#(roman roy voice) well can we get him out??

[asthedeathoflight]

Coda to my other post because I didn't want to completely derail it but we might not be ready for this conversation as a fandom but ableism is absolutely a contributing factor to the way Armand gets treated and im tired of pretending like it's not. The way autistic people of color get treated in our society is abominable and this fandom is not immune to perpetuating that. So much of how he gets talked about can be chalked up to "well he didn't perform empathy/emotion/regret like I wanted him to." If Armand was as effortlessly personable and correctly emotive as Lestat is we'd be having a different conversation. That's all I'm saying.

[babyslutbuck]

it's CRAAAAZY how gay eddie is what do you MEAN the only woman he's ever loved is a girl he's known since he was a kid what do you MEAN he has panic attacks when it's assumed his girlfriend is his kids mom what do you MEAN he sabotages every relationship with a woman when it starts getting serious what do you MEAN he gave custody of his son to his boy best friend????

[kylejsugarman]

"i dont even know what month it is"

[strang3lov3]

Under the Table

Roman takes you to dinner. You eat pasta and he eats you (4k)

Tags - smut, stepcest, stepdaddy!roman, age gap, dom!roman, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), public sex, teasing, emotional boners, you make daddy blush and get all bashful so he reminds you who calls the shots, like Dennis Reynolds, Roman has feelings again but he’s still disgustinggggg, does he want to be your father or your daddy, oh he is getting so soft. But someone else is too 🫵 implied almond/alcoholic mom + other mommy issues,,,planting some seeds here don’t mind me,,, Fic help - @beefrobeefcal thank you for brainstorming with me and for giving me your eyeballs! @endlessthxxghts, ditto!! A/N - yeah I wrote a birthday fic for my birthday to my birthday party on my birthday with a birthday gift. shut the fuck up about it. I love you. I think next time we see him he’ll fuck your ass maybe. I don’t know. Someone jump into my inbox and tell me something gross they should do because I need to cancel out this goddamn sweetness. Rotting the teeth right out of my skull smh. also, I know we waited a while for more stepdaddy. I appreciate your patience more than you know 🩷 updates may continue to be slow this month because we’re getting down to the wire with school and all that stuff.

Stepdaddy!Roman Roy

7:34 AM. You wake to texts from old friends and relatives wishing you another happy year around the sun, don’t party too hard and so on and so forth. It does warm your heart to know that people are thinking of you. Your past birthdays haven’t felt much like the birthdays you had when you were younger, when you were so excited to celebrate your day you couldn’t sleep. 

You pull on a sweatshirt over your thin pajamas and head downstairs to make yourself a bowl of cereal, and find Roman in the kitchen. “Morning, sunshine. Go sit down in the dining room.”

“Mm,” you grumble, voice gravelly from sleep. Your eyes are droopy and you still look tired, barely conscious. 

Roman eyes you as you sit down. You rest your head on the table, and you’re wearing his sweatshirt. He’s not entirely sure how you wound up with it. He doesn’t say anything, though, only smirks to himself. 

Roman goes back into the kitchen to plate some blueberry pancakes he made for you, just like he’s done since you were young. Roman’s not much of a cook, but this is one meal he can make and that he can make well. He wouldn’t do it for just anyone, but you asked him once when you were a kid and he didn’t have it in his heart to tell you no. Roman remembers how crappy that first batch came out, but how you didn’t complain. Honestly, you probably didn’t even notice with your pancakes covered in so much butter and syrup and whipped cream. You probably couldn’t even taste the blueberries. But thus, tradition stuck, and Roman’s blueberry pancake game vastly improved over the years. He liked making them for you as much as you liked eating them.

Roman returns to you with the plate of blueberry pancakes and sets it down in front of you. “Voilà.”

You lift your head up and grin when you see the pancakes Roman made for you. It’s straight out of a commercial, melted butter and syrup dripping down the edges with a dollop of whipped cream right on top. “Aww. You remembered,” you beam. You didn’t ask Roman for the pancakes this year. 

Roman blushes, and he feels his heart beat harder. It’s been so long since you’ve smiled at him like that, and it makes him nervous. “No. I made them for myself, actually, but I was feeling generous. This is my good deed for the week.”

“You still remembered.”

Roman ignores the accusation. “I gave you all the fucked up ones, just so you know. And I spit in the batter.”

“Mm. Tasty.”

Fuck. Your eyes are sparkling, your smile is so warm. Roman can’t stomach it, how you make him feel sometimes. “Oh, shut up and eat your fucking pancakes, birthday girl,” he snaps, contorting his face to fight his smile. “I hate you. You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes and eat your pancakes, humming at the delicious flavor. Roman grabs your favorite mug and sets it down next to you, then fills it with the coffee he made. Before you can thank him, the clattering of high heels on the hardwood floor interrupts you. Your mom is on the phone and stops briefly in the dining room when she smells the pancakes Roman made for you. She leans over your shoulder and takes your fork from your hand and cuts off a bite for herself. “Mom,” you complain. 

“You can share,” she scolds, covering the mic on her phone.  

Roman speaks, “Wait, don’t. I made those special for -”

Your mom smiles and kisses Roman on the cheek before he can finish his sentence, and then she’s out the door while still talking with Erica. 

Roman looks to you for your reaction, and your face falls. That beautiful smile on your lips just moments ago, snuffed out like a candle. “I don’t think she remembered,” you tell Roman, defeated. 

“Oh no, I don’t think that’s true,” Roman lies. “I’m sure she just - I don’t know,” he sighs, resigning to the reality of the situation. You can expect some mushy and emotional text from her later, probably tomorrow. “No, you’re right - that was bullshit.” Roman squeezes your shoulder affectionately and tells you he’s sorry. 

Roman means it. He knows exactly how it feels to have a parent forget your birthday. His dad only remembered a handful of times, and every present always felt empty. It’s part of why Roman’s always put effort into making your day special each year. He never got the birthday he wanted or deserved, but he could give that to you.

“Listen,” Roman says, “I gotta run to work now. Don’t party too hard. Or do. I don’t care. It’s your day. Just don’t snort coke in my bathroom, okay? Anywhere else. And don’t do it before, like, four in the afternoon.” Roman pats your shoulder. “Just basic human decency.”

“I’m not gonna do coke in your bathroom, Roman.”

“I just feel the need to say it after the Uncle Ken incident, you know?” You laugh at that, though you shouldn’t. Roman continues, “Anyway, I want you to eat up all of your highly nutritious breakfast and when I come home tonight, you better be in your favorite dress.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m taking you out.”

“You are?” 

“Duh, genius. Like me and you always do on your birthday, remember? Or are you forgetting as you approach your crone years?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off. You’re closer to senile than I am. Pushing fifty there, aren’t you, Roman?”

“Maybe. I’ve got some years left, so watch it,” he warns, then kisses the top of your head. “I fuck like I’m thirty, anyway.”

-

The rest of the day drags on, truthfully. You finish your pancakes, then go upstairs and treat yourself to a bubble bath, your vibrator joining you. Afterwards, you dress yourself in comfortable clothes and drive yourself around the city, picking up birthday freebies from different stores and fast food restaurants. When you come home, you do your hair and makeup in the way that makes you feel prettiest, then look through your closet for your favorite dress, just like Roman said. 

Your favorite dress. It’s not an easy decision. You have a favorite dress that’s comfortable, a favorite dress on your body, a favorite patterned dress. You slide the hangers across the closet rod, contemplating, contemplating…until you come across that one purple dress. 

You remember Roman pulling the zipper of that dress up your spine, his warm hands on your waist. How he fucked you in that closet, bent you over the vanity and split you open. You watched him in the mirror as you gushed on his cock. You wear that dress tonight, then pick out some shoes to match. 

Roman presses his horn repeatedly to call you outside. He’s fucking obnoxious, but you laugh. You rush downstairs and out the door, and when Roman sees you he gets out of the driver’s seat and rounds the front of his car to open up the passenger side door for you. “Look at you, birthday girl,” he says, chewing minty gum. “You look so grown up.”

“Ew. Don’t, please.”

“So that’s your favorite dress, huh?”

Knowing Roman recognizes your dress makes your cheeks warm. “Yeah,” you mumble softly. 

“Mm. Mine too,” he whispers, then shuts the door. He gets back into the driver’s seat and presses buttons on the screen until his car’s Bluetooth connects to your phone. “I think your birthday earns you DJ rights, yeah?” Roman pulls the gear shifter into drive. 

“I’d say so,” you agree, picking out your favorite playlist on Spotify. Roman puts his hand on your thigh, inching it up and under your skirt. He doesn’t do more than an occasional squeeze, and tapping his fingertips on your skin. Still, it excites you. 

Once at the restaurant, Roman takes your hand and helps you out of the car. You read the sign of the restaurant, Adalina, and Roman leads you inside. You notice he’s holding a little gift bag. “Reservation for Roy,” he tells the host, who then ushers you both to a corner booth. The lights are dim, tables covered in floor-length white cloths. There’s people chatting at tables and at the bar, someone softly playing piano. Once seated, the host lights a candle at your table. 

“Your uh - your boy toy from a while ago. Is this where he took you? I thought you said something about not liking it,” Roman asks, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his thigh. 

You shake your head. “No,” you answer. “I’ve never been here.”

“Good, that’s good…you guys still talk?”

You shoot him a look at the same time your server comes by to place a plate of bread and oil at your table and to pour water in your glasses. “Can I start you off with some wine, something else to drink?”

You look at Roman, who shrugs. “All you,” he says. 

“I’m fine with water.” 

Roman says the same. He figured you’d forgo drinking tonight, even if it was just one little glass of wine. That’s why he had you make the decision - he doesn’t want you feeling pulled in either direction. You’re not much of a drinker, with your mom being the opposite. It makes sense. 

Your server leaves to give you a little while to browse the menu and pick out appetizers and dinner. Roman places that gift bag from earlier in front of you. 

“For me?” You reach for the bag. 

“For you,” Roman replies, mocking your tone. 

You pull the tissue paper out of the bag before pulling out the gift itself - it’s…you don’t know what you’re looking at. It’s some bizarre figure of a frog dressed as a cowboy, riding…a bearded dragon? Baffled and wearing a smile, you turn it over in your hand. You wonder where on god’s green earth Roman even found something like this. 

“I thought of you,” Roman says. “Has your name written all over it.”

“Oh Roman,” you sigh dramatically, “You shouldn’t have.”

“I know, I know.”

You examine the weird little toy some more, giggling at all of the details. Roman’s fucking with you, but you do love the figurine. He knew you would. 

Roman reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a fancy leather box, then slides it across the tablecloth quietly. “What..?”

“Shush. Just open it.”

You put down your figurine and open the box, gasping at the sight. A gorgeous, multi-stone sapphire pendant sparkles above black velvet. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, the design very intentional. Unique. “Roman…”

“Umm,” Roman hums nervously, hovering over you to point at the pendant, “They’re sapphires, so blue- they’re like blueberries,” he stutters, gesturing to the multiple round-cut stones. “‘Cause of the pancakes I make you…uh…sometimes.” Roman points to the little diamonds between the sapphires, “And the diamonds, I don’t know. I thought it was a nice accent sort of thing. And you’re a girl, you know. You like sparkles.”

You’re touched. Not only is the piece gorgeous, but the thought Roman put into it warms your heart and makes it all the more special. There’s no way he just walked into a jeweler’s and picked this out of the display case. He thought up the design and had it custom made, probably weeks or months ago. Had to have. Carefully, you remove the pendant and its box chain from the box. 

“If you don’t l-” You put the piece of jewelry in Roman’s hand and turn your back to him. Roman smiles to himself. He puts the necklace over your chest and brings the chain around your neck, his nervously shaking fingers tickling your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “God, fuck - sorry, hang on,” he whispers, losing and finding his grip on the small clasp before successfully securing it. “There.” Excitedly, you pull out your phone and turn on your front-facing camera to admire the pendant on your skin. 

You turn off your phone and put it in your purse, then fling yourself at Roman, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly. Roman freezes at first, then hugs you back gingerly, before finally squeezing you just as tightly, chuckling quietly at your palpable excitement. You pull away from the hug just enough to kiss him quickly on his lips, startling both yourself and Roman. “Yeah, so…” He rubs the back of his neck and blushes wildly, his cock quickly hardening in his pants. Roman coughs and adjusts his napkin over his lap, still feeling the pressure of your lips on his despite their absence. “Happy birthday, kiddo,” he whispers. 

“I love it. Thank you.” You look at Roman with sparkling eyes, pupils blown wide as you beam at him. It makes him blush even harder, his ears and neck turning red too. 

“Stop it, don’t - quit looking at me like that,” Roman scolds, avoiding eye contact. “It - it’s nothing.”

“I don’t know,” you reply, “I think it’s something.”

“Yeah, of course you think that. Because that’s the problem with your generation. You put labels on everything and think you’re all so special. Snowflakes,” he rants. “God, I can’t stand you people. You especially. I’d get that necklace for anyone.”

Defensive. He’s so fucking comically defensive, and it tickles you. “Hey, Roman,” you purr, in the mood to tease. 

Roman looks at you wearing a seemingly permanent smile on your lips as you touch and toy with your pendant. “What? What now?” he asks, flustered and impatient. 

“You’re kinda pink.”

“I’m not…pink,” Roman mumbles.

“You are. You’re blushing.”

“Shut the fuck up. I am not blushing.”

“No, you’re totally blushing. Your cheeks are all rosy.”

Roman buries his face in his hands and groans, eliciting a sweet giggle from you. The way you look at him, how you’re acting and making him feel. Tripping over his words, his heart hasn’t stopped pounding, cock achingly hard since you pecked his lips. You make him feel weak, and you’re not supposed to. Not like this. 

Your server returns then. “Are we ready to order?”

“Yes,” Roman quickly answers. “I’ll have the…fuck. One - one sec.” Roman raises a finger as he browses the menu. Sorry, you mouth to the server. “Entrees, entrees…” he mumbles.

“It’s right here,” you whisper, pointing to the entree section of Roman’s menu. His large bulge catches your eye, and you smile mischievously. When did that happen?

“Okay. Yeah. I think I’ll have the charred fil- fuck.”

Your server’s eyes widen at Roman, who quickly apologizes. Your hand is on his bulge, squeezing him through the fabric of his pants. 

“He wants the charred filet,” you cut in, answering for Roman. “I’ll have the gnocchi. Thank you,” you smile sweetly at the waiter, stroking Roman’s bulge over his pants. Silently, Roman gives the man a thumbs up and waves him away. Roman bites his lip as he waits for him to go back to the kitchen. “Alright, fuck this,” Roman snaps, squeezing your wrist and forcibly removing your hand from his lap. “You’re out of line.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re being weird. Are you feeling okay?” 

“We’ve had a nice night, you know. Do you really wanna do this?”

“Do what?”

“Cute.” Roman wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his side. “I give you an inch and you take a mile.” 

“You’re still so flushed,” you tease. This time, Roman doesn’t smile bashfully. Instead, he wears a frown and puts his hand on your knee, under the skirt of your dress. His palm slides up your thigh until his fingers meet your panties, and he teases you over the fabric. “Ooh. Look who’s wet,” he mocks, feeling your sticky dampness. Roman hooks his fingers under your panties and pulls them, sliding them down your thighs. “Lift up. They’re coming off.” 

“What are you doing?” you hiss. You hold his forearm in both of your hands, attempting to pry his hand away from your lap. His muscles flex beneath your palm as he fights against you. Roman’s taking this much farther than you did.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“You have to stop. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Not like this, not here, not - Jesus Christ.” Roman tugs your panties down to your knees, then lifts your legs over his lap so he can remove them the rest of the way. It’s not long before you’ll be soaking through your dress.

“You’re not behind the wheel anymore.” Roman stuffs your soaked panties into his pocket and spreads your legs wide, one of your thighs still resting on his. “Shouldn’t have been in the first place.” You’re completely exposed right now, anyone could see what Roman’s doing to you. What you’re letting him do to you. He wriggles his fingers underneath the skirt of your dress and presses his thumb against your sensitive clit, causing you to gasp and jerk your body, hitting your free leg against the table. The utensils on your plate clatter loudly, and Roman’s glass of water spills over and onto the tablecloth. Another guest at the restaurant looks at you, and you force a smile at them. “Ooh, nice one,” Roman taunts.

Roman’s rubbing you in circles now, using his free hand to tug your dress up and look at your bare pussy under the warm light of the candles at your table. You look at him with pleading eyes, begging him, “We shouldn’t be doing this, Roman. Not here. Not like this.”

“Yes, here, and yes, like this. Don’t fucking argue with me.” Roman buries two fingers into your cunt, pushing them in and out of you slowly, collecting your arousal. “You didn’t think this one through, did you?” 

He drags his slick fingers up and down your folds, feeling you becoming wetter by the second. He circles your clit lazily, rubbing it gently, listening closely to the wet noises you make. Your waiter returns with your meals, and just like you did to Roman, Roman keeps his hands on you. “Better keep it together,” he murmurs in your ear, pulling your skirt back over the front of your thighs. 

Your server sets Roman’s filet in front of him, then your gnocchi down in front of you. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Yeah, actually,” Roman answers. His demeanor has totally shifted. He’s cool, he’s back in control. “What are your desserts tonight? This one here has a pretty severe sweet tooth.”

“Dessert specials,” the server repeats. “I have to think. They change them up on us a lot.”

“Oh, take your time. We’ve got all night. Don’t we, kiddo?” 

“Mhm. Yep.” 

Roman takes a spoonful of his mashed potato side as your waiter thinks. “Tiramisu, of course,” he says. 

