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chokepoet · 8 months

Text

Cruelty & Empathy 18+

gif by @romulussy

Summary | A night alone in the office has Roman and his assistant escalating their tension past a point of no return. The aftermath of which leads to confessions that will change the trajectory of their relationship forever.

Genre | Angst, Fluff, Porn With Plot

Content | anxiety, biting, blood, bondage, choking, crying, dom/sub tones, degradation, dirty talk, mentions of past physical abuse, power struggles, thigh riding, sadomasochism, slapping, spitting

Word Count | 8.5k

A/N: Y’all this fic is fuckin’ filthyyyy… but like in a romantic way??? I wasn’t going to share it but my best friend insisted. If y’all hate this I volunteer as tribute for boar on the floor lmao

Roman Roy’s Office | 10:33 pm

He was sprawled out across the couch as if this were his family’s private estate. It might as well have been. The building’s climate control always seemed to be blowing a peculiar air. One that felt like his father breathing down the back of his neck at all times. Left calf draped over the backrest, right hand cradling a whiskey, and head tilted back over the armrest. His once-slick hair now hung limp, with loose strands reaching for the carpet below. His upside-down gaze willed me to stop my attempts at meeting our deadline and to focus solely on him instead.

My bank account's dwindling had my morals emaciated. They’d weakly played tug of war with my last braincell when I'd accepted Roman’s job offer nearly two years prior. About 6 months into being his assistant, I found myself earning another role: his best friend. His only friend. My typing picks up speed as I contemplate what level of fucked-up I had to be in order to actually enjoy this job. I decide it must have been top-tier when my thoughts drift to the one Roy that had me feeling this way.

In the past 22 months, I came to understand Roman better than anyone else ever had. He somehow wormed his way into gaining just as much insight into me as well. It made me feel strangely protective over him. Oddly enough, he seemed to reciprocate. We still rarely aloud ourselves vulnerability in the presence of the other. We much preferred self-immolation. I don’t think he ever intended to grow so attached to me. He certainly would never admit to it. If you had asked me if the feeling was mutual, I’d lie through my teeth.

I loved him madly.

I don’t exactly know when or how it happened. I do, however, vividly remember when I first realized he held something soft for me.

Siena, Italy | 4:21 am

He was drunk off his ass, his head resting on my shoulder. He had been leaning into my frame for support long before he even needed it. Roman mumbled something about liking me because I was the only “sad sack of shit” in the office who could make him laugh. I asked him why I was a sad sack and not just a regular sack. He blew out a huff of air, causing his lips to trill. The sound was quickly preceded by the flipping of his wrists in a few circles.

“Isn't it obvious?” I nudged my shoulder against his head.

“Because I work for your sorry ass?”

He clumsily tapped the tip of my nose with his right pointer finger, nearly blinded my left eye in the process.

“Bingo, bongo, banjo.” The nonsensical words tumbled out and the rest of his drink tumbled in. “Itstheeyes.” I’d been unable to make out the slurred syllables mumbled just under his breath. For all I knew, they could’ve been Latin for ‘bastard’.

“What?” He dropped his now-empty glass into a historic fountain as we passed. I stopped to try and fish it out, but he dragged me away. I remember wondering if he had made a wish on it in his drunken haze. Rich and careless enough to pretend it was a penny. Maybe that had been why he was so adamant about me not retrieving it. My mind wandered as I pondered what Roman could have possibly wished for. His father's approval? An endless supply of luxurious Korean face creams? A pair of stunning Italian supermodels to lean into instead of me?

Tripping over his own two feet, I instinctively gripped his bicep. Stubborn as ever, he shoved me and muttered something along the lines of 'fuck off'. God forbid he’d take my help. Throwing my hands up, I left him to walk alone a few steps ahead of me. He weaved for a while before slowing his pace until he could lay his head back on my shoulder.

A beat passed, where the only sound was the soft crunch of our shoes against the weathered cobblestone. I caught one of his bleary eyes peeking over at my face. Content with whatever it was he found, he nodded to himself.

“Yep.” He popped his lips on the 'p' and absentmindedly kicked a pebble from our path. “It's the eyes. Sad sack of shit eyes. You've got 'em.” The laugh that had left me seemed much too loud as it ricocheted off every crumbling brick ahead of us. Roman smiled proudly for a moment. “I love your laugh.” The words were said mostly to himself. My cheeks warmed considerably.

“Really? It's obnoxious as all hell.” His brows furrowed, and he shook his head.

“No, it's fuckin’—fuck off. No, it's not.” He kicked another stone. “It's pretty. Pretty like… like your face.” Pretty. “Nothin’ like a hyena.” Hyena? “I think I'm gonna puke.”

He did.

Roman’s Office | 10:47 pm

“Hi.” A small voice lounging across from me pulls my attention. I look up from the computer and rest my head in my hand, my elbow propped on his desk.

“Hi.” I smile softly with a raised brow.“Need somethin’?” The grin that breaks across his features is almost childlike. His big brown eyes could even be mistaken for innocent; I knew better.

“As a matter of fact…” Extremely happy to have garnered my attention, he pulls himself to a sitting position. “Yes!” With a swift motion, he slams his whiskey onto the coffee table. The sharp sound of glass on glass reverberates throughout the room.

“Yes?”

“Yes?” His voice drops into a cartoonish impersonation of my own. His hand was still clasped around his drink for some reason. Flipping his face up to me with a saccharine simper, he adds, “Will you kindly suck my cock?”

“Will you kindly go fuck yourself?” My impression of him was just as cartoonish as his of me. The hand holding my head returns to typing. Groaning loudly, he lets go of his glass to dramatically fall back into the couch.

“Will you? ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ bored!” He drags out his words until they turn to whine. “This is fucking boring. Aren’t you bored?”

“Yes, you’re extremely boring.”

“Hurr-hurr.” He mocks while crinkling his nose. “I’ll have you know I’m anything but and am widely known as delightful company.” A snort escapes my nose and Roman smiles.

“Really? I thought you were widely known as a terrible person.” He rolls his eyes as I quote his cousin.

“Yeah, yeah fuck you.” He gives me the finger. I flip him off in return. “The fuck does Nosferatu fuckin’ know anyways?” The nickname makes me chuckle and has Roman mimicking Greg. “Oh, I—I couldn’t help but—couldn’t help but notice that my gargantuan height may be alarm—alarming the schoolchildren. I—is that why Iverson is um c—crying? Or is he like, I—I mean, is he… y—ya know… special?”

The laughter still bubbled up uncontrollably even as I tried maintaining focus on the task at hand. My passive interest towards Roman was annoying him to no end.

“Come on! I want entertainment! Entertain me, woman!” I roll my eyes. A cinnamon tinted stare was steady burning apertures into my features, willing me to stop ignoring him. “Come—Come on…” His hands outstretch in my direction, middle and index finger beckoning quickly. “Come show big daddy watcha got.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, my typing stops and I fully turn my attention towards him. His face contorts in a grimace already knowing what was to come. My brows raise as I slowly repeat his words back to him.

“Come show big daddy what I got?” Roman’s hands drag down his face and he groans loudly as soon as big leaves my mouth.

“Oh, fuck y—shut the fuck up.” He sinks lower into the couch with high hopes of it swallowing him whole. The smile that breaks across my features is downright malevolent. I couldn’t recall having ever seen him this embarrassed. Surprising, considering all the lewd shit he spews at me daily. There was something sick inside me that enjoyed it. The urge to play cat rather than mouse overtakes me.

“No, no, no. I just want to understand you clearly, Mr. Roy.” Our dynamic had never been much of a professional one. I couldn’t recall the last time I had addressed him so formally but I wanted to really get under his skin. Oddly enjoying my place in its prickled embrace. Rising from my chair, I place both palms on the desk and lean forward with a pout. “Are you saying you wanna shut me up with your cock, big daddy?”

“I’m going to fucking kill myself.” He was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Aw! Weawwy, Daddy? Jus' 'cause I won't suwck yo big thick cock?” At that, a cushion flies towards my head. I narrowly catch it as I’m doubling over in laughter. He’s standing now, hands overtly animated.

“I swear to GOD, I’m going to fucking—fuck! Fuck you! Out the window!” He’s angrily pointing towards the giant window panes beside him. “I’m going to throw you out the fucking window!”

“Oh wow, you’re gonna fuck me out the window?” His face was the deepest shade of crimson I had ever seen it.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I swear to Christ I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” I was doing a piss-poor job at stifling my laughter.

“I just fucking told you. Ass through glass.” He dismissively waves a hand in the air.

“Bullshit.” Finally looking at me, I cross my arms. His eyes flicker to my chest. “You don’t have the balls.”

“Are you saying I don’t have the balls to murder you?” The words come out in a bemused laugh. “I could murder the fuckin’—murder the shit out of you. Easily.”

“Okay.” With a shrug of my shoulders, I feel a dark coil in the back of my mind start to twist. “Prove it.”

“Prove it? You want me to—to what? Throw you through the goddamn window right now?”

I smirk back at him with a shrug, an inkling I had about him spilling to the forefront of my mind. It colors my vision and stains my tongue. If there was ever a time to find out if my suspicions held true, for some reason, I decided that now was the time. The office was definitely empty at this hour, and the privacy blinds were drawn, so no cameras. Risky as all hell, but if things go south, maybe I could play it off as riffing. I could be quite the convincing liar when I needed to be. My mother saw to that.

“See? I knew it.” With hands on my hips, I tilt my head to size him up. My tone shifts into something silky as sin. “You won’t do shit.” The air begins filling with static causing Roman’s lips to twitch. “You and I both know it. Don’t we…” I slide out from behind the desk, feeling taller as I grow closer. Feeling bolder seeing him swallow. “Romulus?” Using his father’s nickname for him causes his nostrils to flare. A clench in the jaw, a quick exhale. I fucking knew it. “So why don’t you just…” Fully standing in front of him now, I look down with a smirk “sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up for once in your life.”

The air was now overcome with static. Thick and heavy. The subjugated desire etched into his features felt so familiar to me. While I had never seen him this way, or anyone else for that matter, I myself had given that look many a time. That inkling I had was no longer an inkling. It had grown roots that smiled with wicked teeth; I was right.

The electric silence between us started to prick at my skin. My bottom lip twitches as it fought against every instinct to fill the silence with some form of an apology. To try and turn my sudden shift from dominance back into normalcy. His eyes dart to my mouth immediately; he knows.

“Make me.” His head slowly tilts upwards, as do the corners of his lips. The heat that had been slowly brewing between us for well over a year licks up my thighs. He was sneering up at me as we stood toe to toe. His burnt espresso eyes had my mind spiraling in their steam. The look on his face said everything. He saw me, he had me, he called my bluff, he won.

No.

My hand wound itself in the silky hair at the nape of his neck and I use it to jerk his head back. His jaw immediately goes slack. Something akin to a whimper escapes his throat. Surprise has my brows raising and Roman feeling embarrassed. His heavy lids fall and he turns himself away. Reaching up with my free hand, I grip his jaw until he’s facing me once again.

“Look at me.” He does in an instant and I’m flooded by a mixture of emotions. Relief, power, love. I never want to forget how he looks beneath my hands. The way his pupils eclipse the hazel of his eyes. The way his freckles scatter under the pinkish hue of a blush. The way his lips part slightly as his breath shakes out across them. Just as my eyes dance across his every feature, his do mine. Is he etching my features into his own memory?

He attempts to lean forward but I hold him steady. Roman wanted to kiss me but I wanted to tease. I press my lips beside his mouth before trailing them along the smooth path of skin leading to his ear. Sucking his skin into my mouth, I bit gently. A soft sound of content slips from his lips, so I trace up the shell of his ear with my tongue. Upon my return, I bite down once more; harder this time. Just as my teeth release him, the fist tangled in his hair gives a sharp tug. His hum bleeds into a moan that has me squeezing my thighs together. A cool plume of air billows past my lips along the now damp skin; goosebumps erupt immediately. I slide my hand from his jaw until my fingers wrap around his throat to hold him.

“Do you like this, Rome?” The soft whisper has him murmuring his satisfaction. “Come on…” I lightly squeeze his throat. “Be a good boy and use your words.” When I pull away to look at his face, I find his lids are nearly shut.

“Y-yeah.” He swallows in an attempt to steady himself. It doesn’t. “Y-yes, I like it.” He could barely look me in the eyes and it made my stomach flip in the best way possible.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.” The words slip out before I have the chance to stop them. He inhales sharply, and the air seems to rattle through his skull. His eyes quickly leave mine as his face warms considerably. My heart beats as if it were trying to rip itself from my chest and collide with his. The blood rushing in my ears was chanting 'I love you' over and over again. My teeth dig into my cheek until the taste of blood envelops my tongue. I'm raging a war with my own body in silence. This newfound power was locking talons with my own subjugated nature and death spiraling through the emotion in my chest.

His pulse was racing underneath my thumb. My voice cascades over his flushed skin as I let feather light kisses rain upon him. His first name glides along the tip of his right cheek, his last over the tip of his left. Hovering just out of his reach, I whisper into his open mouth.

“Tell me what you need.” He desperately tries to press his lips into mine but I just pull back. He grunts in frustration.

“Just fuckin’ kiss me already.”

“No.” Releasing my grip, I shove him into the couch. He trips backwards, gracelessly collapsing into the cushions. I climb onto his lap with my knees pressed to either side of his hips. With one hand, I weave my fist around his tie and pull him to me. My other grips his jaw tightly. “You wanna try that again?” His jaw clenches beneath my fingers. His eyes were wild as they flared up at me. Suddenly, his hands lock onto my hips, hard. He pushes his face into my fingers until the tips of our noses bump together.

“I said, just fucking kiss me and I meant do it now.” His words were caught somewhere between a hiss and a growl. He never could handle the word no, so his response shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. The power I’d been holding over him was now leaking through the lace under my skirt. My thighs instinctively flex around him and it has him digging his fingers in harder. A liquid heat spreads through my chest at the thought of later seeing the bruises he was surely leaving behind.

“Well?” My teeth clench and the hand holding his jaw twitches. The attitude lacing his voice drug it’s nails up my spine as I’m reminded of how entitled he could be. He wasn’t supposed to be the one making demands anymore. His smile twitches as a darkness blooms behind his glee. “You wanna hit me don’t you?” My grip loosened; my lungs suddenly feeling like he held them in his fist.

“W-what?” I didn’t want to hit him. Did I? He was selfish, he was arrogant, and he could be so goddamn cruel. Still, the urge to physically harm him was something I had never once encountered. Knowing the history of his childhood and having bared witness to his father’s present day violence against him had made me hyper aware of the constant pain pulsing below his surface. My eyes rapidly blink as they search past his burning stare and into the darkened crevices of his soul.

Oh—he wanted me to hurt him.

His need for it radiating from the blackened pits to scald me. It scared me. It scared me because it felt dark. It felt wrong. But it scared me the most of all because suddenly in this moment, I wanted to. “I-I don’t-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Again, my teeth clench and my grip retightens on his jaw. His smile grew. Mother fucker knew what he was doing. He was basking in it.

He reaches for my hand wound in his tie, quickly unraveling before bringing it to his throat. His own then slide towards my ass. Gripping tightly, he pushes me down against his length to make sure I felt how badly he wanted this. He throbbed against my center; he wanted it bad. “Listen to me. You’re gonna let go of my jaw and you’re gonna fuckin’ slap me, aright?” I nod and release him. “Fuckin’ hit me.” As I draw back my palm, his tongue peaks out to wet his bottom lip.

Slap.

My palm makes contact and brushes across his cheek. It was a sad attempt really. Weak. Even though I knew he wanted it, needed it, something inside held me back.

I was still scared of harming him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Come on!” He roughly digs his fingers into my ass, significantly harder than before. “I said fucking slap me!”

Crack.

I slapped him. Hard. His face jerks to the side. My hand stung as it instinctively goes to cover my mouth in shock of myself. His lips twitch before slowly turning up in a demented grin. A bloom of red seeps out from his bottom lip and his tongue slides across it. With the taste of his own blood, his smile widens. He laughs softly to himself and I slowly lower my hand.

“There she is.” His voice low, a rumbling purr. “You fuckin’ bitch.” The hand I had just used to strike instantly flies into the mess of his hair; our lips collide. A groan escapes, but from which of us—I didn’t know. The metallic taste of him fueled me. It felt frantic, bruising, needy. We pushed ourselves into each other as if we were feral creatures, held captive and starved. Feeding on something we had buried deep inside only to be found behind the teeth of the other. Sucking his tongue into my mouth causes him to moan and set me ablaze.

I force our mouths apart with a pull of his hair; desperately needing to catch my breath and clear my head. Panting heavily, we stare into the depths of the other in quiet disbelief. This was really happening.

“You sure you want this?” I needed to hear him confirm that he did, in-fact, want to go where we were obviously heading. I knew Roman long enough to know he had serious intimacy issues. Their seeming lack of presence in this moment had me in a whirlwind. He pressed himself into my center once again, his nails bruising crescents into my skin.

“What do you fuckin’ think, dumbass?” I let go of his throat and dig my own nails into his jaw to grip him harshly. He openly smiles with swollen lips.

“Tell me then. Tell me exactly what you want.” His expression falters and his jaw tenses beneath my fingers, eyes flickering from mine.

“You know what I fuckin’ want.” His words seep through gritted teeth. I press my forehead to his. Ever so slowly, I begin rhythmically grinding my hips down upon him. The friction causing his eyes to slip shut. A loud groan escapes from somewhere deep within his chest.

“Roman, I swear to God I’ll stop.” He doesn’t say anything so I still my hips. Umber eyes shoot open and he tries to move me himself. I won’t budge. “I will get up and I will fucking leave you here like this. Pathetic and alone with nothing but your hand.” As the words leave my mouth, so do my hips leave his. His brows snap together and tries in vain to pull me back down again. Still, I don’t budge. “I will walk out this door and you will never fucking see me again. Is that what you want?” The threat was hollow but said with a bite that had shaken me. I was falling into this role a little too easily, a little too well.

He gapes up at me when I completely let go of him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I attempt to push myself off. It’s him who doesn’t budge this time. He yanks me back down with every ounce of strength his small frame contained. The sudden action has all the air escaping my lungs. With a hand clasped to the back of my neck, he seizes me into a searing kiss.

“Whatever you want.” The words frantically rush into my mouth. “I don’t care.” Fighting against the grip on my neck, he finally gives. I pull back to contemplate his words. Tilting my head slightly, my gaze falls to his tie. An idea begins forming as I slowly untie the silk. My nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt has him intently studying my face. Whatever I want.

Cupping his warm face in one hand, I smear the blood of his bottom lip with my thumb. He parts his mouth and sucks it in. With my other, I reach for Roman’s and slide his own thumb into my waiting mouth. As I swirl my tongue around him, Roman’s eyes darken and he sucks me harder.

Pulling from his lips with a pop, I rub my now wet thumb against his nipple. A soft moan is let loose. My tongue continuously plays with him inside me. He shudders as I pinch the bud beneath my fingers before doing the same to the other. Letting go of his hand, I reach forward to pinch both simultaneously and he groans loudly.

My cheeks hollow around his thumb as he slips it from me. He drags it down my bottom lip and stares intently. Transfixed by my spit glistening in the incandescent light. Cupping my jaw, he pulls me forward to replace his thumb with his tongue. That familiar groan returning when I suck him in. His other hand tangles itself into my staticky waves and he kisses me with everything he has.

“Give me your wrists.” The order was partially muffled against his mouth.

“Huh?” The question was mumbled into my lips.

“I said,” Threading my fingers into his own hair, I pull him back. “give me your fucking wrists.” With a dramatic tug, his tie is jerked from underneath his collar in a rush. He sat still, blinking up at me. The walnut shells of his eyes fall into my hands. There was a slight apprehension, a nervousness to them. “Do you trust me, Rome?”

“Y-yeah.” His voice was hushed as he presents his hands to me and I slowly start wrapping the silk around his wrists.

“We can stop at anytime. You know that, right? Just say the word and I’ll stop immediately.” My reassurance seems to irritate more than comfort. He rolls his eyes with a tilt of the head.

“Would you fuck off? I’m fine.” A crease digs itself into the bridge of his nose and my actions immediately still.

“I’m not going to fuck off unless I know that you know that you’re safe with me, okay?” This dominate role was far from the submissive one I was innately familiar with. We obviously had never discussed boundaries and I didn’t know where the lines were anymore. “I need you to know you can speak up. That I’ll stop the second you tell me to.” Roman looks like he’d rather get a root canal than continue this discussion, but I don’t care. This was far too important. “I need you to know that your comfort is important—that your feelings matter.”

“I fucking know it, alright?” He snapped before groaning and throwing his head back. “God, what the fuck else do you need to know before you just shut the fuck up and get on with it already?” My hand quickly finds its way to his throat with a squeeze. He seems more than pleased by this response.

“Do you wanna fucking cum?”

“Clearly I wanna fuckin’—“ My other hand slaps over his mouth and I can feel him smiling underneath my palm. Roman was gladly trying to piss me off. He was itching to see me lose control; yearned to meet the creature locked inside me. The wicked one I never acknowledged or came near; the demon only he could see. She bathes me in the blood of solidified suspicions.

Roman didn’t want my empathy.

Roman wanted my cruelty.

“Then are you fucking stupid? If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll make damn sure to have you crying like a little bitch before I even think of letting you cum.” His eyes blackened as he watches my succubuss unhinge her jaw to swallow me whole. “Got it?” He nods quickly. Rapid bursts of air shoot from his nose across the back of my hand. “And lose the fuckin’ attitude.” Removing my hand, I slap him across the mouth; handing myself over to his desires completely.

Having finished binding his wrists and setting them behind his head, I rise from the couch. Standing between his ankles, I unzip my skirt and let it fall to my feet. The muscles in his forearms flex. His tongue peaks between his lips as he gawked at the damp lace between my thighs. Sliding my finger below his chin, I tilt his head until he meets my eyes.

“You know what I want, Roman?” My hand takes home around his throat once again. Now having his full attention, I feel him swallow as he shakes his head. His excitement was palpable. Settling my right knee between his thighs, I nudge it gently against his hard length. His nostrils flare with a sharp inhale. “I want you to watch me get myself off on your thigh.” He groans loudly. I couldn’t tell if it was out of desire, frustration, or a mixture of both but the response delighted me nonetheless. Placing my left knee to the other side of his thigh, I fully seat myself upon him. “Knowing there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

“Fuck.” Slowly grinding against the fabric of his thigh, my lashes flutter at the sensation. A soft moan escapes me before I can stop it. I was dripping wet and could already feel myself swiftly ruining his ostentatiously expensive pants.

