest request I’ve ever gotten so it went to the top of my priority list. I’m doing okay, thank you so much for asking!! I hope you’re amazing <3 you don’t understand how much it means to me that you enjoy what I write and that you love it!!! it makes me so happy!!! any request or idea you have, I promise, will give me ideas. I’m so grateful I have people like you enjoying and reading my work!! It’s one in the morning for me, so I’m sorry I can’t make it longer… but enjoy! I love you rita, thank you for requesting xx

also just a general psa, if there’s never any specific pronoun/reader gender detail in the request, I’ll default to fem/female unless I can access your profile, to which then I’ll just use the requester’s pronouns/gender. enjoy!

Word Count: 2.181k

Married life was all you could’ve ever dreamed it would be. It was more.

Roman had surprised you with how quickly he’d committed to you and you solely. He’d told you, the night of your wedding, he knew you were it for him from your first official date. That even if you dumped him, hated him, threw him out, he’d be yours. He’d never remarry, he’d never even look at another woman.

You’re the only thing that brings light to his life. You radiate warmth into him. Being around you is being by a fire in the dead of winter up on Mount Everest. In quiet conversations in the middle of the night, the two of you tangled together in bed, he’d admitted he’d kill for you. Lie for you, commit crime for you, it was all the same to him. You are what brings meaning to his life. You’re an absolute in his world of probabilities. His anchor, his rock, the love of his fucking life.

Neither of you ever take off your rings. You’d both made sure to get metals that wouldn’t rust with water and had high durability just so you were never without them. If Roman was a shell of a man before he’d met you, he’s a god now.

Late nights at the office, he has a thing of chocolate for you clutched in his hands as an apology. Untoward women flirting with him despite his very obvious marriage (he endlessly speaks of you to anyone and everyone), his hand is on your hip, his lips on yours. You’re sick? He’s taken the day off to stay with you so you’re not suffering on your own.

On the off chance you both have days off and the energy, you’re out and about. Arcades, carnivals, anything so he can see you laughing and smiling and so fucking glowy. If you’re happy, he’s happy. You’re the most important thing in his life. In between your occasional excursions, he’s Googling how to beat carnival games, he’s practicing Flappy Bird, just so that when you do go out, and your eyes catch on a particularly cute plushie, he can get it for you and watch your face light up and feel the universe grace him with heaven.

If there was anything that came with being married that you didn’t like, it was his family. Maybe not Kendall, nor Shiv. Both were kind to you, and Connor didn’t come round anymore. You couldn’t blame him.

Roman’s your husband. You know him, you know what upsets him. And nine times out of ten, when he’s crying, it’s because of his father.

Usually so bubbly and relaxed, when he was upset, he was upset. He was unable to function. He ran to you like a moth drawn to light. He’d gone so long not knowing how to cope; you were only just now helping him learn how.

“Roman, where’s that cream sweater of yours?” you call out to him. He was washing his face in the bathroom, the two of you getting ready for dinner with his family. Waystar shenanigans, as he’d put it. But you knew that truthfully, it was deeper than that. More terse.

“Hell if I know,” he calls back.

“Then what’re you going to wear?”

“No clue.”

You tsk, instead crossing over to your side of the closet to pick out an outfit. “Just no weird color combinations, for fuck’s sake.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he says, not bothered, strolling into the closet. He pinches the small of your back as he slides past you, going to look through his clothing. “What color are you wearing?”

“It’s going to be really cold, so I was thinking cable knit. Or should I just wear a turtleneck and slap a jacket over it?” You hold both options up, turning to face him. This was routine for you both. Strangely enough, he loved matching with you, and you both regularly help each other dress.

“You’re already shivering. Wear the sweater.” He comes to you, plants a kiss on your lips, then turns back and tugs his shirt off over his head. He manages to find another sweater, slipping it on. It’s the same color as yours, and even though he’s done this countless times before, your heart warms. Once you’re both ready, you’re in the car that was sent for you. You grip the bridge of your nose with your fingers, taking a deep breath as the car gently jostles you as you’re driven. Roman scoots over in the back seat, where you both are, so that your sides are pressed together. His hand slides over your thigh, rubbing gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say truthfully, dropping your hand and looking over at him. You smile, meeting his eyes. You adore him. It’s evident in your gaze, and it’s mirrored in his. “Just bracing myself.”

He leans over, kissing your cheek.

Roman grips your hand tightly as you go up in the elevator.

You stick a fake smile on your face and step out into the light to greet Marcia. She air kisses both your cheeks, then Roman’s, greeting you both. You both make your rounds, hugging, kissing cheeks. You pretend to steal Iverson’s nose, to his delight, and he runs to his father, tattling on you with a massive grin on his face. Kendall just smiles at the both of you, the exhaustion slightly lifting from his features.

You go say hello to Greg, who’s happy to see you. Out of all the Roys, save for your husband, Greg’s the one you got on with the most. You were both in the same situation. You were both considered outsiders, yet still apart of the inner circle, still concerned with all the plotting and scheming and drama.

He gives you a hug, and you duly note that Roman’s being taken aside by his dad. You turn your attention back to Greg, making sure to keep an ear strained for anything that might go wrong. You chat idly for a bit, and you get the sense that everyone in the room is doing the same thing you are. You can feel the tension slowly spreading. Something’s wrong. And if it’s not, it will be very soon.

