#roman roy x gender neutral reader

[chokepoet]

Kittens & Perverts (PG-13)

GIF by @kitherondale

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

Genre | Angst, The Fluffiest Fluff

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

Word Count | 3.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t you just send a-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In route with Jerry.”

“The fuck you doin’ with Gerri?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, yeah. Call my therapist.”

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

“Well you’re doing a shit job.”

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

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

“I’m calling HR.”

“Ooo, three way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… nice.” He clears his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Rome?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It felt intimate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[jaebeomsbitch]

Out Of Control (R.R.)

Summary: After years of working for Roman you're finally fed up by the late night calls and verbal abuse. You put Roman in his rightful place.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, humiliation kink, degradation, verbal abuse, dryhumping,

A/N: The stills of Kieran innocently looking up in the actors on actors really wrote this

You were Roman’s first personal assistant. He usually chose to run by himself whereas his siblings had their assistants two steps behind them. He’d joke that they were corporate slaves and you were lucky to be working under him with that knowing smirk on his face. He had a certain aversion to you, something about your presence rubbed him the wrong way. You couldn’t stand him either, always telling yourself it was only temporary while you paid off your loans. Only a year until you finish, you promised yourself. 

Only one more year of being antagonized by Roman. He has this annoying habit of calling you at two or three in the morning, demanding you hand deliver some documents to his penthouse. He threatens to fire you if you don’t comply. Only one more year… twelve more months with that insufferable bastard. You stomp toward the elevator, giving the doorman a nod. He’s all too used to seeing you come in pissed off, steam practically blowing out of your ears. As the door dings open you try to remind yourself to keep calm. Don’t snap at him, he’d probably find pleasure in it. 

“God no, they’re soulless. I think every time they're on their phone they’re spilling company secrets. Shut the fuck up, no- No. Let me fucking talk Jesus christ. I don’t fucking– Fuck you!” he hangs up his phone call, startled seeing you at the entrance. He motions for you to come in, doesn’t even bother to greet you. You huff, handing him the documents then turning away, prepared to leave. 

“Wait,” He says, hand up in the air. You can’t help but roll your eyes, god even his voice was annoying. It was like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Yes?” You respond, voice a little more aggressively than you liked. You wanted to appear collected in front of Roman. Knowing he’d use your weaknesses against you. 

“These are the wrong documents, I asked for 12-15. This– you’re fucking kidding me right?” He scoffs, his anger seeping through the room. 

“Okay,” You nod stiffly, he definitely didn’t ask for twelve through fifteen but you knew how he operated. He’d always try to push your buttons, ask for one thing and then demanding the other. You learned to keep a copy of anything that’s relevant to him at the time. You look through your bag, pulling out the new documents. 

“I also need the documents for the LA contract,” He says, knowing you won’t have those. He hasn’t dealt with the LA branch in almost a year. 

“Right now?” You ask, already knowing how he’s gonna reply. 

“No fuckin’ tomorrow, yes right now. I can’t sit around and wait for you,” He sneers, a facial expression you’re all too familiar with. 

“Give me an hour, need any other document?” You hold your tongue.  

“An hour! What type of assistant are you? Jess would’ve had those documents prepared yesterday. You’re fuckin’ useless, maybe I should fire you,” He taunts, his finger pointed at you. 

“You know what, fuck this! I fucking quit asshole,” You yell at him. Finally at your breaking point, the late night calls, the beratings, the sexual remarks all too much. His eyes widen, not expecting you to snap. You’re always so calm and collected it honestly scared him. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, unable to mask his true feelings. 

“Yeah good riddance,” He gives you a half wave, not looking at you. He pretends to study the documents you handed him, he tries to keep his fear down. Another person in his life gone. 

“No- that’s not how this is gonna work,” You enunciate every word, your anger pushing you forward. The years of holding in your pent up emotions finally spilling out. 

“You’re a selfish fucking brat, you call me at three in the fucking morning for documents I know you won’t fucking read because you’ll make me read them for you. You’re a fucking piece of shit Roman– Worse. You’re worse than a piece of shit, I think somewhere deep down inside you know you’re nothing. You’re just the cowardly little boy of a billionaire. If only another fucking sperm won huh? Maybe they’d be more fucking competent than you,” You deride. 

He looks at you mouth wide open, he’d only ever been spoken to like this by one other person. However, you were more vile and a whole lot less controlled. He notices the way you shake in anger, shit… why was this kind of hot? He clears his throat, trying to drop the documents in his hand on his lap inconspicuously.

“You’re fired, you can leave,” He tries to say in an even tone but his voice cracks a little. You take your time to study him, “No– I’ve taken and taken verbal abuse from you for fucking years now. The least you can do is the same. I’m fired anyway right? Call your security if you’re so scared,” you mock. 

“You are the worst type of human, Roman, for someone who talks about his dick all day he can’t fucking use it. I’ve heard the countless stories of scared little Roman pushing women off of him. If you can’t get hard then maybe stop fucking talking to me about your dick. God even your fucking cock is useless just like you,” You sigh, throwing your hands in the air in frustration. 

“You seem a little obsessed with my cock for someone who doesn’t want to hear about it,” He chuckles to himself. 

“Do you think I’m stupid or that I haven’t noticed? Take the fucking papers off your lap Roman,” You gibe. 

“Is this what you like? Can’t fuck your girlfriends because they don’t tell you how fucking disgusting you are? You’re a pathetic excuse for a man,” You take a few steps closer, hovering above him, your breath coming out in puffs. He sits there dumbfounded, at your confidence. You are right, he’s painfully hard under the papers, precum already spilling in his underwear. You forcefully take the documents out of his hand, throwing them on the table. 