“How does it feel Roman? To have me use you like this?“ A whimper meets my ears. His eyes transfixed on my clothed center sliding roughly against his thigh. There was a fire beneath his skin and he was entranced by the sight of kerosene being poured upon it. “To ruin you like this?” His smokey gaze flickers up to mine and I use the moment to grind myself harder against him. The rough friction elicits another moan from me, louder this time. “This is all you’re good for—” My final word comes out in a whine causing Roman to tear into his bottom lip hard enough to draw more blood. “Tell me. How does it feel?” I nudge my knee into his throbbing member once more and the deepest groan ripples through his teeth. His arms jerk against his binds as I use my free hand to sharply twist his nipple. “Answer me!”

“Good! It feels—Fuck.” The sentiment came out hoarse and husky. He shoves his head back into his tied wrists, thrusting himself against my knee. “Feels so f-fuckin’ good.” Digging my thumb into his pulse point, I slide my knee back. He whines; all hopes of friction dashing in an instant.

“No. You don’t get to cum until I say you do. Got it, you demented little fuck?” He’s a whimpering mess beneath me; eyes wide and watery. I wanted to drown myself in the sight and never touch the light of day again.

My thong bunches to the side from the aggression in my movements. Now fully bare against him, a shiver rushes through me as my clit kisses the luxurious fabric of his thigh. I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“If you don’t fucking behave I swear to God I’ll leave you like this—tied up and soaking for whoever to find.” The bite in my threats were losing their edge. My voice lost somewhere between a moan and sigh. An impending orgasm flicks it’s tongue at the base of my spine.

“Wouldn’t want it to be your father who finds you like this, would you?” A mangled whine shakes itself from his throat and has me smiling.

The blood seeping from his parted lips seem to glitter under the city light of his windows. I flatten my tongue across his jaw and drag it up his chin until my mouth fills with copper. The taste causes a sigh to slip from my mouth into his.

“You’re close. I-I can feel it.” His voice tight and high-pitched as he starts to slightly bounce his leg. “You’ve f-fucking drenched me.” The jolting of his thigh into my clit has my head falling into his shoulder; grinding harder and faster against him. The nails of my right hand embed themselves into the skin of his waist. A carnal mosaic of the flesh born below my grip. I was at the brink. “I-I wanna feel you cum.” He’s whining as he starts to bounce his leg faster; face buried in my hair. His shaking breath against my cheek has my entire body erupting in goosebumps. “P-please lemme f-feel you cum.” His beg hitches to an even higher pitch. His thigh nearly vibrating under me, desperate pleas rippling through me. Every nerve ending in my body felt ablaze.

It was all too much.

A scream rips from my lungs and I sink my teeth into the flesh of Roman’s shoulder. He tasted of salt and brimstone. My nails frenetically scratch into his skin as my thighs tremble and squeeze. Groans barrel up from his chest to mingle with my own. My release shatters through me with a blinding intensity I had never experienced before. I was overflowing; drenching his thigh to seep into his soul.

The heaving of our chests pressed tightly together slowly lulls me back down again. My fingertips absentmindedly painting shapes into his skin with the blood I’d drawn from his waist. Sparkles of light and voids of soot twirl across my vision. An indention of my teeth remained etched into his shoulder. He shudders when I press a soft kiss onto the bruised skin. My head falling heavy when it replaces my mouth to lean into him.

I’m suddenly reminded of Roman’s own much needed release upon finding his hips desperately grinding circles into empty air. He’s whimpering; body begging. My hand still cradled his throat so I languidly brush my thumb along his pulse point. His heart was racing.

“Do you need to cum, Roman?” A loud, high-pitched whine answers me.

“Please.” The word comes out in a choked sob. “I need—“ He was fighting against his binds, the silk digging painfully into his wrists. “Please.” He frantically presses open mouth kisses into any inch of my skin that he could reach; pleading with glassy eyes. “Please lemme cum.” I leave his throat to gently cup his cheek and smile softly before pulling back from him. “No—“ He stops himself when I thread one hand into his hair and place the other bloodied one atop his chest.

“You gonna cum your pants for me, Romie?” I take my sweet time sliding my palm towards where he needs it most. “Like the needy little slut that you are?” The whispered words were dripping in ghost pepper honey that had him swallowing. “Are you that desperate? That pathetic?”

“Yes.” The answer comes out in a quiet quick rush of air. “Y-yeah, I am.” My hand finally reaches his pulsing length and it twitches beneath my fingers. He immediately ruts against my palm and I squeeze him before jerking his head back.

“Stop.” He clenches his teeth but surprisingly does. Tensing beneath me, using every ounce of self control to still himself. He was trembling beneath my grasp. Frustrated tears caressed his lashes and began streaming down his flushed cheeks. His breath was coming out hard and shallow through flared nostrils.

A memory flashes through my mind: Roman’s captivated stare watching his glistening thumb press into my bottom lip.

“Open your mouth.” Again, he follows my orders instantly. Hovering my face above his, my lips purse with a drop of spit. He catches it with a moan that I immediately kiss into my mouth. “Cum.” My voice drops just above a whisper against his raw lips. “Make a mess of yourself.”

He instantly begins fucking himself roughly into my grip. The heat of his flesh searing me through the fabric. Grunting into my open mouth as I tug his hair into the cushions just below his wrists. His hands opening and closing before locking into tight fists. “Look at me.” His eyes shoot open. “Such a good boy for me.” A familiar emotion swirls through the sliver of hazel around his pupils. His lids flutter as he fought with everything in him to keep himself rooted in my gaze. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Roman.”

His hips shoot from the couch as he explodes and spreads me open across his thigh. The sensation causes my breath to catch in my throat. A gravely yell rips from the deepest parts of himself and tears apart every muscle in my body. He pours everything he has into the fabric beneath my hand with wide eyes never leaving mine. He collapses hard with shuttering breaths; body limp and twitching.

I release him to bring my palm to my lips; the slightest bit damp from him. My tongue paints his taste into my memory with pupils blown. Jaw slack, he watches intently through heavy wet lashes. His muddy eyes fill with that same emotion I had seen from him earlier.

“Lemme taste you.” The request was nearly silent but it rattled me like a wail. If I was any further from him I wouldn’t have heard it, but I did and couldn’t believe he had asked. Lifting my hips slightly, I run two fingers through my sensitive folds and shiver. He immediately takes notice and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.

My fingers tremble as they rise towards his mouth. He inhales deeply before parting his lips for me. Slipping into the velvet of his mouth, his eyes flutter shut. His pointed tongue runs up between their gaps before flattening to drag back down. He was savoring every drop as if he were a starved man lost at sea. An involuntary hum reverberates from his throat into my skin and his cheeks seem to darken even more. He playfully bites down with sparkling eyes when I slip my fingers from his warm mouth.

The sight had the blood pounding in my ears beginning their familiar chant: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ It overwhelmed me and I couldn’t help but pull him into one last searing kiss. Tasting myself on his tongue had my head spinning. Here on my knees, I prayed to a godless sky that he could taste my heart overflowing into his mouth. Cupping his cheeks in both hands, my thumbs brush away the damp paths left by his previous tears. His forehead suddenly creases beneath mine.

“You okay, Rome?” He shakes my hands from his face and turns away from me. My own brows knot together in worry.

“I’m fine.” His face further contorts upon hearing how his voice cracked. It might as well have cracked my ribs right along with it. He clenches his jaw before gnawing at the inside of his cheek. His hands form into tight fist behind his head. He was trying not to cry again.

My fingers twitch in my lap and it takes everything in me not to wrap him in my arms. Instead, I reach for his wrists and bring them forward. They felt heavy and limp in my hands. Right as I began my attempt at untying them, a small sniffle brings my attention back to Roman’s face.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay, you know?” I try to gently reassure him but it only deepens the tortured disgust in his features.

“I said I’m fucking fine.” The words are spit with a venom that eats through to my bones. Feeling me search his feature has him crumbling before me. Fresh tears immediately start spilling down his cheeks and into the pits of my soul. I couldn’t help but reach for him. He surprisingly lets me cup his cheek, so I gently turn him to face me. His eyes squeeze tighter below my lips as I lightly kiss their corners. The small gesture of affection has a mangled sob ripping from his chest. Fully burying his face into my hand, he lets himself weep into my palm.

Brushing back the strands of hair sticking to his sweat, I feel my own eyes filling with tears. Refusing to let myself cry, I leave his hair to clumsily attempt untying his wrists with one hand but the knot had grown significantly tighter. No doubt from Roman constantly pulling against it all this time.

“Hey, Rome?” He responds with a mangled sound in the back of his throat. A desperate need to comfort and free him started anxiously clawing at my throat. “Listen, I know you’re totally fine and everything but I’m actually not.” His watery eyes glance to me, not registering that I’m joking. “The she demon that possessed me, she—the bitch was a Girl Scout from hell. This knot’s tighter than a goddamn hangman’s noose.” Roman pulls his face from my hand while rapidly blinking. The sounds of grinding metal fill my ears and their smokey scent tickles my nose. I flash him a goofy, albeit nervous, smile and the gears inside his head finally click into place.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” There was no bite to his words, having spoke them through a bemused chuckle. He wipes his nose with back of his hand and inhales the remnants of his vulnerability. Grateful relief balms the scrapes at my neck left by worry’s desperate claws.

His smile falters when I suddenly get up and leave him; it's as if a burst of panic fills his chest. However, when he watches me pick up a pair of scissors and the joggers from his gym bag, I sense the tension in him ease slightly. It's only when I climb back atop his thigh that he appears fully relieved. The weight of my warmth sinking into him seems to ground him.

After tossing his change of pants onto the cushion beside us, I carefully slide the blade under his tie and free him. The silk had dug in painfully, leaving nearly raw indentions in it’s wake. I mentally make a note to check my purse for some soothing lotion later as my fingers lightly brush across his skin. My thumbs begin rubbing into the muscles of his forearms. Roman was studying my face intently.

“These feel okay?” Shaking out his wrists, he rotates them a few times before letting them fall limp in my lap. It was his way of silently asking me to continue with my actions. He had far too much pride to express his desire for such a tender expression.

“Feels fine.” He fights off a shy smile when my hands pick up where they left off, massaging him gently. “My side on the other hand feels like fuckin’ cruise papers with the way ya shredded me.” He chuckles but I could still hear the residual emotion behind it. I lift the corner of his shirt up to take a look. The sight has my stomach instantly dropping; tangled weeds of angry wounds imbedded deep into flesh. Needles of red hot guilt begin sewing threads of shame up my legs. Looking down, I’m greeted with his blood caked under my nails. Memories of violence and words of degradation take ownership of my lungs.

“Fuck Rome…” My voice cracks and I suddenly feel my own tears holding a knife to my throat. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Roman quickly tears the fabric from my grasp and yanks it down.

“Oh shit. No no no no no—fuck fuck fuck.” His panicked expression made me feel so much worse. The canines of an anxiety attack drag up the nape of my neck like a threat. “I—I was fucking kidding!”

“I shouldn’t have d—done that to you. I—I shouldn’t have hit you. I shouldn’t have said—I didn’t—Rome, I didn’t mean them! The words—I—I’m so sor—“

“Oh dear God, would you fuckin’ stop.” He quickly cut me off but I had already dove to the deep end of a molten lava shame spiral.

“I—I made you fucking bleed Roman!” He rolls his eyes. “Multiple times!” His hands slap themselves onto the sides of my face, pressing hard into my cheeks.

“Yeah and you licked it up and it was the sexiest fuckin’—” I couldn’t open my eyes to look at him. If I looked at him I’d most certainly start crying. “I mean, I’m literally fucking drenched in cum right now.” My mouth was set in a hard line but my bottom lip quivered. “Come on now…” Nope, didn’t have to look at him. Turns out his voice alone could send tears falling. “I was kidding! I liked the fuckin’—fuckin’ feral scratchy shit! It was hot! And—and I told you to hit me! I—I wanted it! I wanted you to say all that fuckin’ nasty shit!” His fingers press into my skin harder as if he could force his sentiments to penetrate my skull. “I…I fuckin’ loved it. Like a lot. Okay?” My head was shaking back and forth trying to gain some control over my emotions, shake free of my tears. Roman didn’t know that though. How could he? I wasn’t speaking. He probably thought my actions were just my way of rejecting him. “Please don’t fuckin’ do this.”

My eyes crack open as I remove Roman’s hands from my face. The knotted look of bewilderment etched into his features summons the childhood phantom of my mother. Taking her disembodied palm to slap me across the mouth and rattle me with shrill screams: ‘You need to pull yourself the fuck together!’ I follow suit, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes.

“Promise?” My question came out pathetic and small. I fucking hated it and I fucking hated crying. I’m being fucking ridiculous. Stupid.

“Again, and I can’t stress this enough, soaking in my own cum right now.” His reassurance comes with a laugh that tugs my frown up slightly.

“I just—I’m sorry. It was one thing in the moment but just like… I dunno. I’ve never done anything like that. I—I don’t know what came over me.” My face felt feverish as the backs of my hands wipe the shame staining my cheeks. “Seeing the aftermath just kinda, it just—The thought of actually hurting you makes me feel fucking sick, Rome.” I feel the back of Roman’s knuckle brush away the tears I had missed. Chancing a look at his face gifted me the softest expression I had ever seen from him. “I never want to cause you any real harm.” My voice sounded almost foreign, weak with emotion and vulnerability. Where did all my bravado go? Oh yeah, it’s dripping down my thighs.

“Well you didn’t, alright? I’m fine. Like completely. A-o-fuckin’-kay over here.” He throws me the okay symbol and tries offering me a reassuring smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“But you were crying, Rome.” The smile instantly drops.

“That? No, I wasn’t—“ He shakes his head before scratching at his jaw. “It—it wasn’t because of that.” My brows furrow, and he groans, hands dragging down his face. “Look, I didn’t—I don’t—fuck!” He shakes his fingers through his hair and looks as if he’s about to rip it out. Refusing to meet my eyes, his stare finally settles on my hands lying face up in my lap. “It was your fuckin’—your hands, okay? It was your fuckin’ hands.” My eyes fall from his face and focus on the blood staining my fingertips. So it really was because I hit him. “The way you—“ He sighs. “The way you held me.” Oh. His head falls back as a long frustrated groan escapes him, eyes searching for heaven in the ceiling. “I dunno, okay? It just felt—it felt—“ He couldn’t finish. His eyes fall shut before he continues, his voice even quieter than before. “All I could think about was how you had looked at me.” I swallow before whispering just as quietly as he.

“How did I look at you?”

“I don’t know.” His voice grew thick with emotion once again. He shakes his head and finally meets my eyes; looking so defeated and sad. His pain bled me. “You’re always fuckin’ lookin’ at me like—like—“ Again, he can’t finish. He clenches his jaw like a threat towards the words caught in his throat.

“Like I love you?” His eyes squeeze shut and he turns his face from me once again; hiding himself from my words. I watch him clench and unclench his jaw until courage clenches my own. “Because I do love you, Roman.” Every muscle in his body seemed to tense beneath me, but I couldn’t stop my feelings from shattering their shackles. They’d been locked up for so long that their first taste of freedom sends them sprinting. “I love you so fucking much.” He clenches his fists, still unable to open his eyes and look at me.

I let myself lean into him and lay my head onto his shoulder. His fist start to unfurl and he lets his head fall against mine. A shuddering breath leaves him and he buries his face into my hair, hands tentatively resting on my hips. We sit in silence as I listen to his breathing slowly steadying. Once it had nearly returned to normal, I feel his lips gently press into my temple.

“I love you too.” The words were murmured into me, a heavy sigh follows after them. “You have no fucking idea.” The wilted buds of my heart and mind begin to bloom. My arms wrap themselves around him and squeeze him to me tightly. He reluctantly wraps his arms around me as well; slowly tightening his embrace until he’s clinging to my soul. Turning my head I press a kiss into the side of his throat and hear him sigh once again; the weight between us was dissipating.

“I’m sorry for freaking out earlier.” The words he had stuttered out when trying to calm me drift to the forefront of my mind. “I—I liked it too.” The warmth of his skin embraces my shy confession. “What we did together, I mean.” I hear him snort and it has me smiling against him. The air was feeling lighter.

“I’d fuckin’ say so, ya fuckin’ banshee. You shoulda seen how fuckin’ hard you came. I mean—Jesus Christ, you were fuckin’ feral.” I hide my face further into his neck but can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from me. “And now you act all fuckin’ bashful and shit? How the fuck does that even work? You literally tied me up and road my thigh like a buckin’ bronco.” I bite his throat and my body shakes from his laughter vibrating through me.

“Fuck you! I’m complex.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He tangles his hands in my hair and pulls me back to face him. “You’re fuckin’ insane, you know that?” He was smiling as he said it. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“The feelings mutual.” His smile only widens and he bounces his leg. I yelp in surprise, frantically gripping at his arms to maintain balance. He’s giggling uncontrollably. “You’re a sick fuck, Roman Roy.”

“Ooo round two already, thigh master?” He bounces his leg again. I try to slap his chest but he catches my wrist with his freehand and pulls me into a kiss I’m never going to forget. It was different than all the ones we had shared prior. This one was so much softer, so much gentler. Our foreheads rest against one another. His smile against my lips illuminates every crevice once void of light; I was loved.

#this used to be 10k words lol #I’ve rewritten it soooo many times #Roman Roy #Succession #Succession HBO #roman roy smut #roman roy x reader #roman roy one shot #roman roy fanfic #roman roy imagine #succession smut #succession fanfic #succession imagine #succession one shot #mine #can’t believe I’m following up kittens & perverts w/ this filth lmao #it still doesn’t feel perfect but she’s about to confiscate the phone from me if I keep rewriting this lol #cruelty & empathy

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scarletttries · 3 months

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Roman Roy x Shiv's Best Friend!Reader Headcanons (Succession Request)

Pairing: Roman Roy x Shiv's Best Friend Reader

Rating: Fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Request: "Hi! If you’re still writing for succession, can I suggest headcanons for dating Roman while your shiv’s best friend? No pressure of course!!"

Author's Note: Celebrating his win this week, here's some headcanons for Roman Roy falling in love with his sister's best friend 🥰

- No matter how much time passes, Roman can still vividly remember the first time he saw you. It was a Tuesday afternoon, shrouded in monotony and teenage angst, sat at the dining table closely guarded by a tutor who'd been hired to make sure he got at least a passing grade to finish high school with. Despite being nowhere in sight he could still feel the oppressive judgement of his father breathing down his neck as he struggled to understand the notes laid out in front of him, the frustrations rising inside him and threatening to spill out in tears as his tutor joked that 'this should be easy!' Then the sweet sound of laughter cut through the pressure and the noise, like a windchime chirping out the loveliest tune in the middle of a storm, whipping his head around to find the source.

- It had taken two weeks of pleading and a thorough background check, but Shiv had finally been allowed to have a friend over to the house. You had been her classmate for years, but as you both readied yourselves to head off to the same college next year, you two had grown that much closer, your friendship cemented as you planned parallel lives on that first step into adulthood. Your first time visiting her stately home you found yourself pulling your school blazer more tightly around your shoulders, the echoing fortress sending a chill through you, its classy interior feeling hollow and uneasy. As you drifted through winding corridors Shiv led you into a grand dining hall, throwing her designer bag on one end of the oak table and saying you two could finish your homework here before you go upstairs to her room.

Despite the tutor's protest that Roman needed all the concentration he could muster, Shiv only laughed and set about teasing her brother for his supposed incompetence. Despite only a few months difference in your age, he looked so small to you, younger and more vulnerable, like he hadn't quite stopped being a little boy yet even as he strived to become a man.

"I remember that module from last year - don't feel bad, it took me ages to understand it all. You'll get there." You threw him a soft smile as you pulled your own folders from your bag, earning a scoff from Shiv and a hopeful look from Roman. Your gentle kindness seemed to lift his spirits and take the weight off his shoulders, the rest of his afternoon spent throwing desperate glances your way, mentally pleading for you to stick around and smile his way again.

- You and Shiv only grew closer as you shared a college dorm, more often than not visiting her during the holidays and giving her an ally in the misogynistic environment she called home. Each time you visited, Roman had grown up a little more, transforming from that meek boy to a young man who at least considered himself charming, even if that wasn't exactly what anyone else thought. You always found that no matter how confidently he drifted into the seat next to yours, catching up in easy conversation as old friends do, you couldn't help but still see a flicker of that sad, scared boy you had first met in his eyes, a part of him seeming to never really heal from whatever a childhood spent as a Roy entails.

- You and Shiv had so many milestones passed side by side, so in turn Roman was there to celebrate you with each one. It was hard to tell whether he applauded you or Shiv more loudly as you walked across the graduation stage, and when you landed on the first step of your chosen career ladder, the biggest gift basket you recieved was proudly signed 'Love, Roman.' He was there with a housewarming gift when you got your first apartment, a bouquet of flowers for every birthday, and all the while insisted he'd do the same for any of his old friends.

- His lack of subtlety made it easy for you and Shiv to deduce his true feelings, your best friend slightly disgusted by the thought of anyone dating her little brother, but the softest part of her knew you'd make him happier than anyone else could, two decades of friendship a testament to your positive impact on the lives of those you cared about. And after a few less than successful romances with big city executives who couldn't stop bragging about what they brought to the table, you couldn't help but enjoy the thought of spending more time on the receiving end of Roman's loving gaze.

- And so you put yourself out there, accompanying Shiv into the Waystar building on a Friday afternoon and giving Roman an overwhelming rush when you tapped lightly on the glass door of his office, giving him the same sweet smile you had offered him in consolation all those years ago. The advantage of a glass office was that you could clearly see the way he bolted upright in his chair, running his fingers through his hair as he awkwardly half-jogged to the door and flung it open with more force than he intended.

"Fuck, hey! What are you doing here? Do you need me to help you find Shiv?" He seemed almost out of breath as he spoke, voice wavering in pitch, trying to get a hold of himself.

"Actually I came to see you. I wanted to know if you were free for dinner tonight?"

"Like me, you, Shiv, maybe Ken?" His forehead creased as he spoke, frowning at the uncomfortable flips his stomach was executing in return for your eye contact.

"No, just the two of us? Like a date." You clarified, watching the gears turn in his head as if the request he'd so often fantasized about making didn't actually make sense when uttered aloud. Finally the penny dropped along with his jaw, his eyes growing wide and wild as he nodded in silence, unable to conjure the words he needed for once in his life. Taking pity on him, you spoke again, "Cool, what time do you finish here?" As you gestured to the desk behind him, you seemed to remind him of where he was - in his work place, in plain view, stuttering and tripping over himself for all to see. That wouldn't do.