It doesn’t take very long.

Logan’s voice is booming through the townhouse, and everyone gathered quickly silences.

“What do you fucking want me to do, then, Roman? Roll over and let you fuck me?”

You and Greg wince in unison. “Are they still arguing over whether they should sell?” he asks you quietly. Frown starting on your face, you nod.

Waystar wasn’t the only company the Roys had control over. There were conglomerates on conglomerates of other companies, the most problematic of the bunch causing massive monetary issues- among others. It was an ethical disaster, and the lawsuits were beginning to pile up on top of each other.

While the general consensus was that the company should be sold, and quickly, Logan was stuck in his ways and took it as personal offence. Specifically with Roman. You couldn’t even begin to make up some lame reason as to why. They’d gotten into countless arguments over it, Roman doing his best to convince his father that if this one company went down, it was going to take a lot down with it.

You give Kendall a look, and he pushes himself up from his seat on the sofa and follows the direction of their voices. Shiv follows shortly after.

At dinner, everyone is white knuckling their silverware. Under the table, you let your leg press up against Roman’s. His entire body’s taut, and he’s staring down into his plate. You eat silently, the chatter around you awkward. You and Shiv murmur to each other about a new restaurant opening up down the street, making unofficial plans to go together when you could.

Of course, the moment you’re feeling at ease again, Logan decides to ruin it.

“Roman, you want to tell the table how willing you are to stab your own father in the back? We can’t just not talk about it.” He chews before speaking again, voice ringing. “Don’t you think your wife ought to keep her eyes open?”

You bite down a retort, Roman bristling. “Come on, Dad. Don’t bring her into this.”

You’re silently hoping that Shiv, Kendall, anyone steps in. Points out how wrong this is. How hypocritical, just how fucking ridiculous it all is.

“You know what, Romulus? I’ve let you do as you please for far too long.” You look up from your plate, on the brink of shock. You just can’t fathom the idiocy. “It’s time the world knew that you’re a cheat, you’re a liar, and you’re fucking rotten to the core. It’s time you stopped showing your face around here, like your brother.”

Your husband opens his mouth, then closes it, flabbergasted. You can see the tears rushing to his tear ducts, you can practically feel the tightening in his chest.

That’s it. You can’t. You can’t fucking handle this anymore. You get up abruptly, your chair making a garish, grating noise against the marble floor. “He’s right. We shouldn’t come here anymore,” you say, voice steady and clear. Your voice is raised, your tone firm. “It’s time we left, Roman."

Logan drops his utensils, the silver clattering against the table. “What’s the hurry? At least finish up with dinner.”

The heat immediately rushes to your face, and you can’t suppress the anger anymore. “Are you fucking senile?” you yell, Roman quietly getting up to stand beside you. “Enough is enough. Stupid fucking Pyros and it’s stupid fucking issues! You run it like a prison, your profit is nonexistent, and it’s being sued by every law firm under the sun. There’s a right decision you can make, but your head is too far up your ass for you to even see it. Go ahead, let shit hit the fan! Let the entire fucking family fortune get snatched away from you because of one measly company! And by all means, bully Roman over it, despite the fucking fact that every single person in this room agrees with what we’re saying.” You’re the one bristling now, the words spilling out of your mouth. “We’re not coming back. I’m going to the press first thing in the morning. You’ve been doing too much for too long. You’re nothing more than a piece of shit, Logan. You wouldn’t know a good son if he fucking punched you. Fuck off. You don’t deserve someone like Roman.”

Roman’s out the door before you are. Face still flushed and adrenaline still pumping through your veins, Roman helps you into your coat, you grab your purse, and you’re out in the chilly New York air, waving your arm for a taxi.

The ride home is silent, his head leaning on your shoulder.

Back at home, you kick off your shoes at the door, your stomach still in knots. “I’m sorry,” you manage, watching him shuck his jacket off and toss it into the coat closet. “I should’ve… I should’ve kept my temper in control.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” He comes over to you, his hands going to cup your hips and pull you close to him. “You’re the only one that’s been in my corner. Ever. My entire fucking life. You deserve a fucking medal.”

You kiss him gently, quickly. “It just made me angry.”

“I’m going to quit,” he tells you lowly, hand coming up to your jaw. He strokes your bottom lip as he gazes at you. “I’m going to quit and we’re going to run off to whatever place is the farthest from here.”

You steal another kiss from him before responding. “Let me ruin his fucking life first, okay? Pretty please?”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Oh, only since you asked so nicely.”

You’re both giggling as you collapse on the couch together, the dinner already forgotten. That’s how you know he was meant for you. Nothing mattered but him. The world could be burning around you, and Roman Roy could be smiling, and everything’d be fine because he was happy. That meant all was right in the world.

You cuddle up to him, his arm coming to drape over your shoulders. You hook your arms around his waist, tucking your face into his chest.

“You know,” he begins, “with corners and stuff, that’d make you a boxer. Or a wrestler.”

“Wasn’t that your analogy?” you ask, laughing lightly.

“Well, yeah. Doesn’t stop you from being a fuckin’ champion.” His voice wavers, the way it does when he’s on the brink of sleep.