“You like being reminded how you mean nothing to the world? If I killed you right now, you wouldn’t even make an ATN headline,” You snarl, pushing his shoulder into the seat. He pants, unable to form sentences, random syllables spilling out, he seems like he's under a spell. 

“God, what if someone found out hmm? They figured out how the ‘illusive’ Roman Roy likes to be pushed around in bed? That his little dick gets hard at people degrading him?” You push your fingers into his chest. His eyes are half-lidded, mouth open, breath rushing out. 

“Get on the floor,” You command, walking over to sit on his couch. He sits there dumbfounded for a second, blinking in confusion. 

“Are you fucking stupid? Get on the floor right now Roman,” you say more forcefully. He slowly climbs out of the seat, sitting on his knees. He looks down, embarrassed but he can’t fight your command, your voice has him under some sorcery. That familiar cadence in your voice brings him something he craved. 

“Crawl to me, like the disgusting fucking dog you are,” You order, crossing one leg over the other. There is a certain pleasure in watching your annoying boss crawl to you on all fours. His head unable to look up at you as he crowds your leg. He hangs his head in shame, his humiliation seeping in as his cock presses against the zipper on his slacks. He can’t help but shudder at the feeling. 

“Is this what you wanted, hmm?” You say sarcastically. 

“You acted like a spoiled fucking brat so I can treat you like this? If you wanted my attention you could’ve just asked, like a big boy. So tell me, is this what you wanted?” You ridicule. He can’t look up at you, the words stuck in his throat. It feels like he has honey in his mouth. 

“For someone so chatty you sure are quiet now,” You roll your eyes, uncrossing your legs, and leaning forward. You grab his chin in your hand, forcefully pulling him to look at you. His big hazel eyes are watery, he almost looks innocent, but you remember all those times he’s called you nasty names, all his insults. 

“Answer me moron,” You bare your teeth, face centimeters from his. 

“Y-yes,” He sighs, finally maintaining eye contact. 

“‘Yes’ Yes what?” You mock him. 

“Yes, I-I called you here to make you mad,” He admits, his eyebrows furrowing making his face look somehow even more innocent. 

“What did you want to happen Romulus?” You use his full-name knowing it’s only reserved for when his father is really mad at him. It feels foreign in your mouth and yet perfect. You feel powerful as he shivers under your piercing gaze. 

“I- d’know,” He slurs his words, trying to look away from you. His embarrassment hanging heavy as your prod. He truly didn’t know what he wanted… He just wanted to be dominated. You seemed like the perfect person. You were cool and collected with a sea of rage hiding underneath the surface. He was attracted to you the first time he saw you working for Kendall. Something about stealing his brother’s prized possession felt good.

You slip off your shoe, putting it on his couch not caring if it stains it. You press the bottom of your sole to his chest, pushing him deeper onto his knees until his ass hits the floor. 

“God you’re pathetic,” You scoff, looking at his big hazel eyes. You run your foot down his chest, he looks down following your path, you drop it to the bulge in his pants, lightly pressing against it. His breath quickens, eyes closing shut as you start moving your foot back and forth. He tries to ground himself, grabbing onto your calf, his nails digging into your skin. 

“Who said disgusting pieces of shit like you are allowed to touch me?” You push his hands away from you, his eyes opening. 

“Now, what do you want?” You ask him, crossing your arms over your chest, your foot stops, giving him a chance to think. His mouth opens and closes. 

“I- I– I–” he can’t form a full sentence as you start rubbing him through his slacks again. 

“ ‘I- I–’ Look at you, you’re all stupid already. Your underwear must be a mess, huh? Fucking useless pervert,” You smirk, enjoying the huffs of his breath filling the room. His hands twitching at his side, his cock throbbing at your words, he lets out a little sound. 

“What’s wrong? Already gonna cum? Gonna ruin your pants before you’ve even got your cock in me?” His hands grip the sides of his pants, his hips following your foot. He mewls when you stop, you drop your foot in between his thighs. 

“Be a good pup and get yourself off,” You command. He looks at you a little lost but scoots closer, he takes a tentative buck against your leg. He tilts his head back, eyes shutting at the friction, he can’t help but moan.. 

“Look at you, what would your dad think? What would think seeing his pathetic son humping his assitant’s leg like a fucking dog,” You say. 

“Ye- Yes, be so disappointed,” He moans, he bucks his hips faster, losing himself in the feeling.

“Look at you humping my leg like a bitch in heat. You’re fucking pathetic, you disgust me,” You snarl and it pushes him over the edge. His hips twitch, he bites down on your knee, his cum leaking all over his underwear, as he gasps trying to catch his breath, practically slobbering on your knee and inner thigh. 

“C’mon,” You pull him up by his armpit onto the couch. He’s shaking, this all was too much, his feelings overflowing. 

“Shh.. it’s okay,” You pull him close, rubbing his back as his emotions crash over him like a wave. He rocks himself back and forth in your arms as you soothe him, you pull him onto your lap. He nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing in your scent until he’s calmed down. Isn’t this a bitch? You have to calm him down. You’d feel much differently if this was a scene and he was your sub but he decided to take the difficult route.

“You okay?” You ask, breaking the awkward silence. He doesn’t know what to say, he needed the release, craved it but now that it’s over he’s left with that hole in his heart again. If only you both were different. If you weren’t his assistant and he wasn’t an asshole. 