"Uh - i'm done now. Fuck it, let's get out of here." In a singular moment of courage, Rowan grabbed the jacket he'd discarded over the back of his chair in one hand, and reached for you with the other, letting out an excitable giggle as you laced your fingers through his for the first time.

- After the most comfortable first date you had ever been on, Roman gave you no chance to get bored of him, or think about anyone else. After decades of pining, he decided that one night was enough to make him your boyfriend, quickly planning his whole life around you, and making sure an evening couldn't pass without you on his arm. His heart still hammered in his chest every time he got to touch you, but he tried to ignore that and act as if you had always been together, partly because in his head he had been yours for years, even if you hadn't been his in return yet.

- You both have to endure a lot of jabs and taunts from Shiv, although at least half of them are made with love. She makes a serious affair out of dividing up your time between her and Roman though, not willing to lose her best friend even if her brother is the happiest she's ever seen him.

- For Roman you feel like a comfort blanket at every family event, a physical reminder of the kindness he deserves and that there is someone good in this world that cares about him. When his father is especially vindictive or cruel, Roman clings to you under the table, a gentle squeeze of your hand meaning safety to his fragile inner child.

- Roman has spent so long captivated by you, desperate to be in your favour, soaking in the warmth of presence, that now he can't get enough. Given his lack of meaningful adult relationships he doesn't have a frame of reference for how he should act, or how to manage his emotions. He'll feel like a frantic teenager in love, unable to let go of your hand no matter how difficult it makes navigating a crowd, discussing moving in and plans that span 'forever' after only a few dates. It makes perfect sense for him, because you're the only person that's made him feel this way his entire life, so of course you're going to be together forever.

- Every time you plant a soft peck on Roman, he'll let out a sweet hyena giggle, before repaying you with a matching kiss, euphoric in his newfound appreciation for affection. It's not just physical affection either, although he does find himself clinging to you and begging you to run your fingers through his hair and down his back. He cherishes every sweet word you say, almost to the point that he really believes them. He rereads the texts you send him like they are poetry in themselves. His heart swells when you describe him as your partner and introduce him to your friends, not ashamed of him or your feelings, making Roman stand a little prouder in himself.

- That first moment of kindness that you showed Roman sparked a small light inside him, a flickering hope of a life of kindness and joy that he could only ever picture with you. Now getting to face that reality is so much brighter than that young, stressed, despondent boy could have dreamed.

#writing #fanfiction #requests #one shot #roman roy x reader #roman roy imagine #succession hbo #roman roy succession #succession imagine #succession roman #roman roy #roman roy headcanons #roman roy fluff

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bowieandqueen11 · 11 months

Text

Get You Out / Roman Roy Imagine

Request: i am in love with ur works!! could you write a roman roy x reader where they first say “i love you” or truly express their deep feelings for each other? again, i would die for your works they are so good 🌟😭

Thank you so much sweetie, that’s very kind of you!! Season 4 is kicking my ass so I wanted to add a little sweetness to it, I hope you don’t mind! :)

Okay so I am very very tired as I write this so it might be terrible but I hope you guys manage to enjoy it anyway ty ty I am so very tired and pre-grieving <3

Warning: strong language, mentions of childhood physical/ mental abuse, funeral setting and general grieving, mentions of blood/ injuries!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @cinematicnomad.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Roman Roy didn’t want to be a mausoleum any longer.

It had started at the funeral. As his childhood best friend, Roman had managed to squeeze the other siblings into allowing you to sit in the front row with them: Connor had been thrilled, Shiv uncharacteristically accepting, and even Kendall in his own way had been sweet as he clapped your back and ushered you in to sit on what felt like it’s own stifling plank of coffin wood. Roman had spent the whole hour squeezing your hand in a death grip, his knuckles burning a haunting white as he sat pressingly close to your side. Sometimes you couldn’t bare to look at him through the service: his face breaking your heart as it sunk into a face as sullen as a sunken grave as Uncle Ewan pressed on in his critique masquerading as a scorned brother’s eulogy. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, and raised your middle finger to forgivingly run over his top lip, trying to soothe his scowl. He couldn’t look at you either, but you figured another ounce of pressure against your palm was sure enough to crack bone.

Then came Roman’s turn, and you prayed to everything you could think of to be lenient to him as he walked towards the austere steps of the pulpit, his father lying cold and stern from where Roman lumbered haggardly beside him. Without even meaning to, your hands clasp together and your fingers kiss against your lips as you watch Roman’s form clamber up towards the front of the room. He keeps looking back, piercing you, and only you, with those sunken, empty eyes. Pleading. Begging. Terrified. All you can muster is an encouraging nod as the showman his father forced him to be tries to break through his grief, his hands clasping onto the edges of the lectern. Yet he can’t even manage to look around the pitying room, too focussed on fumbling with his pink cards of unheard adoration as he flicks through them. You go to get up then, noticing the way Roman keeps pleadingly looking straight in your direction as he flicks through the words he knows, deep down, that his father would never have listened to anyway, but Kendall places a hand on your shoulder and keeps you firmly next to him.

You weren’t sure if he were giving his brother the chance to mourn, or if his embarrassment would just add to his back pocket arsenal of blackmail.

Once Roman started waving his limp hands, beckoning you to come and save him from drowning in the next wave of misery he had spent so long conceitedly treading the water of, the distraction of his face crumbling was the only thing stopping you from ripping Kendall’s fingers off your shirt one by one. Thankfully for Roman you’re the first from the sibling group to reach him, and he collapses onto your body as soon as your gentle hands touch the trembling expanse of his back. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’, he sobs into your shoulder, gripping the back of your jacket like it was the last tether connecting him to the living world. He was pale, sickly looking, fading like a phantom as he raised his hands to his face and tried to cower himself away from the overseeing stare of his father. In life, in death, in him. Always watching. Nothing but fury and abhorrence stinking its way out from that decorated box. Roman tried to shield himself from it, but even he couldn’t stop his father’s rigged game. It was too late, even as Shiv grabbed onto his shoulder and wept messily with him. The dagger had pierced skin. The poison dripped in. He couldn’t save himself. His father was too busy rotting inside him to stay within his coffin.

Somehow, everything felt worse when you tucked him into your side, and he managed to stagger back to the pew by leaning against your waist. His coat seemed too big for him: made him seem even more infantile, flooding him in the fashions his father had chosen as he collapses down next to you again, and pretends the whole room isn’t laughing at him. He doesn’t care. He’s used to it. He’s the jester after all, isn’t he? This is what he does. Deflects away, makes people laugh, acts the fool so he can break down in private. He winces, shaking his head and looking down at the ground, knowing he’s fucked up again. Acting the fool or the king, Roman Roy just can’t seem to get his character right. And when it crumbles away, the world is left seeing just how fucking pathetic the real him actually is.

He tries to hide away from the scorn, utilising the gap between Kendall and his sister’s rounding, corporate winning speeches to furl his hands to his chest like a new born, and lay his head on your lap for a moment. Surprised, you raise your hand and let him. In the most sincere gesture of trust Roman’s given since his father died, he smushes his lips against your thigh and squeezes his burning eyes shut, wishing the two of you were thirteen again, and the world didn’t seem to cast him in shadows every time he snuck back out your bedroom window. For a moment, you glanced your fingers back and forth over the stubbled hair by his ear, allowing Roman the freedom to just weep. As you feel the tears pierce your trousers and soak warmly against your skin, you try to control Roman’s wracks of shaking by leaning down and whispering against the shell of his ear.

‘We’ll get out of here soon Romie. We’ll go home soon.’

This seems to kickstart something in Roman; he begins to feel his father’s lashings for showing such weakness close over his throat and choke him out for the second time that afternoon. Home. He doesn’t have a home. How can a crypt have a home, when its too busy housing someone else? Like a puppet being twirled by the unknown strings of a marionette, his fingers seem to clench in resistance against the pull as his limbs clunkily begin to move against you. He rolls back up to sit rigidly again, like someone placing a plank up a scarecrow and placing it back in it’s empty field to decay. A warning for scavengers.

He doesn’t even glance at you again for the rest of the night. His heart’s already bleeding, bruised, swelling with poison. He can’t bear to have it broken by allowing even a sliver of hope that he might be able to escape from his father’s abuse trickle through his solid walls.

You manage to lose him at the funeral reception, too busy in a heated discussion opposing the morals, and the behaviours of the so called next president Mencken to notice Roman slipping out of the room like a kicked stray. It’s only when you’ve resorted to your last idea: asking Gerri if she knows where Roman’s slinked off to, that you notice your phone ringer has been turned down. As you slide it out of your front pocket, your stomach nearly flips backwards when the home screen lights up with a new message: ‘8 missed calls from Roman Roy.’ You’re out the door before Gerri can even finish her sentence, wagging a disapproving finger at Kendall he comes waltzing towards you in a show of concern, throwing him a look of pure derision that his face immediately falls and he staggers a step backwards, knowing not to push his luck with another member of the family tonight. Mencken throws out an insulting goodbye as your handle grips the door, and with a final middle finger thrown in his direction, you’re running down the stairwell and racing back towards the beckoning call of the city’s darkness.

You call him again while you’re sitting, waiting, trying your best not to swear at the driver as he swerves through traffic jams and slams to a break at red lights. Roman picks up almost immediately, and you can tell by the quiver in his voice that he’s finding it difficult to swallow through the tears that drip like poison down his throat. ‘I fucked up Y/n. I fucked up. Please... I want to go home. Please. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.’ His voice keeps wavering in and out of static, as if he’s shivering and can barely hold the phone up to his ear. He sounds lost. Confused. He wants you, and what can you do but swallow your own grief and answer his call once again. As you race through the downtown lights towards the area the demonstrations had been held, you relent into an old habit of Roman’s you had picked up from an early age: picking at your nails until they begin to bleed, dripping down and running through the cracks of the frigid, foul-smelling leather.

It had been approximately forty minutes since you had found him wandering down the avenue, limping past the chained gate of the old clockmaker’s shop. He had been leaning against the piss-stained hollows of the wall, using the uneven brick to hold himself up. Whether it was due to the extent of his injuries: the blood trickling down his face and blinking into his eyelashes, the bruises beginning to swell up in familiar places along his patchwork-esque arms, or the fact that his whole body was convulsing in shudders he couldn’t control, even Roman didn’t quite know.

‘Yn.’ It was curt. A simple acknowledgement, in the way one might greet a business acquaintance, once he saw your bleary eyes amidst the neon shadows. You stopped in your tracks, frozen in place at how decrepit he looked: hunched over, grasping his stomach, his face sallow and sunken and littered with a new collage of bruises.

‘...Y/n.’ His voice howled. A call for help, an indulgence as you came wandering down the sidewalk, taking his battered form in.

All Roman did know was that as soon as he felt your arms sink themselves around his shoulders, he wanted to bury himself underneath your skin and let himself die there.

The two of you decide the best course of action is to bring Roman home to your apartment, fearful about the consequences of leaving him alone for the night. You make him take the subway home, believing it best to sink back into normality: to escape the tombs of his father’s helicopter cockpits and enclosing limousine backseats, where nothing but sickness and tears and abuse had ever come to fruition. Roman, surprisingly, doesn’t complain when you bring him down the tunnels and lead him onto a seat littered in what seemed to be the breadcrumb leftovers of someone’s lunch. He doesn’t even seem to notice as the train speeds away from it all, too busy keeping his untrained eyes focused on a poster ripping off the other end of the wall, some genitalia graffiti sprayed over the remains of a Waystar film industry next big summer blockbuster hit poster. The bile rises like warm blood at the back of his throat at the sight of it, and as he leans forward he grabs onto your arm. You manage, just in time, to place your palm at the top of his forehead and stop him from lunging forward and hitting the train’s pole, but the would-be pain just seems to dissipate instead into his muscles as his face screws up, beginning to weep again. You shrug off your coat and wrap it first squarely, securely around his shoulders, before tucking it around yours as well. You want him to feel safe, and he seems to appreciate the gesture as he leans his sniffling head down onto your shoulder, letting you reach over and caress the side of his cheek in the oh so familiar way you used to rock him back and forth when you hid in his father’s pool house as children.

By the time you actually get home, Roman’s exhausted. He doesn’t manage to get further than through your door before he trips over his own feet, a long queue of pent up swears bubbling out of his mouth as his already stinging hands hit the floorboards. You go to help him up, wrapping one arm around the underside of his belly and heaving him back up against your chest, but he waves you off. He wants to stay here for a while. A lapdog, of course, always feels most comfortable on the floor.

‘Fuck! Oh, for fuck’s sake’, you mutter as your phone vibrates for the umpteenth time that night. You fluster as you cut the phone call off, adding it to the long list of curt text messages from Shiv, long winded but caring speeches from Connor, and even the occasional nods of concern from Willa. The latest offender seemed to be Logan junior, who had tried to call you for the fifth time in ten minutes. His name lights up again, illuminated by the what used to seem like a friendly glow of the picture you had taken of him by the pool of a family trip to Morocco several years ago. Now, the sight of his killer edged smile, of the glint in his squinting eyes seemed almost repulsive to you. ‘Kendall, for all I care you can go fuck yourself sideways with your own dick.’

Roman laughs hoarsely at that, making you turn your head and notice the way he’s dragging himself like wounded prey on his hands and knees towards the small cupboard where you keep your coats. He swings the door open with a shaking fist, and you follow in his supplicating, servitude crawl as he makes his way in between a rack of jackets. He’s hiding again, nesting himself away from the world, withdrawing to try and keep the only part of him still struggling to survive safe. Drawing himself down to hide within his father’s grave.

You draw apart the fringes of raggedy winter coats, and threads of brand-new high-end boutique suits to join his little nook, which he openly accepts by scooting himself backwards until he hits the edge of the wall. He crosses his legs beneath him, trying to sit all prim and proper as if he were a school child caught doing something wrong; he raises his arms up to his face to try and shield the blows he knows he deserves for fucking it, yet again.

‘Please, Y/n, just please. Just fuck off. I fucked it. I... fuck. I’m a fucking moron.’

‘What did I tell you about calling yourself a moron’, you chide sternly.

You wouldn’t let him be buried along with Logan. You refused to allow the old bastard to win. Piece by piece, you were going to tear the splintered blade of his father’s daggered tongue out of the crevices of Roman’s body. You were going to win. You were going to be stronger than Logan Roy’s hatred.

Placing your hand gingerly on his wrist, you just allow it to settle there as Roman tries to wince away from you. It takes a little while: a couple of minutes, maybe fifteen, maybe an hour, you don’t know, and you don’t care. But the cracks in the foreboding, eroding stone walls began to break apart; Roman’s weeping slowly descended into bleary-eyed sniffling instead, his closed fists slowly beginning to open like blooming like Narcissus daffodils sprouting, reaching up towards the sunlight from where they lay sprinkled across the forgotten grave. His fingers tentatively sought you out, and once they gripped onto your forearm he broke open like a sepulchre.

‘It’s true though. My dad was always fucking right, like one of those fucking witches from ‘Macbeth’ - you know the ones that stirred cauldrons that talk in riddles and shit. He always knew what I was. I’m such a fucking embarrassment’, he starts, once he realises that you’re not pulling away from him, but instead offering him something he rarely ever receives in his life. Acceptance. Relief. An overwhelming spring of kindness.

‘You mean the evil ones that controlled everybody? That does sound like your dad.’

He hits you with the side of your shoulder and snorts, but the movement is a relief to you. He’s not too far gone yet.

‘Roman, you didn’t do a thing wrong. You’re grieving, and that’s completely normal - it’s expected. It would be fucking weird if you weren’t a mess right now.’

He sobs at that: a harrowing, gut wrenching warble, and he deflates. His whole body seems to sink in on itself like a black hole, refusing to let you go. He drags you in with him, until the two of you are laying on the floor in the foetal position, your knees tucked up against each other in a kind of wallowing solace. You dare to kiss the tip of his nose, using the sweet way his eyes close shut and his face wrinkles as an excuse to run your pointer finger over a gash that splinters crimson red above his eyebrow. Gashing open at your touch, the wound reopens and makes Roman wince, but he doesn’t recoil from you anymore.

‘You should run. Run the fuck away from this family while you still can. We’re all so fucked. I’m fucking - I’m done. I’m dead. This is it for me.’

He opens his eyes again, and allows you a chance to see properly that day just how awful he looks. Empty. Bloodshot. A haunted house. A man fighting for control against the tendrils of his father that grasp into his gut and seem to be squeezing. He mewls, and some irrepressible fury at Roman, at Logan, at the lifestyle and choices of the Roys seems to burst out in sharp whips from your tongue.

‘You can’t do that to me. You can’t say that. How fucking dare you.’

Roman opens one eye again, eyebrow arching upwards in a tired confusion. You place a palm against his shirt, in the dip between his shoulder blade and where his heart should lie, trying to stop your lips from quivering.

‘When, in the last thirty years, have I ever fucking run away from you? When have I ever left you to deal with all this shit alone, and this is how you repay me?’ He starts then, his head whipping back in surprise, but he doesn’t break your gaze as the rush of burning hot tangled fury and worry comes boiling out of you. ‘The first thing you do, instead of coming to me, is to go and get yourself trampled on? You can’t- you can’t do that. Not after Kendall - I thought - I thought, I thought you were dead-’ Your cutting words are silenced by a sob so forceful it makes you hiccup, and you raise the back of your free hand to your mouth to try and shove the words, the sobs, your fear, your anger, the truth back in. Roman’s face falls, the sound of you beginning to sob only making him feel worse.

‘I wouldn’t do that... I wouldn’t’, he begins to make excuses, but you just shake your head, feeling your breathing grow more rapid as the start of your avalanching panic attack finally begins to take its grip on your throat.

‘You’, you warble out, feeling guilty at the way Roman’s the one having to lift his trembling hands in placation, and wipe away the tears that crease your eyes with the corners of his thumbs. He does it so willingly, and so tenderly, that you feel your heart just pierce with an even more righteous anger at the indifference and mistreatment his father heaped upon his kind shoulders. You finally get it, as the affection and the tenderness his father had smothered in the cradle comes flooding through the exhausted lines of his face like a mosaic of shattered light, why he’s so downtrodden all the time. It fights against the forces of his father, flooding past the reckless cruelness of his brother, to shroud him in a sublime patchwork of all the people he’s dared to love. He apologises, the cracks of him seeping through, and it nearly destroys you entirely.

‘You mean so... so much more to me than you even fucking know, Roman.’

That won’t do. He can’t deal with that admission at all.

He cries like a beaten child, recoiling away from your words: ‘I’m sorry! Fuck!’ He grabs at your free hand in an uncomfortable mirroring of the way you had done to him earlier. His moves are far more frantic though: like a bird pecking at your skin, a sword slashing through the tendons of your muscles, barbs shooting against your fingertips as he tries to latch onto you. ‘I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t- I don’t deserve this.’

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant. Did he seriously believe that he didn’t deserve love, or the sorrow that innately follows in its footsteps, like the soft treads of a child waiting patiently behind the closed august doors of his father's office, never to be allowed entrance?

‘They’re all laughing at me, aren’t they? Hickory-dickory, watch how the fucking fool falls.’ He hides his face behind his stout fingers for a second, a child scorned.

‘No. No, they’re not’, you manage to lie between thick swallows.

‘You never made fun of me.’ He sounds so infantile, so defeated. So drained of all life. ‘Thar’s why I always loved you. You’d never do this to me.’

His voice cracks, hoarse and low as his face balls up, and you know it’s the first thing Roman’s said in months that hasn’t been absolute bullshit. It’s his truth. The one thing Logan hasn’t been able to tear out of him.

‘You-’

‘I love you, you fucking asshole.’ Although he’s weeping against the creaking floorboards, his incessant pounding against the door’s of his heart finally seems to be getting somewhere. They begin to be opening. The slant of sunlight began to seep into the vault’s ornate chambers. He was beginning to feel the warmth. He knocks his forehead tenderly against your own, until your salty tears tread quick trails down your cheeks and melt into each other’s mouths.

‘I fucking love you too, you asshole. Thanks for finally noticing.’ You try to smile, and you can feel the pressure of Roman’s lips rise against your own.

‘Fuck you, I’ve been too busy to profess fucking love confessions if you hadn’t noticed. But I thought I was pretty obvious too, dipshit. At least we’re both fucking stupid.’ He laughs then, leaving you no moment to reply as he leans up on his elbow and bends himself down over you. His mouth fall clumsily over your own, damp and plump from a full day of crying, but the sting of the salt against the dry cracks of his lips don’t deter him. It was as if he had been replaying this moment in his mind, over and over and over since the two of you were children. This thought - the idea that he would finally get here was the only thing that had kept him grounded. Kept him sane. And so he kissed you as if you were a dream: a mirage, a living ghost that would disparate as soon as he let go. He cups the bottom of your chin, allowing his cold tears to fall over the bridge of your nose as he lets you breath life into the shallow halls of his once lifeless tomb.

When he finally pulls away, neither of you seem to be able to muster up the courage to speak. He looks bashfully, youthfully shy as he hides his gaze from you and falls back onto his side, although his tongue is prodding the edge of his bottom lip as if in disbelief. You tuck your nose further against his, and he sniffs as you raise a hand to cup his cheek. You’re careful not to press the pads of your fingers against the forming bruise that seems to bloom across the furrows of his eyelids. He languidly blinks, exhausted, but the harrowing loneliness that had spent it’s life chiselling its way into his heart was finally beginning to lift.

A new dawn was coming. A new chance to recreate himself. A new opportunity to try and burn away the ghosts that lived in the crevices of his brain.

‘We’ll do tomorrow together, right?’, he asks, his voice so quiet and muffled you could barely hear him. You press against the edges of his bruise, and he sighs against the corner of your top lip.

‘Together, as always. I promise. I’m going to get you out, Roman. I’m going to get you out.’

#succession #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #succession season 4 #succession imagine #succession spoilers #kendall roy #shiv roy #logan roy #connor roy #kieran culkin #x reader

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 11 months

Text

Clandestine. Part Two.

The affair was always a ticking time bomb. No one could have predicted how big the explosion would be.

Part One. Part Three.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Roy Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. so much angst. sorry not sorry <3

Word Count - 1.7k

Author's Note - thank you thank you thank you for all of the love on clandestine!! it makes me so happy that so many people love reading stewy fics, because there is a criminal lack of them on here. i am more than happy to provide <3 as always, feedback and reblogs are massively appreciated !!

Series Masterlist.

Masterlist. Requests.

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?”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're half awake and disorientated. Stewy got up to find out who was at the door 10 minutes ago, and frankly, you're getting worried. Against your better judgement, you throw on his shirt from the night before and make your way out of the bedroom.

You enter the living room to be met face to face with Kendall. Shit.

You briefly wonder if you can play it off, fabricate a story, tell him it's not what it looks like!

Apart from, it's exactly what it looks like.