“Fucking cheese ball. Go to bed.”

You both share a long, loud, laugh. It’s far too late at night for this. Apparently, his father was fucking nocturnal and only had meals past ten.

“You know you love it. You love me,” he murmurs groggily, barely still clinging on to consciousness.

“Yeah. I do.”

#roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy oneshot #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #succession x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #anon ask #requests open

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springtyme · 11 months

Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 ♡

Sydney Adamu

Carmen Berzatto

Michael Berzatto

Richie Jerimovich

Marcus Brooks

Luca (the bear)

Gary "Sweeps" Woods

Kyle Garrick

Simon Riley

John MacTavish

Jonathan Price

Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington

Felix Catton

Farleigh Start

Venetia Catton

Roman Roy

Shiv Roy

Kendall Roy

Tommy Shelby

Arthur Shelby

John Shelby

Alfie Solomons

Joel Miller (both hbo and game version)

Abby Anderson

Arthur Morgan

Spencer Reid

Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Emily Prentiss

Dana Scully

Fox Mulder

Dale Cooper

Wanda Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

Yelena Belova

Matt Murdock

Sam Wilson

James "Bucky" Barnes

Miguel O'hara

Steven Grant, Marc Spector & Jake Lockley

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starsandsugars · 10 months

Text

You roll like thunder

PAIRING: shiv roy x reader

SUMMARY: after the gala ends, shiv needs somewhere to let our her frustration. she knows just who to call to get her sense of control back. (NSFW - 18+)

TAGS: friends to lovers, friends with benefits, dom/sub undertones, degradation + praise

Notes: I want shiv to be mean to me <3 enjoy and please send in requests!

Shiv Roy walked into your life like a storm rolling through in the middle of a drought. She was dangerous and every breath felt like a promise that she was going to come through your life and change everything.

She knew it too, she must. No woman walks with that level of confidence or speaks with that level of ease if she doesn't know just how powerful she is.

That's what everything is about for Shiv- power.

Maybe that's why you let her come over when she calls you in the middle of the night after the stupid Waystar Gala.

She always goes to these events and comes crawling to you once they rattle her sense of control. She gets around her family for too long and they always find a way to take that spark away from her, stomping it out with a fierceness that manages to shock you no matter how many times it happens.

It's been true since you met Shiv her first year as a political consultant on the hill. You were working in a nonprofit nearby at the time, and your paths crossed on many occasions. At first you just nodded politely at each other but as the years went by and you both climbed the ranks you became more friendly to each other.

You met for lunch to discuss business and eventually that morphed into talking about your personal lives. You knew she was dating a man named Tom who she loved, but worried wanted her to settle down to quickly. You told her about your then recent breakup with your ex girlfriend that caused you to have to move all your stuff into a new apartment.

That somehow turned into you showing her your apartment. During your tour one of you seems to have let your resolve slip because before you know if her hands around your throat and your neighbors are banging against the wall for you two to shut up causing you both to dissolve in breathless laughter.

You agreed it was a one time thing.. then a two time thing, then a three time thing until you both stopped deluding yourself by trying to label it.

Shiv was your friend and you had sex from time to time when she wanted to blow off steam without scaring away her boyfriend. It was perfectly normal and for that point in your life it was good. You were too busy for attachments and even your best solo efforts don't come close to make you feel as good at Shiv does.

As long as you didn't think about the fact that she was technically cheating or that you were maybe definitely beginning to get real feelings for her it was perfect.

When you moved to New York for work it stopped being an after work drink and a hookup and turned into butterfly inducing texts telling you she wanted to come over while she was in town.

You knew it was wrong but you opened the door with a smile and your best underwear on every time anyway.

When she moved to New York it stayed relatively the same. You thought they would get more frequent but it seemed being a newlywed kept her more occupied than you had imagined. You can pretend it doesn't bother you as long as you don't look at the ring.

But no matter how busy she seemed to be with work or her husband or whatever new trainwreck her family had caused- she always came crawling back in times like these.

Maybe crawling is the wrong word. Prowling seems like a better descriptor.

She shows up at your door with that cocky grin, usually toting some little gift or a bottle of wine. She walks in, acting entirely innocent as she tells you to get glasses or meet her in your living room. From the moment she enters it's about making sure you both know she's in charge.

Tonight when you open the door, your eyes widen. You knew it was a gala but you hadn't been prepared for just how good Shiv would look in the gown. It hugs her curves just right, her updo bringing out the shape of her face and the glimmer in her eyes. Your voice catches in her throat as she walks past you effortlessly.

"It's late." You comment, trying to pretend like you wouldn't let her come over at any time for any reason. It's bullshit and you both know it, but she humors you anyway.

"And yet you let me in." She says, grinning at you as she slides her eyes over your pajama clad figure. You felt a little underdressed even though you knew that was silly. She has a way of doing that, of entering a room and setting the new norm.

"What, did you have plans?" Her voice lilts as she talks, almost like she's mocking you. "Don't tell me I'm interrupting a very important booty call."

She walks into your living room, leaving you no choice but to follow her as she settles comfortably on your couch. She crosses her legs as you sit across from her.

You raise an eyebrow at her, not surprised anymore by this kind of game and instead all too happy to play back.

"Why, are you jealous?."