“Yeah, I’m good. So good,” He scoffs, removing himself from your lap. He doesn’t look at you, walking into his bedroom and changing. After about twenty minutes of waiting you decide to leave, clearly he wasn’t emotionally mature to talk about whatever happened between the two of you. 

To your surprise you get a phone call in the morning, “Where the fuck are you, god you’re so incompetent!” Roman grumbles on the line. His words have no bite now that you know how to put him in his place. 

[hughiecampbelle]

Gossamer Pt. 1 (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,404

Inspired By: Running Away by Genevieve Stokes

A/N: He is so baby boy!!!!! I love him!!!! Anyways, I'm really happy with this fic. I've been itching to write for him and I am so glad with how this turned out. It takes place at Shiv and Tom's wedding btw! 💞 Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gossamer Pt. 2 / Gossamer Pt. 3

He isn’t sure where to put his hands. They’re jittery, unsure, grazing the fabric of your best clothes, your back, your waist, hips, until you settle them at your sides. No words are passed between you. This, like everything, goes unspoken between you. Light, warm, his thumb rubbing back and forth. Be still, you want to urge him, no one is going to hurt you. But you don’t say a thing. Instead your head rests on his shoulder, taking in him. His scent (rich, sharp, something he must have stolen from his brother - unlike his warm, comforting self), the beat of his heart (frantic, like the wings of a hummingbird), his breathing (shallow, trying not to take up space). You sway as one, the dance floor almost empty. Everyone has gone or is going, grabbing their purses, their dates, one last drink. The groom and bride, along with the rest of the party, have retreated to their rooms, a loved one on their arm, buzzing with bourbon and business as usual. Forbidding that kind of talk, even for one night, would be sacrilegious.  Scandalous, as is this dance. Instead, you ask that he give it a rest for just one song. No trades, no deals, no patricide, nothing, just you and him. His features melted at your request, words leaving him in that moment, nothing but a small nod and a hand held out to guide you in response. Slowly you rocked, side to side, your hands clasped around his back. Beneath the suit, the wealth, the spokes of his spine welcome you with open arms. You want to see his face, read what he’s thinking about, but you don’t move a muscle. Too rarely do you get to do this: slow down. Be with him. Get him all to yourself. 

You know, if your father, one of his many wives, saw you, they’d go straight to Logan. Or worse, weaponize it at a later date. Blackmail you, or him, both. As if he can hear your thoughts, his grip gets harder. Needier. Not a lot, not a lot, but enough to notice, as if he’s scared you’ll flee. As if you’ll take off any second and leave him standing there all alone, his arms still outstretched around a ghost. You squeeze him, just a bit, before easing up. I’m not going anywhere. You made sure they had gone long before, escorting your father yourself, unsteady on his own feet. An army of empty glasses sat in front of him. Get him to bed, Wife #4 whispered, as if this was the first time you’d done this. Leading him out, not before thanking the bride and her father for inviting you. What was the saying? Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Logan acknowledged the situation very little, but kept an eye on you all the way to the door. Ammunition. Your siblings off on their own, in their own collective worlds, leaving you to clean up the mess. The drink in his hand smashing against the wall, a fit of rage passing in seconds, mumbling a slur of words before closing his eyes, laying his head back against the pillow. In the midst of this, a part of you was glad you warned him not to follow. Too many eyes, too many to take notice. Besides, it was humiliating, picking up shards of glass from the carpet. His wife pulled off his shoes, not daring to look at you. It wasn’t until you’d found your way back did you notice a line of red pooling in your palm. Blood. You must’ve cut yourself on the glass. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to be watching, waiting, but those puppy-dog eyes widened and you knew it was too late. Quietly, you walked to the bathroom, he just a few paces behind. It doesn’t hurt, the first thing you say, and then, it’s not even that bad. Reassure him. He works nervously, delicately, holding your hand under running water. 

It aches now though, only slightly, the more you flex it against his back. Anyone could have seen him, anyone could have mentioned it to your fathers or siblings. Anyone could have done anything, but that wouldn’t have stopped him. The sight of blood made him queasy, you knew that, and yet as the red blotted the white towel, running pink under the water, he was nothing but steady. Dads, am I right? You could hear him saying it now, that little chuckle of his added at the end, masking the shake of fear in his voice. You just shook your head, feeling stupid, silly. Childish. Had he aimed the drink at you? Missing only because he was seeing double. Had that anger been reserved for anyone or was it a general meanness? You shrug at the thought now, only hours old. It’s not worth it to fret. You rub your cheek against his shoulder, letting your head fall to the side. Back and forth, the world slows only for you. The chairs, the tables, the waiters cleaning up spilled drinks and dirty dishes. You shouldn’t be out in the open like this. Not where there are still wandering eyes. And yet, you don’t care enough to stop. Let them say whatever they want, this dangerous thought sits heavy in your mind. It won’t make him like you. It won’t make Logan like him. It won’t change anything, not really. They have their favorites, their toy soldiers. You’re extra. Spare parts. A scapegoat. Neither would let either of you take over, be daddy's favorite, so why put up with it? You know why, you think. For those few passing seconds of love and admiration that feel so violent it leaves a proverbial bruise. Oh, yeah. 

Gerri found you. His hand rests on your cheek, wiping a tear away. A stupid, fragile tear. You would have wiped it away, but you hadn’t noticed it had fallen. You could feel the warmth of his skin, cool of the bathroom air when it left. She managed something you couldn’t hear. He froze, not wanting to leave you, not wanting to disobey his father. Go on, you insisted, I’m okay. I’m just being sensitive, you wanted to add, though it wasn’t in your voice, but someone far angrier. Too sensitive. How many times had you heard that growing up? How many times had that been thrown in your face? He wouldn’t have agreed. He would have fought you on the matter, the only time he would have raised his voice at you. Gerri stayed back a second, looking you up and down. You came from a long line of cheaters, liars, drunks - worse. The only thing you had was your bloodline, your family name. That kind of thing bought you respect. Everyone expected someone different when they looked at you, as if they knew you weren’t one of them. A fluke, maybe. A disappointment. You could see her thinking it before she left, the door slamming behind her. 