“Oh, well. Naturally.” Roman’s fingers slide down until he’s pressing them right against your slick little hole. 

“We have a cookie plate, too. A chocolate and hazelnut mousse cake. And a pineapple angel cake. And gelato.” 

Roman slides his fingers into your tight pussy, pressing them up to search for that spongy spot inside of you. “What flavors?”

“We have caramel butter cake, chocolate cashew raspberry…” 

The server’s voice becomes distant as he recites flavors. You squeak when Roman reaches your g-spot, swallowing your moans as he curls his fingers repeatedly against it. 

“We have sorbets, too.” 

“What sorbets?” Roman asks.

“Mango calamansi, cantaloupe, and lemongrass.” 

“Quite a dessert menu. Well, what do you think, birthday girl?”

“Tiramisu,” you mumble. 

“I didn’t catch that,” the server replies. “What was that?”

Roman answers for you, “She says she wants tiramisu. She’s just shy sometimes. Aren’t you?”

You glare at Roman, who smiles at you, flashing those perfect little teeth of his. His fingers stop suddenly - he has an idea. He cocks an eyebrow when your hips follow his hand, bucking into his palm, “Interesting,” he says, smiling fondly at your desperation. Your face feels hot and you feel out of your depth here. Roman was right to warn you about getting into this, about it being a nice night.

It worries you to see Roman scanning the room and biting his lip. He’s thinking, which is never good. “Roman. Whatever you’re thinking of doing - don’t.” 

Roman ignores your warning. “Keep telling me no and watch what happens,” he warns, then slides under the table with seamless ease. Once under the table, he pushes your thighs apart and pulls you close to the edge of your seat, putting one of your legs over his shoulder. 

He licks your inner thighs, his scruff abrasive against your damp skin. Roman licks you higher and higher, pulling you closer to his waiting mouth where you can feel his hot breath against your core. His head bulges a bit under the white tablecloth, and then you feel it - one long, fat lick of his tongue up your seam. “Ohhh my god,” you moan, garnering a look from someone at a nearby table. You smile and take a sip of your water with shaky hands. 

Roman starts small with little licks, sucking your labia into his mouth. First one side, then the other. His hands rest on your thighs, hot against your skin and squeezing your flesh. He licks over your clit next, then sucks it between his lips. He alternates between those two actions, stopping and starting all over again and again. You want more and less of it, of Roman, all at once.

Roman gently tugs the hood of your clit up, exposing your most sensitive part of yourself to his lips and tongue. He slides his two fingers inside you once more, fucking you on those digits as he sloppily licks your clit. You arch into his touch and reach under the table to hold his head and tug on his hair. “Roman,” you whimper. 

He coaxes release from you effortlessly, patiently using his tongue to draw steady circles on your clit as he curls those long, bony fingers inside you. You bite your lip so hard it breaks skin, squeezing Roman’s head with your thighs and whimpering softly as you feel the beginning of your climax begin to take over. 

Fuck. Your server is back with the tiramisu Roman had ordered for you. “The tiramisu,” he says, placing it on the table. “I apologize, I forgot to ask - do you and your date want coffee to go with dessert?”

“N- nah- no-” you stutter, though it comes out more as a moan as Roman fucks you with his tongue through your orgasm. Roman slaps your thigh and you jump in your seat, earning yourself a strange look from your server. Wrong answer. “Sor - yeah - yes. Yes.” Roman kisses your inner thigh in approval. 

Your poor fucking waiter. He nods wordlessly to go back into the kitchen and retrieve coffee for you and Roman. At the same time, Roman emerges from under the table with his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed and out of place, which is entirely your fault. “Fuck,” you whisper. Hastily, you finger-comb his hair into place. 

Roman grabs a spoon and takes the first bite of the tiramisu. “Mm,” he hums. “Sorry, birthday girl. Dad tax.”

Roman scoops up another bite of tiramisu, then brings the spoon to your lips. You take the bite, your cheeks warming when you taste your arousal on the metal. 

-

It’s quiet in the house when you and Roman come home. He stops briefly in the kitchen to put your leftovers away, then follows you up the steps and into your bedroom. “Need help with your zipper?” 

“Mhm. Please” 

Roman pulls your zipper down your back, then turns you around. Before you can think, he cups your face with both hands and kisses you, really kisses you. It’s no accidental peck on the lips, no. It’s intentional, deep and deliberate. His lips are soft, his tongue melding perfectly together with yours. When he pulls away, you look at him with knitted brows.

“You kissed me first, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Then it’s on the table.” 

Roman kisses you once more, then pulls away again. His eyes are dark and sparkling, and warm, too. He touches the pendant on your chest, holding it between his fingers before rubbing his thumb across the stones. It’s so intimate, and it leaves you breathless and confused. “Good birthday?” 

You nod. Roman smiles at you. 

“I’m glad. Goodnight, kiddo.” 

tysm for reading!! please scream nice and horny things at me if you enjoyed ♡ reblogs, comments, and asks are so appreciated and keep me motivated to write for you guys

tags (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson

@moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

@romanarose @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamili @verstappensrealwife

@thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @luiscarrutherss @pastelpinkflowerlife @baronessvonglitter

@myromeow @ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh

[kylejsugarman]

b

“God, I really need a break here. Okay?”

BREAKING BAD— 02x04 “Down”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Clandestine. Part Four.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

Chapter Synopsis - Death puts everything into perspective.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Roy!Reader

Warnings - cursing. lots of talk about grief.

Word Count - 3k

Author’s Note - now I might just be the last person on tumblr still writing for stewy, but I am determined to finish this series. let’s ignore the fact it’s been a year since I updated it, shall we? one more part of this to go!! thank you, if you’re still here for my succession stuff <3

Series Masterlist. Main Masterlist. Inbox.

You’re floating around in a daze.

It’s been a week since Connor’s phone call. A week since the formidable Logan Roy died on the floor of his private plane, surrounded by his closest employees. A week since you’ve seen Stewy.

You’ve been crashing in Roman’s guest room, neither of you wanting to be alone. You go to your Dad’s apartment, have meetings with old white men that all look the same, pop into the office every now and again and go home to your brothers. You were barely speaking to Kendall before all of this happening, never mind now. You can’t remember the last time the two of you said more than three words to each other.

You’re sat at Roman’s dinner table when a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You watch him picking at his salad for a minute before you say anything.

“Have you… spoke to Kendall? Like, over the last few days?”

Roman looks confused by the question, but doesn’t voice it.

“Yeah, here and there. You guys are in a fight, right?”

“Uh, yeah. We were. I guess we still are. I’m just… worried about him. God knows his mental health has been in the gutter recently anyway, but now Dad’s dead, and… I don’t know. It just can’t end well, right?”

“All we can do is keep an eye on him, I guess. He won’t fucking accept it even if we try and help, so.”

“Yeah.”

You move the chicken around on your plate with your fork, neither of you having much of an appetite recently.

“So, you never told me what your fight was about. It all seems like this big ass fucking secret that only Roman doesn’t know about.”

You’re a little taken aback by Romans candour. Usually he’s pretty avoidant, happy to live with the not knowing. He’s done with that, apparently.

“You’re not the only one that doesn’t know, Rome. Ken is the only one that does.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why? Why does everyone include Kendall in everything and leave me on the fucking sidelines? Why am I always the one who doesn’t get the joke, who doesn’t know the secret?”

“Rome-”

“I know he’s your favourite, but Jesus. You could at least try and include me sometimes.”

“Roman.”

“What?”

“Kendall only ‘knows the secret’ because he… walked in on the secret. Not because I sought him out and told him, or anything like that. I promise.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

With what has happened over the past week, your perspective on almost everything has changed. Keeping your secret is no longer top priority - or priority at all. You’re realising that you don’t care, because it doesn’t matter. Not much really matters.

“I’m in love with Stewy.”

Roman’s silent for a moment, processing.

“Hosseini?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, Rome. Hosseini. Do you know any other Stewys?”

He shakes his head, still visibly confused.

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah, um… he already knows. We - we’re in love. With each other. We’re dating.”

“You’re dating him?”

“That’s crazier than me being in love with him one sided?”

“Uh, yeah.”

You chuckle, looking at him for a moment before a grin breaks out across his face. He’s always been the most easy going of your brothers, the most understanding. You’ve always felt a comfort in talking to Roman - he’s more open minded than he appears. He’s a surprisingly good listener, even when you think your problems are trivial or stupid.

“For how long?”

“Fuck, I don’t even know. Two years, give or take?”

“Two years?”

“Are you mad?”

“Mad? I’m mad impressed, Princess. I didn’t think you’d be able to keep a big secret like that from me for that long.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

You’re suddenly vulnerable, terrified that your big brother is going to think less of you. Your brothers are all you have, all you’ve ever had. The four of you learned to survive with each other, with no help from parents or nannies or any kind of adult. You have nothing if you don’t have your brothers.

“I don’t hate you, dummy. I could never hate you.”

You stand up and make your way over to him, perching on his leg like you used to when you were kids. You wrap your arms around his neck, exhaling when he wraps his around your middle.

“Love you, Rome,” you whisper. “Even if you are a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, love you too,” he murmurs. “Even if you do keep important secrets from me.”

“I promise I won’t keep anything from you ever again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Promise. No more secrets.”

You pull back but stay sat on his lap, feeling six years old again, taking solace in the presence of your big brother.

“So Kendall… walked in on you?”

“He saw us leaving the gala together and got suspicious. He showed up at Stewy’s apartment the next morning, banging on the door and asking where I was.”

“Oh shit,” he laughs.

“It’s not funny,” you retort, but you’re holding back your giggles as you do it.

“And I’m guessing he didn’t take it well.”

“Not at all. He was cycling between yelling and swearing and then sitting really quietly just… staring into space. Then he got personal, which was expected, but that pissed Stewy off, so the whole thing got awkward again. It was… horrendous.”

“He’s horrible at feelings.”

“Says Mr Communication over here.”

He shoves you off his lap, chuckling when you slide onto the floor. You punch him in the arm as you get up, returning to your original seat. You sit in silence for a moment, neither of you quite sure how to continue.

“What now?”

“I… don’t know, Rome. I just don’t know.”

“I mean, the world hasn’t stopped spinning. Maybe it feels like it has for us, but everyone else has carried on.”

You’re confused by your brother’s sudden wisdom, until it clicks for you.

He’s free.

Sure, he’s grieving. You all are. But he’s lighter. Laughs a little easier. Gives out advice quicker.

He’s free.

You all are.

The shackles your father had placed on all four of you are broken. You are no longer bound to him or Waystar or his insane ideals as to what family should be or do or say.

“I need to get out.”

“What?” Roman asks as he cocks his head, quirking a brow at you in curiosity.

“I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. This… constant cycle of destruction and deception and stabbing people in the back. It won’t stop now that Dad’s dead. It’s the very foundation that his business is built on.”

“So you’re gonna… leave?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna sell my shares and I’m gonna get the fuck out.”

Roman laughs, now, all big and bold and beautiful. You don’t know what’s funny, but you can’t help but laugh with him.

“I am too.”

“Wait… what?”

“I’m doing the same.”

“Roman.”

“I’m serious. I don’t know who CEO is gonna be, but it isn’t gonna be me. It’ll be Kendall or Tom or someone completely different, but we all know neither you or I are capable.”

“Jeez. Thanks.”

“You’re telling me you could run the entire Waystar business?”

You roll your eyes, kicking him under the table.

“Obviously I fucking couldn’t. But at least pretend to have a little bit more faith in me.”

Your brother chuckles, leaning back in his chair.

“We’re not built for it, you and me. We’re meant for something different. Something better, Princess.”

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

“What about Kendall?”

“What about him?”

“I feel like we’re… abandoning him.”

Rome looks solemn, suddenly, thinking about your older brother.

“He’ll come around, you know. And he’ll understand. That’s the thing about Kendall - he can’t hold a grudge to save his life. He tries, but he can’t.”

A tear rolls down your cheek, lump in your throat choking any words that try to escape.

“Hey, hey,” Roman soothes as he walks over, standing above you.

He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone, wiping away your sadness.

“He loves you more than anything, you know.”

You shake your head, so your brother doubles down.

“He does. You’ve always been his favourite. He’d do anything for you - anything at all. He’s mad because you and Stewy kept a secret from him, not because you’re together. Trust me.”

“He looked at me that day like he hated me.”

“He couldn’t hate you if he tried. He’s just… emotionally unavailable. Everyone knows this.”

“I miss him,” you whisper, lip trembling. “I miss my brother.”

You’re taken aback by how much you miss Kendall, suddenly. You miss him so much more than you miss Logan, or your Mom.

“Give him time. That’s all he needs. He misses you, I know he does. But you know what he’s like when he feels betrayed. He shuts down and gets all aggressive.”

You look up at Roman, gentle smile making its way onto your face.

“When did you get so smart, huh?”

“I’ve always been smart,” he laughs. “Everyone underestimates me.”

“That they do.”

“Well, not anymore. We’re getting out.”

“We’re getting out,” you repeat, finally allowing yourself to feel happiness at the prospect. “We’re gonna get the fuck out.”

“Talk to Stewy about selling your shares and let me know what he says. The sooner, the better.”

“I will. I’m excited, Rome. The world is our oyster.”

“Me too,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair. “We’ll go to the funeral, and then we’ll never have to see any of those assholes ever again.”

“I can’t wait to not have to look at Karl’s stupid fucking face every day.”

Roman keels over laughing, wheezing as he clutches his stomach. You’re crying with laughter too, both of you lighter and freer than you’ve ever been.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You sure about this, Rome?”

“One hundred percent.”

You hug him tightly as you say goodbye, smiling when he presses a kiss into your hair.

“I’ll let you know what Stewy says tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Princess. Call me if you need anything.”

“You too. Anything.”

He ruffles your hair before sending you on your way, waiting at the front door to watch you go.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Stewy? You home?”

You drop your bags by the front door, kicking off your shoes and jacket as you do it. You’re about to yell again when he comes running around the corner, sliding across the wood floors in his socks.

“Baby.”

He breathes it, as if he can’t believe you’re really standing in front of him again.

“Missed you, Hosseini.”

You fly into his arms, burying yourself as deep as you can in his chest. His old, worn t shirt is soft and grey and smells like the love of your life and all of his memories spent at home. He tightens his grip on you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“How are you?” he asks without letting go, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“I’m okay. I’m good, actually. Really good.”

“Yeah?”

Now he pulls away to look at you, confused by the sudden change of heart. When you left to go to Roman’s a week ago, you were a shell of a woman, a little girl without a dad. Now, you’re back, brighter and more alive than ever.

“Yeah.”

You look at him, really look at him, for a moment, before taking a deep breath and saying the words you’ve been dying to say.

“Marry me, Stewy.”

He staggers back as if you’ve hit him, eyes blown wide.

“W-what?”

“Marry me.”

He inhales, exhaling shakily before stepping forward to cradle your face in his hands.

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

“Maybe,” you laugh. “But I guess I got there first.”

“Honey, forgive me if I’m a little confused, but… you just came back after being gone for a week because your dad died and now you’re… proposing?”

“Me and Roman are leaving Waystar,” you explain. “We’re selling our shares and getting the fuck out.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Really. The only thing stopping me from leaving years ago was the fear of disappointing my dad, and now he’s gone. So… there’s nothing keeping me there. I wanna do something else. Something for me.”

“Yeah?”

He’s grinning, beaming at you from ear to ear. Light is practically pouring from him, radiating in all directions.

“Yeah,” you half yell, leaning up to press an excited kiss to his lips. “I’m done, Stewy. I’m free.”

He picks you up, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you spin. You shriek with laughter, the world blurring as it whizzes past you. Eventually he puts you down, both of you breathless.

“Life’s too short. I need to start living it.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you so much. More than anything.”

You kiss him tenderly, gentle and sweet and filled with so much adoration.

“So, back to my original question…”

“Wait,” he interrupts, halting your speech. “Let me do this the right way.”

With that, he runs off towards the bedroom, leaving you stood in the hallway as confused as ever. You wait patiently, desperate to be privy to his plans.

When he returns, still in his pyjamas, he kisses you softly before getting down on one knee, ring box in his hand.

“Honey. You are the love of my goddamn life. I bought this ring after we’d been dating for… three months? Call me crazy, but I knew. I just knew. It was always going to be me and you. Always.”

Your hands are shaking, breath caught in your chest as you try to soak in every second of this moment.

“So…. how do you feel about becoming Mrs Hosseini?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d love more.”

“Is that a yes?”

“The biggest, most sure yes of my entire life. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes.”

He swoops you up into his arms, kissing you with more passion than you ever thought possible. You slip your tongue into his mouth cheekily, tangling your fingers into his hair to pull him closer as he groans.

You finally pull away for air, both of you panting like you’ve just run a marathon. Your eyes well up suddenly, a tear falling without you realising.

“You okay?” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing circles into your cheekbones.

“I’m so happy,” you whisper. “I feel like today is the first day of the rest of my life.”

“So do I,” he agrees, looking down at you with so much love you it makes your knees buckle. “Baby… if you’re getting out, then I’m getting out.”

“Wait, what?”

“If you want to get out of Waystar, I’m not gonna stay. If you’re washing your hands of it, then I am too.”

“But… your money.”

“Honey, those shares don’t mean shit to me. The only thing that matters is you.”

You look at him intently for a moment, searching for any traces of doubt. All you find is pure adoration.

“Stewy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna keep that ring in the box forever?”

He throws his head back as he laughs, opening the velvet box to show you what’s inside. He slips it onto your finger with ease, the diamond sparkling perfectly on your hand.

“It’s so beautiful. I’m the luckiest person in the world, Mr Hosseini.”