Someone from Kendall's team saw you and Stewy leave the gala together. And now you're here, in his living room, wearing nothing but his shirt. And your shoes are by the front door. And there's a wine glass with your lipstick print on it abandoned on the counter.

There's no getting out of this one.

Stewy wants to scream, yell at you to go back to his room. He wants to pick you up and throw you out of sight, praying Kendall hasn't noticed all the tell tale signs. But it's too late. He has.

"Okay. Uh - what the fuck is going on?"

Kendall asks the question while looking between the two of you like some sort of cartoon character doing a double take. It doesn't require a genius to figure it out, but Kendall needs to hear one of you say it out loud.

"Listen, Ken-"

"Ken, don't get mad-"

You both speak at the same time, verbally tripping over each other. You've never actually discussed what you'd do or say if you got found out. You both just always naively assumed it wouldn't happen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, and look at your brother earnestly.

"Ken, I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. It isn't fair. But you can't get mad when I tell you the truth."

"I'll be the judge of that," he mutters sassily. You decide the backtalk is a result of his confusion, and give him a pass.

"Will you come and sit with me, please? The standing is making me nervous. I feel like I'm on trial."

"You might be. I haven't decided yet."

You can't tell if he's joking. He's certainly not smiling.

Kendall moves to sit down next you. Stewy follows, perching himself on the opposite end to give you space. Close enough if you need him, far enough that it won't upset your brother more.

"Start talking," he commands, still confused.

"It's... well I - we - me and Stewy, we're -"

"Together," Stewy finishes for you. Kendall glares at him, and he decides he'll keep his mouth shut for a while.

"Yeah, we're together," you continue. "We have been for over a year. It isn't just sex, or anything. I'm in love with him."

It's weird to finally bear this truth after keeping it a secret for so long. It feels wrong, but also refreshing - like a bitter lemon on a hot day.

Kendall is scarily silent.

"You're... kidding, right?" he asks, finally breaking through the quiet.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" you question, anger bubbling up. "It's my life, Kendall. It actually doesn't matter who I date. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't make a difference."

He looks at you incredulously.

"You're so fuckin' naive. How can you sit here and tell me this doesn't change anything?"

You go to speak, but he continues.

"You lied to me, first off. Both of you. For God knows how long-"

"Kendall-"

"Let me fucking finish."

You shrink back into the couch, willing it to swallow you.

"You both lied to me. You broke my trust... and uh, that fucking hurts, actually. And then there's the business side of things. You work for Waystar. Stewy is a board member. That's a conflict of interest."

You scoff at him, but then realise he's deadly serious.

"... A conflict of interest?"

"It's against company policy. How am I going to trust you? How is anyone? Information might get leaked. What if I tell you something, and then you tell Stewy? And he tells Sandy and Sandi, and then the Pierces, and all of a sudden nothing is private anymore. I. Can't. Trust. You."

Tears are welling up in your eyes quicker than you can control. You're trying to take deep breaths, begging yourself not to cry in front of Kendall.

"You're breaking my fucking heart, Ken," you whisper.

"Yeah? Well I walked in here this morning, and you broke mine first."

A choked sob escapes you, and the floodgates open. Fresh, hot tears sprint down your cheeks, landing in your lap. Stewy can't stand to sit and watch any longer.

"Okay, man, that's enough. This isn't fair."

"What's not fair is the two people I trust the most both lying to my face for a year. That's what isn't fucking fair."

With that, Kendall stands up and strides towards the front door, slamming it behind him as he leaves. The minute he's gone, Stewy is wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"It's okay, baby," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "He'll come around. We'll be okay. If we stick together, we'll be okay."

His reassurances are only making you cry harder, sobs escaping you uncontrollably. You eventually exhaust yourself, falling into a restless sleep in Stewy's arms on the couch.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You wake up in bed. You've temporarily forgotten the events of the morning, before it all comes crashing back down around you suddenly. Distantly, you can hear Stewy in the kitchen, talking on the phone. You look around the room, and know what you have to do.

You leave the bedroom with a bag in hand, throwing it onto the ground as you grab your shoes. Stewy clocks you, and hangs up the phone.

"Can I call you back? Thanks, man. I'll see you tomorrow."

He runs over to where you're slipping your heels on, precariously balanced against the side of the couch.

"Honey, where are you going?" he questions, panic washing over him at your frantic state. "Wait, have you packed a bag?"

He's trying to catch your eyes, but you keep looking away, desperate to avoid his unrelenting gaze.

"I'm going home."

A pause.

"... This is your home."

You knew he'd say that. It hurts just the same.

"No, Stewy, this is your home. My apartment is across town."

"You haven't been there in months. All your stuff is here. Baby, talk to me. What's going on? Did Kendall get in your head?"

"Kendall's right!" you shout, trying to pick up your bag. Stewy gets there first and grabs it, flinging it behind him, out of your reach.

"About what? He's just in shock, baby! He's confused and he feels betrayed. You don't owe him fuckin' anything. Not after everything that family has put you through."

"They're still my family. I can't lose my entire family, Stewy!"

"What kind of fucking family stab each other in the back? Lie to each other? Sell each other out for business? You're better off without them and you know it."

You know he's right. You're trying to convince yourself he isn't.

"You heard what he said! He won't trust me anymore. No one will. It's shitty, but my job is important to me. I can't be known as the Roy liability."

"Trust me, honey, you're the least likely to be named the Roy liability."

"That's not the point! You're not listening to me. I'm the youngest, I've had to fight for respect every fucking day of my life. I'm finally where I deserve to be. I can't throw it all away for... for love!"

Stewy flinches like you've punched him in the gut. He takes a step back and leans against the kitchen island, trying to keep his balance.

"What happened to 'you and me against the world', huh?" he murmurs.

"I think I got too wrapped up in this - in us. I was stupid to think it could work. We both were."

"I wasn't," he replies defiantly. "I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew it would be really fucking difficult and I loved you anyway."

Stewy swears his hard breaks so hard, the both of you hear it shatter. A silent tear rolls down his cheek, big brown eyes filled with sadness.

"I'm not sorry for loving you," you whisper. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but never for loving you."

"If you meant that, you wouldn't be giving up."

You duck your head, unable to look at him any longer.

"This isn't giving up. This is... quitting while we're ahead. If we keep going, we'll just end up having a huge, horrible, public breakup," you stop, and take a deep breath. "I think we were always doomed to fail."

Stewy thinks about the diamond ring that sits in a box in the top drawer of his nightstand. Doomed to fail.

You finally look up at him, and all the air leaves your lungs. You've never seen him look so defeated, so vulnerable. You're the cause of this. And you hate yourself for it.

You pad across the kitchen and pick up your bag from where he threw it, before stopping in front of him.

"I don't regret you, Stewy Hosseini. I never will."

With that, you stride out of the front door, closing it gently behind you. Stewy is left, cold and empty, in the apartment that no longer feels like home.

so... part 3??

Stewy Tag List -

@shawty-writes-a-little

@616wilsons

@justacaliforniandreamer

@isuspectitwasthenargles

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majimatime · 1 year

Text

Do What You Want (Roman Roy x Reader)

A/N: I had the idea for this at like 2am right after the newest episode came out, and I finally put it into writing!! This is my first ever Succession fanfiction and of course it had to be about Roman, I adore him this season. (Also, a warning for weird business/power dynamics.)

You sit at a small desk in a poorly lit office in Waystar’s LA office building. There’s an email displayed on your laptop from Joy Palmer, an executive at Waystar’s film production company, and you’ve read it about fifty times now. One more scan won’t hurt.

‘Your CEO terminated my employment over lunch this afternoon. You will be hearing from my legal team shortly.’

As the head of entertainment coverage at ATN, you’ve worked pretty closely with Joy Palmer over the past couple years. Your department reviews all the films that flow through her production company, and you cover (and sometimes attend) the premieres of all their atrocious superhero movies. It’s a fruitful business relationship—that’s just been totally shattered.

You ball your hands into fists and rest your head against them, squeezing your eyes shut. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told you that Roman was meeting with her? Why hadn’t Roman told you? This is just…dumb. It’s so, so dumb.

It’s not like Roman hasn’t come to you about business stuff before—you’re actually pretty close. When you were promoted to the head of entertainment coverage, you were sort of initiated into the inner circle—with the old guard, Tom, the kids, and Logan Roy himself. You were completely and utterly out of your element, attending board meetings, cross-country business deliberations, and all the other fancy shit that comes with the territory. Roman almost instantly latched himself onto you when you entered his sphere, making weird jokes at your expense and then watching attentively for your reaction with those big, expressive eyes. You found all his stupid comments pretty funny, and you liked the way he lit up when you laughed at them, and so a bond was created. Right now, though… He’s taken the stupid thing a bit too far.

Just as you’re about to look back up at your laptop and start drafting an extremely apologetic response, there’s a knock at the door. “Yeah?” you call.

“It’s your boss—open up,” comes a reply from one Roman Roy.

You exhale heavily as an exasperated, slightly amused grin stretches across your face. What exactly is he looking for, coming to you after he royally fucked your job? “Yeah, come in.”

Roman opens the door and steps inside, and Christ, does he look upset. You’re a little taken aback by this; you sort of expected him to be in good spirits, high off the power trip of firing a crucial member of the Waystar machine. In true Roman fashion, he forgoes the chair in front of your desk and sits on the small table across the room, swinging his legs lightly back and forth. “Ken told me where you were holed up,” he explains. His tone is casual enough, but he looks nauseous. “What the hell are you doing in this weird little shitty office anyways?”

You laugh a little, shutting your laptop and folding your hands across the desk. “It’s a pretty normal office, Roman,” you reply, “and it’s one of the furthest points in the building from where your brother’s set up shop. I was working near him for like an hour, but all I could hear was blocking and dialogue planning and set designing…” Roman rolls his eyes, and you grin. “It was like sitting backstage at a community theater rehearsal.”

Roman laughs shortly at that. “Ew. That sounds horrific.”

“Yeah, it was.” Your voice trails off, and the two of you fall into silence. Your eyes are fixed on Roman, but his are bouncing all over the place—from you, to the corner of the room, to his hands that he’s been wringing nonstop since he walked through the door. He’s obviously thinking about the monumental fucking mistake he made earlier, and you certainly are too. “…So. Joy Palmer, huh?”

His demeanor changes instantly, and he snaps his head back like he’s been poised to move this whole time, just waiting for you to bring her up. “Yeah, that was—it’s sad,” he says loudly, uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not cool. But really, it was necessary. She’s not a good fit with what Kendall and I—what we’re trying to do.”

“Huh.” You lean forward a little, ducking your head so he can’t see the scowl that flashes across your face. “…Not a good fit. Okay.” She has everything, really: experience, connections, a willingness to produce shitty movies just to make Waystar more money. Sure, she had been a little shaky recently about Waystar’s politics, but that issue could’ve easily been resolved with a bit more money offered in the right way. But that’s all thrown out the window now, and you hope Roman realizes how bad that is.

You’re not sure he does, so you emphasize it. “I mean, I’ve been kind of working her for the past few months,” you offer, looking up to meet Roman’s gaze. “I know her big issue is dealing with the political side of ATN, which I mean—sure, no one wants to work with the Jeryd Mencken Fan Club. But…in the last week I was actually making some progress with her. There was potential there—“

”There was potential?” You freeze when Roman interrupts you; his voice is low but his tone is venomous. “Okay…” He sucks in air sharply through his gritted teeth, and he glues his gaze to the floor. “I guess—I guess I’m just wondering, what fucking good is potential when she’s sitting there complaining to me across the table about this thing that you’ve apparently worked out already?”

You bite your bottom lip hard and breathe deeply through your nose. “…I don’t know, Roman. So you fire her? That’s the move? You fire her so that we have to get someone else who has less connections, less experience, who is fucking lesser in every way—just because you got mad?”

“Oh my God,” he breathes, jerkily running a hand through his hair, “fuck off. Why are you doing this?” You frown; did he think you were just going to let him off the hook? Congratulate him on his first big independent move as CEO? But then his head sinks into his open palms, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and you realize suddenly that that is exactly what he’d expected. Or hoped for. He’s still for just long enough that you get nervous; when you’re about to ask him if he’s alright, though, he raises his head and locks eyes with you.

Your phone dings, and you break eye contact to quickly check the notification. It’s one of your writers; she’s sent you a text about the Joy news, and by the tone of her message, she’s extremely freaked out. When you look back to Roman, he’s still staring at you with that same angry disappointment—disappointment that you won’t just lay down and tell him he did the right thing. “Listen, Roman,” you begin, holding his gaze, “it’s my job too. I mean you’re the new CEO, you’re fuckin’ stretching your legs—good for you. But if we lose the movie side of our operation for a while because of this… That’s abysmal for me.”

His eyes widen a little, and you’re shocked to see, for just a second, an apology forming at his lips—but before he can finish mouthing “sorry” he stops, pressing his mouth into a hard line. He stares down with furrowed eyebrows at his hands, lightly clasped together in his lap, and he’s silent for a long time. As you watch him, he takes a deep, labored breath. “Well, in that case…” He’s barely audible. “Why don’t I just fire you too? Since you failed to convince a chief executive to stick with the company and tanked your department.”

The shocked grin that pops onto your face is completely involuntary, and you breathe an exasperated, “Oh my God.” You turn away and shake your head, taking a steady breath. What the fuck’s gotten into him? You’ve already seen that he’s not afraid to make horrific business decisions; firing you would come as easily to him as breathing right now. But you’re not going to beg Roman Roy, your only friend in this morally bankrupt circus, for your job. You refuse to. So, you fold your hands across your desk, and you reply as evenly as you can. “Technically, Roman, you don’t fire me. Tom Wambsgans does.”

He raises his eyebrows, and you can practically hear the “um, actually” before he even opens his mouth. “Yeah, I know,” you continue, smiling ruefully, “you can just fire Tom, and fucking—eat him alive and become him, and then… You can do whatever you want with me, right?” This has almost become amusing; you feel a weird compulsion to laugh.

That feeling vanishes when you see the look on Roman’s face. It’s like you flipped a switch; his gaze instantly disconnects from yours and he looks straight down like he’s trying to stare a hole through his shoe. You frown a little as you peer over at him, trying to figure out what the hell he’s thinking, when you fully realize what you just said. It’s an invitation, a statement more intimate than anything you’ve ever said to each other before, and he knows it. Roman slowly stands up from his seat and you watch him, look closely at the expression on his face—and the darkness in his eyes confirms your thoughts. It’s not like you’ve never thought about him in that way; frankly, he’s the only human connection you’ve made since you started at Waystar. You’ve often wondered (or perhaps hoped) if he was ever going to make a move on you, and a long time ago, you decided that if he ever did, you’d reciprocate it. You’re going to do just that. He wants a win, and you want him—everyone gets what they need.

He takes a few measured steps towards you and you feel yourself lean just a bit closer to him; just as you’re about to stand, he bends down, snakes his arms around your waist, and practically yanks you up to meet him. With a forcefulness that you’ve never, ever seen him display, he kisses you, disregarding gentleness and letting everything run on pure, unfiltered instinct. Your hands quickly find him, and you place one firmly against his cheek while the other slides through his hair. He holds on for a bit longer, trying to put as much as possible into that first, fantastic kiss, and then he has to pull away.

As you part, both reeling, he whispers, “Say that again.” When you don’t respond—you’re still catching your breath—he mumbles, “Please. Please say it.”

You’re more than happy to oblige him, and you stare right into his dark eyes as you speak. “You can do whatever you want with me, Roman.” Your words coax a full body shudder from him, and his lips are right back on yours, hands running over every part of your body they can access. His fingers skirt under the hem of your shirt and there’s a loud fucking knock at the door—and you both freeze exactly where you are.

It’s Kendall. Great. “Hey Rome, I saw you come in here, buddy. Uh—we’re, uh, crunching some big ass numbers out here, and I would love to have your eyes on these maximizations to the user-facing stock plane.”

“What the fuck does that mean…?” you breathe, and a short, high-pitched laugh escapes Roman.

As you both try to suppress your laughter beneath wide grins, Kendall calls, “What was that, bro?”

Roman quickly clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec, Ken.”

“Cool. Fantastic.” And you and Roman both stand there, listening to his footsteps as they grow fainter and more distant.

The rush of the moment has faded severely, and even though you acknowledge how fucking amazing that felt and would like nothing more than to continue, you know it’s not the most practical thing to do. “…You should probably head out there, right? Make sure he doesn’t just start making up figures?”

Roman snorts as he untangles himself from you. “Yeah, he would do that, wouldn’t he?” He stands before you, looking wonderfully disheveled, and you reach out to fix his collar and smooth his hair.

He practically melts under your touch as you comb through his hair with your fingers. You half expect him to kiss you again, but it seems the tension was sucked out of the room by Kendall and his corporate bullshit speak. You wish he would kiss you again. After one last sweep of his hair, you propel yourself forward and kiss him gently, sweetly; he kisses back, but he makes no attempt to move closer to you, so you take a step forward and close the gap.

“…I’m fucking this up,” he mutters, quiet and dejected, after you part. “I’m doing it all wrong and I’m being stupid.”

He’s not necessarily wrong; you try to ignore that thought as he turns and walks to the door. “Just take care of your brother,” you say with a little smile, and he gives a muted grin and a thumbs up back.

He’s so bad at this and he’s so sad. You sit back down and crack open your laptop, and within seconds about thirty emails flood into your inbox—it’s Joy’s legal team, just like she promised. You groan, and lean back, and try to get your mind off the feeling of Roman’s lips on yours so you can draft a decent apology.

#roman roy x reader #roman roy imagines #roman roy imagine #succession x reader #succession imagine #my writing

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romeulusroy · 1 year

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Tenderness (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman, Logan

Word Count: 1,572

Requested: "you're so cute." "what did you just say?" " said you look like a boot." With Roman denying he’s absolutely infatuated? - anon

Inspired By: Frances Forever by Mitski

A/N: I absolutely loved your request my love, I really hope I could do it justice!! The things I would do for that boy omg I love him!!! IDC what anyone thinks, he is so Mitski coded it breaks my heart!! 💞 Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Your head rest in the crook of his neck, your face falling into his shoulder. Listening to him breathe, laugh, instigate. Taking in his scent. Summery, wooden, clean. The cool air of the city night makes you squeeze next to him harder, desperately, his coat wrapped around your shoulders. His stubble is scratchy against your forehead, a welcomed sensation. The muscles of his jaw clench and unclench. He’s focused on something you’re not seeing, hearing, something bothering him. The rest of the party hums behind the panes of glass, the after dinner drum of heartbeats fast, fatal, in need of assurance. They speak lightly of million, billion dollar deals over drinks, waiting for desert. It’s you and him braving the moon and stars beneath the clouds, needing a moment to yourselves before you can go back in. Needing a moment to breathe. The rain had stopped, leaving nothing but puddles as evidence of its entire existence. One arm around you, the other rubbing at his eyes. It’s been a long night. How desperate you are to go home, crawl into bed beside him, find your way to his chest. How desperate you are to flee. You’d take off running if he weren’t clinging to you, needy in his own right. One more hour, maybe two. You could make it. As if he were thinking the same, Roman took a shaky breathe in. Not much longer.

He feared you were desperately, unkindly unprepared to deal with them. The wolves, the monsters who bare their teeth, blood pooling in their spit. All of them ready to tear the next victim to shareds. Tear ligaments, shred tendons, spit out pieces of teeth and tongue. Nothing left but bones. Scraps. He wants to turn the car around. He wants to crawl back into bed, hide under the covers with you where it’s warm and safe and his father cannot get him. You can feel him startle at your touch, your fingers intertwined, your eyes never leaving the rainy city light of car window. He says something just as someone presses the horn of their car. You’re so cute. What was that? I said you look like a boot- fuck. You smile anyways, catching that first part. He thinks you’re cute. If he could, he would have stopped the car, the driver, stop time itself. Whatever you thought you were going into, whatever countless scenarios you’d thought of, it would never be enough. There would never be enough preparation in the world to deal with Logan Roy. He’d never introduced anyone to him before, never brought anyone home. He’d never needed to until he met you. From the very first date, he could picture it all going wrong. Catastrophize everything, then you’ll never be disappointed. You’ll never be let down. He warned you, practically begged you, but your relationship was getting serious and you wanted to meet his family. Not just his father, but his brothers and sister, too. You didn’t want to be a secret. He didn’t want you to be a secret, he just wished you were meeting a different family. That things would be different. That it wouldn't end what you had. He squeezed your hand, for the last time, he truly believed so. One last time.

Marcia kissed you as soon as the elevator doors closed. She hugged you lightly, smiling widely. Logan was nowhere to be seen, to his relief. She was kind, kind enough, asking about work, about life, how she’s been so excited to meet you. Between then and now a glass had been placed in your hand and refilled quite a bit. You were feeling airy, but not dizzy. You liked Marcia, at least this version of herself she was presenting. You’d heard more than a few things about her, though. Shiv hugged you, too, watching Roman the entire time, as if she couldn’t believe you were real. He just shrugged, an embarrassed grin spreading across his face. He was one lucky guy. Connor was the most authentic, hugging you hard, introducing you to Willa, wanting to know about your day. That kind of love, that kind of light in a room full of falsehoods, it was so endearing. Riveting. You were grateful for Connor, not just in this moment, but for being in Roman’s life. He needed someone like that. Ken was already a little drunk, introducing himself twice. It took Roman no time in order to make jokes at his expense. He seemed nice, though you saw him the least. Kendall, and others alike, kept disappearing upstairs to talk to the king himself. The others, like Gerri, Frank, Karl, all faceless names until then, stories and legends of their own, only smiled at you if you were lucky. They didn’t care that you were there nor did they pay you any attention. They wouldn’t make up their minds about you until he did. You were warned about this.

In between the greetings, the smiles, the questions and questionable looks from others, you clung to Roman, never out of reach of one another, as if the very thing keeping you alive was each other. Neither of you hungry, you stuck to the wine, the bourbon, the thing that made this night more bearable. Shared glances, smiles, the occasional kiss when no one was looking. You listened very little to the hings they said. The business aspects, everything like that, you weren’t interested in. You didn’t care that Roman was a Roy, what he came from, only that he came out of it unscathed. Alive. Whole. The stories he told you, unable to look you in the eye as he spoke, all the horror stories of his childhood, it was a miracle he’d made it this far. You didn’t like his father even before you met. Anyone with that much power, that much disregard for human lives, it sent a chill up your spine. You assured him more times than you could count that he wasn’t like him at all. That he was kind, and thoughtful, that he was sweet and funny and perfect. Just perfect.