She laughs at that, seemingly delighted by your testing her.

"Jealous?" She repeats, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. "Please. Can you even cum without me there to help you?"

She's trying to rile you up, reminding you of the time you confessed your then boyfriend couldn't make you cum and neither could your vibrator. She had taken all too much pride in that and you're pretty sure you climaxed five different times that night.

You just shake your head at her affectionately. She's trying to get a rise out of you and you enjoy making her work for it.

"I take it the gala went well then?" You say after a moment hoping she will admit her reasons for coming over.

You stand and approach your bar cart in the corner of the room. As you pour each of you a glass of red wine she sighs.

"They're idiots, all of them." She grumbled, watching you as you approached her once more. She looked at you with that expression that told you she was getting impatient, her fingers tracing over her lips in a clear effort to rile you up.

It works, and your stomach clenched at the sight.

You sat beside her, handing her the glass of wine which she takes with a smile.

"Thanks, sweetheart." She says, swirling it around before taking a sip. "You always know just what I need, huh?"

"I try." You respond, leaning in until your thighs are touching. "I like to make you feel good."

She raises a hand to gently card through your hair, brushing the hair back away from your face from a moment. She seems to be almost admiring you, and she leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

When she pulls back her grip in your hair tightens minutely.

"How about you get on your knees for me then, pretty girl?" She releases you and leans back against the couch, legs spreading wider.

Your heart speeds up in your chest as you nod, placing your glass on the table before sinking to your knees in front of her.

You slide your hands up under her dress, resting on her thighs as you look obediently up at her. She looks like a goddess from this angle, already beautiful face shining with a kind of power that made your stomach turn.

You knew the two of you were equals where it mattered but in the twilight hours when she spoke to you in that commandeering tone all you could think to do was obey.

"Good." She says, reaching down to pull the plush fabric of her dress up until it's resting around her hips. It's not lost on you that she's still got her high heels and gown on while you're sporting your pajamas. It's also not lost on you that she's wearing simple, lacy panties that match her dress.

"You wear these for me?" You tease as you slide your thumb under the waist band of them, watching the way the touch makes her flush just slightly.

"No. But you're going to take them off anyway." She says, taking a sip of her wine as she watches you easily.

You comply immediately, tugging them down her legs and draping them on the rug before running your hands back up her legs.

You begin to press kisses up the sensitive skin on the inside of her leg, feeling her shudder as you finally reach where she wants you. She wastes no time, putting her hand in your hair once more and pressing your forward.

You don't hesitate to give in, greedily licking at her clit until you feel the slight quiver in her legs. That's your queue to double down, urging her closer to that sweet spot. You move your fingers up, teasing along her folds until you can press one of your fingers in just as you flatten your tongue against her sensitive button.

She groans at that, the noise sounding like a siren song to your ears.

"Yes, just like that." She purrs, twisting her hand further in your hair while her other hand moves to pull your shirt down so your breasts are exposed.

You continue your ministrations, speeding up your tongue as you add another finger. You speed up and it begins to pull those high pitched noises from her as expletives stream from her mouth.

"Right there. Don't stop." She says, hips beginning to react in time with your movements.

When she cums it's like your world stops rotating. The sounds she only makes when she's truly vulnerable like this, the whimpers and moans and the way your name rolls off her tongue like a prayer- that's what you live for. You help her ride through it, feeling the same pride you always do at having made her feel good.

Once she's satisfied she pulls you away by your hair and just looks down at you. You can't do anything but look up at her with big eyes and a rapidly beating heart. She seems to find solace in whatever she sees in your expression.

"Come here." She says, pulling you up until you're straddling her lap. She takes your chin in her hands, turning your face side to side so she can see the way her slick glistens on your face. She hums, satisfied, and you get a little satisfaction from seeing she is still struggling to catch her breath.

"You look so pretty like this." She says, stroking her thumb over your lips and slowly pressing into your mouth as a show of dominance. "Bet you'll look even better when it's your turn to cum, huh?" She asks, free hand trailing down to grab at your ass. She pulls the fabric of your shorts down roughly, sliding her hand over your panties to tease you.

"Do you think you can handle that?" She prods.

"Yes." You respond immediately, much less concerned with your pride than you are getting rid of the desperation between your legs. "Yes, Shiv."

She grins at you, slipping her finger under the fabric to just barely brush at your clit.

"Beg for it then." She says, as dominant and demanding as always. You knew she wasn't going to make it easy, but you couldn't help but whimper anyway.

"Please. Please, I need you."

She seems satisfied with this, and pressing a finger into you. You moan immediately, starting to move your hips against her. She wastes no time in picking up the pace, adding another finger and fucking you quickly before you can even adjust.

Before you know it you're a shaking, whining mess on her lap. Her mouth moves from your neck to your nipples, giving you the attention you always crave from her. You know you're just a pawn in her life but when she touches you like this you feel like the center of her world. By the time she's worked you up to an orgasm, you feel like the center of the universe.

"You're so wet." She laughs against your skin. "Bet you've been dripping since I texted you. Even though it was the middle of the night bet you were practically shaking with how bad you wanted me. God, you act like you're so innocent but really you're the biggest slut I've ever met."