“I think I have to disagree with you there, Mrs Hosseini.”

“Say it again.”

“Mrs Hosseini.”

“And again.”

He kisses you, mumbling against your lips.

“Mrs Hosseini.”

“Mhmm.”

“My wife. The prettiest girl in the world. Mrs Hosseini.”

You can’t help but grin into his mouth, buzzing with the energy of it all.

“Now, I was about to make dinner before you came home, but we can go out and celebrate if you want?”

You shake your head, snaking your arms around his neck.

“All I want right now is a night in with you - that’s all the celebration I need. Let’s make that pasta you like, and then we can watch old sitcom reruns on the couch.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Stewy slides his hand into yours, his thumb playing with the shiny band of the ring on your finger.

“It’s gonna be like this forever, you know. We get to do this for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” you breathe, resting your head on his shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

As the sun sets through the floor to ceiling windows, you and Stewy dance across the kitchen, slipping and sliding across the tiles.

Your heart skips a beat every time your ring catches the light.

Your heart skips a beat every time you look at your fiancé.

Your heart skips a beat every time you realise that you’re not dreaming.

This is your life. And you’ve never been more excited to live it.

@justacaliforniandreamer @616wilsons @shawty-writes-a-little @isuspectitwasthenargles @thinemineours @buckysbae @jolie989 @allcheesemelts @nosebeers

[i-smoke-chapstick]

What advice or tips do you have for a writer wanting to write the characters from Succession for the first time (Shiv, Kendall, Roman, Tom, Greg etc)

Not sure if this was meant for me, since I haven't yet written for Succession, but I can still try my best to help out! Here are some tips <3 Sorry for the long post.

Whenever I'm writing for a character, I really try to incorporate their canon dialect and dialogues here and there. For instance, Roman stutters on his words quite a bit erratically, and Greg has a lots of "uh"s and "oh"s and awkward, bumbling uncertainty. It's all about the characters voice, because I find fanfics with lots of dialogue to be the most enjoyable! If I was writing for succession, I'd typically try to follow these tips for each character,

Shiv: Shiv sometimes speaks with an underlying tone of superiority, and a lot of her interactions also have fraught tension. When writing a character, you need to look at their insecurities and desires to get a feel for what they want vs. how they express it. Shiv struggles with a desire to prove herself, but wants power. Because of this, she's blunt in all the wrong ways.

This sounds dumb, but I always do a short writing exercise beforehand and I really encourage it! One of my favorite things to do is just imagine the conversation I'm trying to write. For instance, if Y/N were ask Shiv what her favorite color was. She might say something like,

"My favorite color? Seriously, Y/N, that's the question you come up with? Well, if we're going to play this game, I guess I'll indulge you. Let's see... I don't know, maybe the color of money? Honestly, I'm more concerned with the color of success, and right now, it's looking pretty green to me."

Kendall: Similarly stutters like Roman, and can switch between being aggressive and vulnerable.

Here again with the favorite color theory:

"Uh, favorite color? That's a... good question. You know, it's, uh, probably something classic. Black. Yeah, black. It's, uh, timeless, powerful. Like, I don't know, it's just... it's a strong color. Represents, like, the intensity and, uh, the seriousness of, you know, life and business." (Long example, but I'll dive into this!)

Succession characters are very human. The pauses in their words, their overuse of "like" and "uh" (especially for Kendall). I try to use Kendall's "media trained" upbringing as a way for him to spin the question into something flattering for himself. Like if he was in an interview.

While as If we were writing for Roman, he might say something like,

"My favorite color? Seriously? Okay, um, let's go with... I don't know, red? Yeah, red. It's bold, it's sexy. Plus, it's the color of blood, and blood is, like, life or whatever. Or maybe it's just 'cause I look good in it. Either way, red. Final answer."

Roman has a lot more vulgarity in his dialogue, as well as pop-culture references and anything completely outlandish. Sometimes I like piecing together canon dialogue from the show to form answers as well, because the reader can more affectively imagine the character saying it!

Tom: When you're writing a character like Tom, his interactions really depend on whoever he's talking too, and how stressed he is about a situation. If he's speaking to a reader whose a Roy, or more powerful than him in a way, he's fumbling; not trying to impress them per se, but trying to fit in. Also, if in this universe you're writing, Shiv is apart of, Shiv is just a major part of his character in general, he'll probably mention her now and again. Once again, the favourite color theory!

"Oh, my favorite color? Well, I'd have to say blue. It's calming, you know? Reliable. Like a good, steady stock that just keeps going up. Plus, it’s a color that commands a certain... respect. Not too flashy, but still, quite distinguished. And, well, Shiv looks great in blue, so there's that too."

Now, if you're writing for someone like Greg who asks the question, someone who he doesn't view as a threat, Tom is much more assertive and aggressive. He'd be more sarcastic, less enthused, and simply wouldn't care. Might not even answer the question. He has the same loose, condescending tone as Shiv would.

"Oh, my favorite color? You know, Y/N, of all the things you could ask me—my thoughts on the latest market trends, insights on corporate strategy, or even just what I had for breakfast—you went with favorite color. Remarkable. Adorable, really. Y/N, what is this? Preschool? Do I look like someone who has time to contemplate the nuances of the color spectrum?"

Greg: Poor Greg.

"Ah, favorite color, huh? Well, that's a tough one. I reckon I'd have to go with a good ol' forest green. Reminds me of these long hikes through the woods back home. Plus, it's just got this calming vibe to it, you know? Like being surrounded by nature's...embrace." Que the awkward cough, realizing he's ranting or saying things that don't quite sound right.

Greg is more compassionate, more air-headed then the Roy's. He's probably the only one on this list to add a subtle,

"What about you?" To make more semi-awkward conversation.

Okay, Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. I really don't think this was meant for my blog, but regardless, I love questions like these <3

[littleredwing89]

PRINCE OF GOTHAM - PART 1

PRINCE OF GOTHAM

CEO!Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings – Language. NSFW Smut. 

A/N: Please remember this is a revised version of “The Intern” but swapped out Roman for Jason. Some other characters are changed too, hopefully you’ll enjoy the cameos etc. I’ve tweaked parts of the story here and there so it suits better. I hope you all enjoy xoxo much love. Let me know if you want a tag list / to be on the tag list.

*** 

Roy lounged back in his leather office chair and smirked as Jason sauntered in without knocking. “And what do I owe this displeasure?”.

“Just wanted to see how things were going, you know, it is my company after all”, Jason glanced around the office. Roy liked to keep things minimal, although the addition of the little cactus was new. An almost feminine touch. He made a note to question him about that later. He’d never known Harper to take an interest in plants before.

As the office door closed behind him, arguing erupted outside, barely concealed by the walls. He raised his eyebrow and looked through the window seeing a short, stumpy man in a suit become red and blotchy in the face.

“I don’t know why we still pay that moron”, Roy grunted and waved his hand to the disagreement outside. The stubby man, Eric, was tugging at his tie as a more feminine voice dressed him down confidently.

“I can have HR carry out a performance review if you’d like”.

Jason glanced out between the blinds and saw you storm around one of the desks, straight into his vision, hands flying violently as you spoke. He swallowed as his eyes followed you; a tight fitting grey pencil skirt paired with a wine silk blouse. He raised an eyebrow in interest. Your hair was pinned up in a messy bun, strands falling down to frame your petite face. Lips painted a deep shape of rouge. You laughed venomously before pointing to one of the free standing boards, a colourful diagram adorning it. Eric shook his head and turned away, only infuriating you more. Jason smirked, enjoying the little show.

“She’s been here 5 minutes…down boy”, Roy chuckled and grabbed something from his printer. Scrawling his signature across the bottom.

“You say that like you'd wait even 30 seconds”, Jason scoffed, a little embarrassed and slightly impressed at how well Roy could read him.

Roy looked up from the papers and grinned, “I give at least 3 to 5 working days as a courtesy before I pounce”.

Jason felt his stomach churn at the thought. He spun around quicker than he would have liked and raised an eyebrow, “Oh...so you’ve tried then?”.

“What’s it to you if I have?”, Roy grinned, noticing Jason’s reaction.

“I want to see if she has taste”, Jason quipped and turned his attention back to the escalating discussion outside. Hoping to hide the pink tinting his cheeks. You’d now dragged the whiteboard across to Eric, jabbing at one of the PowerPoint slides before rubbing your temples in frustration.

Roy scoffed to hide the laughter before getting out of his seat strolling across to Jason to hand him the signed papers, “You know, she’s the woman that saved you 500 grand last week”.

Jason frowned upon taking the paperwork from Roy, “I don't remember hearing about it”.

The white haired man shrugged to the shouting, “Take a wild guess why, Todd”.

“He played it as his own victory?”, Jason’s gaze fell back to you. Eric was crossing over your work on the board with an ugly red marker, sneering at you. Jason felt his temper surge at the blatant disregard for your hard work and effort. His brow creased at the unfamiliar emotions swimming in the back of his mind.

Roy slapped him on the shoulder suddenly, a dark grin on his lips, “Oh! So you do have a brain”.

Jason rolled his eyes, rolling his broad shoulders, “Contrary to popular belief, yes I do”.

Roy laughed deeply as he watched you with Jason through the window, your irritation bubbling over as you repeatedly jabbed your pen to the graphs on the board, voice becoming louder with every word, “She’s a real pistol”.

“I can see”, Jason hummed appreciatively as you stalked off towards the coffee room, the skirt pulling tight against you, highlighting the curve of your ass perfectly. 

Eric looked flustered as the rest of the staff in the room stared at him following the heated exchange. He shouted something to them, causing them all to bow their heads behind their computer screens. Roy grumbled something under his breath Jason couldn’t make out. Eric turned towards Roy’s office and stiffened when he saw both men watching him. Jason smirked at him, giving a subtle wave before turning to Roy, “You know what, I will send HR down this week to investigate”.

***

You checked yourself in the mirror of the elevator again, nerves making your stomach somersault. The dress had been an extravagant splurge but the moment you laid your eyes on it, you knew you had to have it. It was a floor length, backless crimson dress with a daring thigh split. You ran your hands down the front of the fabric, the satin soothing your clammy palms.

Your hair was curled loosely and draped down your bare shoulders, lips a dark red to match your dress. Briefly, you hoped, you hadn’t gone overboard with your outfit. The invitation had said ‘formal wear’. The elevator dinged and before you could think too much, the doors slid open revealing you to the party. You heard someone gasp in the distance and that’s when the entire room turned to your direction.

You were used to people staring at you in the office because of your fiery attitude but this was different. You felt your skin prickle. An odd sensation driving through your nerves. Everyone had paused to stare at you as you stepped into the room. The music faded in the back of your mind, replaced by the hammering of your heart. You straightened yourself and strode into the room with all the false confidence you could muster.

His eyes. Jason. You could feel them burning more than anyone else’s. He’d stopped mid sentence when you entered the room, cigarette left smoking in his hand. He was surrounded by his executive team, including your area manager, Mr Harper. Whilst you felt heat spreading across your cheeks, you felt somewhat pleased you’d stunned your loud mouthed CEO into silence. Roy had slapped Jason on the back, a dark smirk on his face drawing his attention away from you. He glared at Roy before taking a long drag from his cigarette, continuing with his conversation as though nothing had happened. The group of suited men dissolved into barks of laughter.

You needed a large drink. Preferably a strong one too if you wanted to last the night. You headed straight towards the bar, as fast as your towering heels would allow.

———

Jason patted one of the executives on the shoulder, making his excuses before striding across to you as you leaned against the bar, your bare back on full display. He swallowed thickly, you looked majestic under the glittering fairy lights draped around the room.

He settled next to you at the bar, clearing his throat before speaking, the deep timber of his voice rattled your core, “I think...I've seen your face before”.

You rolled your eyes at the terrible opening line before turning to face him. The black suit fitted him perfectly, showcasing his broad shoulders, his blood red tie knotted tightly against the collar of his crisp white shirt.

“Probably during one of your lonely nights over a bottle of chardonnay”, you lazily waved your hand at him.

Jason smirked at your attitude and laughed, “You think I’m chatting you up princess?”.

You pursed your lips together, nodding, “It certainly sounded that way to me and I really don’t know what else you would do after swaggering away from that crowd just to talk to lil’ old me”.

“I simply had to talk to the woman who stunned the room into silence”, his smooth voice sent shivers over your skin, oozing charm. You imagined it worked on every woman he encountered. It almost worked on you.

“Very smooth Mr Todd”, you teased and tried to wave the bartender down with no luck. You sighed and cursed under your breath.

Jason clicked his fingers, drawing the attention of the waiter immediately, “Two large glasses of Malbec please”, he winked at you when the bartender reached to the top shelf of liquor, “I know who you are”, Jason gave you a devilish smile, “You’re the 500 grand woman”.

“Y/N”, you winked and wiggled your finger at him in a joking fashion. The grin on your face widened when the wine was set down in front of you both. The rich, spicy smell drifted up your nose.

You dug your hand into your purse but Jason shook his head, “It’s on me”.

“Oh”, you clicked your tongue playfully, “You’re too kind”, you smirked at him.

Jason wouldn’t admit it, but he knew exactly who you were. He hadn’t been able to get you out of his mind since he laid his eyes on you last month. Your spitfire attitude had spread through the office and you’d made quite a name for yourself. Cutting impressive deals and smart talking anyone who tried to shoot you down. The only thing Jason had lacked was an opportunity to talk to you.

He held up his glass of whiskey and looked down at you, his dark eyes sweeping over your face, “A toast”, he leaned down towards you, his hot breath fanned across your cheek, “To Y/N”, his voice dipped lower, a gravelly rasp, “The most beautiful, enticing woman in the room”.

“You forgot to add smart”, your voice sounded more breathy than you intended, giving Jason an idea of the effect he was having over you.

He winked, “The most beautiful, enticing, smart mouthed woman in the room”.

“To me”.

You clinked your glass with his before bringing it to your lips, taking a long sip. The alcohol burnt your throat in the best way, the deep red of your lipstick staining the rim of the glass. Jason couldn’t help but stare at the smudge, wondering if it would stain as nicely on his skin.

Downing the drink in one, Jason placed the glass on the bar, the bartender rushed over quickly, leaving the bottle of red wine next to Jason before scurrying off. Your tongue darting across your lips, savouring the taste of the luxurious drink.

Jason watched you closely, you felt alive under his burning stare, “I hope you’re enjoying working for The Iceberg Lounge”.

“Of course, Sir”.

He swallowed the growl threatening to escape his lips. The way you said it. The way your lips wrapped around the word Sir, how easily it rolled off your tongue. He took a deep breath. You riled him up with little to no effort.

You glanced around the gala, almost everyone from The Iceberg had turned up. Hundreds of people were braying in the room. Dancing, drinking, laughing and screeching. The music thudded in the background, the bass thrumming through your body. You had to hand it to Jason, he certainly knew how to host a company party. Well a man in charge of a chain of bars should really.

Jason gripped the bottle of wine swiftly, “It's getting rather lively in here princess, fancy a drink and a smoke on the balcony?”.

You nodded, grabbing your clutch from the bar. You sashayed through the crowd easily, Jason following close behind you. Slinking through the throes of people, you smirked to yourself. You were playing with fire but, you had to admit, you liked the heat that came with it.

———

When you stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night breeze whipped around your body, nipping the bare skin on show. You shuddered slightly, looking up at the night sky. You were high enough that you could finally see the stars. They twinkled innocently, making you smile to yourself.

Jason placed the bottle of red on a nearby table, looking across at you. You looked even more stunning under the midnight stars. He coughed deeply, working his way across to the railing you were leaning against, “I’m surprised that you came alone, I find it hard to believe you struggled to get a date”.

You turned to him, your chandelier earrings dangling in the breeze, they captured the starlight and flickered elegantly, “I like coming to these things alone”, you mused, a coy smirk on your painted lips, “I like to see who else has come alone”.

“Oh”, he inched closer, the soft brush of his suit jacket against your bare arm made you flush, “So you’re on the lookout?”.

“Maybe”, your fingers wrapped around the metal bar and you looked over the edge. The bustle of Gotham City never ceased to amaze you, even at this height. And there you were, gazing at it with its unofficial Prince standing next to you.

Jason grinned, letting a cool finger stroke down your upper arm, “I might be able to help with that”.

You smirked, looking up catching his heated stare, “Are you going to introduce me to one of your rich friends?”.

“Trust me princess, they’re not your type”, he scoffed, his eyes tracing down the neckline of your dress, mapping every inch of your tantalising skin. He noticed a faint sparkle of glitter on your skin, along with a subtle scent of vanilla invading his senses.

Moving away from the balcony edge, you stepped into his space, fingers grasping the end of his tie, playing with it gently, “And what is my type?”.

Jason felt an unmatched desire burning in his gut when your hands toyed with his tie. He took a deep breath before cornering you into the balcony railing. His eyes were hooded with lust, “I know exactly what it is”.

The bitter metal pressed into your lower back and you bit back the moan creeping up your throat, desperate to escape. You snaked your hand up his solid chest and straightened out his shirt collar, “Well don't keep me in suspense, Sir”.

It was taking all of his self restraint not to bend you over the balcony and rail you from behind, especially when you kept calling him Sir. His hands gripped the balcony bar behind you, knuckles white from the force. Jason smirked, his voice dropping several octaves, “I can show you instead princess”.

The heat from his body was addictive and you leaned into it without thinking, breath catching in your throat. His aftershave was intoxicating and you felt your mind spinning. Jason pulled back suddenly and offered you his hand.

You slipped your hand into his and bit your plump bottom lip, “People are going to see us leaving together”.

“So?”, Jason shrugged, “Then they know we're going to have some fun, aren't we princess?”.