It wasn’t until the fine China had been set and dinner was almost ready that he wanted to see you. Alone. Roman refused. He pulled you away from the stairs, a look of fear you’d never seen washing across his face. He was petrified. For you, for himself, for everyone. Please, he begged, not alone. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t keep the king waiting, you couldn’t make a bad first impression. You couldn’t show weakness, fear, by showing up with armor. This was the kind of mind game he’d warned you about. You cupped his face in your hands, telling him all of this, reminding him it would only cause Roman pain if he went up there with you, if he lead the way, if he tried to protect you. He watched you climb the stairs, holding your head up high. You were a sacrifice and he was doing nothing to stop it. You were gone a long time. You missed the first three courses. Roman had lost his appetite completely, never taking his gaze off the empty chair beside him, the empty chair at the head of the table. His hands remained in fists, as if squeezing himself down, making himself smaller, would make you magically appear, would make everything okay. Would make you stay with him after all. No one took notice of your absence. No one spoke of Logan's. You appeared together, out of nowhere, you following Logan’s lead. The second you sat down he took a breath, as if the whole time you were gone he forgot how to breathe. You didn’t look upset or mad, you certainly didn’t look like you wanted to break up with him, though you’d always known how to play nice. You knew that a discussion of that nature wasn’t suited over dinner.

It wasn’t until you were alone outside, on the desk, did you let yourself melt. Relax. Falling into him. He didn’t ask what happened, too afraid, and you didn’t tell. He was right, that man was a monster. Is now the time you tell me we’re done? His voice came out so small you barely heard it. You lift your head, wanting, no, needing to look him in the eye. Those puppy-dog eyes, all of a sudden so sad, so broken. You must’ve looked horrified, at least a little angry, because he receded back into himself. Roman Roy, you listen to me. What that man does or says will never change how I feel about you. Roman’s quiet for a while, this time it’s him leaning on you, deflated, as if everything had left him. This was your favorite part of the night. When it was you and him, against the world. You’d have to go in again, eventually. You’d have to smile at Logan and Marcia, make awkward small talk with Greg. You were happy to see Connor and Shiv and even Kendall again. You’d finally get to know just how Logan felt about you through his evil minions. But that could wait. Your Rome needed you just a little longer all to himself. He needed to know, again and again, that it wasn’t over between you. That you’d both survived this torturous night. A boot huh? Yeah, y’know, a boot. A cute boot. You’re sweet, Rome.

#requested #writing #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #logan roy #logan roy imagine #logan roy x reader #succession #succession imagine #succession x reader

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fiberslut · 11 months

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Always in Powers

Pairing: Lukas Matsson x roy!reader

This is just a headcanon about being the youngest Roy sibling

You’re just holding a meeting while some unknown number pops up on your phone. You excuse yourself and answer to that number to hear Marcia’s voice. ‘Your father needs you’ she says, ‘I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong number, I don’t have a father’ ‘He’s offering you to be the CEO’ ‘What happened to Ken and Rome?’ ‘Let’s discuss about it when you’re here, next month is your father’s birthday remember?’ ‘As I said, I don’t have a father’ ‘See you soon’ and then she hung up

You have no idea what does he want. He’s ignored you for 22 years of your life but now he wanted to see you? and offering you to be the CEO of Waystar?

At a very young age, you’ve lived in the same house as Connor, Kendall, Roman, and Shiv. But one day your father hit you for some unknown reason, your mom knew about it, fired a restraining order against Logan, divorced him, and moved you two back to your mom’s country.

From that day on, you would go by her last name.

Since your mom is a very famous actress/model in your country, that made you’re also in the limelight too.

You hate Logan. Hate how he treated you and your mom. Hated how he never fought to get you back. Hate how he never calls on your birthday. Hate how he never said ‘Happy birthday kid’ to you. Hate how you would have no one to celebrate Father’s Day with.

That’s why you always work so hard, and be able to graduate double degree from Harvard Business School and Harvard Law School at the age of 22. And since you’re famous (thanks to your mom) you have a lot of celebrity friends, which helps with your clothing company to be successful and to be accepted worldwide.

Now you’re in Italy for Caroline’s wedding. But Logan wants you to go with him and Roman to talk about business with this Matsson guy.

He is a very interesting guy. Not like what you have in mind about tech bro.

Lukas couldn’t stop looking at you while talking with Logan. Rome sees it too and he’s not happy about it.

While you’re on the boat back to the wedding venue, some odd numbers appear on your phone, you answer it and it’s Lukas. ‘How did you get my number Mr. Matsson?’ Rome hears that and signal you to hang up the phone, while Logan is smiling in a victorious way.

‘He’s not going to give you CEO’ Kendall says, ‘From what Roman told me, he’s obviously using you to woo Matsson’ ‘No he’s not, he promised me’ you argue back, ‘He promised me too’ Shiv adds

From that day on you’ve talked and texted with Lukas every day. You find him so laid back and funny not like any guys you’ve dated.

You are Roman’s favorite, he’s the only one who visits you every year, so since you’re back in New York, you usually hang out at Roman’s place.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Roman asks ‘Don’t tell me it’s that Swede again, aren’t you dating that Denmark prince?’ ‘He’s a Count and no we’re not dating’ ‘It’s creepy, Matsson is too old for you’ ‘Um, I don’t think you should be the one to lecture me about what is creepy or what is not huh Mr. send-your-dick-pic-to-dad’

When you’re free of meeting, you will fly to Sweden. You and Lukas have developed a serious relationship. ‘What if I buy your dad’s company?’ He asks. ‘There is a cheaper way to impress me Lukas’ ‘No I’m serious’ ‘Then you should buy ATN too’ ‘Wouldn’t that destroy him?’ ‘That’s my point’

You were at Connor's side when you heard the news. That Logan is dead while he's on the plane to meet Lukas. You felt empty, just blank, not any hint of sadness. You saw Kendall, Roman, and Shiv were crying and saying I love you Dad at the phone. They're devastated at the news and couldn't do the interview, so it was you to do it.

Your sibling didn't have time to mourn Logan's death that much since Lukas invited them and the company to Norway.

You were excited, you and Lukas agreed to make your relationship official at the retreat.

Everyone was so shocked except Roman, he saw it coming since the first day. Kendall totally couldn't accept it, he refused to talk to you all day. Shiv just looked at you in disbelief but didn't say anything.

You love this retreat, you always ask Greg to be your photographer for your Instagram. Lukas hates how you are always with Greg when you should be next to him.

So he asks Greg who he is and insulted him in Swedish in front of his friends. You get mad at him for talking about your family like that. You and Lukas have a fight and you ended up leaving the retreat that afternoon and flying back to New York to help Connor with the funeral.

You haven't heard from him until the funeral day. You saw him with Shiv and that totally sums up everything for you. You ignore him all morning just to end up being pulled away into the dark corner of the church, him kissing you passionately and saying he's sorry and how much he's missed you.

So that week he stayed with you at your penthouse and he proposed to you.

He has you by his side while taking a group photo as GoJo successfully bought Waystar and ATN. You showing your new engagement ring as your new chapter of life is about to start as a wife and an American CEO of Waystar.

#succession #succession imagine #lukas matsson x reader #lukas matsson #lukas matsson imagine #lukas matsson x roy!reader #roy!reader #roy siblings #succession au #alexander skarsgård #succession hbo #succession fanfic

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degenerateteenagebeautyqueen · 11 months

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IM BEGGING, PLEADINGGG FOR THE KENDALL GIRLIES TO FUCKING STEP UP AND DROP THE ULTIMATE SMUT MASTER-LIST IN THE MF CHAT RIGHT NEOWWWWW!!!!! ITS THE FUCKING DESERT OUT HERE AND THE GIRLS ARE THIRSTY!!!

#kendall roy x reader #kendall roy smut #kendall roy imagine #kendall roy #kendall roy x you #succession imagine #succession smut #kendall roy fluff #kendall roy fic #kendall roy masterlist

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hbosucc · 5 months

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Greg Hirsch x Reader: Chapter 9

Hi loves! This is the last chapter I have written, I might write more on it, especially if anyone wants to send a request. I had so, so much fun writing this.

Ok, chapter content warnings! This chapter is 18+, minors dni.

Sexual content: p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving).

Swearing

Alcohol consumption

Link to previous chapter here

That's all! Thank you to anyone interacting with these posts, it makes me happy to know that people are reading:)

Chapter 9: A Night Out

On one of Greg’s rare weekend nights off, I’d suggested we go out on the town. Usually when we spent a night together, one or both of us would have to get up early the next morning for work, so we’d have to do something low-key, like order takeout and watch a show. Finally, we both had the whole weekend off, and I was so looking forward to spending it with him.

“You’re sure your family won’t be there?” I asked, putting the finishing touches on my makeup in front of the mirror. We were at Greg’s place, and I’d brought an overnight bag with this time.

“No, definitely not. They’re at some corporate retreat in, like, Poland or something.” Greg appeared in the mirror behind me, coming up to wrap his arms around my waist. I leaned back into him. I loved him, I knew it for sure now. I hadn’t told him yet, but I was fighting the impulse to. If he didn’t feel the same way, I didn’t want to know. I wanted to bask in the warmth of the feeling in private for a while before letting it out into the world, where it would either grow or be snuffed out.

“Okay. Good.” I put down the makeup brush and gave myself a final once-over. I looked good, he looked good, it was all good. “You ready to go?”

The club he’d picked had, I learned, been recommended to him by his cousin Roman. I hadn’t met Roman at the gala I’d attended with Greg, but I’d heard a lot about him. I wasn’t entirely sure if I trusted his taste in nightlife, but I was game to try something new. Greg’s driver let us out in front and we headed inside. He’d made sure in advance that we would be on the list.

Inside, it was more dimly-lit than I’d expected. It wasn’t too crowded, but I supposed that it was still relatively early. We learned that all of the drinks on the menu were named after early film stars. I ordered a Mae West, and Greg decided to try a Brando. Drinks in hand, we wandered from room to room, ending up on a balcony upstairs, overlooking the dance floor.

"Oof, that’s a strong one.” I tried a sip of my drink. It was clear, bubbly, and slightly fruity, and I could tell the bartender had poured it with a heavy hand.

“Mine’s good. Want to try?” We swapped drinks. His was just as strong, but darker and smokier, with some kind of whisky in it. I wasn’t a fan.

“You don’t want to dance?” I raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the floor below. It was crowded full of hot, sweaty, attractive people, but somehow, I didn’t feel too out of place. I guessed the Roy lifestyle was finally rubbing off on me.

“I’m gonna need a few more drinks in me before I do any kind of dancing.” He laughed nervously.

“Okay.” I turned, slightly put-out. I rested my arms on the balcony, leaning over slightly.

“Y/n?” I heard over the music, and turned to see the last person I would have expected.

“Theo?” My mouth dropped open. “What the fuck?”

“Right?” He laughed, his arms open. We hugged briefly, his strong arms squeezing me around the middle. “How the fuck are you?”

“I’m really good, actually!” I said, turning and beckoning Greg over. “You?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.” Theo grinned. He had the same hungry look in his eye, and was still, unfortunately, very sexy. Now, though, I knew this fact objectively, and it didn’t have as much of an effect on me as it would have in the past.

“Theo, this is Greg. Greg, Theo.” I introduced them as Greg caught up. I noticed his hand come to rest on my hip, almost territorially.

“Hey, nice to meet you, man.” Theo held out his hand, and they shook.

“So, uh, how do you know each other?” Greg asked. My eyes met Theo’s, and he must’ve read something in them.

“We knew each other back in college, actually. We used to party in the same groups.” Theo said. “And you two…how do you…?”

“Oh! Greg’s my boyfriend. We met online.” I blurted.

“Ah, the apps. I’ve heard good things.” Theo nodded. “Maybe I’ll have to try it out myself one of these days.”

“Are you here with anyone?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m here with a few of the old crowd, actually. We have a table downstairs, if you guys want to join, please, feel free.”

“Yes, definitely! We’ll meet you down there.” I smiled at the thought of seeing some of my old friends. We still followed each other on our socials, but I hadn’t seen most of them in person in a few years.

“Cool, cool. See ya.” He flashed one last grin before disappearing back into the crowd. I relaxed against Greg, not having realized how my body’d tensed up in Theo’s presence.

“Okay, are you going to, like, tell me how you actually know that guy?” Greg asked, and I looked up at him. His expression had soured slightly, and I realized he was jealous.

“We knew each other in college.” I said, meeting his eyes, then looking away. “And, okay, yeah, we hooked up a few times. But that was years ago.”

Greg was silent for a moment. A frown crossed his face, then was wiped away as he tried to conceal it. “He seemed pretty excited to see you.”

“Sweetheart, are you jealous?” I pressed my front against him, taking his pouty face in my hands.

“No, of course not.” He laughed nervously, his gaze flicking down to meet mine. “That guy was, like, really hot, though.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” I rolled my eyes, then stopped. “What, are you saying you’re surprised I could sleep with someone who looks like him?”

“No, I’m not saying anything.” He ran a hand over his hair. “It’s just, that makes a lot more sense than this, anyways.”

“Greg, what the fuck are you talking about?” I drew back.

“I mean, two hot people together makes more sense than you being with me. Okay?” He downed his drink. “I’m getting another one. Do you want to go find your friends?”

“Hold on.” I touched his arm, stopping him. “Are you feeling insecure? Is that what this is all about?”

“Yeah. Okay? I guess I am.” He sighed.

“Why…why on earth…” I started, pressing my cold drink glass to my forehead. I was not drunk enough to handle this. “Greg. You know I’m, like, extremely attracted to you, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Come on, Greg.” I followed him as he started down the stairs, back towards the bar. “Don’t throw a fit.”

“I’m not.” He said, though I could barely hear him over the music.

“Babes.” I grabbed his hand, but he continued on his route, pulling me along through the crowd. I stopped as we reached the bar, crossing my arms as I waited behind him while he ordered. He took a long swallow of his drink once it arrived, then turned to face me, looking less annoyed, almost ashamed.

“Feel better?” I cocked my head. He shrugged. I glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to us: they weren’t. “Come on.”

I’d noticed three bathrooms at the back of the bar: women’s, men’s, and a one-room all-gender restroom. I pulled him into the one-room and locked the door behind us, pressing my back against the cool wood as I turned to face him.

“You need to pee?” He asked, setting his drink down on the counter.

“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “Why, do you?”

“No.” He snort-laughed, before seeming to remember that he was upset, and his face stilled again. I crossed the room to him, slowly, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

“Well,” I started. “If you don’t believe that I find you attractive, I guess I’ll have to do something to show you.”

“Okay, and…what would that be?”

“Shh,” I said, standing up on my toes to kiss him. “Trust me.” I drew back, my hands lowering to his belt, sliding it open. I unzipped his pants, pulling them down over his thighs as I knelt on the tile floor. He was still soft, but perked up as I ran my hand over him through the fabric of his underwear. His breathing quickened as I pulled him out, stroking lightly, slowly, up and down. He tensed, hardening, as I took his head into my mouth just for a moment, before pulling back to look up at his face.

“Starting to believe me?” I asked softly, circling his head with my tongue, teasing.

“Maybe.” He said, then sucked in a gasp as I took him in fully for a moment, hitting the roof of my mouth. I licked a strip down the shaft, towards the head, taking it back between my lips once again.

“Does that feel good?” I asked, looking back up at him. His eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted as I continued to tease with my tongue, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, of course it fucking does.” One of his hands came down to rest on the back of my head, and he gently moved me back down to take him in once again. I quit my teasing, picking up the pace, relaxing my jaw and throat, trying to fight my gag reflex. I wasn’t worried about the choking noises I usually produced while giving head; guys generally seemed to be into that. I was more worried about barfing on his dick, which had never happened before, but I didn’t want tonight to be the first.

“That’s it, yeah,” He breathed out as he held my face in place and started fucking it. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the goal I’d set in mind: to make him feel good, desirable, sexy. I didn’t love giving blowjobs—does anyone, truly?—but for Greg, I was more than willing to do it.

After a particularly deep thrust, I sputtered, pulling against his grasp. He let go of me immediately, and I pulled back to catch my breath, reaching out to work him in my hands while I took a second.

“Are you okay?” He asked, shuddering and letting out a moan as I took him right back into my mouth. I could tell he was just about at his limit, and he came suddenly, his cum filling my throat. It wasn’t horrible—I’d heard horror stories—just salty, and I was able to swallow it with little trouble. I pumped him a few more times, letting him down from his high, then got up from the floor and faced myself in the mirror. My mascara was running, just a little, and my lipstick was completely gone. I blotted my under-eyes and reapplied my lips while Greg caught his breath.

“That was…” He started, letting out a long breath. “like, really fucking nice.”

“Good.” I turned to look at him, leaning against the counter.

“Shit.” He pulled his pants back up, re-buckling his belt, then turned to look in the mirror. He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back. Then, he finally looked at me, almost bashfully.

“You know, I’ve never swallowed before.” I held his gaze.

“Like, ever?”

“Never.” I nodded. “Look, Greg. Before we go back out there, I need to know that you know that I don’t want anyone else but you.”

“I do, it’s just…” He sighed. “It’s hard to believe, sometimes, like…I guess I’m okay, but I don’t think I’m that good-looking, comparatively, and I know I’m kinda skinny…”

“Greg.” I groaned. “Remember how surprised you were that I was insecure about how I look? That’s how I feel right now.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He nodded. “Okay. I believe you. On one condition, though.”

“And what’s that?” I raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve gotta do that again.”

“Deal.” I shook his hand, grinning goofily up at him. He took my face in his hands and kissed me, long and sweet, before pulling back.

“We don’t have to go sit with my old friends.” I said. “I didn’t really want to, I just said yes to get rid of Theo.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. I don’t know if I would call them friends, really, acquaintances would be more accurate.” I unlocked the bathroom door and peeked out. The coast was relatively clear, so Greg and I snuck out together, back into the crowd once again.

We managed to steer clear of anyone I knew for the rest of our time there, downing more drinks, dancing stupidly, making out in the middle of the crowd on the dance floor. Essentially, being an annoying couple, obviously obsessed with each other, and we didn’t care. In the early hours of the morning, once we finally got tired, he called us a car, where we made out some more in the backseat, barely managing to keep our clothes on until we made it back to his apartment. There, we made it to the elevator before we were on each other again, stumbling out once the doors reopened onto his floor, and then we somehow made it down the hall to his room and onto the bed.

He pushed my panties to the side, testing me with his fingers, and I moaned into his mouth.

“I’m ready,” I pulled back, breathless, our foreheads pressed together. My hands worked him out of his pants, quickly, and then he was in me. No condom flashed quickly through my mind, but I was on birth control, so I hoped that either he’d have the sense to pull out, or my body wouldn’t betray me for this one indiscretion. If not, there was always Plan B.

“You like that?” He asked, his hands on my wrists, holding me down. He knew by now how my body reacted to light domination, and he’d gotten quite competent at it. “You like me fucking you?”

“Yeah,” I whimpered, wrapping my legs around him, angling myself upwards. He let go of my wrists and held my legs up instead, hitting deeper inside of me. I threw my head back, each of my fists gripping a handful of his sheets. My moans filled the room, mixing with the sounds of our bodies colliding.

“I love you,” He groaned, and before I could wrap my head around the words, he pulled out, sending a spray of cum across my stomach. I let him catch his breath, coming down from his high.

“I’m gonna get something, for the, um…be right back.” He scooted off the bed and disappeared for a moment, coming back with a towel to clean me up. He flipped on one of the bedside lamps and began very intently wiping his cum off of me. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching him.

“Thanks.” I gave him a smile as he dropped the towel into his laundry basket, then slowly made his way back over to the bed. He looked a little shy, and I could guess why, so I gave him a little encouragement, patting the bed next to me. He sat back down, and I pressed a kiss to his cheek, resting my chin on his shoulder.

“So, about um…well, what I said…” He started.

“It’s because I finally gave you a blowjob, huh?” I teased, and to my relief, he chuckled.

“No, no, it’s not that.” He smiled. “I, um…well, I do.”

“You do what?”

“Come on,” He laughed, and I drew back, giving him a kiss, feeling the smile on his lips.

“I love you, too.” I pulled back slightly, speaking the words onto his lips. “If you meant it, of course.”

“I did—I do.” He stammered. “I love you.”

“It feels nice to hear it, and to finally say it.” I kissed him again, then drew back to take in his face: slightly flushed, his pupils blown out, sweat at his brow. “I fucking love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you.” He said again, whispering it out, as though he was feeling the weight the words carried.

We were mostly silent after that, kissing slowly in the dark, the lights of the city coming in through the windows, the sounds of late-night traffic filtering up from the street below. Together, we slipped into a comfortable, deep sleep, wrapped around each other. I certainly hadn’t expected the night to go like this, but at some point I’d have to realize that Greg somehow always found a way to subvert my expectations.

#hbo succession #succession #succession fanfic #succession imagine #greg hirsch #greg hirsch x reader #succession x reader #x reader #gregory hirsch #x reader smut

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dorims · 2 months

Text

last christmas (i gave you my heart).

gif creds @/fightingdragonswithwho

pairing. roman roy x reader

wc. 1.6k

genre. fluff

Spending every holiday under Logan Roy’s roof wasn’t necessarily a problem. But just like any other family gathering, the pot tended to be stirred until have a holly jolly Christmas sounded either like a call for help or the theme song from the Saw franchise. for a change, maybe spending christmas away from his family would do him good. you can only hope he agrees.

tags. NOT beta-ed(?), english isn't my first language // established relationship (fiancee/married, i havent decided yet lol), brief mention of alcohol, allusion to roy family dynamics, roman and reader are the only characters in this one

a/n. idc that its march and the fact im not big on christmas either, this one really fun to write! hope you enjoy

“So,” You test the waters, lathering the bristles of your toothbrush with the bubblegum toothpaste in the process. In tune with the routine you had wordlessly established, you locked eyes with him through the mirror. Not before letting your eyes roam over his relaxed figure of course. Surprisingly intimate, you would describe the way he liked to watch you while you finished your nightly routine. He would look so painfully comfortable, maybe even serene, as he let his body rest against the doorframe as his eyes lidded with perpetual fatigue, took in the mundanity of watching you lather your face with creams and face wash.“I’ve been thinking.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, though it sounded more like a stifled laugh. “That's new, how's that going for you?"

“Funny.” The foam in your mouth was of no help at conveying the faux annoyance, balancing out the deadpan you sported with a dose of conveniently muffled speech. Not intimidating at all, it only caused his grin to grow wider. And contagious as always, you leaned over the sink to spit the toothpaste in an attempt to hide a smile of your own, though the thick layer of adoration in your eyes gave it away.