His breathing has slowed, at least a little his thumb has stopped. He’s leaned into you more, letting himself relax. How badly you wanted to bottle this moment up, collect it, put it on a shelf to collect dust. Years down the line you’d reach for it again, reliving it as if it never stopped. As if the song never stopped. But of course, it did. And he was the first to pull away. Not unkindly. Softly, his grasp lowered until his arms were at his side. Then a small step back, until you were face to face with him. Those bright, sad brown eyes watching you, waiting for a reaction. You were the only two left. You gave him a small smile, a thank you, before quickly wishing him a goodbye. It was awkward, you were awkward. Too attached. Whatever you had, or thought you had, couldn’t happen. You could try to pretend it wasn’t important, that your fathers acceptance wouldn’t matter, but it did. You sensed that Roman felt the same way. So, you left. One quick glance back and there he stood, stooped shoulders, the last one left. How he wished you knew how badly he wanted to chase after you, make you stay with him forever, regardless of what anyone thought. Vow never to leave him again. But this was life, and no one ever said it was fair.

[scarletttries]

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

Part Two Available Now!

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

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

Warnings: Smut, spoilers for the new season.

Word Count: 2.7k

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

Romey-o take me somewhere we can be alone

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe we could fraternise just a little longer.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hughiecampbelle]

Gossamer Pt. 2 (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,328

Inspired By: Ruining Me by Sabrina Song

A/N: I couldn't just let it be lol. I love him sooo much, I know I could fix him. I think the next fic will be for Kendall.... idk yet! Anyways yeah I just love him and he deserves all the good in the world. 💞 Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gossamer Pt. 1 / Gossamer Pt. 3

He finds his way to your room, his shoeless feets patting against the carpet. The door opens without a single breath, shutting behind him, the knob held so the click is as quiet as possible. You stifle a giggle, waiting for the sound to stop. For him to drop his weight into the sheets. For him to groan and moan, searching for you beneath the blankets. Softly, he unbuttons his shirt, fumbling, dropping it next to the rest of your clothes. A pile on the floor, along with your shoes. How upset your father would be if he knew the mess you made. If he knew any of this. Around the bed, in the dark, holding his breath. Roman was always waiting for something bad to happen, the monster under the bed to reach out at him, grab him, pull him under. No monsters Romey, you think, I checked. From beneath the duvet your arm reaches out, wanting to feel him as he lays down. Warm, so warm, so loving. The back of his head finds your open palm, running your fingers through his hair. He’s so quiet beside you. The mask he wears slips just a little. The defensive shield of sarcasm and jokes has been left behind in his own room. There is no need to fill the silence. The both of you staring into the darkness. You hadn’t turned on any lights, fearing something cruel would happen. It was better this way. Safer. The room remained undisturbed by his presence, as if all along it knew he were coming. You certainly hadn’t. You thought it was over. That you would say one final goodnight to your family before going to be yourself. Instead you lay awake thinking about all the things you could have done, should have done, to get him to come back. You kissed your sisters one last time, nodded to your brothers, waved to their children, waiting in the doorway like a fool, despite yourself, willing him to find his way to you. Possibly, it had worked. Possibly, he wanted the same thing. And so, when your door opened and the light of the hallways spilled through the room like melted candle wax, you didn’t have to ask who it was. You just knew. 

The meeting with his father had gone terribly. He was in no mood for his antics, but he couldn’t stop himself. The words tumbled from his mouth before he had the chance to catch them. Romulus. He loathed when his father spat that at him. And yet, it was the only term of endearment he ever had for him. You were in his mind, always. The glass of your eyes, the fear in your expression, he hated himself for leaving you like that. He hated the way Gerri watched him out the door, posing a question without saying a word. There were rumors. There were always rumors when it came to his love life. Logan especially, had his own ideas. They thought what they wanted, it wouldn’t change a thing. He knew how your father could be, not unlike his own. The tone of voice he used to undermine you. The ways in which he favored all your other siblings. All the things he hated about you, Roman loved. Adored. But couldn’t put in his own words. He couldn’t articulate this. He hoped you could feel it, though. 

He let out a sigh. Deep, sleepy, not saying a thing. He found his way back to you. He always did, even when you worried he wouldn’t. Your hands found one another's. Squeezing lightly, wanting to tell one another everything you’ve ever felt. Your sisters always gave you trouble for your romantic endeavors. Lack thereof, actually. The people they set you up with were all selfish bastards, the kind who waved a dollar bill to fix their problems and get rid of anyone they didn’t like. You were sure, if they were merely a smidge more rude, they would have bought your absence too. They didn’t want you, they wanted your family, your blood. They wanted to be associated with power, infamy, even when it came at a cost. More than once you read your name in the tabloids, all kinds of things being said about you, who you were as a person. You begged him not to read them, not to believe them, though you hadn’t need to. He didn’t give those stories a second thought. They reminded you too much of your father, even your brothers, in their worst states. The spiteful, vengeful, evil moods they could linger in at their most dangerous. If Roman could be like that, you’ve never seen it. You've never seen him bite back like that. Your body too used to canines sinking into your skin, you could sense when anyone was about to attack. Even when they didn't, you still flinched. 