You shivered, letting his words drip over you. Oh the night was yet to begin and your heart was thrumming with excitement. You secured your fingers through his and started to pull him back inside so you could both leave.

“Of course Sir”.

The second you were back inside, Jason’s free hand wound around your waist, guiding you towards the elevators. He leaned down, hot breath fanning down your sensitive neck, “Yours or mine?”.

You pressed the down button on the lift pad a little more enthusiastically than you would have liked. You felt him smirk behind you, fingers digging into your flesh.

“Mine”, you whispered before slipping into the cart when the doors sprung open.

———

The taxi ride back to your apartment was filled with subtle touches and increasing tension. You’d expected Jason to pounce on you the second you slid into the backseat but he didn’t, simply keeping one arm around your shoulder, the other resting on your exposed knee drawing feather light circles.

“Keep the change”, Jason muttered, shoving a wad of cash through the divider before helping you out of the car.

His hand pressed into your lower back, rough fingers scraping against your soft skin. You shuddered, excited to feel his touch exploring the rest of your body. You led him through the marble floored lobby and up a flight of stairs, stopping outside of your door to retrieve your keys from your clutch.

His lips pressed into the junction of your neck, tongue lapping over your skin which flushed rapidly under his touch, “Hurry up princess”. You felt Jason’s hand stroke up the front of your dress, palming your breast greedily before pinching your nipple.

You gasped at the rush of sensations, almost dropping your keys. The overload of his touches made you shudder and your eyes close, head dipping forward.

“Unless you want me to fuck you out here for everyone to see, I suggest you get that door open”, he growled, lips teasing the shell of your ear. His cock was straining against his suit trousers as he brushed it against your ass, groaning quietly.

Steadying your hands and your frayed mind, you slotted the key into your door, opening it as quickly as possible. Before you had any time to think, Jason crushed you against it, slamming it shut, his lips plastered to yours in a frenzied heat.

You moaned, the noise swallowed by his mouth as his tongue glided along yours. He could still taste the wine on your lips, mingling with your own sweet flavour. You dropped your bag and ran your hands up his chest, reaching his tie. Tugging it hard, you loosened it, enough to free him of it and start unbuttoning his shirt.

Jason smirked and sunk his teeth into your bottom lip, enjoying the gasp of pleasure you released. You looked into his darkened gaze, giving him a sweet innocent smile before pushing him back against the hallway wall. His eyebrows lifted in surprise but he allowed you control, stroking the pads of his fingers up and down your spine.

With the last button popped open, your nails dragged down to his belt, unfastening it slowly, licking your lips.

“I bet this is what you thought about didn’t you?”, you teased, unzipping his trousers and pushing them down, slowly, “Me on my knees for you, swallowing your thick cock”.

You palmed him through his boxers, watching his face twist with held back desire. Your lips curved and you dropped to your knees, eye level with his hard shaft.

Jason groaned quietly, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tighter when your lips ghosted over the outline of his throbbing cock.

“Princess”, he warned huskily, voice laced heavy with lust.

The stings of pain as he pulled your hair shot down to your core, lighting up all of your nerves. You mewled and mouthed his tip, “I thought about it too…Sir”.

His hips rutted towards your face at your words and you grinned. You pulled his boxers down slowly, watching as his cock sprung free, slapping against his rippled abs. Your mouth watered at the sight, aching for him to sink into both your throat and pussy.

You nipped along his thick, muscled thighs, your lipstick smearing as you neared his pulsing length. He tensed with each bite and growled loudly, cock twitching with excitement.

“Princess if you keep-”, the words died in his throat when the wet heat of your mouth encased his cock in one swift motion. His head flung back, eyes scrunched shut at the feeling.

You purred around his shaft, tongue fluttering along the underside, tracing the vein there. Your hands stroked up and down his thighs as you worked your lips around him. Bobbing your head back and forth.

Each time you whined around him, the vibrations buzzed up his spine, sending his mind into a delirious haze of pleasure.

“Fuck!”, he grunted and fisted his hands into your hair, thrusting forward into your hot mouth.

The head of his cock nudged the back of your throat and you gagged around his cock, whimpering with desire. He caught his breath and looked down at you, eyes black with passion.

“Your lips look perfect wrapped around my big cock”, he smirked and thrust harder into your mouth, the wet, sinful sounds echoing in the hallway of your apartment.

Your pussy was soaked and each time you shuffled, the lace of your thong rubbed against your clit. The sensation made your skin flush but it wasn’t enough. You needed him.

Jason sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched you swallow his cock. Your once perfect lipstick was smudged all over your mouth. Some stained his length. He groaned as you pulled back, tracing your tongue over the slit of his tip, hands kneading his inner thighs perfectly.

“Sir-please…”, your voice was raw as you spoke, wide eyes searching his, “I want you”.

He let his thumb run over your bottom lip, enjoying the way your lips wrapped around it without second thought, sucking softly. Jason dipped it down your chin before hooking it underneath, “Come here”.

You stood slowly, adjusting the strap of your dress which had fallen down your arm. Jason bracketed your hips and lifted you easily, letting your toned legs wrap around his waist. His lips moulded to yours, kissing you deeply. He could faintly taste himself on your tongue, the bitter arousal sparking through his body.

———

He carried you with ease through your apartment, occasionally banging into things along the way.

“Second d-door”, you moaned loudly when he bit your shoulder, “on the-the right”.

When you finally made it into your bedroom, after several stops along the way with Jason shoving you into the nearest wall, he dropped you down onto the bed.

You inched up the bedding slowly, watching him with hooded eyes as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. You made no show of hiding how much you admired his finely sculpted body. You licked your lips as his muscles flexed when he knelt onto the bed, grabbing one of your ankles.

“You’re wearing too many clothes”, he complained as his fingers travelled up your bare leg before finally reaching the hem of the dress.

“What are you going to do-”, the tear of fabric was loud in the room, Jason’s face was knitted with desire.

“Jason!!”, you scolded loudly as he continued to rip the flimsy material off your body, leaving you bare beneath him in a skimpy lace thong. You watched as he threw the offending material to the floor, his predatory gaze turning back to you.

“Get on your knees”, he commanded, ignoring your protests about your once beautiful dress, “Now”.

You wanted to argue, but the twisting coil in the pit of your stomach made you comply readily. You saw his pleased smirk before you rested your head against your forearms, pressing your ass and core to him.

He whistled appreciatively, slapping his hand over one of your cheeks. You moaned wantonly, muffling your cries into the flesh of your arm.

“Don’t you dare”, he growled and spanked you harder, your skin becoming hot and prickly, “I want to hear every sound you make”.

The thong you had on framed your ass perfectly, barely covering your glistening pussy. He smoothed two fingers through your silken core, sinking them into you slowly. Jason grunted when your walls tried to pull him further.

He removed his hand and spread your wetness along the back of your thigh, pushing your thong to the side. You whined in protest at the loss of sensation and pushed back. Jason gripped your hips tightly, halting your movement, “Tell me what you want princess”.

Heat crept over your flushed skin as he teased you, the tip of his cock sweeping through your sopping folds. You ignored his question and circled your hips, mewling his name.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back forcefully, teeth grazing the sensitive spot on your neck, “I said, tell me what you want”.

“Your cock”, your moans were depraved as you felt the overload of euphoria thrumming through your veins, “I want you to fuck me”.

Jason kissed the spot behind your ear, sucking a mark there before muttering, “Where are your manners princess?”.

You dug your nails into the sheets below in frustration before panting desperately, “Please Sir, please fuck me”.

He chuckled darkly behind you, tugging your hair again, before sinking his cock into your pussy fully. You cried out at the delicious sting as he stretched your walls with his thick girth.

Jason gave you no time to adjust before slamming his hips back into yours harshly, keeping your hair wound around his fist as he thrust into you.

The air was filled with the sounds of your debauched moans and his skin slapping into yours. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your first orgasm hit you without any warning.

Jason cursed behind you as your velvet walls spasmed around his cock, pulling him deeper. His thrusts became shallow as he drove harder into you, working you through your climax.

Changing the angle of his thrusts, the head of his shaft slammed against your g spot repeatedly as he ploughed faster into your pussy. You sobbed his name into the bed sheets, gripping them tightly. You were certain your nails were going to rip through the fabric.

“That’s it princess”, he coaxed, tugging your hair back, “I know you’ve got another one for me”. He snaked his hand around your front, rubbing over your clit furiously.

“Jason!”, you cried his name loudly, vision going blank as he fucked you into another powerful climax. You felt his cock throbbing inside you as he fell into his own release, emptying himself in your tight core.

“Fuck!”, he rasped, releasing your hair and holding onto your hips as his thrusts slowed down to a complete still.

Pulling out of you, he groaned under his breath as he saw some of his seed drip down your folds. You collapsed down onto the bed, flat on your front, fighting to catch your breath. Jason dropped down next to you, relaxing on his back, his own chest heaving with deep pants.

You hadn’t been fucked like that in a long time. If ever. With the last of your energy, you rolled onto your side, a sly grin on your face, “Got time for another?”. Your fingers stroked down the grooves of his abs, following the dark trail of hair.

Jason grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, nipping at the pulse on your wrist, “Definitely”.

He pulled you on top of him, his hands moving up to cup your breasts as your lips danced together again, drinking in each other. You knew he would only be here for the night but, you’d be damned if you weren’t going to make the most of it.

***

[eeveebitches]

phone. || Roman Roy || smut

Pairing: Sub!Roman Roy x F!Dom!Reader Summary: You and roman talk over the phone, stuff happens along the way

Word count: 2.115

18+ only! More under the cut,

Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, degradation, pillow humping, phone sex, implications of jealous/possesive roman

A/n: as DJ Khaled said, "another one."

_______________________

It's unusually dark in Roman's apartment.

You squint your eyes, looking around for any sign of him, hand busying itself to locate the light switch. "Romes?" There's no reply, and as you finally manage to switch the lights on you realize he isn't here. The shoes he usually keeps sprawled by the door are missing, as well as the scarf you had given him for his last birthday.

You shrug off your jacket and hang it, noticing how Roman's lighter jacket seems to be missing as well. Cautiously, you walk around the empty space. You take note of the way he left his cologne on the coffee table without its cover, and as you go to his bathroom you see his aftershave is uncrewed, too. He was clearly in a rush.

His bed is messy, as it always is when he's left to deal with tidying the sheets himself. You chuckle at the shirt of yours peaking out from under his pillow. It takes a lot of mental strength for you to not snap a picture for future teasing material, and instead kick your shoes off. 

His scent surrounds you as you nuzzle into his goose feather sheets. The scent is sharp, and woody, and clearly trying too hard to be noteworthy. But deep in those harsh, overpowering scents of desperation, you smell the chamomile from the 'calming room sprays' he always claims to be buying ironically. You also smell your own perfume, and with enough focus you can even smell hints of the vanilla of the soaps you use.

The sudden ringing of your phone startles you. You fumble a bit trying to remove your phone from your pocket, smiling as you realize it's the tiny devil himself calling.

"Romes?"

"Don't 'Romes' me, where in shit's name are you?" he immediately grumbles out, not giving you a second to trade simple formalities. 

You can't help but laugh at him. "And hello to you, too. What do you mean, 'where am I'? Where are you?"

He groans, then mumbles something far too incoherent for you to pick up over the phone. "Uh, at your fucking apartment? Did you seriously forget about me that fast? I'm seriously regretting hooking you up with that new job, since you're now apparently too cool for little ol' Romes." After a few seconds of processing his words, you frown. "Wait, what? You're at my apartment?" 

"Okay, yeah, you totally forgot, and I just embarrassed the fuck out of myself for breaking and entering. Nice knowing ya, I'm gonna go jump into a river or some shit," he mumbles underneath his breath. Even through the phone you can tell he's pacing around. "Can you even swim?"

He scoffs at that. "The fuck kinda question is that? You don't ask a guy about to take a cyanide pill if he's well versed in medicine, do you? Twisted bitch." Your frown deepens the more you listen to him. "Roman, we were supposed to meet at your apartment, you do remember that, right?"

It's completely silent on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Then, "Oh fuck off, you are not at my apartment right now. Just admit you forgot and let me go cry-jerk myself to sleep in your bed," he huffs out, trying to fight back the strain in his voice.

"Romes, I'm laying in your bed right now." He laughs at you, clearly doubtful, but as he quiets down you get the feeling he's starting to believe you.

With his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, Roman looks down at the pillow of yours he's holding. It's a long one, for your neck or something, and he relishes in how much it smells like you. "So what, we're at each other's apartments, laying in each other's beds, like total fucking idiots?"

You can't help but snort at that. "You're the idiot, since I'm at the right apartment. Also, way to go snitching on yourself. You better have removed your shoes before getting in my bed," you say, tugging at a bit of string connected to one of Roman's pillows.

"Yeah yeah, my shoes are off. I am gonna piss on all your furniture, just so you know. I need to mark my territory as the alpha and all that," he jokes, swiftly unzipping and shuffling out of his pants. "Oh, I'm also gonna sleep here because I can't be fucked to call someone to drive me back. Your bed is comfy as shit, anyway."

You let out a humored chuckle, quickly putting the phone down and removing the top layers of your work clothes to leave yourself comfortable. The sound of his voice is small, so after getting settled back in you grab the phone and place it right next to your head.

"Sorry, was getting comfy, what's up?" 

Roman lets out a low whistle. "So basically stripping naked? That's hot. You should take pictures of your boobs or something and send them to me," he says, his clutch on your pillow growing tighter as he continues, "we could have hot and heavy sex over the phone, like they did in the 60s when FaceTime and pocket pussies weren't a thing."

"I'm down if you are," you reply as casually as you can, despite the fact that the idea of it excites you. Roman seemingly chokes on his own spit at that, coughing for a few seconds. Ad he clears his throat, he awkwardly unbuttons his blouse as he keeps the phone flush against his ear.

"Oh yeah? What're you wearing, then?" he asks in a try-hard sultry voice. It's hard not to laugh at that, but you manage. "A 17-inch strap on with LED lights, what about you?" Roman lets out a forced moan in reply. "God, that's fuckin' hot. I'd see my insides glow all kinds of pretty colors and shit," he forcibly continues moaning out.

With his blouse fully unbuttoned he shuffles it off, ignoring the fact that he somehow is already getting riled up. Maybe it's the fact that he's surrounded by your presence, or maybe it's the fact that your voice is dangerously near your ear. 

Whatever it may be, it makes him move a shaky hand down to his length, applying a singular squeeze to himself and fighting back the hiss he wants to let out. "Seriously though, can you at least try to hide the fact you smell my shirts while you sleep? They're just sticking out," you chuckle out, tugging at the shirt you had previously spotted.

The silence on his end is oddly tense as you fully pull the shirt out, and you quickly realize why.

"Roman... do you actually cum on my clothes?"

He lets out a quiet 'fuck', keeping a solid hold of his cock through his underwear as he realizes he's been caught. "Shit, I-- yeah, I do, sometimes," he weakly stutters out. You tut at that, heat pooling in the bottom of your panties. "So, what, you jerk off sniffing it and thinking of me, or...?"

Roman's breathing slows, turning into weak pants that you can pick up on your end. "I, uh, yeah." A devious grin tugs at your lips as you shimmy yourself to a more comfortable laying position. 

"What do you think about?" It's a simple question, really, but the way Roman gasps through the phone makes it worthwhile. "I dunno, just-- fuck, things," he struggles to groan out as he rolls to lay on his side, the pillow he was clutching automatically slotting between his legs. 

His cock throbs with need, but something about using your pillow seems too much, even for him. Your shirts, and the occasional pair of underwear were one thing, but your bed felt so clean. Roman didn't want to be the one to make it-- make you dirty.

"Do you think about me touching you?" You hear him mumble out a small 'yeah' in response. You respond back with silence, quietly urging him to keep talking.

His clutch on your pillow tightens, knuckles turning white. "I think about you hugging me, 'cuz you always do when you see me," he whines out, as he continues fondling himself with his one hand while the other keeps its hold on the pillow. "You always, uh, squeeze? And you just smell really good, which is nice, I guess."

"Is that all?" You smile at the whine Roman lets out. "Whatever, I like other shit, too," he mumbles out, trying his hardest to practice restraint.

"What's 'other shit'? Like last week at that fundraiser in the closet, did you like that?" you coyly ask him. The drawn out moan he lets out at the memories is like musicto your ears. "Uh-huh," he weakly moans out, the muffled sound of fabric shuffling causing your mind to race with thoughts of what he's doing.

Roman's hips start a hiccup-y rhythm, attempting to grind into his own touch as he thinks of that night. You had toyed with him all night, dishing out casual yet flirty touches to whoever was there, shooting him a wicked grin any time he caught sight of it. When he had dragged you into a closet to try and stop your little show, you had demanded he went on his knees and apologized for his behavior.

By the end of it, Roman was a sweaty mess as he ground against your leg, trying desperately to keep quiet as you taunted him. Just thinking of how nasty you were to him that night, despite you gracefully letting him use you to get off, sends his head reeling as he gasps at his own touch.

You snicker at the desperate noises he's making. "Are you touching yourself Roman? In my bed of all places? You have no shame, do you?" 

"None," he whimpers out, pulling down his drawls to let his reddened and leaking cock spring out, smacking against his stomach. "Are you using your hand to get off? You sick, fucking puppy?" Roman groans out a quiet 'yes' as he carefully strokes himself at an unsteady rhythm. "I w'na use your pillow, can I-- fuck, can I please use y'r pillow?" He gasps out deliriously.