She says, dropping her other hand to circle your clit as she curls her fingers in you. She must feel you tighten or maybe she just sees the look on your face but she begins to try to talk you over the edge.

"Come on, cum. I know you can. I want you to, be good and do it for me." She urges and with a bite at your neck you do, spilling over the edge and into the hazy area where you feel like you can hardly steady yourself. You pant and shake as she finishes plastering kisses all over you, pulling down to look at you. She slips her fingers in your mouth so you can lick the cum off before pulling away and smiling at you.

"This was fun." She says, quickly downing the rest of her wine and standing up to readjust herself. You can hardly think straight but you stand on wobbly legs anyway, attempting to right you're close enough that you have some semblance of self respect.

"Leaving so soon?" You ask, even though you know this is her way. She gives you everything you could possibly want except even a sliver of real intimacy. She must see the disappointment in your eyes as she returns and runs her hands over her arms.

"You know I'm busy, dove." She says, using the pet name she only ever uses when she knows she's getting away with something. As if to distract her from this she presses a searing kiss to your lips before stepping back.

"I'll see you around, okay?" She said, and then as soon as she came she's gone with the door shutting solidly behind her.

You sigh as you sink back onto the couch, enjoying the feeling of warmth from where she was sitting. It's not her, but it's close enough.

Shiv Roy rolls like thunder. If you want to be with her, you have to accept that the storm leaves just as suddenly as it rolls in. It moves on from town to town while you're left trying to soak in what's left of the rain.

#shiv roy #succesion #succession smut #succession fic #succession x reader #shiv roy x reader #kendall roy #roman roy #tom wambsgans #succession is for the girlies #wlw smut #sarah snook #smut #fic #oneshot

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Note

can you do kendall roy fluff + only one bed? ☺️

Forced Proximity.

i. Only One Bed

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. oh my GOD i love this man. i am a kendall roy defender until i die. i am a kendall girly first and a human being second. (okay so admittedly I wrote this before watching episode 8... ken, me and you are gonna have words.)

Pairing - Kendall Roy x Assistant!Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing

Word Count - 881

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Another day, another business meeting.

You're in London, this time around. You and Kendall jumped on a flight at the drop of a hat, jetting across the world to appease yet another rich white man. It was part of your job description, after all. Wherever Ken goes, you go. Just him and his best assistant against the world.

You've been awake for what feels like an eternity when you finally arrive at your hotel. You'd made sure to book two conjoining rooms, as always - Kendall likes to have you close. Just in case, he says.

You practically run to the front desk, desperate to shower and jump into a fluffy white bed. The universe, apparently, has other plans.

"So that's room 414 all ready for you, ma'am."

Her English accent doesn't soften the blow of the shock as much as you expected it to.

"Wait... what? Sorry, I'm sleep deprived. I booked two conjoining rooms."

"It says here you only booked one."

"Please," you beg. "I definitely booked two. Do you at least have another room available? I'll just book it now."

She clicks away at the keyboard, acrylic nails hitting the plastic rhythmically.

"I'm really sorry. There's an event happening, it's this huge wedding and the bride is some sort of celebrity and literally every room is full."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was, ma'am."

And that's how you found yourself apologising profusely to Kendall while dragging your luggage down a never ending hotel hallway.

"God, could this day get any worse? I'm so fucking sorry, Ken."

He stops walking and turns to face you directly.

"It's fine. Stop stressing, please. You're making me fuckin' nervous."

You sigh with relief, and join him in his laughter. You can survive one night, surely.

You swing open your door, to be met with the sight of the biggest hotel bed you've ever seen. Bed. One bed.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Kendall stays silent, slight smirk on his face. He always thinks you're at your cutest when you're mad.

"God, Ken, again, I'm so sorry. I think the universe hates us."

"You've only figured that out today?"

He chuckles, and the sound calms you down ever so slightly.

"Look, honey, we can sleep top to tail, or I'll sleep on the floor, or in the fucking bathtub. But we're both exhausted, and standing and staring at the bed isn't helping."

He's right. Fatigue is plaguing your bones, practically seeping out of your pores. You need to lie down.

"I'm not gonna make you sleep on the floor, Ken. That's the biggest bed I've ever seen. There's room for the both of us."

He can't argue with that.

You both get ready for bed, taking your respective turns. You never realised how intimate a nighttime routine can be. You feel like you're seeing a side of your boss that's reserved only for him.

You both slide into a side of the bed, making sure to put an adequate distance between you. You roll so your backs are facing each other, to save any awkwardness. Kendall turns off the light, and settles down.

"Goodnight, Ken."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

You fall asleep the minute your head hits the pillow.

You're awoken by breathing. Not the steady, rhythmic breathing of someone asleep. No, the half panicked, willing-himself-to-sleep kind of breathing.

"Ken?" you whisper. "Are you awake? What's wrong?"

You turn to face him, and make out the shape of him lying on his back in the dark.

"Fuck, did I wake you? Sorry, honey. Just can't sleep."

"You're exhausted. Thought you'd be out like a light."

"Can I tell you something?" he questions quietly.

"Anything."

"I haven't been sleeping."

"For how long?"

"Months. Maybe like a year? I don't know. I go through phases."

"Have you talked to someone?"

"I, uh, tried to. But they wanted to give me pills. I didn't wanna take them, so."