What are you doing? You could picture it now, the look on your sisters perfect faces. They didn’t like the Roys, they didn’t trust them, and the feeling was mutual between families. Well, except for you two. The look of horror, the things they’d say. It brought a smile to your face. All your life, you had only been a plaything to them, something to fix and preen when their lives remained boring. You weren’t a person to them, a human being, rather another seat at the dinner table, another shareholder. Competition. Am I like them? You want to ask into the dark. Is it inevitable I turn out like them? Instead, you squeezed his hand harder. He inched closer, the two of you pressed together. They wouldn’t understand. And you couldn’t explain it. The attraction. The understanding. Neither of you had any expectations.You could just be you. No hesitation. It was new territory. It wasn’t about sex, either. You two hadn’t had sex before, not even an attempt, nor would you. This was different. Outside of that. 

Roman rolled on his side, facing your, placing your hand under his cheek. His stubble was coarse, his cheek moving. Smiling. He can’t see you, not really, but he can assume your own face is burning at the thought of his smile. And that makes him grin even harder. There are no stars in the sky. No moon to throw her light. In the hallway there is the murmur of your family, young kids crying, the muted conversations of your brothers and sisters, wives and husbands, you can only assume is congenial. How many years has it been since you slept under the same roof? Even on vacations, trips around the world, they tended to stray. It was you who looked after Dad, who made sure he was comfortable, who rolled him on his side when he’s drank too much, who gave him space to cool off when he was his most volatile. Despite yourselves, you still found ways to love them. 

His muscles have relaxed. His breathing is shallow, steady. You’ve only done this a handful of times, slept in the same bed. Rarely you found your two families together. When they were civil, in the few times that’s happened, you always found your way to one another. When you did, you’d never sleep more peaceful. Knowing he was there, next to you, with you, knowing you’d find him there in the morning too. You wanted to pull the covers over him, kiss his forehead, wish him sweet dreams. You didn’t move though, afraid you’d wake him. Startle him. What would you do tomorrow? How would you sneak him out? Where was his room? He took a deep breathe in and out, nuzzling into the mattress, making your heart ache behind your rib cage. How did you get I lucky? That was a worry for the future. Now you had him, like you wanted. No one to interrupt, no one to barge in. Just you and Roman, like it should be.

[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. 

[jaebeomsbitch]

Pandora’s Box

Pairing: RomanRoy x Executive! Reader

Content Warning: mentions of mental and physical abuse

Summary: Romulus Roy was a broken man but he'd never let you know. He had a hard time letting anyone into his black heart. The years of abuse had conditioned him to be void of true emotion until one day you give him a safe space. Let him be truly Roman and not just another meat puppet for daddy. Things get emotional 

Roman sat there staring at his phone waiting for some business deal. Waiting for the call so he could tell daddy dearest he closed the deal and get just a shred of approval. He knew he’d never hear an “atta boy” but he was desperate. A piece of his heart always yearning for the approval of his father. He lived and breathed just for one acknowledgement, one offhand comment. He’d never be the favorite because he wasn’t the oldest nor the darling little girl. He was stuck in the middle, kicked like a dog and expected to crawl back with no complaints. He tried to justify it, mumbling to himself that he was annoying and deserved it. Deserved the sting on his cheek, the loss of a tooth, the bleeding lip. He deserved it, he was annoying and brash. He pushed buttons all too often using humor to ease the tension between his siblings and his father. He became the court jester, cracking jokes to appease the king and his court. When did he lose himself? Was he always lost?

When did he start questioning his worth? Probably when his siblings shut him in that cage, forcing him to bark and eat “dog food” dragging him around the room. He grew accustomed to performing, dragging those memories deep down. Dragging them to the basement and beating the fuck out of them until they couldn’t get up. Repressing his emotions until he long forgot what they felt like. Roman was vacant, a puppet ready to perform for his family. Play out the deals, be whored out by his father, neglected by his siblings.

The day he met you was insignificant, just another secretary or something, he didn’t pay attention to those around him. Something about the way you looked at him was different though. You absorbed his opinions, asked about his ideas even when he made inappropriate jokes, you hung onto his every word. He tried to minimize your position in his life, tried once again to repress any emotion. Afraid of what Pandora’s box he’d unleash if he opened it just a centimeter but he grew dependent. Hung onto your small acknowledgments, the rare compliments, and gazing eyes. He relished in the small brushes as you handed him documents. He’d never admit to his desperation at physical touch. Nothing sexual, just a hug, kiss on the cheek, a soothing hand on his back when his emotions threatened to spill out, waves crashing onto the sides of the box, small droplets sprinkling out the seams.

Somewhere in the days and long nights of sitting at his desk something changed. You can’t pinpoint it. There’s a softening in his gaze, just slightly almost imperceptible to anyone around him except for you. You’d studied him for a long time, staring at his faux chuckles. Understanding that his insults and sexual jokes were not him. They were a character he slipped into, it was his armor. The only thing that protected himself from the king and his hurtful words.

Then one night he’d convinced you to go to his apartment, not that you needed too much convincing. Something about him made you want to give him a hug and let him cry and cry and cry until his tears were dry. Then pretend like nothing happened. You sought to comfort him almost unconsciously, giving him reassuring nods and passing touches. Your mother always said you had a soft spot for wounded animals. Roman was just a bird with a hurt wing, ready to be nursed to health so he could soar like you knew he could. He was so much more than he could ever see. His confidence in himself was synthetic. When you pass that threshold into his apartment you realize just how personal this all is. His apartment was incredibly sleek and cold, you couldn’t feel traces of him within the walls. Even his couches were pristine like they had never been sat in.