The shocked laughter you let out through the phone is genuine as you realize he's really into this. "Seriously? How fucking disgusting can you be, asking for my pillow? Was using my clothes to jerk off not enough for you, creep? Go ahead and use it if you're really that much of a degenerate."

He immediately places the pillow on the bed and goes to lay on his stomach, moaning as his dick makes contact with your pillow. He doesn't waste any time, immediately picking up in thrusting speed as he revels in the friction the pillow gives against his cock.

"Oh my god, you're actually doing it. Rutting into my pillow like a dog in heat, absolutely fucking revolting," you hiss against your phone, "y'know I have cameras in my room? I could easily send everyone you know the footage of you fucking my pillow like a flithy pervert. You'd like that, anyway, freak."

Roman's moans grow louder by the minute, every one of your poisonous words shooting straight to his cock. "Fuck, 'm close," he groans out, sweat rolling down his forehead as he desperately chases his release. "Are you seriously going to cum on my pillow, Roman? You're a genuine embarrasment, god."

His breath stutters before he lets out a gutteral moan, ropes of cum shooting onto your pillow and most definitely permanently staining it. "Jesus fuck, Roman, you're a legitimate freak," you giggle out through the phone as he slowly comes to, pants coming out muffled as he buries his head into the unused pillows. 

"What the fuck, man," he groans out, phone still held against his ear. You let out a chuckle, glancing at the time on your phone and realizing it's gotten quite late. "You doing okay, Romes?"

He lets out muffled noises of confirmation. "Yeah, just fuckin' tired now. Thanks for the, uh, phone sex. It was great." 

"Go clean yourself up, Romes. And just put the pillow somewhere in my bathroom, I'll take care of it." He lets out a small whine, awkwardly tucking himself back into his underwear before shuffling to your bathroom. "You're legit going to be the reason I die an early death. I'm gonna fucking, cum my brains out or some shit," he mumbles out as he drops the used pillow on the ground, grabs some wipes and cleans himself up a bit. 

"Sounds like a great way to go out," you hum out in reply.

"Of course you'd think that."

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Turmoil; Chapter 4

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: I’m back on that grind guys. enjoy x

Word Count: 2.744k

“You’re fucking lucky Y/N was there,” Kendall says, struggling not to raise his voice. “You’re so fucking lucky your vote didn’t tip the scale.”

You’re back in Kendall’s office, you and him perched on his sofa while Roman is stood, leaning against the wall.

“I… I just couldn’t,” he says meekly.

“Then why’d we agree to a vote of no confidence?” you ask. “Roman, I get if your feelings are complicated about this, but you almost fucked us over.“

“Why am I doing this again?” he asks, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Kendall scoffs. “You need to think about what you want. Dad’s a horrible person doing horrible things. You can go run to him, but I’m staying here.”

“We go to Norway tomorrow. How about we just have a good time?” Roman suggests. “There’s nothing we- or he, for the matter, can do while we’re abroad. I need… I just need a break.” You roll your eyes and get to your feet.

“Whatever, Roman. I’ll see you at home.” You give Kendall an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder before going out and finding Greg in the bullpen.

“Oh, hello, Y/N.” He finishes whatever it is he was doing and turns in his chair to face you. “I could hear the… commotion from all the way over here. And I saw the police, and, uh, Kendall’s still alive, so…?”

“Yeah. It worked, surprisingly. They had to escort Logan out the conference room.” You drag a hand over your eyes. “Instead of dinner, want to go out for lunch? I like you, Greg, but my brain’s going to be fried by the time the work day’s over, and I don’t want to subject you to that.”

He smooths his dress pants at the knee before getting up. “Yeah, no, yeah, that’d be great.” He glances over your shoulder. “Uh, is he okay?”

You follow his gaze, peering into Kendall’s office to find Roman facing you both, watching intently with his hands folded behind his back. “Don’t mind him. He’s neurotic.” You touch your thumb to the cool gold of the ring sitting on your finger.

“Well, then, after you.” You walk across the street to a quaint brunch spot that’s hailed for it’s food. “I love this place,” Greg tells you. The conversation pivots, however, when you both are seated. “Shiv told me you need some, what should I say… favors?”

“We do, and I’m sorry it’s all been dumped on you.”

“No, it’s okay. It makes me feel important.”

You laugh. “What do you have in mind? Shiv tell you anything?”

“I’ve been thinking- and it’s completely valid if my voice isn’t relevant to you, but I’d like to share my thoughts -that instead of whaling so hard on Logan directly, why not try to get access to him through Marcia? Or any past… connection?”

“Do you think we’ll be able to find anything?”

”I heard, through the grapevine, of course, a few rumors about Marcia and a… new friend.”

“If you find anything,” you say carefully, “I think you know what to do.”

“I also have heard a lot of complaining from people who work directly under him. Or, used to, I guess.”

“I think the general consensus is that he’s a criminal piece of shit. We just can’t find any proof.”

“I think I’ll be able to find something.” He tentatively picks up the menu laid out in front of him.

“Do you think you’ll make it out to Norway?”

“Me? I think Roman would shoot me.”

“You should come, after you deal with things here. Everyone could use a break.”

“I’ll try. I do really need to get out of here for a while.”

“If Roman’s giving you trouble, you can tell me, you know.”

“Oh, it isn’t anything new. I don’t know what it is with him. He has his own issues he doesn’t know how to deal with, so sometimes he projects.”

“That’s profound,” you say. “You’re right to not think anything of it. I know him well enough by now to say I don’t think he thinks before doing anything.”

You both order, and conversation comes easily to the two of you. Greg’s a wholesome guy, you think. He makes you comfortable, and you know you can trust him.

“I wanted to tell you something,” he says after a while. “I haven’t seen Connor in a bit. But last time I did see him, he was on the phone with some lawyer, talking about a lawsuit. And I’m almost 100% sure it wasn’t you, because I know your name isn’t Brad.”

You give your drink a slow stir. “Did you catch what the lawsuit was about?”

“All I heard were the words ‘negligence’ and ‘innkeepers law’.”

You press your lips together. None of this seems right. “Is it possible you can figure out the firm he was speaking with?”

“I’ll do my best. I figured you’d want to know.”

“I do. Thank you, Greg.”

Eventually, after a fight over bill(which you won), you hail a taxi and make your way back home. You kick your heels off by the door, Roman’s dress shoes haphazardly strewn in the same vicinity. You pad into the kitchen and toss your keys onto the counter, clocking Roman sat on the couch.

“Greg, huh?”

“What about him?” You pull a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah, I do. He’s respectful and I can trust him,” you say acridly.

“I respect you. A lot, actually.”

“You don’t show it. It’s not a competition, anyway. Why do you care?”

“We’re engaged.”

You roll your eyes at his childishness. It’s starting to get on your nerves. “We’re just friends, remember? Your words, not mine.” You leave the kitchen and wander into your room. You don’t think Roman’s ever slept in the bed- he’s been living on the couch. He gets up and follows you. “Even if I was into Greg- which I’m not -what’s your deal?”

“I lied to you. That morning.” You’re sitting at your desk now, and stare up at him.

“About?”

“What I remember.” He takes both your hands. “I remember everything I said. I meant it.”

You can feel your face begin to heat up. “Are you drunk?”

“Sober. I swear it.” He uses his finger to draw a cross over his heart, still gripping your hand in his.

“What’s your point here, Roman?”

“I want to try being something. I want us to try being something.”

“Are we just ignoring the fact that you threw us under the fucking bus?”

“Yes, we are. We’ll talk about that later, I promise.” He gets to his knees, resting his cheek on your thigh as he looks at you. “I want to do something right, for once. I want to do this right.”

You’re sat frozen in place. You force yourself to card a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face.

“You were on the news, once. Giving some legal advice before my father went on air for some propagandist bullshit. I thought you were so fucking hot. I mean, I still do-” He cuts himself off. “What I’m trying to say is, I like you, you’re fucking gorgeous, and while the situation we’re in is less than ideal, I want to make something out of it.” You stay silent. “You’re kind, funny, you’re brighter than the fucking sun. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, but I’m just some piece of garbage who keeps making things between us worse. Friends? I was lying, then, too. I’ll never be able to accept you as just a friend. I’ll never stop wanting you.”

“Really?” is all you can manage.

“Yes, really. And I know I’m an asshole. I’m proud of it, 90% of the time. That last 10% is when I’m with you and I feel so fucking guilty I made that precious smile of yours disappear. It eats me alive that I piss you off. That you don’t like me. But that’s all I’ve ever been capable of doing.”

“So change it. Make me like you,” you say quietly. Reluctantly, he pulls himself to his feet and instead hooks his arms under you, hoisting you up. He takes your place in your desk chair, settling you on his lap.

“You deserve lots better than me, Y/N.” Roman keeps his arms wound around you, one tight around your waist, the other across your back, anchoring you to him. “I don’t know what I was doing this morning. I get so scared of him, Y/N. It’s like he was looking into my soul.”

“If you think I deserve better,” you begin, “become better.” You let yourself lean into his chest. “As for the vote, I still think you’re an asshole.”

He sighs. “And that’s fair. Kendall ripped me a new one after you left.”

“Good.” His hand wanders idly up and down your back, gently massaging knots of tension that he can find. “Roman Roy, realizing the consequences of his actions.” You drag a finger across his jaw. “Am I dreaming?”

”If we are, I don’t want to wake up.”

“So, what now?”

“We be all lovey-dovey. I mean, we’re already engaged.”

You snort. “You can’t stop saying that.”

“Who wouldn’t, when engaged to someone who looks like you?” He gives your ass a quick pinch.

“Roman!”

“Sorry. Had to,” he says, grinning stupidly. “Jokes aside though, I want to take it slow.”

“I… Yeah. Let’s take it slow.”

“You do want this, right?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve wanted you since the minute we made eye contact.” You stifle a smile. “You’re sexy when you have a stubble. What happened to it?”

“What, I’m not sexy now?” He absentmindedly draws a hand over his smooth jaw. “I’ll grow it back for you.”

“Hey, I’m just kidding. You’re sexy now, don’t worry.” Roman grunts and moves the two of you to bed.

“What? My back hurts.” He sinks into his side of the bed. “Please don’t make me sleep on the couch again.”

“You’re always welcome here.” You sigh happily and roll out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To brush my teeth and get ready for bed, unlike some slob I know. No outside clothes on my bed, Roman.”

You duck the pillow he chucks at you.

As you progress through your nightly routine, eventually, he comes to stand with you at the sink. You make a face at him before returning to your business. For a bit, he just watches you, happy to just be in your presence. When he starts brushing his teeth, he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you close.

You protest halfheartedly, and he rolls his eyes at you before spitting his toothpaste out. “Quit whining,” he tells you, giving your hip a squeeze.

“I’m building a wall between us tonight,” you threaten lightly.

“I was a rock climber as a kid.” He pokes you gently. “Now that you’ve let me into your cold, shriveled up heart, I’m not leaving.”

“You still have a lot of work to do, Roman,” you chide. “Just because you got onto your knees for the first time in your life doesn’t mean everything’s magically okay.”

You both pad back into your bedroom, crawling under the covers together. “I thought we could kiss and make up,” he says, propped up on his arm, facing you. You curl up on your side, also facing him.

“Absolutely not,” you tell him. “You’re going to sit here and explain yourself. Or you’re sleeping on the floor.”

He sighs, pulling up the blankets so that you’re both covered. “It’s like I blacked out. I was so scared, Y/N.”

“Why? He can’t do anything to you, Roman, especially now that I’m involved in all this.”

“It’s complicated,” he mutters.

”We have time,” you urge gently.

“It’s the way I grew up, I guess.” He collapses onto his back. “He’d snap over the smallest things. My entire childhood I was walking on eggshells. I don’t… It’s such a bad excuse. God, I feel horrible.” He covers his face with his hands.

You crawl over, close enough to him where you’re able to set your cheek onto his chest and still lay comfortably. You’re still facing him, and one of his hands moves to sit on your hip. “I think I was too harsh on you,” you murmur. “Don’t get me wrong, it still was a dick move, but I get it. Just promise you’ll do better, okay?”

He peels his other hand off of his face to wind it through your hair. “I promise. I promise.” You press a kiss to his chest, to which he stiffens. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “Don’t.”

Hesitantly, you pull away from him, settling on your side of the bed and facing the other way. You fall asleep without saying anything else.

You wake up to an empty bed. You thought it was going so well, too. You drag yourself out of bed and find him in the kitchen. Wordlessly, he pushes you a mug of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs.

“I felt bad. But then I remembered I don’t know how to cook,” Roman says meekly. “I’m sorry. It’s getting too real for me.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I, uh, ‘ve never been in a serious relationship. Not with someone I like this much. I don’t… I don’t want to fuck this up, Y/N.”

You try wiping the bleariness from your face. “I don’t understand you, Rome.”

He reaches out, wiping a bit of coffee from your lip. “I hope you can learn to.”

“As long as you put in the effort, too.” You look up at him. “I don’t mean to pressure you into anything you don’t want. I just mean I want you to actually try.” You take a sip from your mug. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you haven’t exactly been… proactive the last week.”

He leans against the counter behind him. “Who’s the one who went out with another man?”

“Roman, that doesn’t have anything to do with anything.” You laugh as he jabs a hand into your side.

“I’m not going to let you forget it.”

“It’s Greg. Wholesome, kind, Greg.”

“You should’ve been out with me.”

“Take me out, then.”

He bridges the small distance between you and fits his hands into the curves of your waist. “I’ll be all over you in Norway, don’t worry.” He takes the heel of his palm and massages circles into the skin of your hip.

“We need to leave soon,” you tell him. You want to kiss him, but you know you can’t.

“I haven’t even packed,” he says lightly.

“Roman!”

“God, I’ll never get sick of hearing that.”

You drag him into the closet and roll his suitcase over to him. “Get to it.”

☾𖤓

At the airport, Roman carries all of your bags for you. He even demands to hold your purse, a cute short strapped Prada you’d treated yourself to the first big check you’d received. He holds it by the handle over his shoulder the same way one would hold a jacket. He looks silly with his sunglasses on and your purse sitting on his back. It’s endearing, and you smile softly at him.

In the car out to the private jet, you and Shiv make plans to go out shopping your first day in Norway. Willa sits cramped next to Connor, and you feel bad, so you and Shiv invite her. Kendall’s practically snoring on Roman’s shoulder. The poor guy’s been working dusk till dawn this whole ordeal. He deserves the break.

You’re glad Logan won’t be taking the same plane as the six of you. You wouldn’t be able to handle it- the paranoia, his snide comments, and hell, even just his voice would set you off.

You and Shiv settle across from each other on the plane, her feet propped up in your lap. Roman’s slumped against you, asleep, and you think he’s drooling. Kendall sits across from him, also asleep, neck pillow and sleeping mask on like the sleeping beauty he is.

You sigh contentedly.

If you close your eyes, you can pretend like the threat that is Logan Roy isn’t dangling over your heads.

If you close your eyes, you can pretend like you’re just travelling with your chosen family.

If you close your eyes, you can pretend like you’re at peace.

[scarletttries]

Roman Roy x Reader Headcanons from Succession Episode 4.09 Church and State

Roman Roy x Reader Headcanons Part Three: Funeral Episode

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Reader

Word count: 1.8k (warnings: spoilers for the new season/episode of Succession, mentions of Logany child abuse and a violent crowd)

Author’s Note: Oh Roman Roy, you lost me with your dedication to a right-wing president, then drew me right back in by whimpering through the better part of an hour in the last episode. Thank you for all the messages asking for some headcanons from the Funeral episode, because it was a doozy! I hope you enjoy and thank you for every request that's come in during this season of Succession, I know it's going to keep me busy for a long time and I love that! Roman Roy masterlist here 😊

Roman Roy Headcanons from Logan's Funeral:

- When you stood straightening Roman's tie that morning, hearing that same rehearsed speech for the hundredth time, you felt like you were loading up an aircraft carrier with too many passengers and not enough fuel; it was an impending disaster that could only be of the most mammoth proportions. Since the day he said that strangled goodbye down the phone to his father, Roman had been stoic, blasé even, in his grief. Or his pre-grief as he proudly called it. But you knew him and you knew grief better than that, watching over the course of days as each of the threads holding his grinning mask in place slowly seemed to unravel, leaving his upbeat façade hanging on by a thread.

- As you tugged at your own black outfit, never a comfortable occasion to dress for, you watched him pace behind you, unable to take his eyes off his own reflection, smoothing out his eyebrows with a flourish.

"I'm kind of the man today right?" The question was rhetorical and the tone was smug as he turned on his heels to race over to you, wrapping his arms around you in a way you know he would have never dreamed of a year ago. You were so proud of how comfortable he had become with you, but you wished it extended to his feelings about his father's death.

"Oh definitely, and you look the part too." You retorted with a matching, albeit false, smile leaning in to steal a kiss before tenderly picking up his hand. " How are you feeling?"

He shrugged and sighed loudly at the question, tired of everyone asking him, even if he knew you were the only person who genuinely cared.

"I feel great! I'm going to absolutely kill this thing, and Menken's going to eat it up with his little silver spoon, and then we're one step closer to stopping the GoJo deal and then bing-bang-bong me and you rule the world." He said it so matter-of-factly it was almost like you'd asked him if he'd been to pick up his dry cleaning, clearly not quite facing the reality of the day. You just hoped that would last past the funeral and until he was safely home again.

- Unfortunately we know that was never meant to be. The moment you see him gingerly walking up to the microphone, all eyes on him, you know he's not okay. His hands are shaking as he picks up the familiar flashcards you helped him write, his voice cracks on the first line and then he glances up and finds your eyes in the crowd, with a desperate pleading look that has you and the Roy siblings quickly on your feet and approaching him like he's a wounded animal, scared it will dart away and do itself more damage.