You roll onto your back, mirroring his position. In the dark, you reach out and grab his hand that rests on the bed between you.

"Proud of you," you whisper. "Can't have been easy to say no."

He doesn't know what to say, so he simply laces his fingers with yours, and squeezes a little tighter.

"Do you think it's because you sleep alone?" you ask quietly after a while.

"Honestly? Maybe. I got used to having Rava for so long. Then Naomi. I always sleep better with someone else."

You inch closer to him, using your interlocked hands as leverage. You move so your arms are pressed against each other, your head resting on his shoulder.

"So do I," you whisper. "Don't know if it's the breathing, or the body heat, or just not being lonely. Whatever it is... you have me."

"Yeah?" he asks breathily.

"Yeah."

With that, he pulls you in to him, arms wrapping around you. You rest your head on his chest and exhale.

You settle into the comfort of the warmth of his chest. The smell of your shampoo slowly calms Kendall, his heart slowing and evening out. Within minutes, his breathing becomes steady and rhythmic, body fully relaxed. You join him in slumber almost instantly.

When you wake in the morning, Kendall tells you to only ever book one room from now on.

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chaithetics · 11 months

Note

i absolutely adore your stewy fic and have re-read it 50 times already 😭😭 would love a small sequel based on the 9th episode of him supporting the reader during the funeral and butting in to defend her/hold when she breaks down without caring about what other think, im not kidding when i say i’ve read it 50 times i can’t believe i’ve found a fic this good that’s touched the part of my brain obsessed with stewy and starches it to well i adore you

Don't Let Me Go

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Author's note: THANK YOU SO MUCH NONNIE! I ADORE AND LOVE YOU! Every time I think about this request or read it, I'm kicking my feet and twirling my hair. This is so sweet and just the highest praise ever! WOW. I appreciate you, it was so sweet and I really hope you enjoy this! Please let me know what you think and feel free to message me! I love grief-related shows/movies (I love to be in my feels) so this was quite the interesting one. I apologise for any sadness this fic causes. I have more requests that aren't sad dw! Always open to Stewy requests as well. This can be read as a stand-alone/sequel to Furtive Hands. This also HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD lol. I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter/content warning: established/secret relationship, GRIEF, GRIEF, funeral, some fluff but just funeral grief and supportive Stewy.

The last week had been miserable, there was no other way to describe it or to do it justice. It should be raining, that would make sense for the funeral of such a commanding and depressing man, there also should’ve been thunder and lightning. Now that would’ve done justice for the thunderous man that your father was but maybe there was no thunder in the sky because it all left with him.

You’re sitting in the backseat of the car with Shiv right in front of you as you wait for your brothers, both of the Roy daughters are dressed head to toe in black and a fine picture of grief. You’d gladly taken the backseat, it was worth the small risk of motion sickness, it meant it would be easier to distance yourself from any potential, yet inevitable drama.

Shiv had a glassy expression that was hard to read, you picked up that there was something there that wasn’t just grief. You sat up a bit and leaned over closer, so your arms were resting on the back of her seat.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly.

Shiv’s head quickly turned to look at you, grief was there, some unshed tears in her eyes and she looked like a deer in headlights. Her lip trembled for a second and then she sighed and her blue eyes pierced yours.

“Full disclosure…?”

“Go.” You immediately replied and Shiv’s body moved more into your direction.

“I really uh, fucked things up… Ken found out and Mencken, well he’s a form of stabbing a knife in return.” She breathed out and her eyes quickly left yours as she looked down at her body. “And I’m fucking pregnant, I-I told Tom and well he thought it was a fucking tactic.” She humourlessly chuckles as her eyes move to focus on the ceiling of the car.

“Holy shit, Shiv.” You moved closer off your seat to rest your head on the top of the back of the seat dividing you two and put your hands out to hold hers, squeezing them softly and doing your best to genuinely smile for her. “I’m sorry, that’s a fucking lot. But congratulations! Congratulations? Should I be saying congratulations? If not we can go and sort it out, I’ll go with you if you want. Anything you need.”

Shiv nodded as she kept her hand in yours and used her free hand to rub at her face a little. “I thought about it but I’m going to keep it. It’s fine. Thank you though. I’m planning to tell mom and that today so yeah.”

“Thanks for telling me.” You responded giving her hand another squeeze and she nodded. After a few seconds, she let go of your hand and turned back around in her seat and not long after that your brothers joined you both.

*******************

It had been an awkward car ride, you’d sunk into your seat, looking out the window as Roman and Shiv argued. You didn’t say a word, Kendall had eventually intervened and called for a truce which was agreed upon. Kendall had discussed Rava leaving the city with the kids which you thought was justified and you struggled to not call Kendall out, having to bite your tongue and fully focus your gaze on the windows. Right now was not the right time for sibling arguments. You’re sure that Kendall saw your pointed expression before looking out the window again.

This had been tougher than you’d imagined. Roman had immediately broken during the speech, everything that hadn’t come out of him did then. Kendall had taken over, with a speech that had been well received but genuinely made you uncomfortable. Ever since you’d all sat down you’d been close to Roman, one hand gently on his back and the other hand holding his, he had a tight grip on it but he was doing slightly better now. Well, he was visibly.