“You have a… nice apartment,” you can’t help but grimace. Your comment sounds awkward to your ears.

“Nothing like you’ve ever seen,” he says chuckling. It’s true never been in an apartment like this but you’ve seen them in architectural digest. You can sense the sarcastic undertone in his words. Feeling unsteady at letting you into the one place he can kind of relax. He felt exposed, the cables of his robot heart out for just a second.

“Yeah something like that,” you agree, not wanting to get defensive and make a joke of your economic status. You were well paid by the Roy’s but you’d never be a billionaire. You walk to the window, gasping at the view of Upper Manhattan. The lights twinkle across your face as the blue hue of the city glows. He moves around the room as you stay there entranced. Eventually he calls your attention, asking you to hand him some documents as he calls someone on the phone. You sit on his untouched couch, perching on the edge afraid to get comfortable but after an hour you sit back. One leg crossed over the other, leaning a document on your knee highlighting important things for Roman. You move into reading the contract, reading every excruciating detail just to triple check there wasn’t a hidden clause that would cost the company millions.

You don’t notice Roman sitting across from you, studying your face as you work. “Here you go,” you say, handing him the stack of papers before going back to your contract. You try to pretend to read it, the text blurring together as your boredom grows. You sigh, giving up on the work waiting for the phone call. Roman sits on his phone, waiting for the call. The ring of his phone breaking the silence, he answers standing up before pacing around the room. You follow his pace, eyes tracking his movements. He hangs up, “I fucking got it!” He celebrates for a second his face morphing into a smug smile.

He picks up the phone again, presumably calling his father. He tells him the good news, just for a moment he lets his heart race, the sliver of hope coursing through his veins hanging onto his fathers words. He must’ve not said anything good, Roman has that fake smile on his face as he hangs up. He sits down, sighing as the weight of pressure leaves his body.

 He leans his head backward, exposing his pale neck as he closes his eyes. You sit there quietly, not wanting to alert him of your presence. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability. He snaps out of it, realizing you were still in the room. He’d assumed you’d leave as soon as he closed the deal like every other executive. Instead, you sit there staring at him, he feels scared under your prying eyes.

“You did a good job,” you smile, breaking the silence between you too.

“As if I need your approval,” he bites. He knew what you were doing, giving him that praise he craved from his father. He didn’t need your compliments, he didn’t need fixing. You refuse to look away, not bowing to his gaze.

“Can I say something?” You say, leaning a little forward. Trying to cross slightly into his personal bubble.

“Better watch your tongue or I’ll have you fired,” he laughs. Of course to a billionaire your life was a game, he could fire people and ruin their livelihoods for fun. It was one of his favorite pastimes. Digging for dirt and having ATN blast it, watch as anyone he remotely dislikes was scorched by public opinion.

“You know how much power you hold. It doesn’t matter to me if you have me fired. I just need to say this and we can forget about it or you can have me pack my desk up. It's fine,” you say, placing the stacks of documents into your bag.

“Ooh do you want to talk about how hot I am? Want to suck off the boss?” He quips.

“You deserve to be loved,” is all you say. You look into his eyes as he makes another daddy joke. “You deserve love,” you repeat. His jokes shorten and shorten as you keep repeating it. “You deserve to be loved, you are worthy of love,” you say finally. You wait for his response, he’d been sitting there quietly for the last minute. You just wanted to let him know something that he never believed himself.

“Roman?” You ask, were you forgetting or were you being fired?

“I don’t deserve love,” he finally says. His voice level, his eyes distant. This was Roman, this was who he was when he was alone.

“You deserve love,” you simply reply. Standing from across from him to sit on the couch he’s on but not daring to sit near him. You were afraid he’d crawl back into his shell so you give him space.

“I’m annoying and an asshole, I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve praise for doing my fucking job,” he says his voice growing an edge. You let him sit in silence, the venom of his heart spewing out, the edges of Pandora’s box sprinkling out just a little more. He tried to bury it, push down all his negative emotions.

“You’re good at your job, you deserve praise, you deserve to feel loved and happy Roman,” you sigh, staring at the wall. The waves of sadness lap at a millimeter you’ve just opened, they threaten to spill over as your words run through his mind. 

His entire life he’d been told he was worthless, not a real person. He only lived to be exploited by his faults. His siblings always using his intimacy issues as the butt of a joke. You were the first person who told him he had some sort of allowance to his person. He was allowed to feel love and happiness. He wasn’t just a meat puppet for his father.

“You did a good job, Roman. You deserve to hear it,” you finalize. The waves come spilling out like a tsunami, one tear rolls down his face. You turn to look at him, he’s trying to self soothe just like he’d been taught. “Ignore the baby and he’ll stop crying,” His mother would say. They didn’t allow nannies to coddle him when he cried, instead shoving him into an empty room at the other side of the mansion.

He tried to hold the waves from killing him but they’re dragging him into its rip current. He’s being dragged downward, gasping for air, arms and legs kicking trying desperately to push himself upward. Roman didn’t know you were supposed to swim sideways until you were free from its grasp. He screams in his head,” don’t fucking cry, stop being a pussy, you have no reason to cry” He tried to quell his sadness but you don’t let him. 