- He breaks into uncontrollable sobs the minute Shiv's hand lands on his arm, and you feel just awful for letting it get to this stage, the whole world watching a beaten dog unable to defend itself even after its cruel master has long died. As his siblings comfort him, their own grief welling up in their eyes as his tiny frame seems to shrink in on itself, unable to support the weight of its own suffering, he mumbles out, "Can you do it?" It takes you a moment to realise he's looking at you, and Ken and Shiv don't seem happy with the idea, but Roman's eyes are pleading and his whole body is trembling and you've heard the speech enough times and it might salvage something for Roman so you reluctantly nod, walking up to the microphone before your brain can kick in enough to stop you or think about just how high the stakes are here.

- You don't apologise or acknowledge Roman's tears as you start, launching straight into "Logan Roy was a great man," to the relief of everyone in the church. You're careful to deliver it with the gravitas it deserves, sticking to his professional accomplishments and forcing yourself to stare dead ahead, not daring to glance at the shivering child of a man sniffling into a tissue in the front row. As the well-rehearsed lines come to an end you can't help but try to damage control for Roman, with a line about the "overwhelming love Logan's children felt from him, today and every day of their lives" hoping desperately people will show some small mercy to the man you've grown to love. As you carefully descend the stairs to the polite applause, Ken gives you an approving nod, shuffling to microphone himself, unable to let the day pass without making a performance of his own. But you don't hear a word he says as you sit stiffly next to Roman, shoulder to shoulder like you used to do in work meetings before he knew how to ask to hold your hand. You use every ounce of restraint to keep him upright, knowing he's desperate to collapse in a heap on your lap, but knowing you can't let that happen until you two are safely back in the privacy of your home, knowing Roman will thank you for your resolve another day.

- As the Roy siblings approach the showy mausoleum you hang back by the car, letting them have their moment of privacy alone. You receive a few words of praise from the old guard for stepping up today, and have to apologise again to Willa that Connor didn't get to say his piece, but mostly you just brace yourself for the inevitable, ready to fling open the car door as Roman stomps away from the ceremony just moments after it begins. Following him into the car and pulling the door shut behind you, you finally pull him into your arms, grateful for the dark tinted windows as he starts to fall apart, splitting along every crack that Logan Roy carved into his fragile skin. His chest heaves against your legs as he begs you not to let them put him in that cold, stone crypt, that wants to stay with you, he wants to be wherever you are. You stroke his hair and make him a promise that you'll always be by each other's sides, whatever this or the next life brings, reassuring him just enough that he can lift his tear-stained face and press his lips to yours, wanting so desperately to feel that familiar rush of life as reminders of mortality close in around him.

- You're not exactly sure what Roman did to deserve any help from Gerri, but by the time you get to the evening soiree, she's already got Hugo spinning the narrative that Roman's tears were planned and rehearsed, an act of sympathy to show that Waystar is no longer under the control of a cold tyrant. There are a few doubtful looks from Lucas and his posse but the president seems half-convinced, commending you on 'your whole stand-by-your-man act' commenting that he's sure it will play well with voters in the Midwest, whatever that means. You just have to politely smile and nod, almost grateful he's the kind of man that doesn't think women should be heard considering the venom you're sure would pour from your mouth the second it opened in his direction.

- Despite the best efforts at damage control Kendall still finds a video of his brother sobbing trending on twitter, and the moment you leave his side, Ken's there to tell Roman that's he fucked everything, that can't do anything right, that's he lucky Ken still needs him or he'd be out of Waystar, and then you'd been done with him too. By the time you return from an extended trip to the bathroom, having hidden in a stall for five minutes rather than face interrupting a bizarre interaction between Shiv and her mother happening at the sinks, Roman's nowhere to be found. You can feel your stomach acid rising up and eating at the back of your throat as you try and ask his staff if they saw which way he'd gone, a deep pang of panic rushing through your system when a waiter tells you he's gone to see the protests outside.

- Formal black heels cast aside you sprint down the street, praying he hasn't done anything to get himself killed, knowing more than anything Roman will be craving a taste of violence to fill the void his father left. Over the deafening sound of your own frantic pulse, you heard him before you saw him, chastising the crowd as he leaps over the fencing, shoving a man twice his size and crumbling to the ground as he pushes him right back. By the time you get through the gap between guard rails Roman is on the floor, curled in the foetal position, exactly where he'd found himself whenever he'd let his father down. Every stomping foot and aching bruise made him feel close to Logan again, like he was finally playing his part, until a pair of hands dragged him back to his feet.

- Preparing to lash out again he snatched his hands away from his good Samaritan, only to be met with you, sobbing at him, looking as downtrodden as he had all afternoon. Roman was taken aback - he'd always been the one reduced to tears, trying to disguise his sobs with echoing laughs and rubbing his eyes a little too hard, but he didn't think he'd ever made someone cry before, certainly not over him. His stomach dropped as you tried to call out his name, choking on your shaky breath and tears, looking half-broken as you brought your hands up to his grazed face, wiping a trickle of blood from a cut over his eye. Your eyes looked almost frightened as you waited for him to push your hands away again, but instead his arms closed in around squeezing you tightly again his chest as he dragged you both back behind the barricade.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm okay, we're okay." Was all Roman could bring himself to repeat, new to reassurance but desperate to stop you feeling the way he usually did, hoping for once to be the cure to tears, rather than the one left spilling them. He just stood there, holding you in his arms as the line of armoured police went past, feeling you shake against his chest, so relieved that he was okay, and so exhausted with the fact that you both always had to be, despite everything. But as he clutched you tight, resting his cheek on the top of your head, chanting endless 'it's going to be okays', feeling every ounce of the concern and love shared between you, at some point he started to really believe it.

[jaebeomsbitch]

Hi! Pls could you write a Roman fic with the following prompt: 36.“i know i said we couldn’t do this anymore, but i need you. please.”? Thank You!

Scotch and Tears

Summary: Comforting Romey and hurting him at the same time or Roman comes to you needing release and the painful reminder that he'll never be loved because he's broken.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Hurt, Crying, Jerking off Roman...

A/N: Not edited and written at 2 AM like every other fic of mine. I never ever intend to make this one so sad but.... Romey is just a sad little boy trapped in a dog cage :( GN!reader

You don’t know who you expected on your front door but it wasn’t him. Maybe a DoorDash delivery person or another Amazon package but not Roman Roy. His hands intertwined in front of him, that cocky smirk of his face. 

“If it isn’t my favorite whore” he says, a little too boisterous for your liking. 

“Welcome in” you say sarcastically as he bulldozes his way inside your apartment despite his small stature. 

“God if I thought you dressed shitty… this is a fucking rat-infested dying Victorian orphans type of shitty” he says, his hazel eyes analyzing every single detail of your apartment. You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorframe of your small living room. You’d never have the type of money he had but you were comfortable. More than the dozens of New Yorkers that couldn’t heat their apartments through winter or the ones that had eleven roommates. 

“Why are you here Romulus?” You ask in a cool toned manner. His head snapping towards yours, he hadn’t heard that name in a while. Not since… well not since his father died. 

“What, not happy to see an old pal?” He grins, taking off his little leather gloves. He makes a face as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to clean your little side table placing the gloves on it.

“Why are you here?” You ask stalking forward. 

“Don’t make me ask you again Romulus” you say with a bit more force in your tone. Roman gulps, those big doe eyes looking up at you with a mixture of fear and something else. That underlying swirl of emotion you were all too used to seeing many years ago. 

“Don’t-“ he says, trying to act strong but his voice slightly wavers under your watchful gaze. He tried to busy himself by taking his coat off. 

“I saw he died” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest standing toe to toe with Roman. He grunts in acknowledgment, afraid of opening his mouth. Afraid that the pent up tears will come crashing down the fragile walls he built. Because truthfully Roman hadn’t been coping. He thought it would get better with time. 

Thought a shrink would fix him, but they never did. No matter how expensive, how experienced they didn’t understand Roman, not in the way you do. So he comes crawling back every time. The pain and loss of memory crushing him into a little ball. 

Your fingers reach out to him holding his bicep lightly but he shrugs you off almost violently. He hates himself for being back here, for needing you. 

“Yeah he’s dead, should’ve gone a danced in his chew toy mausoleum when you had the chance” he tries to joke but it comes out slightly strained, at least to your ears. 

You circle him, reaching for the expensive bottle of scotch he gave you as a parting gift all those years ago. Popping in some ice cubes already prepared for his little digs but surprisingly nothing comes out. He gulps it down like he’s hasn’t had a drink in weeks. He quickly pours another glass taking that one back wincing at the burn

“Slow down,” you say sternly

“I’ll- I’ll fucking buy you another one” he immediately fires looking at you with an intensity. You can tell he hates being here. Well, hates that he has to be here again. He’d been okay for the most part but then every single person he loved had died or left him.

You silently take a seat on your couch, sipping on the scotch savoring the complexities on your tongue. Roman grips the glass tightly, hands shaking. 

“I-“ his voice wavers, that first sense of vulnerability sinking deep into Roman’s bones and it fucking disgusts him. It rips him to shreds that he can’t keep his voice steady. 

“I know I said-” he continues, filling up another glass. Watching the little ice cubes swirl in the amber liquid. 

“I couldn’t… we couldn’t… please,” he says looking at you with those big puppy dog eyes, all wet, as he tries to hold back his tears. 

“C’mere” you say softly spreading your legs and downing your scotch. You place the empty glass on the side table over his gloves as Roman shuffles towards you like a scolded child. 

His heart sinks deep into his gut. The vile thoughts filling up his head, screaming at him not to do it but, he sits on your lap with shaky breath. Your fingers find the familiar path towards his knees. 

Just like that the words dim and his breath picks up. The warmth of your palms seeping into his slacks, you knew that if you could see his eyes you’d see the swirl in them. The pink, smokey, tendrils of lust churning in his brain. 

It wasn’t that Roman hated you, he didn’t. In some sick twisted Roman way he loved you. You were the only person who could touch him, the only person who could untuck his fresh pressed dress shirt and undo his slacks. The only one who could slide his zipper down without him immediately going into a manic state. But after the comfort always came the guilt. That’s what he hated, he hated the crashing of sadness and despair pulling him down after your touch was over. 

Hated that he had to imagine it was your hands on him. That he yearned for you but you never sought him out. Not once, not even after he’d wined and dined you. Not after he let you into his fucked up head. 

Of course Roman never knew the truth. It hurt. It hurt seeing him cry, it hurt seeing him broken beyond repair. You take solace in the fact that you were the only one that brought him relief even if it was momentary. So you press your face into the line of his back, fingers taking his leaking cock out. Roman’s practiced spit falling onto his cock, his eyes closed shut not wanting to look at it. Not right now. 

He hated you for abandoning him. Hated the way he instantly moans when your warm hand wraps around his cock. The pool of heat burning deep in his gut.

“Fuck” he moans at your slow strokes. You wanted to prolong it. Smell his clean scent a little longer, feel the flex of his thighs on yours, memorize the hitch of his breath but Roman hasn’t been able to get off in a long time. 

His breath heavy as more profanities leave this pink lips of his. 

“Oh fuck” he groans, fingers digging into his slacks. You swirl your palm over his sensitive head, his toes curling in his dress shoes, jaw slacked. 

“Fuck I’m- so fucking disgusting” he swallows his spit. Your other hand working at his balls, rolling the skin in between your fingers matching your strokes. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck fuck” he whispers hurriedly, fingers clenching the fabric harder, his head hanging in submission. Giving into the pleasure, his stubbled jaw pressing into the pin-striped light-blue dress shirt. 

You missed him. You missed his stupid quips. Missed the way his dumb little grin would show the dimple on his cheek. You missed that stupid idiot even when he was insulting you. 

“G-god” he chokes.

“Just me” you chuckle, stroking him faster knowing his telltale signs like the back of your hand. You could feel his thighs clenching under your forearms, his back tightening, and his hips trying desperately to follow your movements. 

He finally comes as he heaves for breath. A strangled noise leaving his throat as he ruins his slacks. All the pent up cum spilling on his stomach. You stroke his cock until he’s a whimpering mess. The back of his head tilted back pressing into your shoulder. 

You wanted to hug him. You wanted to tell him everything would be okay but you know he’d only push you off. You hold your tongue as he slowly sits up pushing your hands away and tucking himself back into his pants. He swallows hard, trying to busy himself with wiping the cum off with a napkin. 

You keep your lips sealed when you see his face. That anguished look in his eyes, another painful reminder of why you didn’t do this anymore but his little ‘please’ broke you down. He leaves mumbling some stupid line about you being a whore. His heart aching as he tries to straighten out his wrinkled slacks. 

Your heart hurts, it hurts so much but this is what Roman did. He used and abused because he was broken. You could never fix him not even if you tried but what would happen when you found a partner? When you wouldn’t let him into your apartment again?

The next day another bottle of scotch sits at your doorstep, you tuck it away into the same cupboard, holding his glass as a tear slips down your cheek. 

[cato616]

NEGOTIATING OVER US (part three)

roman roy x fem reader

note: im glad actually at least a few people saw the other posts i was honestly expecting none at all, so yey thanks <3

summary: you're expecting to go back to see roman today; are you hoping to experience something like yesterday with him? or are you planning to have a normal "negotiation" (since of course you know you don't want to seel) day. Keeps you excited

content: some spicy spice and well as always degrading treatment from roman

You're pretty anxious about today, cleaning over every single table of the café every ten minutes and at the same time, taking orders, you really make those tables shine by the way; you're waiting until Liza arrives so she can start her shift and you can be gone already. cleaning, coffee, cleaning, coffee, cleaning... LIZA! she finally arrived and you dropped the rag when you were about to clean the counter for the third time, you really had to put your mind on something else because this types of meetings makes you impatient.

"hey Liza!" you waive at her. "You seem really happy to see me" she said to you with somewhat of a worried face. "yeah! i gotta be somewhere and i wa-" "you want me to cover the next few hours" Liza interrupted you finishing your sentence. "yes! you can't say no, i am your boss tho" you laugh with her. "where are you going this time?" she asks in a friendly way. "just having a date with-" "oh!" Liza adds mid sentence seeming amused, you continue. "... with the roy family" you say. "oh..." Liza's face changed to disappointment. "yeah... they're still trying to make me sell" you said to her while you start to put your coat on; since Liza is one of the few people that knows about the history of the café, when you said that, she felt a little blue about it. "so, are you... going to sell?" She asks you pitifully. "I don't want to sell Liza... im just, meeting them anyway... roman always came here, i am now going over there" Liza nods with her head smiling at you and then waiving goodbye when you start leaving.

You start walking over your grand meeting with roman roy, and just by knowing that, it makes impatient all over again, you can't think about it until you get to arrive there, so you put your headphones on and start listening to music to escape your mind a little bit.

You're a block away from the building, and my my, it looks even bigger than last time, you start having a lot of vertigo by just looking at it.

Here we are now entering hell. "good morning hey, im here to see roman roy?..." you had to ask the receptionist since you couldn't go up in an elevator without authorization. "uh... yes, you may go" she kindly directs you to the security guards who would let you go in with their key cards; very intimidating men, feels like they destroy animal plushies just for fun. you walked really fast into the elevators, those big guys had some scary faces too, who hired them? never mind, that makes sense.

You're in the elevator, breathing, in and out. You can't help but to feel nervous about these places; these people makes you drop huge gouts of sweat over your forehead, and under your armpits, that's why you needed to relax first. 'ding.' You arrived at your floor, it's time to shine.

Right after you set a foot outside the elevator, you look up, and you see roman waiting for the same one. You stared into each other's eyes at first and even for a millisecond you felt you wanted to say something different by just looking at him, but you immediately great him like an every day person. "hey roman, good to see you" you unintentionally stretch your hand to him, he obviously doesn't copy you and do the same thing instead looks down at it as he feels grossed out by the gesture, and starts laughing, of course. "oh yeah yeah mrs. princess come on in to the castle" he stretched your hand in an ironic way while making a silly voice. "don't greet me like that, I'm not the fucking president of the united states." You two start walking to his office and well, you looked very solemn by his attitude, but deep inside you did felt a bit embarrassed, you never actually did that when he would stop by your shop the other times. "(you sigh) always so delighted to see you roman" you sarcastically tell him. He opens the door for you to go in. "yeah don't worry darling, i know that you hate me and blah blah blah". You sit down on those sofas he had in his office, and after he said that you zone out and start to reflect about it, i don't think I've actually ever hated him, i said the words but never felt it.

You zone back in when he suddenly sits on another seat in front of you, there's a bit of silence, there's words that are trying to come out of your mouth but you're worried how much it would change the atmosphere in the room. "i've... never actually hated you... by the way." Roman seems astounded by your comment, he has a slight smirk on his face. "oh wow, really? you're the first one then" he then suddenly starts to make deep eye contact with you; you're the type that can't stand eye contact for even a second, so your eyes start to wonder somewhere else to avoid him; oh shit no, not down there, look up! look up, the window, perfect, stay still. Of course roman noticed your anxious look around the place, and those accidental wonder eyes you gave him. "what? what you looking at? a plane?". You're now tired of his teasing at this time of the day, and get to the point.