“I’m just saying,” he raised his hands in mock surrender, finally walking inside to lean against the marble counter right next to you. “I only wanna know how it feels to lose your, you know, thinking virginity after giving no signs of brain activity for how long? Like—“

“You can tell yourself how it feels when you lose it.”

“Oh you want to fuck my brain so bad—“

“I’ve been thinking,” You cut him off with an amused smile, taking him in once more. Big round eyes shone with mischief along a hint of sheepishness as he noticed you looking at him. Really looking at him under the vanity lights with messy hair from running his hands through the strands all day and finally wearing the matching pajamas set you had gotten for him in a pretty navy blue because wearing a matching set made you feel good and you wanted him to feel the same way. Always.

“You've been thinking…” he rolled his eyes as if to hold back another quip now that you had restarted the conversation. The pinkish hue you were so familiar with made a small appearance as you let your fingers brush over his, gently coaxing him to intertwine his hands with yours. Not that he needed much convincing, though.

“We should spend Christmas this year with my family.”

At the beginning of your relationship, you were sure he would’ve pulled his hand out of your grasp. You could see the way he had to swallow down the urge to do so from the pensive furrow of his brows while the side of his brain in charge of his critical thinking tried to convince him that your words weren’t an attack on his family. He was still working on it, the lousy therapy sessions here and there helped a little, but he still found himself opening his mouth to complain.

“I know what you’re gonna say but think about it, Romeo.” Thankfully, you took the steering wheel before he could start. “My family loves you and we haven’t spent Christmas with them in like, ever, actually.”

Which wasn’t his fault, and you made sure to tell him so, leaning closer until your knee touched his and giving him a quick peck on his lips before he could protest.

Spending every holiday under Logan Roy’s roof wasn’t necessarily a problem. It was nice to exist alongside the people that Roman loves, the people he grew up around. Watching him interact with his siblings could be endearing. So much so that sometimes you wished you could record their banter and laughter so he could listen back and for a moment picture that things between them were okay. But just like any other family gathering, the pot tended to be stirred until have a holly jolly Christmas sounded either like a call for help or the theme song from the Saw franchise.

“Every year we celebrate in a different place,” you toyed with the idea in front of his eyes like one would a cat’s toy, using your smile to build momentum to the grand reveal that at this point didn’t even sound grand to you. “last Christmas was Italy and this year we’re doing Greece.”

“Since when do you have a house in Greece?” He asked, toying with your fingers as his gaze locked itself on them. It was a good sign he was asking.

“We don’t,” the sound of your animated chuckle helped to loosen his shoulders. Though it didn’t dissipate his slight confusion, it always felt good to have you close like this. “It’s Kelly’s house— eh, her parents’ but sharing is caring or whatever…”

He let out a chuckle of his own. The sound made all sorts of warmth bloom in your chest, maybe even cute aggression if you felt like being dramatic.

“And after we can spend New Year's just the two of us wherever you want.” He shrugged in a silent response, still pensive, and you couldn’t help but coo at him as if to coax him out of his shell. “It’s gonna be so much fun, they’ve been asking about us and the kids adore you, they’ve been obsessed with Uncle Roro ever since Lizzie’s birthday.”

“As they should be, my lower back never recovered from being used as a human jungle gym.” He rolled his eyes at the memory yet the love was evident from behind the thinly veiled sarcasm. He was a very particular individual but so were most of your siblings-in-law. And sure, the first time he met your family hadn’t gone as he expected, both in a good way and in a bad way, but your mother still asked him to join him for a glass of whiskey whenever they crossed paths with a welcoming smile and your father always hugged him in greeting like he did all his children.

“You’re good with them,” You smiled against his lips as you leaned closer for a kiss, leaving a couple of pecks that eventually made him smile too. “you’ve always been good with kids.”

“Yeah whatever, stop kissing me my breath stinks.”

The way your brothers had instantly included him in their weird boys' night out, which was ruled by the obnoxiously corny motto ‘what happens in boys' night, stays in boy’s night’ that was used as a smoke screen for that one time they decided to go to the spa to never be taken seriously again once they swallowed their own stupidity, left you grinning for a week straight. And let's not start with the picture you had taken during a summer trip to Nice of all the daughters-in-law posing like they were celebrating their high school prom with Roman at the front of the line, it had been all laughter all throughout; the picture came out a little blurry.

It’s all you could think about sometimes when you watched him doing nothing interesting in particular with a lovesick intensity only rivaled by his. How well he fits in your life, with the quips and interjections that kept you company and next to you on your shared bed. With both your slippers sitting neatly side by side and with the unmeasurable love pooling at the bottom of his chest that he had finally allowed himself to unabashedly share after who knows how long.

“Can you pass me your headband? I need to wash my face.”

He insisted yours was better every time you told him he should buy one of his own. Even if he hadn’t tried any other than yours. You only let it pass because he looked cute with his hair pushed back. No other reason at all.

“So,” you cut yourself by giving him a peck on the lips as he got closer to steal some face wash. He had his own on his side of the bathroom but the bottle was pretty much full and yours still ran out quicker than when it was just you. “Greece or no Greece?”

“I got chills, they’re multiplying.” He joked right before rinsing the soap from his face, chuckling at your lack of amusement. “What? You prefer right now there’s nowhere to hide since you pushed my love aside?”

“I prefer you answer my question.”

The eyes of a kicked puppy on full display just put him out of his misery vibes, pleaded in silence as he dragged his feet across the floor until he was standing right in between your legs, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. He fit nicely against your body and instinctively you let your fingers brush along the strands of his hair. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go.”

He groaned in response, his voice muffled against your skin. “It’s not that, I want to, I just— I already RSVP or whatever bullshit to my Dad.”

No one RSVP’ed to Logan Roy. Especially not his children. It wasn’t necessary when the table was already set for all parties involved regardless of conflicting schedules

“That’s okay,” You kiss his hair, resting your cheek against his head and muffling your own voice. The vibrations made him hum. “I can talk to him.”

The disheveled strands tickled your skin as he shook his head. Now that his chin was resting on your chest you noticed how cartoonishly slow he was blinking, his lids heavy the weight of being awake for far too long.

“I’ll talk to him.” He pressed a kiss against the side of your jaw, feeling the unmistakable excitement of your grin, before hiding the yawn that followed. “Tomorrow, I promise.

#roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy fluff #roman roy #succession fan fiction #roman roy imagine #succession imagine

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chokepoet · 9 months

Text

Kittens & Perverts (PG-13)

GIF by @kitherondale

Summary | A month after Logan’s passing, Roman stumbles onto an abandoned kitten and seeks the help of his assistant in caring for it.

Genre | Angst, The Fluffiest Fluff

TW | animal sickness, mentions of death (no actual death), panic attacks, drug mentions, slight allusions to an eating disorder

Word Count | 3.9k

A/N | This is for all my soft hearted bitches that just need that doe eyed lil’ shit to feel held. Even if just by a hand.

I had just walked out my door when I received a call from a very frantic Roman.

“I found a kitten. What the fuck do I do? It’s like, fuckin’ shivering and oh god- I think it? Coughed? Do cats cough?” His voice gets slightly quieter as if pulled away from the receiver. “Did you just cough?”

After having me find, in his words, the Mayo Clinic of emergency vets, he sent a car after me to meet him there. The entire drive was spent trying to calm him through the phone. He kept sending me horrific screenshots of every worse case scenario he found on Google. When I entered the waiting room I found him pacing with wide eyes and fidgety hands. He’d wound himself onto the verge of a panic attack.

“It’s got fucking pneumonia. Hooked up to IV’s and all this shit. They’re like incubating it- I think? With this big ass oxygen tank. Did you know they did that for cats? Like iron lung ‘em?” His hand roughly drags back through his hair. “I dunno if some sick fuck just left it there ‘cause it was ugly as shit with lil green goo comin’ out its eyes- aw, man, you shoulda seen it. The poor little fucker was like- like straight outta Cronenberg’s wet dreams, just- oh man, fuckin’ nasty.” He laughs to himself but it’s more of a stuttering rush of mirthless air. “And I’m supposed to feed it with these like freaky fucking heroin needle things apparently? I don’t-“ Placing both of my palms on either side of his cheeks gently, I tried stilling him.

“Hey- hey look at me. Breathe with me, yeah? In through your nose for a count of 4, hold for 7, out through your mouth for 8. Just like your blowing out birthday candles.” Face bunched up, he shoves me away.

“Fuck off! Birthday candles? The fuck are you on about? I’m fine. You know whose not fine? The fucking cat! It’s so tiny and-“

“Roman! Just fucking breathe with me real quick, okay? Just for a sec-“

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? I’m breathing fucking fine! Are you deranged?“

“No I’m not fucking deranged but I’m about to shove a vial of ketamine up your ass if you don’t just fucking trust me and breathe with me.”

Exacerbated, he finally follows me through the breathing exercise for three rounds. Albeit while rolling his eyes. The tension in his face had fallen slightly. Though, his shoulders remained tense as ever.

“Better?”

“Fuck you.” He shakes his head and refuses to meet my eyes. “Yes.” His reply reluctant and slightly cartoonish with annoyance. He’d been having bouts of anxiety and panic attacks ever since his father passed. He was always like this whenever I’d guide him through it. Embarrassed and frustrated. Depleted.

He sank into one of the seats lining the wall with a long sigh. Head falling back for a moment before pulling his knees up and anchoring his heel to the edge of the metal chair. Hugging himself. I take a seat next to him and criss-cross my legs beneath me.

“Is he gonna die?” His voice now small and hushed as he intently stared at a floor tile. I felt the ghost of Logan grip my heart and squeeze.

“Honestly?” His big brown eyes flicker up at me. Searching, scared. “I dunno, Roman.” He quickly stares back to the floor tile. “What I do know is you did the very best you could for the lil’ guy.” He scuffs.

“Yeah-well, my best has historically done fuck all so…” he mumbles and I gently nudge him with my elbow but he doesn’t look up.

“That’s not true and you know it.” He shoots me a look that tells me he does not in fact know it. “That kitten wouldn’t have had a chance without you. You gave it a fighting shot at life, Rome. That’s worth something.” Just then a vet walks through the waiting room doors. Roman quickly stumbles out of the chair to stand. I join him and cautiously press the palm of my hand to his back for support. He doesn’t brush me off.

“It’s a good thing you brought him in when you did. If it had been any later, I don’t think he would have made it.” I steal a glance at Roman, who swallows before clenching his jaw. “He seems to be responding well to the oxygen and antibiotics. You all should be able leave with him after he’s been stable for a little while longer. I’ll start filling the scripts for his medications here soon.”

The warmth of the vet’s reassuring smile was in stark contrast to the color draining from Roman’s face. He nods slowly and blinks as he processes the responsibility of this kitten’s health being placed onto him. As the doctor leaves, Roman climbs back into the cold metal chair like an anxious gargoyle. I pull the vet aside before he can walk back through the doors and ask him to go over care instructions with me. He offers me a packet instead. Flipping through it, I search out a supplies list.

I knew Roman was far too out of his depths to retain any of the information. Valid, considering he referred to a nursing syringe as a heroine needle. Upon walking back, I find he’s made the full transformation into human stress ball. Full moon be damned. He looked like one pull of an imaginary rubber band and he’d fall apart all over the floor.

“Hey, I’m going to run to the store and get everything we need. I’ll set it all up at your place so we’ll be ready when you come home.” I tried using we instead of you to let him know he wasn’t going to be tackling this alone. I don’t think he noticed.

“You’re leaving me here?” His eyes were wide and horrified. “I can’t- I don’t- what if-“

“You’ll be okay Roman. You’ve got thi-“

“Like hell I’ll be! I most certainly do not got this. What the fuck!” Sighing, I sit beside him as he continues to gape at me.

“The vet has everything under control. All you need to do is sit here, try to relax, and think about a name for the little guy, okay? You don’t wanna have to deal with shopping for all this shit once you have him.” The lines between his brows were deeply creased.

“Can’t you just send a-“

“Roman. Stop.” He does, though a silent plea remained etched in his features. “Just let me do this for you, alright?” His eyes shut as his head falls back against the wall. This was important and I didn’t really trust that anyone else would get everything needed. Having to deal with a forgotten item later tonight sounded like a hell I wished to avoid. “You’ll see me again at the apartment. My phone is at full volume. You know you can call me the second I leave this building and I’ll answer.” He grumbles, refusing to look at me. “And I promise to have that boba tea you refuse to admit you like waiting for you.” One eye opens and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Sugar-free?” He didn’t need to know that the boba had been soaking in brown sugar before reaching his cup. Too elated that he felt some sense of joy in something food related and knowing full well he’d never touch it again if he knew. He still rarely allowed himself a cup of it as is, let alone finish it all. I didn’t have the heart to break it to him, so I never did.

“With extra boba.” His lips defy him as a small smile escapes. Groaning loudly and dramatically, he lifts his head.

“Fine.” He jerks his wallet out of his pocket and hands me his black card. “If that thing fucking croaks on me while you’re gone, I’m blaming you.”

As I walk out the doors I catch a quick glance back to find him, eyes closed, doing those breathing exercise.

Sure enough, the second I’m in the car my phone rings.

“The fuck all do you even have to get? Do pet stores sell heroine needles? Ask Kendall, I bet he’d fuckin’ know.” The entire shopping excursion was spent with the phone cradled between my ear and shoulder as I picked up supplies. As soon as one call would end, it wouldn’t be a few minutes later that it’d ring again. “Do I have a humidifier? I’ve got that fuckin’ facial steamer. Is that like the same thing? I feel like- no, you know what? Just pick one up while you’re out. Someone on Reddit said it helps with pneumonia.”

Upon arriving to his apartment, I open the fridge to sit the promised boba tea inside. Lonely amongst the near barren shelves of wilting lettuce and protein shakes. Trying not to think about it too much, I return to the task at hand. I had successfully gathered all needed supplies, plus a plush heated blanket that I hoped might warm both their spirits. He rarely left his room most days so I figured it’s the best place to set up everything. As I spread the blanket across his bed, my phone rang.

“In route with Jerry.”

“The fuck you doin’ with Gerri?”

“Check your texts.” Clicking the notification, I’m met with a photo of Roman and the kitten. It’s small form curled up under the palm of his hand, nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

“That’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” His chuckle reverbs through the speaker.

“He is kinda cute, right?” You’re both kinda cute.

“The cutest. Please tell me you named him after the cartoon and not that Gerri?”

“Of course I named it after the fucking cartoon. Why would you even- yeah. I named a fuckin’ kitten after Waystar’s legal counsel.” His voice dripping with sarcasm even though he totally did do just that.

“You fucking would.” I can’t help but laugh. “And you say I’m deranged?”

“Yeah, yeah. Call my therapist.”

“Why? You’re already on the phone with ‘em.”

“Well you’re doing a shit job.”

“Clearly.” I began setting up Jerry’s bed. A nest of soft blankets over a heating pad in a small box. “Well shit’s hard with a sick fuck like Roman Roy as my client.”

“I can tell ya somethin’ else that’s hard.”

“I’m calling HR.”

“Ooo, three way?”

“Hanging up now.” His laughter reflects off his floor to ceiling windows as I cut the line.

While finishing filling the humidifier, now resting on his side table, I heard the front door open. Roman’s light footsteps click across the pristine hardwood floors.

“Aye! Lil’ man’s hungry, did you get the goods?” I’m soon enough greeted by a softly mewing Jerry in the same spot as he was photographed in nearly an hour prior.

“Yeah, your boba’s in the fridge.” Roman rolls his eyes before scrunching his nose up and sticking his tongue out at me.

“Hardy-har har. You’re hilarious.” Sticking my own tongue out at him, I give him a wink. “Seriously, did you get- the fuck that come from?” He waves a limp wrist towards the bed.

“It’s a heated blanket, I got it while I was out. Just thought you two could use it. And yes, the formulas in the kitchen.” Roman eyes the thick white blanket before waltzing over to run a hand over it. His lips threaten a smile but he fights it off.

“It’s… nice.” He clears his throat.

“You know, I haven’t gotten to officially meet Jerry yet.” Tilting my head, I gaze upon the little creature with a small smile. A tabby that reminded me of my first cat. I carefully reach out my pointer finger to stroke his head. My smile grows even wider. I was grateful Roman had found him and that he was okay. The fist of worry I kept hidden in the pit of my stomach began to unfurl. My cheeks warm as Roman’s gaze studied my face while I pet the kitten held against him.

“You can hold him.” Our eyes meet and there was something in his that made my chest flutter. He looks down quickly. “I mean-if you wanna or whatever.”

“Yeah? You sure? Y’all seem pretty cozy.” Roman rolls his eyes before carefully handing Jerry over to me. I cradle him over my heart while rubbing his side with my thumb. I can’t help but lean down to lay a soft kiss atop his head. “You are just the sweetest lil thing in the whole world, you know that?” I murmur into his fur before pulling back with a smile.

“Oh he fuckin’ knows it. He had all the nurses in a tizzy. Had to fight ‘em off with my humongous dick.”

“Oh Jesus, Roman. Do you ever just shut the fuck up?”

“Nope.” Roman smiles as he reaches to pet Jerry. His finger brushes my hand and our eyes fall to one another. The corner of his mouth twitches along with his finger. The air begins to fill with static as we stood falling into each other’s gaze. There was maybe half a foot of space between us. Out of nervous habit, I bite my bottom lip and Roman’s eyes immediately flicker to my mouth. Jerry mews against my chest.

“Should we go get the formula ready?” My voice comes out quieter than I intended, just above a whisper. He blinks a few times before meeting my eyes again.

“Huh? Y-yeah.” Clearing his throat, he quickly turns on his heels and heads out the bedroom door. I follow with a blush on my cheeks and a smile on my lips.

Atop Roman’s bed, he lay on his side with me mirrored beside him. Jerry was stretched out between us with a full belly pressed to the heated blanket, sleeping peacefully. Roman had one hand propping his head up and the other holding his boba tea. My arms were crossed under one another as I used them as a pillow. Both of us watching the rise and fall of Jerry’s breathing.

Feeding him earlier was an ordeal to say the least. Roman quickly became overwhelmed. Only confident in his abilities as a fuck up. He was twitchy, anxious, and swear-y as he made a mess of the kitchen. Glancing up to his face, I notice the circles under his eyes seemed darker. He looked utterly exhausted as he chewed on the straw of his drink with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, Rome?”

“Mm?” He hums addressing me but doesn’t look up from Jerry.

“Do you wanna try and get some sleep? I can stay up with Jer-Bear and make sure he’s okay.” Eyes finally meeting mine, his brows stay pulled together.

“Fuck no. I’m not tired.” He lied through his teeth; quickly and firmly. I had just seen him yawn not five minutes prior. My brows raise.

“Uh-huh…” I look him over. He was still dressed for the day, though without shoes. His tie, dusted in formula powder, hung loose around his neck. His sleeves were rolled to his elbow. Once gelled hair now flung in nearly every direction.

“Hey! Stop fuckin’-“ He waves the plastic cup around. “Checkin’ me out in front of the child, ya heathen.”

“The child?” I laugh quietly while propping my head up in one hand and stealing his drink from him with the other. He gasps dramatically with a hand to his chest. “Alright, cat daddy.” His brows raise as I take a sip.

“Cat daddy?” He smirks suggestively. “What are you then? Cat mommy?” Chewing on some boba pearls, I shrug with a smile.

“Seems fitting.” He goes to steal his cup back, causing his hand to fall over my own. He doesn’t remove it. Just stares at them clasped together. His touch feels electric. The familiar static returning to the air. Roman’s thumb slowly begins to brush my knuckles. Back and forth, almost shyly. I let out a shaky breath and his eyes suddenly meet mine, startled. He pulls the drink from me and I let my hand fall. The phantom of his thumb sending small shockwaves through to my bones.

Refusing to meet my eyes, he focuses them on Jerry instead. His fingers quickly and rhythmically tapping at the side of his cup. The hand once holding his head was now scratching at his jaw. A bundle of nerves before me. I yearned to soothe them and missed the warmth of his touch. The lonely ache blossoming throughout the skin of my palm made my head feel fuzzy. I then feel my last remaining brain cell sprout something akin to courage. Reaching out, I grasp the top of his drink and take it away to place on the side table behind me.

“What the fuck? I wasn’t finished…” He trails off as I look back to him. All furrow browed and handsome. Cautiously, I reach for his hand and lace my fingers with his. His eyes immediately drop to them interlocking with a sharp inhale. He falls tense. My stomach flips as I fight off the flaming arrows of nerves shooting down my arm. Just as tentatively as he had before, I start to gently rub my thumb against the side of his hand. He doesn’t respond; his hand feeling limp and dead beneath mine. Dread pools down the back of my throat.

“S-sorry.” Pulling back, I try to unthread myself from his hand. Suddenly his fingers come to life and clasp around mine. Gripping tightly as if his body was silently pleading with mine to not let go. Don’t leave. His eyes finally meet mine and his brows twitch. A wash of different emotions flash across his features. Behind those stormy brown eyes, I could see the waves of doubt and fear threaten to drown out the rest.

What we were doing could be considered small. Insignificant even, sure. We were simply holding hands. Yet it felt like something big for some reason. Maybe because neither one of us could recall the last time someone held us. Even if it was just our hands.

It felt intimate.

He didn’t want it to stop but he didn’t know what to do with the feelings it was bringing up either. I pull our hands towards my face and lean forward to meet them. Softly biting down on his middle knuckle then smiling up at him. His mouth twitches before slowly smiling back.

“You’re so fucking dumb.” He laughs softly, slightly bewildered.

“Watch it or I’ll bite it off.” His smile only grows.

“Do it, I fuckin’ dare ya.” I bite down onto his knuckle once again, harder this time. He drops my hand immediately, only to thread his own through my hair and pull me into a bruising kiss. Both of us smile against the other’s mouth. He nips at my bottom lip when I pull away with a laugh. I lightly shove his head playfully before throwing his words from earlier back at him.

“In front of the child?” The near constant and crushing weight of his stress seemed momentarily absent as we giggled in bed like schoolchildren. “Ya heathen.” Jerry had continued sleeping soundly between us. Careful not to wake him, Roman begins brushing a finger down Jerry’s back, ever so gently. “You can be really sweet when you wanna be, you know that?” His eyes meet mine in an attempt to look stern. Though, the smallest hint of a smile still lingered.

“You tell anyone about this and I’m chuckin’ ya into the Hudson with cement shoes.” With a wide grin, I return to my earlier positioning. Arms curled beneath me to lie atop. The day was finally catching up and my head felt heavy. “You realize there’s pillows directly above you, right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen a pillow a day in my life.” My eyes were struggling to stay open as I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of Jerry’s back with Roman’s finger stroking gently.

“Smartass.” The next thing I know, Roman’s hand has slid beneath my cheek to lift my head. A pillow is nestled into the space between soon after. I hum approvingly and he mumbles. “Thanks… for today.”