Each sentence that comes out of your sibling’s mouths feels like a blow and the casket is haunting you. Not as much as Roman though you suppose, if he wasn’t firmly planted onto the pew and with a pale, iron grip on your hands you thought you’d maybe float away. Or maybe you’d just sink down with the pressure of all the eyes, tears and smirks.

As Shiv speaks, you know she’s right, her words about being his daughter have never been easy and it’s starting to get hot. Too hot. Sure there are hundreds of people in the church but it’s too hot even with that, you’re starting to overheat and your thoughts are overcrowding your brain.

You look at Roman, your hand on his back and your other one holding his hand. You bite your lip, trying to force tears not to come. Unsuccessfully though.

“I’m sorry, yeah, um I’m sorry Rome.” You let go of his hand and quickly move to squeeze past Connor and Willa in the pew.

All of their eyes follow you in concern, you start to fidget with the corner of your sleeve while trying to regulate your breathing as you walk off to the side of the Church. You don’t know where to go, it doesn’t feel like anywhere is an option but it feels like you just need to leave. Anywhere but here, home or any place that’s ever had that title. Your mind is racing with that train of thought and another million ones, none are easier than the last though. It’s becoming overwhelming, impossible. Your heart is beating so fast you can hear it and you can feel it beating so quickly it’s trying to carve itself out of your chest. It’s all so claustrophobic.

An arm grabs you and you turn around to see that it’s Connor.

“Hey, hey. Are you okay?”

“It’s just a lot, I don’t think I can be- I don’t really want to be in here right now.” You quietly say, trying not to choke on the inevitable sobs.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Connor’s gaze is focused on you and it’s gentle. Which somehow feels more intense, it amplifies the feeling of being under a microscope. You tug at your sleeve again as you feel the tears starting to get worse, you try to bite your lip as tightly as possible to stop the incoming sobs from arriving, to distract from the emotional pain with something physical.

It doesn’t work though.

You start to step away from Connor as your crying can now be heard, Roman stays frozen in the pew still trying to find some of his abandoned composure. Kendall’s noticed that this isn’t a toilet break and that Connor’s intervention isn’t cutting it and starts to make his way over.

Kendall quickly realises that he’s not the only one who’s noticed and who is making their way over. Kendall’s compassion for you is still somewhat intact but today, controlling the narrative and putting out fires is his priority.

“Stew, go. People are going to talk.” Kendall sternly whispers with a disappointed look, doing his best to communicate his point without drawing anymore attention to the scene.

“Let them talk, I don’t fucking care Ken.” Stewy spits out with widened eyes.

“You don’t want this story to break today, trust me.”

“If it broke today it would drown in the rest of the funeral, Roman and the fucking GoJo numbers. You know that. Everybody does, it’s why Shiv and Matsson leaked it today.”

“Follow the money back to your fucking seat.”

“The money isn’t my priority here. She’s my partner.” Stewy says, Kendall scoffs and they both quietly walk over towards you and Connor. But you’ve been too overwhelmed to have noticed any of that interaction or them joining you and Connor in your weird corner towards the back of the church.

“I need to- it’s so hot in here. It’s really fucking crowded, I know that you want a good turn out at a funeral but this is- it’s so unnecessary you know?” You cry out rambling and Connor’s concern shows more. You hadn’t publicly broken over your father’s death yet and Connor hadn’t seen you cry since you were a child.

“Yeah, sure. Sure. A lot of people”

“It’s just so hot in here. I need cold air. Maybe some wine? Do you think there’s uh w-wine around? It’s a church, there’s bound to be wine, it’s Catholic- Holy Communion and all… Fuck.”

“I don’t think there’s wine here you can drink.” Connor’s voice breaks a little.

“I can’t do this, I don’t want to be in here. Connor please? Just I don’t know- I don’t fucking know.” You sob out and the tears and sobs just don’t stop. Connor puts his arms around you and does his best to keep some composure for your sake.

Kendall and Stewy have now come over, Connor’s arms are still around you but you feel a hand on your back. One that rubs a little circle and you recognise that little pattern, the pressure, the touch itself.

“Stewy?” You whisper out between a little sob.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is soft and gentle as he continues to rub your back like he has a dozen times over the last several days.

“I just- uh. I just, it’s so hot and claustrophobic. I needed air.” You’ve now left Connor’s arms to press yourself into Stewy’s side, his arms quickly replacing Connor’s as they wrap around you. You’re too overwhelmed to even consider or worry that your tears and makeup might be rubbing on his blazer.

“I know.”

Kendall is standing in an attempt to shield the rest of the world from this interaction, Connor’s hand is on your shoulder now. Stewy looks at Connor, tilting his head slightly towards you. Stewy smiles at Connor and nods, silently communicating that it’s okay and Connor can go back, which he does after squeezing your shoulder softly.

“Can we- can- I need to go outside. I need air.” You muffle into Stewy’s side. Kendall pointedly looks at Stewy.

“I know baby, I know. But there’s a lot of people outside still and cameras still.” Stewy says, as he rubs at your back comfortingly. Stewy isn’t worried about people seeing you both out there but about people seeing you in this state and it being immortalised in the media.

“Fuck.” You mutter and the sobs become louder, more painful and desperate.