"i only came back here to tell you once more that i won't ever sell my coffee shop" you told him very confident, you felt good about yourself after saying it; he smiles at you as if he believes that you don't know what you're saying. "what?" as you start to feel on edge by his silence and his smirking, that unfortunately makes the insecurity come back to your body, damn you, roman you bully. "maybe for now let's say you don't wanna sell, sure" he's making you feel confused and irritated with his stupid superior complex. "i am not going to sell roman" you said to him very serious this time. "I've told you about it already" you remind him about your story. "oh yeah boo-hoo sad backstory-" You struggle to feel confident at times, but you don't let people like that in your life, he really does feel like he's better the anyone else. "I'm leaving, hope you have a good day you little shit" you rapidly get up from your sit almost about to leave the room. "okay waitwaitwait stop". roman didn't even felt like getting up but he did like saying wait very fast. "i don't know why i stopped, but of course that you roman tend to be fucking selfish, egocentric, and a bitch, but who knows why, i forgot about that" you yelled.

Quietness fills up the room; your face is hulk red and his is blue; he looks down, defeated. "pff, wow, i thought you said you didn't hate me" You couldn't believe that he felt sad about it, however, you were deeply fighting your inner self, started to feel a little regretful. "oh so apparently you're the victim, nice one" you sarcastically put your thumbs up to him. You paused, he didn't say anything. You didnt want to at the moment, but deep down you wanted him to feel remorse; you felt like you should be civilized about it. "just try to say sorry perhaps and we can then, continue our day"

He starts to get up very slowly from his seat, his eyes gradually starts to direct themselves from the floor to then your eyes, he's now very delicately getting closer to you. Your face meets his face, you stayed very still, not a word coming through your mouth. His eyes slightly start to shift, left to right, like if he's trying to decipher what your eyes are telling him. then he quietly says, "i am, sorry... i didn't say, anything about our meeting, last night". You froze.

Although you were pretty aroused by that meeting yesterday and actually wanted to have something like that happen again, the adrenaline; you weren't very good at confronting it. So now you felt it became harder to breath, while your heart was beating faster. "You want me to say something about it?" He wanted you to respond as of course you were at the moment, unavailable, your mind is currently out of thoughts. "um.. a-about, what?" you continue to not admit the events. "I'm not stupid- you fucking want me, don't you?"

continue

[shivvroys]

the cost of our desired wrongs

shivlina oneshot set during 'too much birthday'

for @jeniffercheck <333 and part of the shivlina fic exchange

cw: panic attacks

read below or on ao3

hold me like we're dying from the liquor that we drank down in hotel rooms,

to feel warm in cold love

-

Karolina’s already worn out by the time she gets to the venue. But the world moves to the sway of Logan Roy’s hand, so here she is, still dressed in her work clothes and bickering with a girl that has rhinestones glued to the inner corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have you on the list.” The girl looks far from sorry.

It takes all of Karolina’s strength not to flick those stupid little gems clean off the girl’s face. Instead, she puts on her tightest smile, and pulls out her phone, ready to text Logan a sincere apology and go home. He’d been giving her shit ever since Kendall’s meltdown at the press conference. One more temper tantrum would be just another drop in the bucket.

“No fucking way. Look sis, Dad got us a new nanny.” Roman’s shrill voice sends an irritating shiver down her spine, like nails on a chalkboard. “She’s taller than an SUV, right? Just making sure.”

“Hello, Roman.” She turns to see Roman and Shiv walking in, with Tom trailing behind them like an overgrown shadow. Soon enough, Connor and Willa join them. Karolina starts to get a nauseating feeling of déjà vu.

“Hi, guys.” she greets the rest of the Roy litter. Shiv raises a pointed eyebrow.

“Hi, Karolina. Dad doesn’t think we can sweeten the swede without someone holding our hand, or are you just here to keep Kendall from nailing himself to a golden Supreme cross?” The green dress and tussled curls almost dull the sting of Shiv’s dig. Even as a joke, the suggestion of holding Shiv’s hand in public settles like lead in her belly.

Before she gets the chance to respond, Connor cuts in.

“I just want to say, before the flies starts buzzing—this had nothing to do with my physical prowess. I was inebriated.”  He points to the brace on his arm. Jesus fucking Christ, this family.

“I’m sure no one would doubt that.” He seems to take that as a compliment, judging by the way his eyes light up. Next to him, Willa shoots her a pointed glare, her arm wrapping tighter around Connor’s uninjured one.

As the rest of the group pass by the girl at the entrance and her stupid fucking list, Shiv hangs back, turning to Karolina.

“What, cold feet?” she asks, pointing to the nauseating pink hallway leading into the club.

“I’m not on the list, apparently.” Karolina shrugs.

“Unfortunately, I can’t let guests in unless they’re on the list.” the girl pipes up, gripping her little clipboard like a life raft.

Shiv throws Karolina a wicked smile, before pinning the girl down with a glare.

“Well she’s on Forbes’s 50 Most Powerful Women in Media. That good enough of a fucking list for you?” She barely lets the girl gasp out a surprised breath, before all but dragging Karolina with her down the hallway. Neither of them turn back to check on the girl.

“That was mean.” Karolina lets out a quiet laugh.

“Well, she better get over it if she doesn’t want those cool rhinestones to fall off with the tears.” she says, her brows furrowed in faux concern. Bathed in the pink glow of the hallway, she looks softer, blurry at the edges in a way that makes Karolina want to grasp her, lest she vanishes into the glowing light. Like a fata morgana, luring Karolina out into the deep end.

“So, uh, did dad really send you to chaperone us?” Shiv asks.

“I don’t know.” she sighs. “He just told me to make sure nothing gets out of hand. You know what he’s like…”

“Never met a room he couldn’t walk into and be the epicenter of, yeah. He’s probably got Kerry refreshing Twitter every two seconds, fiending for updates.” she shakes her head, amused. He was, and he’s had Kerry forward each one to Karolina as well.

As they approach the end of the hallway, Tom’s tall frame comes into view. Shiv pauses, looking down before addressing Karolina.

“Hey, I’ll, uh, see you around? Later?” her lips are pouted and pink, and so terribly inviting, but the looming shadow at the end of the hallway reminds Karolina of who she is, and who she is with.

“I don’t know, Shiv.”

She resists the urge to reach a hand over and smooth out the tiny wrinkles forming between Shiv’s brows, instead breaking eye-contact and looking straight ahead until they’ve reached Tom, where she leaves Shiv behind.  Back on the cold shore, the sand feels like shards of glass under Karolina’s feet, the glow of her beautiful mirage burning even brighter on the back of her eyelids as she walks away from it.

-

She’s two martinis down and fresh out of a very uncomfortable encounter with Kendall, when Logan calls. Karolina wishes the shitty techno music were loud enough to drown out the man’s rough beratement. He’s mad that Karolina hasn’t been keeping enough tabs on all of his children while simultaneously tracking Matsson’s whereabouts. She doesn’t bother trying to explain to the man that his children aren’t joined at the hip, and she can’t split herself into every goddamn corner of the massive club, and even if she could, they were all purposefully avoiding her like the plague anyway. Instead, she throws out ‘yes’s and ‘alright’s and ‘of course, Logan’s like she’s trying to calm down a rabid dog, and resists the urge to smash her phone against the bar top when he hangs up on her.

She motions to the waiter for another drink, and watches the VIP area above, where Roman, Shiv and Kendall are either making up, or breaking each other down. Her money’s on the latter.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Tom and Greg huddled together, whispering like they’re planning a heist. She can feel the dread of her own shame creep inside, but she can’t help the rush of jealousy that washes over her as she sizes Tom up. God, she needs to stop drinking gin when she’s already feeling bitter.

He’s tall, sure, and handsome in an unthreatening way, but where’s the fun in that? What universe had made him and Shiv a match? Did he make her laugh—with his broad shoulders and naïve oafishness? Did Shiv trust her heart to be safe in those big, warm hands? Was he just that good of a fuck?

Briefly, Karolina wonders what it says about her that, for all her inflated sense of superiority, she has essentially become this man’s seat warmer. 

She can’t admit to herself why the sight of him has become so unbearable lately, so she throws back her drink and leaves the bar, hoping to come up with a destination on the way.

-

The lights are starting to look fuzzy and Logan’s texts have turned silly by the time she sees Shiv again. A giant, glossy version of her, anyway.

Wife of Tom Wambsgans.

Karolina stares at the letters until they turn to giant splotches of ink in front of her glassy stare.

“Yeah, you like that?”

Karolina turns to look at Shiv leaning against the doorway.

“I don’t even remember when this picture was taken. I kind of look manic.” Shiv continues, stepping into the room until she’s right next to the giant poster. She tries to mimic the facial expression she’s wearing in the picture.

"It's good. Funny." Karolina sucks in her cheeks, looking into the half-empty glass she’s holding. She can’t remember what number she’s on, but it’s definitely one too many for the conversation she’s recklessly directing them towards.

"What? Wife of Tom Wambsgans—that’s the part you're upset about? Not the bit about me being a street-walker?” Shiv puts on an incredulous smile.

“Does that bit offend you because it implies you need the money?”

That wipes the smile away from Shiv’s face. She crosses her arms, playful mood suddenly deflated.

“Ok, what crawled up your ass and died?” she says, still trying to keep some lightness in her tone.

“It was a joke, Shiv.” It hadn’t been, but Karolina feels weightless and weighed down all at once, and her ears are still ringing from Logan’s screaming. A part of her wants to see if she can get Shiv to match that same pitch and blind outpour of anger. See if they share more than just their eyes.

“Funny.” she clenches her jaw. “Yeah, no—see, if I were making a joke, which—I am, this is a joke.” She gestures to the space between them, that great chasm of joy and fucking laughter.

“If I were making a joke I would say something like—I don’t know, how do you manage to fuck up a task so badly that your boss has to call the people you’re supposed to be tracking to ask where you are? That’s pretty funny, too, right?” she leans back against the poster, eyes narrowed into slits.

Karolina nods, gripping her glass tighter. What makes her eyes sting with tears is the fact that Shiv looks so fucking beautiful right now, her hair messier than she’d normally allow herself to have it, and a dangerous sort of reckless energy illuminating her like a halo. And all Karolina can think about is a fucking phone.

A hunter at heart, Shiv knows that sinking her teeth into frightened game sours the meat, so she knows when to back off and let her prey breathe. Make the chase last longer. And Karolina’s aware of this, she can tell when Shiv’s concern is part of a game she’s playing. So, when she sees her take a deep breath, and cock her head to the side, Karolina knows she’s just sharpening her canines.

“What’s up with that, anyway? He still upset over the press conference?” she asks, brow furrowed like she’s opening on Broadway.

Another drink and Karolina might mistake it for real kindness. Instead, she smiles tightly and shrugs.

“Maybe. Maybe he thought I looked at him funny during a meeting. Does it matter?” she says.

Being reminded that there are always bigger, angrier beasts lurking in the darkness of the forest seems to settle Shiv’s hunger for carnage, so she doesn’t press the issue further.

They are spared from having to say something to fill the silence when Roman barges into the room, instinctively sticking to Shiv’s side like a magnet. Like two blind kittens crawling their way to each other for warmth.

“Hey, I got a pin on Matsson. You coming?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Satisfied with the answer, he turns to Karolina, as if just then noticing her existence.

“Oh, hey Vesper Lynd. How’s the spying going?” he shoots her a shit-eating grin.

“Great. Thank you, Roman.” she keeps her eyes glued to the drink she’s holding.

He doesn’t say anything, throwing Shiv an amused grin before raising his own glass towards Karolina in a mock toast.

Shiv looks like she wants to say something, but it’s gone with a quick tightening of her jaw. Instead, she bumps her arm against Roman’s, motioning towards the doorway. In the haze of the colorful lighting and strong alcohol, Karolina can barely see the line that separates them as they walk away.

Like the mouth of a wave, she turns to the poster and sees that fucking headline looming above her head, its edges sharper than knives.

Wife of Tom Wambsgans.

-

“I’m sorry, Logan, but this doesn’t really fall under my—”

“Yeah, I just pay you a million a fucking year to write flashcards. Consider yourself off duty. Enjoy my son’s fucking tea party!”

Logan makes sure she also catches the fucking useless he spits out before hanging up the phone. This time, her phone gets a screen-full of sticky residue as she slams it down on the table in front of her. The screen doesn’t crack, to her disappointment, instead lighting up with more work emails she’ll probably have to deal with the next day. She doesn’t trust herself to make it to the bar without wobbling, so she wipes the phone on her pants, hoping to get some of the vodka cran off of it. All she gets is a sticky stain on her thigh and the faint urge to vomit. 

She takes that as her cue to slink back home where she can lick her wounds in peace, without a bunch of influencers gyrating against her when she’s just trying to find a spot to sit still in for five goddamn minutes. She doesn’t have the layout of the club memorized, and the flashing lights make her even dizzier than the gin, so trying to find the exit out of this sensory nightmare turns into a very treacherous journey. She can’t even tell where she’s ended up when she sees Shiv make a beeline for her. The music is louder, so all she sees is a disheveled mass of ginger curls and flashing eyes, before Shiv grabs hold of her elbow and drags her into a quieter room. It looks like a giant nursery, complete with a huge, dead-eyed teddy-bear that makes the hair on the Karolina’s neck stand up. 

Shiv doesn’t pay any attention to their deranged playmate, snapping Karolina back to attention.

"Did you know? About dad spying on Kendall's kids?"

Karolina shakes her head, trying to focus on the question. She could swear she had some justification for that prepared in the back of her mind, but she can’t find it through the fog that’s shrouded her mind for weeks like twilight in a cemetery. The only thing she can focus on is the rapid rise and fall of Shiv’s chest. Her eyes must’ve betrayed her, because Shiv takes her silence as an admission of guilt.

"Oh, so that's morally okay to you, but me being married is where you grow a fucking conscience?" Shiv scoffs, crossing her arms.

Karolina could afford many things, but never that. Not anymore.

"Do you think I get a say in what your father decides he wants done?” she tries to emphasize her point by gesticulating, but it comes out awkward and shaky, so she crosses her arms tightly instead, digging her nails into her arms in a vain attempt at sobering up. “I just wag my tail like everybody else in the room and I go fetch.”

“Well, maybe you just like fetching, Karolina.” Shiv throws out sharply.

She shouldn’t have had a sip of that fucking alcohol, because now Karolina watches Shiv’s smug smile and feels every ounce of self-restrain draining from her body. Anger swells inside of her like a balloon, and she watches herself watching it grow, bracing for its explosion. She wants to hurt Shiv in a way that she knows the other woman is familiar with. In a way that will leave them both wrecked and desolate, and begging for more. If there’s anything she’s learnt from spinning like a satellite around Logan Roy’s orbit, it’s to take a punch like sweet wine. To lap it up and stick her cup out for more.

Mostly, though, she wants to kiss Shiv. She wants to run her hands through her hair and rub soft circles along her temples, where her headaches always start. She wants to go home and have Shiv curl herself around her, her body a question mark that Karolina never wants to unravel. 

The room they are in is darker, quieter, but Karolina’s eyes still catch the glint of Shiv’s wedding band, and a loud pop goes off in her head.

“I guess you’re right, Shiv. But you don’t seem to mind when it’s you I’m fetching for, right?” she swallows harshly. “Like when you and Tom have a fight, and you need someone to fuck the anger away? Then I’m convenient.” she watches Shiv’s eyes widen.

“Oh, please! You’re going for the suffering side piece, really? I thought you had more self-respect than that.”

The teddy-bear doesn’t offer any input. The walls, though, start growing darker, crowding in on Karolina.

“No, don’t worry, I know my place in your life. Clear as fucking day.” she throws out a bitter laugh.

At least Shiv looks as haggard as she feels, though it brings Karolina more sorrow than joy.

“Right. That’s why you’ve been acting so sour, huh?” Shiv raises a hand to her chin, letting out an ironic tsk. “Funny, ‘cause I seem to remember you being the one who put out the fucking wedding announcement. And—correct me if I’m wrong, but was that not before you had your legs wrapped around my head like you were the sluttiest little cowgirl at the county fair riding the mechanical bull?” she finishes making her point by shaking her head.

Karolina can tell she’s just getting started, too, just stoking her appetite before diving in for the main course. She tries to come up with something to say, anything to make the knot in her chest release. In the dim hum of the room, she can hear her own ragged breathing. She can feel it crawling over her, that great all-encompassing dread.

She tries to draw herself up to her full height, swallowing the knot growing in her throat. “And what a good job I did, right? Almost made it seem like a real marriage.”

“Better than nothing, though, isn’t it?” Shiv puckers her lips in faux concern. “Tell me, Karolina, who’s waiting for you at home?”

Karolina doesn’t have Shiv’s boarding school background, but she went to a public high-school in a neighbourhood where every kid was fighting to be considered middle-class, so she knows how sweet passive aggression feels dripping off the tongue.

“Siobhan…” she starts. “Do you think that’s sadder than marrying someone whose eyes light up more when he sees your father than when he sees you?”

Despite the drumming in her ears, she catches Shiv’s sharp inhale as the brunt of her words hit her. It’s such a miserable type of satisfaction, to tear at the flesh of a loved one—if she could call the wound they’ve been picking at love.

It feels like a giving up and scratching at chickenpox marks. All those scars for one moment of relief. In the absence of a gentle hand to rub soothing circles of calming lotion over the marks, she supposes it’s only natural to find solace in the pain.       

“You’re fucking pathetic.” Shiv says, as if she’d been contemplating the fact since their very first meeting.

“Am I?” Karolina frowns. She can feel her chest start to strain uncomfortably. She tries to swallow, but finds it increasingly hard to do so.

“Yeah.” Shiv nods, lips downturned in disgust. “You won’t admit it to yourself, but you do like the fact that I’m married, Karolina. Because it makes you feel chosen. But the truth is, you’re just terribly, awfully, pathetically fucking common.”

A common whore, to make matters worse.