“Happy to help.” I rub my face into the pillow as if it could wipe off the sleep threatening to overtake me. In a weak attempt to stay awake, my mouth begins to ramble. “I got pneumonia a lot when I was a kid. I’d have to take these breathing treatments with an oxygen mask.” Letting out a soft chuckle, the memories flood back to me. Absentmindedly, my finger begins drawing circles against the blanket as I sleepily look to Jerry’s face. “But since I was a child, they tried to make it less scary so the mask was in the shape of a fish head. Whenever Jerry was in the hospital, I just pictured this tiny kitten wearing my little fish mask.” My eyes flicker up to Roman. He was wearing a small smile. “I dunno… it just made me feel better for some reason. I guess like he’d be okay because I was okay.” As the words tumbled out in a mumble, Roman’s eyes seemed softer. My cheeks started to warm with a blush so I shyly tuck my chin in and look back to Jerry.

“That’s really cute actually.” My eyes rise back to his. The tips of his own cheeks seem to turn almost pink under my gaze. “Corny as fuck, but… cute.” Clearing his throat, he looks back at the sleeping kitten before him. “I’m calling you fish face from now on.” The corner of my mouth tugs into a smile as my eyes fall heavy with sleep.

“You did good today, Rome.” If I had the energy to look back to him, I would have caught the pinks of his cheeks turning crimson. Saw his mouth twitch in a losing battle between a smile and his lips. The smile won.

The blinding light of morning had me waking with eyes squeezed tight. A steady electric hum met my ears and I tried to mentally deduce where it could be coming from before giving up. Fighting off the violently bright assault to my vision, my eyes finally part and focus. A cloud of steam billows through a sun ray to greet me. My gaze follows the plume towards it’s source. A soft electric hum. The humidifier.

The next sight to greet me fills my heart with something so sweet and so warm, it overflowed. The feeling overwhelmed my every being and threatened to burst through my chest and coat the very walls. Taking its disembodied hands to pull the corners of my lips upwards as a soft snore escapes the sleeping form beside me.

Roman looked even messier than he had the previous night. Lying on his back with one wrinkled sleeve pulled down. It appeared to have milk dampening the expensive fabric. The formula powder, once just on his tie, was now kissing across the scruff of his jaw. Somehow, it looked to be in his hair as well. His shirt lie halfway open, unbuttoned. A tiny ball of fur lay against the bare skin at the heart of his chest. There, Jerry slept underneath Roman’s cradling palm. The two of them warming the other peacefully.

My cheeks were aching but I couldn’t stop smiling. The humidifier’s buzz seemed to morph into a familiar high strung murmur inside my head.

You fucking love me, don’t you?Dumbass.

I haven’t written fan fiction in ages, let alone for Succession. I’m high-key fucking terrified of the response lol But this was so much fun to write and turned out extremely wholesome so I had to share. Please excuse any spelling/grammar/formatting fuck ups. I did all this in my notes app and haven’t shared any writing on here since like… 2018? I think?? Anyways, to whomever might be reading this, I really hope you enjoyed it. ♡˚ ✧ ༘ ｡ ˚ ⋆

#Roman Roy #Succession #Succession HBO #Gender Neutral Fanfic #Roman Roy One Shot #Roman Roy Fluff #Roman Roy Angst #Roman Roy Imagine #Roman Roy x Reader #Roman Roy x Gender Neutral Reader #Succession Fanfic #Succession Imagine #Needy!Roman #Insecure!Roman #idk what else to tag here???#help????#mine #kittens & perverts

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scarletttries · 11 months

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Romeo Take Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone (Roman Roy Succession Request)

Part Two Available Now!

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Gender Neutral! Reader

Requests: "Roman x Mattson!reader? Forbidden/secret relationship?" AND "Perhaps some smut for Roman Roy? Maybe Roman being on the more submissive side? Thank you!"

Warnings: Smut, spoilers for the new season.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: Oh Roman, I'm going to pretend I haven't seen the latest episode so I can continue fancying you without having to think critically about this piece of media 🙃 Thank you to the ABSOLUTE genius that suggested a Mattson! reader, forbidden romance vibe, I loved the request and enjoyed writing this so much, I've gone full Romeo & Juliet! (More like Rome-eo, hahaha I felt like a genius for this). Also this is my first Roman smut so it was a bit of a challenge to try and keep it in the same tone i've written Roman in so far, but I hope you enjoy! As always keep the requests coming :D

Romey-o take me somewhere we can be alone

"Have you had enough of this little ass-kiss fucky fest yet?" You watched the little bubble pop up on your phone and looked across the party in reflex, scanning the crowd until you saw his smug little smile directed your way. You unlocked your phone to reply, scrolling up to glimpse the hundreds of messages between the two of you since you'd met that day at the woodlands company retreat three weeks ago.

***

"Problems working with your older brother? I can relate." You stepped out into the night air to find Roman hunched over the railing of the small balcony, hands threading through his hair so firmly he threatened to pull it out in clumps. His shoulders grew a little less tense as your voice washed over him, hands falling to the edge of ledge as he gestured for you to join him.

"So you're the younger Mattson? You could have fooled me, on account of you not being a massive dick." He laughed at the words but it came out hollow, watching his breath form a white wisp in front of his face in the cold night air.

"Thanks, I try my best to be an actual human being. I hear out of all the Roys you're the most favourable to be around too."

He turned his head sharply to really look at you, the sincerity in your tone and the measured kindness of your words catching his attention.

"Oh yeah?" He probed, hoping another almost compliment would fall from your lips before he did something to ruin this moment. Truth was he'd spend half the weekend watching the way you floated through the conference, poised, humble, soft; the antithesis of your brother Lucas. And so he'd avoided you, sure that any moment spent in your presence would only tarnish the shining light you carried so effortlessly.

"I like to think I've got good instincts for people, and I think there's something about you that's different from the rest of your family. And I mean that in a good way." You were thoughtful as you spoke, treading lightly around the slick man in front of you, sure that one wrong move would have him sprinting back inside, spitting venom in his words as he went.

"That's actually pretty nice to hear these days." Roman replied after a pause, now standing squarely to face you, searching your eyes for any hint of deception and mockery and instead finding a tranquility that washed over him in waves as you returned a smile he hadn't realised he was sharing.

"I'm really sorry about your father by the way. And I'm even more sorry that you have to be here right now." You grimaced at your brother's insistence that this weekend go ahead as planned, every ounce of humanity seeming to leave him the moment his bank account saw a certain amount of zeros. Roman nodded at your words, the taste of condolences still unfamiliar and bitter in his mouth, cursing his father for ruining yet another interaction for him, even from beyond the grave. You read his silence for the pain that it was and set your hand gently on top of his where it rested on the railing.

"Well I should go back inside before any of our siblings accuse us of fraternising with the enemy, but it was nice to meet you. I really mean that."

Panic rose up in the back of Roman's throat as you turned to move away, not yet ready for this moment to end, feeling better than he had in weeks. He ignored the voice crying out inside him to stay strong, to isolate himself, to trust no one, and instead caught your rising hand with his.

"Maybe we could fraternise just a little longer.

***

And so you and Roman had spent an evening sharing in the perils of being a younger sibling in your strange corporate worlds, swapping numbers and an unspoken agreement to keep this from your families as you departed the next day, Roman touching the spot on his cheek you had blessed with a gentle kiss when he snuck into your treehouse to say a real goodbye. And so followed weeks of secret texts and furtive phone calls, pouring out your souls until finally you were back in the same room, parted in a hotel lobby by a sea of political donors and movers and shakers, but feeling only one pair of eyes on you.

"I thought you'd never ask." You sent back in response, locking eyes with him once again and tipping your head toward an emergency exit you had checked led to a service elevator. From opposite sides of the room you each slipped through the crowd, trying your best to be unseen, aware that any of these prying eyes could collapse what you had delicately built with a single passing comment. As you reached the door you did a final scan to ensure there were no Waystar or GoJo members nearby who could catch a glimpse of this subtle rendezvous, before backing through the door yourself.

Roman stood waiting between the open elevator doors, looking almost bashful as you dashed towards him, vanishing into the small metal room as he let the door slide shut behind him.

"Thanks for holding it." You couldn't help the anticipation loaded in your tone, facing Roman and finding him stood barely an inch away from your blushing face.

"I had a feeling we were going to the same floor." He breathed out, eyes wide and hands shaking as they rose to brush either side of your face, the adoration clear in the gentle way his thumbs stroked your cheeks.

Before either of you could think your way out of something good, you leant forward, closing the gap between your lips and sending a whirlwind of warmth and glitter spinning through your bodies, the reunion more than worth the wait. His head bobbed forward to return the gesture, body following the movement until he was pressed entirely against you. It wasn't rough, or frantic, or urgent. It was like deep down you knew you'd be doing this forever, so you had all the time in the world to sweetly caress the nape of his neck, parting his lips for a content sigh that only let you taste more of him.

By the time the lift doors opened on your floor Roman could hardly remember where he began and you ended, unsure how he ever coped being half way across the planet from you, needing to keep you as close as he could for every second you could steal tonight. You could feel it too, the desperate pull of your heart towards him, the air of secrecy that only made you want him more, this forbidden fruit the sweetest you would ever taste.

You could feel his cheeks brush against yours as he fought back a smile at finally having you in his arms, and the physical confirmation you had been feeling this overwhelming chemistry too. He would have berated anyone else for believing in love at first sight, but as you rested your forehead softly against his, feeling the joy emanating between you, he didn't think this could be anything else. When you pushed the jacket free of his shoulders, helping him shrug away the fabric until it crumpled on the floor, he had to stop himself from pulling away. Not because he didn't want this with you. It was really the opposite; he couldn't remember ever feeling this way, ever wanting someone to be so close to him, to feel every part of him, and now he wanted that more than anything with you. But he was scared of being vulnerable, and insecure in his inexperience, completely unsure what real intimacy could even look like.

As you worked through the buttons on his shirt, you could see the gears whirring in his head, the unmistakable fear and excitement of a man that's seen a hard-drive's worth of porn but never felt the touch of a person that genuinely cares about them.

"We can stop?" You offered, pulling your hands away from his shirt, only for him to vigorously shake his head and rip it off himself, a stray button clattering across the floor, disrupting the heavy silence.

"I want to." He insisted, his eyes full of desperate desire as you brought your hands to his now bare chest, his heart hammering in anticipation inside. Unsure of what to do next, Roman firmly grabbed at your ass, voice wavering as he tried to take control, feeling like that should be his role,

"Do you like that, you fucking slut?" Both of your faces seemed to contort in discomfort as the words tumbled out of his mouth, his hand quickly releasing and his eyes clenching shut in embarrassment.

"Sorry Rome, I don't even think you like that?" You questioned softly, bringing your fingertips to sweep delicately over the creases in his forehead, his brow slowly unfurrowing as he blinked his eyes open to see you again.

"Fuck, sorry, I was trying to, you know, talk dirty, be sexy." He waved his hands in a gesture of uncertainty as he spoke, surprised you weren't laughing at him or taking the opportunity to run for the door.

"You know talking doesn't have to be degrading to be sexy?" You replied, the calm, confident smile on your face matched by the alluring look in your eye leaving Roman feeling like a deer in headlights, but praying the car will crash right into him.

"Oh yeah?" He gulped, eyes wide as you nodded, pushing him gently so he could step backwards towards the end of the bed. He let himself drift in your current as your touch laid him backwards, every wave of contact soothing his nerves.

"Can I show you?" You breathed in his ear, settling your thighs either side of his legs, feeling all the more powerful for being fully dressed as his bare chest heaved beneath you.

"Please." He begged softly, letting his eyes flutter shut as your lips found his again, fingers tracing a path down his stomach until they reached his belt.

"I'm so glad I got to see you tonight." You sighed against his lips as you began to undo the buckle, feeling his hips twitch, reacting to even the slightest touch. His head leant forward, trying to chase your lips as you spoke, needy for the taste of your kiss as you released the zip and buttons in your way.

"Me too." He eventually sighed out as your lips moved out of his reach, mapping a course across his cheek until you reached the edge of his jaw, applying a little more pressure until you heard the low rumble of moan escape his lips.

"I like hearing you enjoy yourself." You purred, confidence building as he relaxed against your touch, submitting to your control, putty in your hands. Marking a sweet constellation of kisses over his neck you slowly slipped your hand inside his boxers, running one finger over the length of him and feeling him buck up to meet your touch. Roman had never felt both so excited and so relaxed at the same time, never this comfortable with someone exploring his body before, but feeling like he wanted to give every inch over to your control, sure your loving touch could put all the broken pieces of him back together.

You wrapped your hand around his hard length, pumping over him a few times to gage his reaction. His eyebrows scrunched down towards his nose, lips parting as a moan seemed to reverberate through his whole body.

"Does that feel good?" Your tone was sweet, if not a little teasing, sucking on a spot on his throat that seemed to leave him barely able to spit out an 'uh-uh' in response.

"Good, I want to make you feel good, Roman. Will you let me make you feel good?" You praised, bobbing your head down to his chest and picking up the pace of your rubbing hand. Ability to think and speak quickly surrendered, Roman just nodded, for once unable to think of a quippy comeback and just enjoying someone else taking control and being with him so intimately. He'd touched himself like this hundreds of times, thinking cruel, perverse little thoughts the whole time until he was left sitting in a puddle of his own self-contempt. But with you it felt like something new entirely, something positive, and warm, and with each soft praise and gentle kiss that poured from your lips and landed squarely on his chest he could feel his heart lifting, thinking maybe there's a reason he'll only ever thought of it as 'fucking' and not 'making love'.

Your lips drifted down to his chest, gingerly placing a kiss on one nipple and smiling at the way he squirmed under you, eyes now staring down at you in full adoration like you were the most wondrous miracle he could have dreamt of. You could feel his cock starting to twitch in your hand, cooing over him again, sure this wouldn't be the last time the two of you spend a night hiding in the sheets together.

"You're doing so well, Roman. Good boy."

"You feel - so - good." He panted out, the praise bringing him close to the edge before he could really think enough to stop it. Ignoring your own desire stirring up inside your stomach, you gripped your hand on him a little firmer, leaving the other to trace faint circles over his chest, the lingering damp of your kisses only making him more sensitive. Crashing your lips back against his you swallowed his moan before breathing out,

"Cum for me, Rome, please." His lips pressed hard against yours as his hips started to shake, unable to hold back for a second longer and spilling hot white ropes across his stomach, almost whimpering at his sensitive release, overstimulated but still whining the second you released your grip.

His hands reached up to capture your face, somehow trying to portray a lifetime's worth of gratitude and affection in a single overwhelming kiss, before finally releasing you to breathe. As you rose up onto your knees, surveying the smiling fool of a man lying beneath you, you couldn't help but laugh at the state of both of your suit trousers, marred with streaks of sticky white.

"We might need to hide up here for a while until we get cleaned up and dried off, or this might be hard to explain."

"You don't think we could say two seperate waiters happen to get lucky?" Roman rebuffed, pulling a disgusted face as he wiped a finger over the fluid pooling on his stomach.

"Or one waiter got very lucky?" You suggested with a smile, Roman using every ounce of remaining strength to sit up until his lips could find their way to yours.

"No-one's that lucky, so I guess we better stay hidden. I reckon there's a lot more stuff you could show me anyway." Roman's eyes drifted down your body eagerly, wondering exactly what else he'd been missing by never trying it with the right person.

"You don't think the party will miss us?" You teased, pretending to bat away his eager hands.

"What party?" He scoffed, letting you capture him by the wrists and pulling you back to lie with him, falling so you pinned his wrists either side of him, a position he was more than happy to end up in.

"What about our families?" You couldn't help the worried tinge in your voice as you remembered the seemingly insurmountable barrier that stood between yours and Roman's lives. With unusual sincerity he gazed up into your eyes and said softly,

"Fuck 'em, you're my family now."

#writing #fanfiction #one shot #requests #roman roy angst #roman roy fluff #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #roman roy #succession imagine #succession hbo #succession #succession headcanons #succession requests #succession roman #roman succession #reader insert #gender neutral fanfic #gn!reader

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year

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Kissing Roman Roy Would Include...

Request: oh my god! your kendall roy kissing headcanons were adorable! would it be possible to get some for roman as well? i just know that man is touch starved and definitely had an awkward time kissing the reader early on in their relationship. obviously, you can choose to ignore but thank you!

Awww yes of course you can get some my love this man is 100% touch starved you’re so right <3

LADS OKAY I’M COMING BACK TO SAY THIS IS NEARLY 7K AND MY LONGEST FIC BY FAR LMAOO BABYGIRL CODED anyway comments are much appreciated because I am so tired lol ty ty ily all! :)

Warning: mentions of injuries/ blood, childhood abuse, and some swearing! Also MAJOR spoilers for Season 4!!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @xihatiancai.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

We all really took one look at Roman Roy and went wet pathetic disgusting meow meow man I love you, and I really love and appreciate that for all of us. Because like... if not babygirl, why babygirl coded?

The first time you guys ‘kissed’, you were both around seven years old: on the tennis court, Shiv had sent a ball flying at Roman that had bent his hand backwards, and left quite a nasty gash of blood running down his arm. Instead of comforting the brother she had just bruised for the umpteenth time, the set of Roman crawling down to sit on the grass while cradling his arm just made her furious, and she went storming off towards the kitchen for some chocolate milk to cool down. You had been watching from the doubles side line, dropping your own racket as soon as Roman began to snivel, squeezing his skin back together and wincing as warm blood gushed out onto the grass. You run over to kneel in front of him, the harsh rays of light blushing across your head like a halo as you grab onto his elbow. You press the back of your shirt against it, hoping it will do until a nurse or one of the waiters comes running out with a first aid kit; as you glance up, the furious face of his father comes pacing past the balcony doors, and so you turn Roman’s head to look at you instead, praying that he won’t spot him. It will only make him whine more. It surprises you when he curses curtly instead at the feel of your fingers pressing down hard against his wound, but when you mumble an apology he finally stops scowling down at the ground and looks up: it’s as if he’s seeing you properly for the first time. His eyes light up as you gently lean down and press a kiss against the bloodstains; just the slightest hint of pressure, and tingling warmth of your your lips is enough to send a flourish through his body and make Roman Roy feel nourished. No longer withered, no longer left to rot. Roman gazes up at you: past the dappled sunlight, past the dotted clouds, past the earth and skies and heavens, and past it all he sees you.

You’re the first and last person he’s ever wanted to kiss. Like craving poison, he knows it will pass through and destroy him if he allows himself to indulge. But by god, if it wouldn’t taste so sweet as it pours down his throat and overwhelms every dilapidated part of his body.

The first time he works up the nerves to kiss you back, is in one of the pool storage huts just past the outer boundaries of his father’s estate. Shiv had finally convinced her father to allow her out into the city to go shopping for some new suits, and Ken had been chained into a business meeting to take notes for Logan, so Roman had been left all alone to wander around the ostentatious shadows and lonely halls of the house he hated to call home. Feeling trapped, like he couldn’t breathe, he wanders towards the ‘safe space’ the two of you had created a couple of years ago: a small nook you and Roman had spent the day nestling out (and nearly breaking his arm shoving unused surfboards and pool cleaning chemical boxes) in the dim, and slightly damp room. Finally feeling at home as he stepped into the mildew-steeped scent cloud that enveloped the square box stuffed full of things his father had wanted out of his sight, his heart is allieved to spot you already there. You don’t even have to look up from your book as he comes dawdling towards you like a puppy afraid it’s about to be kicked. When you open your arm up to him willingly, the true him comes leaping forth: like a darting hummingbird, he comes flying into your side, nestling his chin on the hard part of your shoulder so he can scan the words lazily past your head. After about half an hour of him gripping onto your shirt, as sweet and softly as infant spring, he glances up towards your face and an overwhelming urge overtakes him. Before he can stop himself, before he can make sense of his decision, before he can chide himself for his weakness, he lifts his head up and presses his lips firmly, if a little harshly, against the side of your cheek. Your book crashes to the floor with a thunderous slap, lifting a small cloud of dust as you raise your fingers to the wet spot in surprise. He immediately shuffles backwards at the noise, before making an awkward, fumbling excuse and running out the door.

He never brings it up again, but whenever you’re round at the Roy residence after that you can feel the intensity of his eyes land on you far more often. He blinks away and scratches the back of his neck nonchalantly whenever you catch him, or sometimes scrunches his nose up and starts biting the edges of his fingernails if he’s really nervous. But the love is there. He just can’t say it yet.

Once, when you were the only person in the house besides Connor and Logan, you were asked by the second-born eldest son to help him find Romie. With a concerned sigh, Connor wanders off to check behind the bathroom door off the living room, his lips forming a tight line as he disappears off down the corridor. Turns out, Logan had found out that Roman had been the one to spill his ice cream cone in the car on the way back from his fencing lesson, and Roman had run off cursing and crying when he heard the roar reverberate out from his father’s office at the news. You know where he is, instinctively. Of course you do: you don’t even need to think as your feet guide you towards his bedroom, and your body shrinks down to scoot under the bed and lie on the pristinely clean floorboards. He’s hiding behind the tendril weeds of his fear, making himself as small a target as possible as he balls himself up, trembling like heavy branches when lanced with frost. From behind his raised elbows that protect his face, he’s sniffling, his feet leaving the ground every few seconds from how harshly they shake. You lie down carefully on your side beside him, so hyperaware of any part of yourself brushing against him, in case the wounded creature decides to bolt. Thankfully, he comes sliding towards you, only stopping when your chest does the job for him; being as physically close as he can get to you, he huddles into your embrace while you stroke back the few curls by his ear. Once you’ve finally managed to choke back your own tears, your lips latch onto the spot of skin by the lobe of his ear, eyes closing and ticking his skin. He warbles against you, shivering, and the kiss just makes him whine more harrowingly against your chest.

Romie’s always around you. Always. He finds it difficult to actually be physically intimate, so it says quite plainly (even if you can’t understand it yet) that you’re the love of his life when he comes barrelling down the front stairs of the veranda and straight into your hug whenever your first foot falls onto the estate. It also means that during family dinners, when he’s finally mastering the skill of slouching back in his wishbone chair and tuning out all the horrible and spiteful things wrapped up in faux sincerity his family are saying about each other, he turns instead to kick your feet under the table. The brush of his ankle against your shoe is soon followed by the heavy pressure of his fingers reaching over onto your lap and entangling with your own. When the two of you are finally excused, you decide not to go back inside straight away. Instead, the two of you go for a dander around some of the verdant fields around the edges of the property: a few green patches here there that are filled with the scent of honeysuckle and freshly blooming rainbows splattered amongst the dirt. You decide to stop and sit for a while on the edge of a cobbled stone wall, laughing as Roman nearly falls off the uneven patch as he settles down beside you. He shrugs you off with a wave of his hand, but he’s smiling as you pluck a daisy from between the blades and tuck it behind his ear. For a while, the two of you just exist: watching the sunset brew violet and lilac gleams across your eyeline, talking shite and poking fun at each other, until Roman shyly takes a break from his rapid talking to blink slowly. He leans his torso forward, and after a bashful burn flickers over his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut and plants a wet kiss against your cheek, just like he had done all those years before.