You knew today would be hard, nothing was easy with your father. But you didn’t expect today to be so awful and to feel so trapped, he was gone, you shouldn’t feel like this but you just felt vulnerable, like the defenseless kid you were trapped in your childhood. Under a microscope for hundreds to zoom in on your pain, today wasn’t suffering just for your father’s amusement.

“Yeah. We can get some air at the cemetery and take the long way back to the reception? Stop off somewhere if you want?” He asks softly.

“We all came together-” Kendall starts.

“I know-” Stewy quietly interjects.

“I think I’ll go with Stewy, Ken.” You say quietly, you peek out a little from Stewy, puffy faced and wet with tears. Kendall doesn’t look super impressed at that, you can tell but he just gives a small nod.

There’s something about Stewy, his mere presence is a salve on your soul. Being buried into his side, being able to try focusing on the scent of his cologne instead of everyone and everything else is helping you remember how to breathe again. Your lungs remember how it all works again with Stewy at your side.

“Do you want to sit down again before it ends?” Stewy gently inquires now that he’s noticed that your breathing is a bit more normal and the sobbing is more contained.

“Sit with me?” Stewy nods. Kendall scoffs quietly but audibly and takes one of your hands and walks back to the front row pew of Roys, Stewy’s hand is gently on your back as he follows. You sit at the furthest end from Kendall, sandwiched between Willa and Stewy. Willa offers you a small but gentle smile and you press into Stewy’s side as he holds your hand in his.

“Snot siblings.” Roman says as he finally looks at you, leaning across to give you a tissue. “Courtesy of the old Gerr-bear.” He adds as he refuses to look at the woman behind him.

“Oh, thank you.” You whisper quietly and he nods looking away, just across from him.

You’re aware that there’s more attention on you now over your little breakdown and at the development of Stewy coming over and then being at the front Roy children pew, Willa’s there of course but not even Tom or Rava are. You can tell Stewy’s aware of this as well as you look at his handsome side profile, he notices you staring and smiles at you, his arm around you squeezes you softly and he brings the hand of yours that he’s been holding in his lap up for a soft, sweet kiss.

“Just breathe.” He whispers quietly as your hand in his goes back into his lap. You take a deep breathe, even consumed in your grief and the horror of this day you are so grateful for him.

Despite the context, there is something freeing and peaceful about that. Being able to hold your hand in front of hundreds of people, kiss it and sit next to you. Stewy feels it deeply in his soul and while you perhaps can’t appreciate that right now, you can feel it too.

****************

You didn’t stay to receive condolences like Kendall did. You immediately left with Stewy, ignoring the pointed and curious looks from everyone as he had an arm around you as you both quickly walked, he held the door open for you and you both sat in the backseat.

As soon as you both were in and that door closed, you couldn’t help it. You just started crying. It was so overwhelming.

“Hey, hey baby.” Stewy whispered into your hair as he pulled you tightly into him, he pressed some soft kisses to the top of your head. “I’ve got you.” He said softly. He was so soft with you today. But Stewy was always soft with you.

Stewy held you tightly for the rest of the drive and when the car got to the cemetery you tilted your head, so you were still pressed against his chest and looked up.

“Everybody knows now.” He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, it was a fact either way.

“Yeah-”

“Are you okay with that? I’m sorry-” You asked quietly, letting out a little hiccup. Tears still in your eyes.

“I don’t fucking care who knows. I love you. You baby. The whole world can know and there’s a lot going on today, I think this will be the least of anybody’s concerns or key takeaways. I just care about you.”

You lean up to give him a soft kiss on the lips, which he eagerly but gently returns.

“I love you too.”

“That always helps.” He says and you let out a dry chuckle at that, as you bite your lip looking out the tinted window. “Should we try one of those exercises?”

“Exercises? I don’t think we can fuck in your car at the cemetery when everyone is here to dispose of my dad-” You say with another dry laugh but some more tears come to stain your cheeks.

“No, no, no baby.” Stewy chuckles and flashes you a charming smile. “Those like grounding, breathing, you’re an amazing professional ones? Oh the colour one! Um, what’s something purple you can see?”

You look at Stewy in awe of his sweetness despite the douchey exterior most have to deal with. Your eyes briefly skim around the car and the sea of people in black outside.

“We’re at a funeral, everyone’s wearing black… Where’s the purple Stewy?” You ask in a tone as teasing as possible but a small sob comes out of you.

“Well you know I have nothing against outfit repeating but I’d worn a purple blazer to the wake- that wasn’t even a week ago baby. There’s a line, and it would’ve crossed the line. With the turtleneck and trousers and a purple blazer it would’ve looked like I was wearing the same outfit. I can’t do that, not in a week, let alone for two death-related events. People would know.” Stewy rambles on.

You can’t help but laugh at his ramble, only he would be acutely aware of that and have considered this all in great detail. You laugh into his blazer and nod. He wears a large smile on his face as he notices that this seems to have cheered you up somewhat. There’s still tears but that’s to be expected, he’s just glad that there’s somehow some smiles and laughs in there as well.

You press yourself into him tightly, inhaling his comforting scent and presence. “Don’t let me go. Not out there, in here. Ever, please.”

“I’d never dream of it, baby..” Stewy says softly as he presses a kiss into your head and then you both leave the car holding hands.

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