She’s not wrong. There had been times where Karolina’s indulged in the smug grin on Shiv’s face as she claimed Karolina’s body, laid her hungry fingers on it and made it hers. Stole gasps out of Karolina’s throat and made them into her own melody. And Karolina let it happened, let the cool glint of Shiv’s eyes brand her like cattle because being someone’s meant she was something to begin with.

These moments though, had been a lowering of arms, a truce at the gates of a castle made of rumpled up sheets. She supposes she should’ve seen it coming, though, because Shiv fucked like she fought – ravenously and without compromise.

“And you’re not, Shiv?” she laughs. “Why? Because your daddy’s the most powerful man in the world, and you’re his pinky?”

She presses a heavy hand to the bridge of her nose, trying to dissipate the dark spots clouding her vision.

Shiv stands before her with clenched fists and a set jaw, and Karolina fights the urge to ask for a kiss with a fist.

Shiv clears her throat, crossing her arms. “That’s why you’re fucking me, though, right?” she scoffs. “Cause you’re too afraid of dick, so I’m the closest you’ll get to fucking all that power?”

“I thought I was fucking you, Shiv. That last name is something only you keep clinging on to.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Shiv laughs. “Stick to your little corporate memos, yeah, Freud.”

“Did you actually read any Freud, or is he just the only psychoanalyst you know?” Karolina says weakly. “You should, if you haven’t—he had some very interesting things to say about fathers and daughters.”

Whatever reaction Shiv might have had, Karolina can’t see it. There’s a war drum pummelling at her head, and a dark cloud settling over her eyes. Her chest feels tight, as if gripped in an invisible vise, and very little skin and sinew separating her heart from the acrid air of the room.

It always starts like this, with crowding walls and a loud ringing that reminds her of those awful national emergency alarms. She tries to focus on Shiv’s face, but it’s hard to make her out in the darkness and the blurry veil of tears gathering in her eyes. Karolina knows she needs to get out, but finds her legs have turned to cinder blocks. Then it gets harder and harder to breathe, until she feels like she’s choking, her diaphragm caving in on itself.

She thinks she hears Shiv call out her name, but the only thing she can focus on is her own shaking hands, grasping at each other. Had she been holding something? Where was her phone? She shakes her head, managing to take a step back when she feels Shiv reaching out for her.

“Don’t. Just—just go, please.”

“Did you take something?” Shiv’s voice cuts through the ringing of her ears. She tries to laugh, but it sounds more like retching.

“Fuck.” she tries to get her breathing under control, digging the heel of her palm into her sternum.

She can’t see that well, but she feels Shiv’s hands flutter anxiously around her.

“Do you want me to get—fuck.” she pauses. “Should I go get help?” Shiv’s voice sounds miles away, a fata morgana promising Karolina something that looks like warmth.

“Just go. Please.” she chokes out. Even under the crushing weight pressing on her chest, Karolina cringes at how pathetic her voice sounds. Like roadkill begging to be put out of its misery.

And Shiv does.

The worried arms withdraw, and suddenly Karolina is alone in a giant nursery, trying to count her breaths along with the ugly stars painted on the walls. She finally manages to take back control of her legs, and slinks to the floor, bracing her head between her knees. Through the tears streaming down her face she catches that godawful teddy-bear staring at her with its cold, unflinching gaze, and thinks back to a time where she thought she might go on to change the world. To make a difference. If she really is dying, if her heart has finally decided to hang up its hat, then it’s only fitting her final judge and jury would be a giant, fake totem massacring the very thing it was meant to represent.

Through her heaving, she doesn’t hear anyone enter the room, until she feels something cold and hard press against the back of her neck, and a firm grip on her wrist.  

“Please don’t puke. Or, like, give me a heads-up.” she hears Shiv whisper.

Karolina’s only heard her speak so softly in the dark of the bedroom, when she’d halfway be hoping not to be heard. Shiv’s hand is cold, too, as she rubs soothing circles on her left wrist, the other hand still holding the cold compress against Karolina’s neck.

“You wanna try stepping outside?”

Karolina shakes her head. It’s barely there, but she feels the slightest easing of pressure on her chest. She tries to focus on the damp coolness on her neck, tries to imagine it spreading throughout her body, soothing the fire burning beneath her skin. She reaches out her right hand blindly, trying to grasp Shiv’s wrist, trying to follow that fervent pulsing of life.

“Yeah?” Shiv says, adjusting her hand so Karolina could grip it better. They stay like that for a while, hands grasped like roman soldiers, Shiv’s quiet sighs and Karolina’s ragged breaths the only sound around them. Karolina wonders briefly if the party’s finished, if they’re the only ones left in this haunted menagerie of broken childhoods. Shiv seems to see her attention slipping away, because she shakes her wrist free, taking Karolina’s palm and placing it above her breastbone.

“Just follow me, yeah?” she murmurs.

Karolina nods, closing her eyes and letting her hand be the only tether to the world, Shiv’s pulse her only guiding light. As her breathing slowly starts to slow down, she contemplates pointing out the fact that Shiv’s own breathing is shaky, her heart trembling like a hummingbird’s wings, but she ultimately decides against it. The warmth of Shiv’s body and the soft silk of her dress are doing a fine job of easing Karolina’s nerves nonetheless.

When she finally feels the fog start to lift from her eyes, she turns to see Shiv watching her intently, with wide eyes and furrowed brows. It scares her, the intensity of Shiv’s gaze. Like she’s not just looking at Karolina, but seeing her. Holding her in her mind as more than a moment in a bed.

“You okay?”

This time Karolina manages a weak laugh. She bites her lip, avoiding Shiv’s steely gaze.

“Mhm.” she nods. “Is that a wine bottle?” she frowns at the object Shiv’s just removed from her neck.

Shiv stars laughing, her wet eyes glinting in the weak light.

“I was gonna get a wet paper-towel or something, but I couldn’t find the bathroom.” she sighs.

“Where’d you find this?”

“Stole it from the bar.” she flashes Karolina a proud grin.

Shaking off the last of her panic attack, Karolina turns a weary head towards Shiv.

“Thank you.”

Shier than she’s ever seen her, Shiv shrugs the gratitude away, changing her position from kneeling by her side to sitting down flush against Karolina’s side, and linking their arms together.

“Would’ve been awkward to just let you die. I mean, who would we even get to draft the press release on such short notice?” she turns to shoot her a serious look.

“Hugo?” Karolina tries.

“Bleugh.” she fake retches. “I wouldn’t that to you, even if we were at each other’s throats.”

She nuzzles her head in the crook of Karolina’s shoulder, her hand fiddling with the sleeve of Karolina’s shirt.

“Why are we—at each other’s throats? Did I do something?” Shiv almost sounds like a scolded child, making the guilt twist itself tighter around Karolina’s heart.

“No.” she sighs. “I...I’ve just had too much to drink and I got bitter and selfish.”

“Yeah, but why?” she presses. “I’m not a dummy, Novotney, whatever I did has been bothering you for longer than this night.”

“You didn’t do anything, Shiv.”

Karolina closes her eyes as Shiv turns her head to look at her, soft gaze burning the side of her face. She clears her throat.

“You’re trying for a baby.” she finally turns to meet Shiv’s gaze, cheeks burning with shame. “And I have no right to be upset about that.”

“What?” Shiv frowns. “Where the fuck did you get that?”

“During the shareholder meeting.” she sighs. “Tom left his phone on a table at some point, and I guess he got a notification about your, ahem, baby window. I had no right to snoop, I’m sorry.”

Shiv unwinds their arms, bringing both of her hands to massage her temples.

“Jesus fuck!” she blurts out. “Karolina, I am not trying for a baby. That’s—I don’t even really fucking understand it myself, but I am not trying to get pregnant.” she wrings her hands, grasping at her own frustration.

“It doesn’t matter. I still shouldn’t have reacted that way.” Karolina presses. “It was out of line.”

“Fuck the line.” Shiv shakes her head. She looks like she’s deciding if the dim light of the room is dark enough to let her tell Karolina the truth.

“You were right, earlier.” she sighs. “I can’t play the suffering side piece. I knew what I was getting into when we started this.”

“No, that was—I was pissed off that you wouldn’t talk to me. You know I was just trying to push your buttons.”

“It’s still the truth.”

Shiv shakes her head softly again, like she doesn’t accept her statement. She contemplates for only a second, before picking up the discarded bottle of wine, popping out its stopper, and taking a swig. She extends her hand towards Karolina, offering her the by now lukewarm prosecco, but gets waved off with a tight smile, reminding her of why they were currently sitting on the floor of a creepy nursery replica.

Neither of them say anything for a while, lying side by side like two discarded dolls. Karolina eyes the teddy-bear, for a second swearing she could see a hint of smugness in its beady eyes.

After a third sip from the bottle, Shiv finally breaks the silence.

“Tom’s been trying to get me pregnant. I didn’t know about it until the shareholder’s meeting, either.” she laughs bitterly.

“What?” Karolina feels a rush of anger fall down on her head like a hammer.

“Yeah. I don’t know—I can’t even begin to fucking process that.” She takes another small sip from the bottle. “He didn’t wanna fuck me after I told him I was still on my birth control—said it was like throwing batter at a brick wall.”

Karolina can’t see Shiv’s face, but she can hear the quiet sniffling the other woman is trying to hide. She reaches a hand and pulls Shiv back to her side, closing any bit of distance between them. Despite the dizzying murmur still gripping her mind, she feels the urge to track Tom down and bash his head in with her phone, until the sticky alcohol gets washed off by a much more satisfying offering.

She doesn’t know what to say to Shiv, can barely comprehend the horror gripping the other woman. How dare that man? It’s not that she sees Shiv as something other than human, no. And, she supposes, that might be the entire point. That Shiv is a woman and men will try to mould women to any shape they desire. Even men like Tom. Even women like Shiv.

For lack of any words that could take away Shiv’s dreadful confusion and anger, she kisses the other woman’s head and hopes it’s enough. Or at least that it’s something.

She doesn’t soften her grip until she feels Shiv’s chest slow its frantic rise and fall, until she’s sure her hold on Shiv isn’t the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Finally, Shiv herself lifts her head from the crook of Karolina’s shoulder, with blood-shot eyes and a sorrowful scowl marring her features.

“Can I stay over?” she whispers. She looks like she’s about to justify her request, before Karolina cuts her off.

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to…” she continues, before Karolina cuts her off again.

“I want you to.” she reaches a hand to cup Shiv’s cheek, rubbing a shaking thumb over the warm dampness she finds there. “I want you with me.” She’ll repeat it as many times as it takes for Shiv to realize how easy to want she really is.

She’s hard to open up, and hard to keep a hold of, yes, but Karolina’s never found it hard to want her. To want to have her in her life, for fear of wanting things—bigger and scarier things, that she knows she shouldn’t let herself want.

“Thanks.” Shiv says, clearing her throat.

She’s never been good at talking outside of the abstract, so Karolina replies in the only language she knows Shiv won’t doubt. She kisses her, a soft and sad sigh passing through them like an electric charge. A mess of limbs in an ugly, cold tomb of a misshapen memory, warmed solely by each other’s body.

They gather themselves off the floor, still holding onto each other, like kids afraid of letting go of a helium-filled balloon. Shiv’s hair is a tangled mess, her face splotchy and still sticky with tears, and Karolina doesn’t have to look in a mirror to feel the pools of mascara gathered under her eyes like the torn-up trenches of some bloody battle.

Shiv seems to have read her mind.

“We should wash up first, huh?” she smiles ruefully. “Kendall might think we’re actually touched by his immersive trauma dump.”

“Maybe we should give him the satisfaction.” Karolina laughs, shaking her head. “It is his birthday.”

“I think there’s been enough yes-men involved in this shit fest.” she scoffs. “Come on, let’s find that fucking toilet. I’ve been close to pissing myself for the past, like, half an hour.”

She grabs Karolina’s wrist, keeping a loose grip on it even as they make their way back into the crowd and have to break apart. It feels mortifying and exhilarating, being so reckless under these neon lights. Like they might get away with it, or do it anyway, despite the consequences.

-

The ride to Karolina’s is silent, both of them finally bearing the full weight of their exhaustion. Shiv hasn’t said anything about where she’s told Tom she’d be going, or whether she’s told him at all, so Karolina doesn’t ask. She’s tired of letting these men throw their weight around even when they’re not in the room. All she cares about, anyway, is the weight of Shiv’s hand in hers, the soft skin and firm muscle, the way her fingers twitch slightly at every ghost of a touch.

It’s tiring, living her life in the abstract. Shaping herself into ideas of a life she’s decided she must live.

Shiv is real, though. She’s solid and burning brightly beside Karolina, and she’s not someone Karolina could ever see as theoretical. She’s alive in a way that scares Karolina, an unknown, uncontrollable variable defined only by herself. Occupying a place in the world shaped by herself, bent with bare hands and fury out of whatever mould she’d been thrown into. She can’t imagine how isolating that must have been, living her entire life clawing at the walls of one cage after the other, thrashing against every expectation of what she could and should and mustbe.

She used to think that what they were doing, this clumsy, clandestine clashing of hands and teeth in dark rooms, that this was a fantasy for the both of them. An imagined slice of life. A daydream they could fall into when real life was weighing them down. She’s slowly coming to realize that it might, in fact, be the other way around. That the closest she’s come to feeling real in months has been when Shiv is touching her. That she can’t hear anything quite as clearly as Shiv’s soft sighs. That life comes rushing over her every time she feels her knees press against the edge of the mattress, and drains out of her when she hears her alarm go off.

“Can we…” Shiv stirs next to her.

Karolina urges her to continue. “What?”

“Everything I said—I just wanted it to hurt.” she whispers. “I don’t think about you like that.”

She begins to pull her hand away, but Karolina grasps onto it tighter, tethering Shiv to the moment.

“I know.” she nods. “I don’t think about you like that, either.”

Shiv chances a look in Karolina’s direction. “Yeah?”

They share a brief, watery smile, which feels like the most intimate thing they’ve done. They’ve bared their bodies to each other, but never the beast of their anger—never the things lurking beneath their skin, the urge to tear and shatter.

In that tiny moment, it doesn’t feel like they’re looking into each other’s eyes, but somewhere beyond. It feels like taking a deep breath and stepping into the dark entryway of a basement, commanding the dark and telling it to scatter—telling it you’re home.

[bamboobrat]

succession s4 e3 recap: i just called to say are you a cunt? 1/2

ding dong the bitch is dead!

today we celebrate! extra long recap! (you'll find part two here and at the bottom)

it's finally time to fire gerri:(((

this has been in the cards since the hazmat suit remark, but still shakes me to the bones.

and sticking her with cruises? horrifying.

almost as horrifying as logan asking roman to kill her...

"you two, you know, you were close"

dickpickgate, the laughs were too high a price to pay.

on a more positive note, greg is also not having a good day.

is he out of the inner circle? was he ever in? did kerry really look up if a focus group existed and pull him apart like string cheese?

my guess is it's because he is annoying. on this, logan and i agree. visually aggravating, indeed.

(on a more serious note, yes, i've seen the posts about nick and all i can say is believe women)

big boss man's last words:

i wasn't paying attention. karolina was in the scene.

tom uses one line to summarize the episode we never got.

wanting to kill cyd and gerri on the same day can kill you, you know. it's called karma.

felt a strong impulse to skip the intro having seen the trailer, but i'm a good lil nick britell fangirl of course.

also, you know it's going to be a good episode when it's a mylod.

roman is very nervous about breaking up with his girlfriend firing gerri. "let's enjoy this sham marraige and the death of romance", he said...

i know i asked for more gerri. THIS NOT WHAT I MEANT!

roman is me, i am roman etc.

i'm also sad to report that i am, in fact, team hat.

they are sad and angry but not in a perverted way:(

so, so pretty<333 j. for supporting! sarah for lead, please!

it's the least they could do. seriously.

looks like having to kill gerri was the last drop for our romey.

calling your dad a cunt right before he dies? it's shakespearean.

connor associates victoria spunge with the loony bin. some of you might think the cake is not an essential part of this episode, but you are wrong.

shiv doesn't pick up the phone. first the cake, now this!!

this is what my mom tells me all the time: gotta pick up the phone, i could be dying.

and just like that... logan roy died. on the toilet. where all horrible fathers deserve to die. special shout out to tywin lannister!

the writers are absolute sickos for making me actually morn this guy by watching how his children absolutely fall to pieces:

roman repeating how everything will be okay. ken saying he can't forgive logan, but that he loves him. shiv immediately reverting back to her younger self and calling logan daddy...

anyone else have some trauma responses to share?

these asshole kids crying over their asshole father </3

they frantically go back and forth between accepting that he is dead and making action plans on how to save him. it's a beautiful and heartbreaking throwback to the first season, when they still believed their money and status could save them from experiencing death.

even billionaires are mortal. really makes u think 👀

frank calls kendall son and i think it finally sinks in. i'm a pool of tears ready to be wiped up off the floor.

shiv and ken go to let connor know.

they look so smol and lost and sad, i CAN'T. they really are kids.

connor is on some GOAT shit with this line:

well, his father may not ever have liked him, but at least he got the world's strangest hug from his homey romey.

being in denial too hard can cause hug disfunction.

it's not a nice thing to call someone dead.

truly a heartbreaking rant we get from kieran here. one emmy for our favorite slime puppy!

karl continues to be the voice of reason:

i feel connected to this man, spiritually and emotionally.

he should pour one for kerry as well.

our girl is simply not dealing. fingers crossed for a delicious breakdown to come.

tom agrees.

funniest shit i've ever seen.

this is why we like to keep karl around, for the drinking and the nicknames.

part 2

[babyslutbuck]

sorry I respond to every eddie diaz post with *roman roy voice* well can we get him out? do you still think im hot?