He climbs into your room later that night, and you nearly hit him with a baseball bat when you come strolling out of your bathroom to see a teenager laying splayed out in a heap on your rug, a few pages of your homework flying over your desk from where he had banged his knee and tripped. With a lopsided grin, he decides to just stay lying there (once you had convinced him that you weren’t going to actually hit him). Sometimes Roman just likes to watch what you’re doing: to observe as an outsider what normality, what contentment should and could feel like. As you sit by your lamp and finish off your english essay for the next morning, you notice with furrowed eyebrows that Roman is moochier than normal tonight: he keeps squirming, rolling about and whining as if he’s debating something in his mind. That’s why when he’s gripping onto the ivy and finally climbing back down into the darkness later that night, you grab onto the collar of his sherpa jacket and heave him up through the air like a flustered bird towards you. After his initial surprise at the feeling of you pounding your lips against his own, he melts into you: clumsily, messily, desperately, but with one hand gripping so hard onto your window frame that he splinters the wood. His top lip refuses to let you go: capturing onto your bottom lip over and over and over again, the sweet taste of cherry flooding your senses as you bite down on the lip forcing its way into your mouth. When he pulls away, he looks so uncharacteristically serious for a moment as he hovers a few inches away from your face. His eyes never break from your lips, as if he he looks away the miracle he’s been graced with might fly away and he’ll be left with the hellish nightmare of his normal reality. But it doesn’t, and so you let him go.

He burns a crimson red and starts muttering incoherently as his feet work their way back down the garden lattice, but he’s got this giddy smile and a spring in his swishing walk the whole way home.

I mean, like, of course Connor invited you on the camping trip. And man, I mean the tension that had been expanding between you and Roman over the last few years was becoming more and more obvious to his brothers, and it pierced Roman’s heart with a stroke of fear when he realised it was to him as well. Connor’s little fishing expedition by the river turned out a little differently than he expected: instead of a placid moment between family, learning and teaching new skills together and bonding over one activity they could all share in, it was more of a ‘watch little gremlin Roman flirt obnoxiously with Y/n and, once again, ignore everyone else’ fest. Kendall sat on the shore, itchy against the reeds of grass and sighing every time he looked down at his watch. Connor was still having fun, though, from where he was wading his brand new, and never worn again wellies into the shallow end of the creek. It was just that every now and then he would have to trip over his fishing line and scoot to the right to avoid large splashes of weedy water landing on him; Roman had decided a much better use of his time was to try and pull up handful of mud and chase you around the river side with it. Your squeals, as you ran around the tamarack trees and peered around the sides like a meerkat, could be heard from the campsite. So, too, could Roman’s hyena laugh as he went laughing around the bend after you, and Connor had to spend half the night ignoring your shared snickers as he apologies to camper after camper.

I don’t even know how, but somehow the two of you managed to convince Connor that it was a great idea for you and Roman to share a tent. Thanks to Kendall’s pointed warning for the two of you to behave and ‘not embarrass the family name anymore’, you were both surprisingly well behaved during the night. Mainly due to the fact that before you fell asleep, you leant over and left a chaste kiss against Roman’s cold forehead, before turning onto your side facing him and wishing him a goodnight. He wiggled down into his sleeping bag like a little worm as the electricity from your touch spread down like firebolts through his body. That man did not sleep one wink that night. Not one. Instead he rolled onto his left side, and chose to spend his time contemplating you: taking you in. The milky buzz of twilight flooded through the loose zip, the chirp of bouncing crickets on the darkened rocks outside match the intense thudding of his heart. Fumbling his fingers up so they rested underneath the side of his jaw, he made himself comfortable as he observed the way your chest rose and fall: the way your nose crinkled up in disgust when you were in the throes of a weird dream, the way your mouth mushed as you turned more into the stony ground. How much he loved you. How happy he could be if he could just summon the bravery to tell you. How fucked he was. How, if he did, his father would immediately utilise it, weaponize his love against him.

Roman wasn’t stupid, but he was. He didn’t know if he could find a way to escape this cage. Deep in his heart, he knew there was no key to this dog kennel, to this bird cage, to this leash. But he lay there, still, dreaming of freedom.

You get invited along on their family holidays a lot, mainly because Logan spends his whole time on phone calls and not mentally being present so he doesn’t really notice you’re there. If you and Roman aren’t spending the afternoons sitting together on a sun lounger, reading aloud softly to him by the pool side, it’s spent actually in the pool. A freshly seventeen year old Roman had seemed nervous, besides the usual annoyance at having to wear nothing but swimming shorts: shaken all day; when you touch his pinkie finger and grip onto it, silently asking him with your stern expression if you were okay, only the most miniscule of grins could cross his face in response. He still seemed unsettled in the water, besides the fact that Shiv’s foot nearly thwacked him up the face as she and Kendall wrestled each other under the water, both unrelenting in their accusation that the other had lost their splashing match. While you watched on in horrified curiosity, you nearly jumped when you felt Roman softly touch your elbow and lead you away from the affray. You think he’s trying to guide you towards the Jacuzzis as you bob across the water, or perhaps back to his room to escape the antics of his family. Instead, Roman leads you further into the deep end for a moment; after a sharp turn right, you’re surrounded by a small well, a shallow area just out of sight of the main swimming area. The imposing walls loom over your head as you take a perched seat on the brick bench that runs around the semi-circle, and Roman’s breath trembles as he follows suit, sitting maddingly close to you. You open your mouth to ask him what’s going on, but before you can get a squeak out he’s lunged at you, fervently enough to make you nearly bite your tongue. It’s not super romantic, and it’s incredibly clumsy as an inexperienced Roman Roy mashes his lips against your bottom one until he can feel his teeth clash against yours. You can taste a touch of pineapple from the inside of his mouth as he sloppily raises his cupid’s bow, and soon after the tang of chlorine as he falls too far forward and sends you both tumbling backwards into the water. But when you come back up for air, heaving him up by his underarms and staring dumbstruck at him as he pants heavily and tries to look anywhere else, you burst out giggling. Roman’s smile grows brightly enough to blight the sun as he looks incredulously at you, the laughter only stopping short on his lips when he catches the squinting look of his sister watching the two of you from the boundary edge.

It’s the first and last time Roman Roy kisses you for a while, terrified that one of his siblings will go squealing to daddy and he’ll take you away from him. And then, suddenly, the two of you have grown up. Roman’s still stuck to you like glue, but the repression festers away in his stomach until he feels as if some kind of scaly tooth monster is gnawing away at his insides. He feels the leather tighten around his neck whenever he’s standing like an affronted ostrich in that office with his father, his master, his demise, his ghost, him.

So, Roman starts to try and avoid you whenever he’s at Waystar, worried that the grief that never seems to leave his mind will strangle you if he lets you in. Terrified that his father will die, but also that his father will never die. That this is just another cage. Eventually, after weeks of him turning on his heels with a manic jolt and running out of every board room he spots you in: after months of the child dressed up as a man putting his phone to his ear and having nonsensical phone calls every time he passes you in the corridors, you manage to nab him when he’s walking out of the break room. Even though a stuttering cousin Greg thinks you’re trying to kidnap him when you grab Roman by the collar and start dragging him to the elevator, you refuse to let go until Greg’s waving hand is firmly shut behind the metal sheets. You let go, and he fumbles backwards onto the hand-rail that runs around the small rectangle with a bemused ‘what the actual fuck’, but you just cross your arms and stare at him, refusing to talk first.

Your austere façade quickly drops, and you’re quick to slam your first into the emergency button on the panel, gripping onto Roman’s sleeve as the elevator lurches to a stop between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors. A kind of acceptance has washed over Roman, some kind of known and familiar claustrophobia from having spent his whole life locked up, his whole life thrown about sets in. He picks at his fingernails as his eyes dart about, wild and brutal and crushing as he looks around for an escape route. It’s only when you put a hand on his shoulder and draw him in for a hug that he breaks down; he squats down so the two of you are resting a few inches off the floor, his face buried just atop of your heart as he shakes and he cries and he allows himself the security to just crumble. To melt down. To kick his feet and hope his father feels the wring of the shackles against his own ankles. He hopes for the first time in his life, as you stroke the back of his head and shush him comfortingly, that they hurt him.

Something changes between the two of you that day. You’re kinder to each other, and slowly to yourselves. It’s not outspoken, or rushed, or ravenous, but it begins to grow and grow and grow until it’s not only confusion and anguish that lies at the pit of Roman’s rotting core.

It starts with him becoming more comfortable showing affection to you around his family. Like you sitting on Roman’s lap at Shiv’s wedding reception, not listening to the speeches but trying to hide your giggles in Roman’s palms as he’s busy trying to take roses out of the centre piece and pin them through your hair. Or his full weight against you during the professional photos out on the balcony, and not even Shiv flicking her brother or Tom waving his hand at Roman to try and get him to behave could stop him from leaning backwards and planting a kiss underneath your jawline once the man said he was taking the final photograph. The two of you go out into the gardens later that night, trying to escape the ear-hammering loud beats of the D.J., and to try and make an early escape from the growing fight that seemed to be coming between Tom and Shiv’s old work acquaintance. With two beers and slightly tipsy heads, you sit down and talk on the dew-ridden grass, shoulders swaying against the other’s in time with the falling pine leaves. You felt like children again, and against the smouldering clash of fireworks that brandished the sky in bursts of red and gold, you both felt undying as well. He kisses you then, his hand reaching up to brush against the side of your cheek, his bottom lip teasingly tugging at your bottom lip and making you swat him away with a laugh. As you take his hand in your own and press a promise filled kiss against his middle knuckle, he hopes that one day he’ll be able to kiss you at your own wedding.

When you know he’s having a rough day at work, you like to try and sneak into his office and wrap your arm around his stomach, peppering kisses up and down his spine. Although he tries to shake you off like a startled starling at first, when he realises that you also managed to close the blinds on your way in without him noticing, he quickly relinquishes himself onto your barrage of adoration. He becomes all whiny, and soft, and needy, and all the things he’ll never allow himself to be outside of the security blanket of this closed off room. Although he still isn’t comfortable with anything too sexual, you won’t find him complaining as he wrestles you to the sofa. Once you’ve had the wind knocked out of your lungs, and Roman’s satisfied with how fully you’re splayed out on your back before him, he’ll go scuttling over to the end of the sofa and kneel down beside it. With a mischievous glimmer in his eye, he’ll swish his hips from side to side and come crawling up the sides of his body like a wolf slinking towards its dinner. Then he attacks: his tongue heavy and slick as he draws a hickey out just under the pulse point on your neck, pressing him firmly against you if you try to squirm away, chiding you with a warning. When it becomes too much, he lets you grip him up by his tie and walk him backwards until his thighs hit his desk. He jumps up to perch on it, and you stand between his legs as they tighten around you. You’re slow and careful as you loosen the material between your fingers, opening the first button of his shirt, and only the first so he doesn’t become too uncomfortable, with a satisfying loud pop. He whimpers as you lean over to scrape your teeth against the exposed skin, working your way up until your lips are tantalisingly hovering over the stubble on his jaw. He can feel your breath, hot and unsteady as it pants against him, but he still can’t stop the shiver that racks through him as he takes your hand and guides them under his shirt. With your hands firmly planted against his abdomen, you look at him quizzically, worried, but he just keeps his fingers on top of your own and answers you by sweetly pressing his top lip over his own. Just once, he wanted to feel safe, to feel okay with the love of his life touching his body.

The two of you have this game where you try to steal kisses from each other during the most inappropriate and annoying times possible. Oh, Shiv’s trying to talk to you in her kitchen about how her trip to England went? Roman barges in between the two of you, nearly making Shiv chop her thumb off, just so he can interrupt his sister by smirking against your mouth. Kendall wants to run through a presentation the two of them have to give the next morning? You’re grabbing onto Roman’s head as you run through the office, nearly giving him a heart attack as he scrambles backwards and allows you to drop his head back onto the cushion. With a full plant landing on his already pliant lips, Kendall’s left with a fed-up ‘hey’, yet unsurprised look of disappointment on his face as you run off back to your own desk.

When his father called Romie a moron in Prague, the look of desolation that crossed through his teary eyes was enough to make an angel weep. But it broke you even more when he pattered out of the dining area, walking shoulder to shoulder with you, but not saying anything. He was just staring down at his hands as if they were blotted: stained with specks of blood, and he would have to spend another sleepless night scrubbing them out of his skin. It wasn’t the first time he heard it, but it was the first time you were there to hear it too, and you weren’t going to let him get comfortable wallowing in that fearful acceptance. You grip onto his shoulder and steer him away from the milling crowd of sheep, stuffing him into a bathroom stall of the east wing of the hotel. Crowded together, Roman’s hamstring bumps against the porcelain as the two of you scoot about until you’re standing facing each other as best as you could. He looks at you, bleary eyed, and you look at him, bleary eyed. He breaks. Choking, gasping, breathless sobs, drowning in his misery. He grabs onto your shirt, clawing into the meat of your shoulders as if he’ll sink if he lets go. He keeps babbling through bubbles of spit about how he just wants to make his father proud, how he wants to be just like him, how he wants to prove that he can rule all this too. How he can never replace him. But he can. He wants it all to burn, but he wants to stand on the ruins and be the one to plant the foundations again. To make a better world, in honour of his father: in honour of the god of war that rages within his head. You press quick kisses on his sweaty forehead whenever you can, doing your best to dodge the quick turns of his head and wiping away the trails of tears with your thumb. All you can do in that moment, as you press your lips against the side of his ear and whisper it to the most intimate, lost parts of himself, is to let him know that you’re proud of him, no matter what happens next. You always have been, and even the ghost of Logan that possess Roman can’t stop that.

The sloppy kisses he gives you the next morning omg. When the two of you are sitting on your bedroom steps, and you’re biting your bottom lip in concentration as you try to do up the buttons of his dress shirt and make him look presentable in front of his family. Like a feral dog, he uses all of his leftover energy trying to nip and bite your fingertips, catching them on his tongue and pursing them against the roof of his mouth whenever he can.

You cannot convince me that Roman isn’t a jealous bitch. Like at Kendall’s fortieth birthday party, when he finally gives up trying to get up into his special little secret treehouse club, and Shiv has left him to go ham on the dance floor instead. You finally manage to convince him into relaxing for a fricking minute, making him join you at the bar. If someone tries to grab your waist, though, or butt into your conversation while the two of you are hyena giggling and seeing who can spurt more beer into the other’s face, Roman will full on goad them into fighting him. I mean, chest puffed out, crazed look in his face, hands up by his side until they send a weak shove in their general direction. It only ends when Roman either: near topples you to press a bracing kiss against your lips, or you dragging him off and having to hold him through the brackets of his arms. In the corner of the room, over by the sheets of warbling fire that seems to be coming from a central room, you stand behind his feet and wrap your arms up his chest. You can feel the fury roll off him, allowing him a moment to blow off the steam, until his head finally falls like putty and begins to synchronise his breathing to yours again after you hold your lips against the nape of his neck.

The kisses when he comes back after being held hostage (I am doing this so out of order apologies) omg??? He clambers sombrely to sit beside you on the deck of the boat, looking so out of place and serious as he leans back against the cushions. His siblings make fun of him, and tease him, and although he realises it’s harmless and he’ll see it as a key bonding moment a couple of years down the line, in the inside the typical Roy storm is brewing. He can’t say anything: just hides behind the jokes and snide comments so the words don’t choke him. You just feel his weight fall against yours little by little, until his hand reaches out and takes your own so tightly you know it’s going to bruise. The muscle in his jaw tightens and he squeezes his eye shut in an enduring pain at the sight of his father’s helicopter coming in to land. So, for that kind second before his life comes crashing back down around him again and he has to revert back, to hide behind the brick wall again, you take him over to the railings. It’s just the two of you, the warm sea salt stinging against your grimacing faces, and the ungodly sight of a near-naked Cousin Greg lying stretched out beside the slide below you. After a few goes, you manage to unlatch his claws from the white metal and replace them with your soothing palm, rubbing semi-circles against the back of his hand. You’re here. You’re here, with him. You’re not going to let him go it alone again, if he wants.

And he does. He could cry, he so desperately does. Some of the tension falls from his shoulders as he raises your joint hands to his lips and kisses them, gracing over every inch of skin his mouth can latch onto.

You both know, in that moment, that it’s enough. It’s a promise. You’ll stick together, no matter what. You’ll love each other through everything, no matter what. You’ll stay around, no matter what or who he becomes.

Which brings me to... kissing him when you find out about the passing of his father. Standing on that boat, on the most joyous of occasions, feeling as if the whole world is shattering around you. Feeling miserable at the knowledge that deep down, some part of you is overjoyed by the news. Feeling even more downtrodden to realise, as the streaky eyes and thousand-stare faces of the Roy siblings flash back and forth in your line of sight as they pass the phone to each other, that Logan will never really be gone. They’re talking to his lifeless, empty shell through the speakers, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s here in this room. He’s staring through their eyes. Talking in their quivering, harsh voices. Pounding through their feet. Tearing them apart as they try to cling onto each other. In their accusations that burst through their mouths innately. In the ordered instructions hurled out to keep business running smoothly. Hidden between the cracks of their voices as they sharpen their words and seethe them out between clenched teeth when the slightest chance of Logan even being dead is raised. He’s here, right now, as you let go of the death grip Kendall and Shiv have on both of your hands and catch sight of Roman rocking backwards and forth on the floor.

Giving a final squeeze of apology to Connor’s arm, you take Roman out of the room before he combusts. The whole air seems to be chilled: still, like something’s lurking unspoken between the threads of air. Like you’re leading Roman through the cold remains of a morgue. He wanders around for a minute, not even hearing the click of the door as you close it behind you. Not even crying. Not even speaking. For the first time in his life, he looks so much like his father. Too much. It scares you. Until eventually he just closes his eyes and trods over to the wall, thumping his forehead down on the cool metal until it burns. He holds his hand out to you, cufflinks gleaming like the edge of a knife past the ceiling lights, as if he’s offering a contract out to you. Apprehensively, your tentative hand creeps out and places itself gingerly on top of his own. He takes it, his dry lips latching onto you until the bridge of his nose is resting now upon your hand. The deal is done.

When you get back to your apartment though, and Romie finds out that Matsson wants him to fly out and meet him in Norway... that’s when Roman gets weird. Devastated. Freaks out. Grieves. You come out from your shower, wearing one of his suit shirts as your pyjama top, and he doesn’t even give a whistle of appreciation. Instead he’s crumpled on the floor by the canopy of your bed, cradling his knees to his chest, swearing into his kneecaps furiously. But you - you, oh god, you’re the only thing that can stop him from being swallowed up by Logan’s fury. You tilt his chin up during a tangled rush of expletives I don’t dare to copy down here, a scowl setting itself into his face like stone. It begins to soften when he realises you’re touching him, when he can feel the scrape of your nail around his jugular. You do your best to warble an unconvincing smile as you turn his head to the side, so you can better wipe your bottom lip against the edge of his throbbing mouth. You mould yourself to him, working at his pace as he winces at first, before slowly falling more and more easily into your grip. His hands loosen from his arms and fall onto your triceps as he deliriously tries to come back to himself through searching through the velvety warmness of your mouth: by swiping against your tongue and choking back his grievances as you pant into his open, waiting mouth.

You wake him up the next day with a fond kiss against the tip of his nose, and for the first time in a long while he smiles before he wakes fully up. The morning light cradles his bleary face as he sleepily runs a few fingers over the edge of your cheek, before cradling himself into your side again. He feels safe, weary, anguished, loved enough to fall asleep again, after pressing a few gentle licks behind your earlobes to try and hear you laugh again. Even through it all, his main concern is you.

You trace his features while he restlessly dreams, although he squirms from time to time and alludes you to the fact that he’s secretly awake. A kiss here, between the junctions of wrinkles on his furrowed forehead. A kiss there, on the patchy stubble just underneath his left ear. A few there on the dark circles underneath his eyes, until you’re balancing over him and holding yourself up by the hands splayed over his pillow. He just needs to be reminded he’s beautiful from time to time. That he’s perfect. That he doesn’t need to try and be someone else. To encapsulate his father.

But also like, Roman fucking hates Matsson. The way he looks at you during the whole field trip, like a hunter about to swallow its prey whole. Although the continuous comments about his family, and the two new Co-Ceo’s, and the legacy of his father make him burn down to the pit of his stomach with a white hot fury, he can deal with them if he would just leave you the fuck alone. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone but him looking at his soulmate with such adoration and lust in their eyes, so if that overgrown yeti gives you the up and down check out one more time he might actually just deck him in the middle of the retreat. He bites down on his tongue so harshly that his taste buds begin to bubble and prickle with blood, deciding it best to storm off and collect his thoughts before he lashes out and does something he can’t take back. You finally manage to track him down a little way off the beaten track, winding your way over some cobbled steps to find a branched alcove with nothing but a bench and a breath taking view of the gushing river down below. He’s hunched over with his fingers knotted over his knees, his lips so tightly drawn together that at first you don’t even spot the droplets of blood until he turns with a raised eye to look at you.

He knows it’s not your fault, so there’s no convincing or apologies when you join him. Just Roman finally getting all of that pent up sorrow and distress out. After an awkward moment of bouncing your foot up and down, you decide your best course of action is to just open your arm up to him again, like you used to do when you were children. At first he raises a confused eyebrow, before the realisation dawns over his face, and his features crumble. His lips purse, his throat bobbing as he heaves the tears back down, but he can’t stop his lips from trembling as he falls into your side. That kiss was the sweetest, as he leans his chin familiarly against your shoulder and bumps noses with your own. He frowns, sobbing at the knowledge that he can kiss you, finally, in the way he’s been yearning for all his life, and yet it all feels so wrong. So upside down. So far away from what he had dreaming. The freedom feels like a tether, and yet he juts his chin out and latches placidly onto your bottom lip anyway, the tears trickling down and falling between your mouths.

It’s an act of defiance. A key sliding into the lock. He still can’t say it, but he won’t allow himself to smother the feeling anymore. The first sip of poison gliding down his throat, and Roman prays as he presses his forehead tearfully against your own, that it would kill the Logan part of him first.

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