You sit closer as he leans forward trying to subdue the imminent panic attack, head between his knees as his breath comes out in puffs. You tentatively move your hand forward until it reaches his back. He doesn’t seem to notice your touch so you move forward. You rub circles on his back as you would a crying child after they fell and broke their skin on the pavement. “Let it out,” you whisper to him as his breath shallows. He’s holding in sobs, tears spilling out faster. “Come in let me see you cry. Let it all out,” you whisper again. Pandora’s box bursts open, the water all over the floor, the ocean splintering the wood into tiny chunks. He’s sobbing, choking on his saliva, hiccuping as a natural reaction to the tightness in his throat.

You turn him into you, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder and neck as one hand rubs his back and the other runs through his hair. You massage his scalp trying to ease the tightness of his body until he relaxes against you. He lets himself cry and be held, you hold onto him letting him know your his life line back down. You’re the rescue boat after the shipwreck, searching for survivors in the endless sea. He’ll come out bruised and scarred from the passing of wood biting and cutting at his skin but he’ll live. 

He lets himself lose control over himself, hugging you, his hands grasping at the back of your blouse. This is the first time Roman has ever been truly vulnerable. He’d usually try and wait until the middle of the night when he’s alone in his dark room to cry. You turn your head, kissing his temple as his sobs die down. His body involuntarily hiccuping as he sniffles. He doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to see your face when you let go so he sits there for a minute longer.

You can’t help but give him a little more praise, “You did such a good job, I’m so proud of you,” you say, giving him another kiss to his temple. He can’t help but whine, letting himself feel like a child again. Letting himself revel in the comfort he missed. Some embarrassment starts to seep through as he tries to bury himself deep into your neck. You try to pull him away from you, wanting to see his face but he just wiggles his head away from your hands, his arms tightening around you.

“Let me see your face,” you whisper trying to pull your head away from his face. He shakes his head, not ready to face the reality of his breakdown. The aftermath will leave him feeling devastated, the lows of his emotions too much to bear. You refuse to leave him though, you’d help him climb from the bottom of the mountain until he grew endurance and strength to do it himself. You convince him to leave the crevice of your neck, he refuses to make eye contact even as his face is a couple centimeters from yours. His arms not letting you go, he wanted the safety net that your physical contact provided.

You take one of your hands, wiping the remnant of his tears from his face. His eyes over your shoulder until you brush the hair on his forehead away. He looks down at you, your touch felt foreign not because it was new but because he’d never been caressed like this. Never held like he was everything in the world, never held with so much tenderness. He looks pretty even when his eyes are puffy and red, his lips a bright shade of pink from the saliva he tried to wipe away with his tongue.

“Okay let’s get you to bed,” you smile as you start into his eyes but he’s afraid. He’s afraid to go into that room alone and face the splinters of wood and clean up the water. You see the worry in his eyes.

“I’m not leaving, I promise,” you reassure him. He lets himself be walked into his room. You sit him on the edge of the bed, grabbing some of his sleep clothes. You help him remove his suit, too tired to do it himself. He feels like a sick child as you redress him, folding his suit and placing it on a chair, putting his watch on the nightstand, and then tucking him into the sheets. His bleary eyes slowly try to fight away the sleep as you give him a kiss on the forehead. 

He whispers for you to stay, sleep in the bed with him. You look at him, his eyes half lidded with tiredness, pleading you with the last amount of energy he has left. You agree, telling him you’re going to the restroom and you’ll be back shortly. You grab some of his sleep clothes on the way out, changing in the bathroom trying not to freak out. You breathe in hard, it was your turn to reign in your emotions. You smooth out your hair, folding your clothes and leaving them in the bathroom. When you step into his room again he’s sound asleep, you go to the kitchen grabbing a glass of water. He was going to be dehydrated when he woke up.

You weren’t sure whether you should climb into bed or not. He was asleep but he did beg for you to stay. You decide to just do it, the emotional overhaul weighs on your body. Your limbs tired as you scoot into bed, dragging the covers to your chin. Almost instinctively Roman scoots closer to you, head in your shoulder hugging you close to him as he sighs. You reach your other hand smoothing out his hair until you drift off to sleep.

[scarletttries]

Mistle- oh (Kendall Roy Succession)

Pairing: Kendall Roy (Succession) x Gender Neutral Reader

Rating: Complete Fluff (Warnings: a mention of the creepiness of cruises, and a mention of alcohol. Set at Christmas.)

Word Count: 1.4k

Author's Note: This one goes out to all my patient Kendall homies as I know I haven't written for him in a while between Succession seasons 😊 I don't know why I am writing a Christmas fic in August, maybe I crave cosy winter vibes as England is having a heatwave at the moment and I miss blankets, but I just couldn't get the thought out of my head and we always need more sweet Kendall words! As always send me your Succession headcanons, I am always keen to hear them 💕

Mistle- oh

There were a lot of benefits to working at Waystar: having set up their charitable foundation team following the scandal at Cruises you got to spend everyday helping people that needed it and feeling like you were actually making a difference. With the money saved on scandals and bribes there was enough for a pretty comfortable salary for you and your team, and while Logan Roy seemed to think your team were all 'snowflake babies bending to the media's demands' the rest of the team were grateful for the good publicity and the chance to feel a little less guilty about their jobs. No one was more grateful for the opportunity to do something positive than Kendall Roy, another benefit of your job.

From your first day in the company it seemed like Kendall more than anyone wanted you to succeed at what you did. He put in every effort to spend time working with you, and while there was a good chance he was just trying to be a better person and feminist following the events of the last few years, you couldn't help but feel there was a little more behind his special interest in you. It was hard to miss the way his smile lit up when you walked in the room, or the less than subtle way he'd jog down a corridor to catch up with you for a few moments of friendly conversation. And when you had to attend formal events on the team's behalf Kendall was the first to find you, to compliment your outfit, to spend the rest of the night glued to your side, introducing you to people proudly and guiding you through the evening with his hand placed gently on your lower back. You could see the sincerity in his efforts to atone for Waystar's previous wrongs and it had been hard to stop the feelings developing at these soft attempts to get closer to you.

There was another benefit to working at Waystar - they threw a hell of a Christmas party.

This December 20th you found yourself perched on the edge of a desk, champagne in hand, talking through Christmas plans with Greg as he awkwardly fumbled through trying to invite you to the New Year's Eve party he was throwing at his new loft. As much as you found Greg a refreshing change from a lot of the straight-laced Roy family, there was only one Roy you'd willingly sidle up to at 11:59 on December 31st, so you quickly excused yourself walking off just in time to miss Tom slapping Greg on the arm,

"Now now, you know better than to try and ask out (Y/N) don't you you naughty elf."

"Come on, Kendall hasn't even asked them out yet, how come I'm not allowed a shot? I might be their favourite Roy!" Greg almost pouted as you walked away, flinching as Tom leaned in closer to his ear, whispering,

"Because if Ken sees you two too close for his liking, he'll go on a coke-fuelled rampage and kill you." Walking away laughing before Greg could ask any follow-ups.

You meandered aimlessly through the office corridors, smiling at colleagues and pretending not to notice Roman pacing nervously outside Gerri's office, feigning interest in something on his phone. As you walked through an unusually quiet stretch of hall you finished your champagne, setting the crystal glass down on a sideboard before spotting something shining down from a nearby ceiling tile. You looked up, stepping slowly towards the shimmering decoration and stopping with a laugh as you recognised the shape - Mistletoe. You stood transfixed for a moment, half debating trying to find something to stand on to remove it before some poor secretary ended up in an uncomfortable position, the other half of your mind considering a much happier possibility. As if to make your decision for you, from over your shoulder you heard the familiar call of a certain man bounding towards you,

"(Y/N)!" Kendall's voice was warm as he drew closer behind you, a smile widening across his cheeks as you turned to face him, taking in your appropriately festive outfit. "If you're trying to hide from the party you're doing a great job, I've been looking all over for you. You know we had a lot more budget for this year's party thanks to your team minimising our hush money spend, so this rager is basically all for you." The glint from above you caught his eyes as he spoke, his face dropping as he paused toe-to-toe with you, realising the implications of the decoration.

"Oh shit, that's definitely not supposed to be there." You watched his Adam's apple bob as he gulped, the air growing thicker between the two you as he spoke, "I bet one of the fucking dinosaurs from Cruises put it up hoping to lure in our youngest intern." His joking words didn't match the serious expression he wore as neither of you could look away from each other. The fluttering in your stomach grew as you pulled your lower lip between your teeth, deciding what to say next and not missing the way Kendall's eyes darted down to watch the movement,

"Maybe Tom put it up hoping to lure Greg down here, I keep HR on speed dial around those two." Kendall's laugh echoed through the empty space, almost caught in his throat as his breath grew unsteady,

"Either way, not appropriate for the new, equity-focused Waystar, we're trying to build." He said in his best corporate voice, not daring to move an inch closer to you, terrified of misreading the situation and having mistaken your kindness towards him for more than it was. Seeing the fear in his eyes you willed yourself to be the one to close the gap, taking the smallest step forward, feeling your knees threaten to buckle in anticipation as you smiled playfully,

"I think that's for me to decide." Kendall's face couldn't quite bring itself to match your smile as you gradually drew closer, feeling your own breath falter as you crossed the invisible line your jobs put between, your lips pressing softly against Kendall's. It was hesitant, the delicate peck barely lasting a second before you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again. An overwhelming mix of apprehension and joy flowed through Kendall as the imprint of your soft lips seemed to linger on his. He'd wanted this from the moment you'd been introduced and now you were within reach, if that was what you both wanted. He moved this time, still tentative as his lips met yours again, a tender kiss that seemed to warm both your hearts amidst the winter cold. You let your eyes flutter closed as you moved one hand to cup Kendall's face, capturing his lips more confidently this time, feeling him fight back a smile against your kiss. His fingertips brushed delicately along the arm at your side before they found your hand, gently lacing between your own and squeezing softly, the sweet gesture sending a tingle up your spine as you pulled your body flush with Kendall's. His free hand settled comfortably on your lower back, a gesture he had done a dozen times before, but this time felt like it existed in another realm entirely as he pulled his soft lips more excitedly against yours.

Brushing your thumb over his cheek as you pulled away slightly, trying to remind yourself where you were over the spinning in your head,

"We should probably take it down now." You spoke softy, watching the absentminded smile forming on Kendall as he glanced back up to the Christmas miracle hanging from the ceiling. His heart felt full as his gaze flicked between your warm expression and the glistening decoration above you, not wanting to unlock his fingers from yours for even a second now that he finally had you in his arms.

"When I find out who put it up I'm giving them my whole Christmas bonus." Kendall joked contently, a soft smile across his face as his racing thoughts tried to find the words he needed to tell you, between ideas of new Christmas presents he wanted to get you immediately.

"Oh fuck off Kendall!" You both heard a frustrated voice shout behind you. Jumping apart you both spun in place to see an irate looking Roman with his arm around an awkward Gerri, "That's not for you!"

Kendall couldn't help the hearty laugh that crept out of him at his brother's pained expression, wrapping an arm back around your waist to escort you somewhere he could get out his feelings uninterrupted. With an awkward wave to them both he tried to speak sincerely,

"Merry Christmas you two."

Bonus, relevant, gif: