#shiv x reader

[ivystoryweaver]

Day 19: Can You Forgive Me? (Shiv)

Angstember Prompt Post || Word count: 150. Sad as hell.

“They came here with guns, Shiv. They threatened our son!” You whimper, tears streaming down your face.

His earthen eyes fill with terror as his throat bobs. “I-I only have til midnight.” He takes your arms and kisses your cheek. “Might not see you again.”

“Don’t say that,” you cry. “You can figure something out. You always do.”

You can tell he’s at a loss.

“I’m so sorry I told them,” you whisper, desperately clinging to him. Pushing errant dark strands from his eyes, you urgently press your mouth to his. “Can you forgive me?”

He eyes you longingly, wishing he could fix all that’s gone wrong between you. Hoping that he can find the money he needs to pay his debt before the deadline that will end his life.

“Of course I do.” He kisses you fiercely, tears shining in his eyes. “Do not let our son forget me.”

Angstember Masterlist || Misc. Masterlist || Main Masterlist

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blessed With Lucky Sevens

Shiv x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 14: Begging

Summary: Shiv's in trouble.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for beating and saving me as always! Again this one became not smut.

Warnings: guns, blood, death, disposing of a body, declarations of love, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1108

The gun presses further into Shiv’s temple. “Please, please.” He knows he’s begging for his life, but the substance of it, the tangible essence of the plea has long since escaped him. Lost in the torrent of fear that is paralysing his mind. 

The cold concrete bites into his knees. 

“Please.”

Ivanov snorts and presses the gun harder, forcing Shiv to bend his neck. “You beg so quickly, fucking pathetic.” 

“Ivanov,” Shiv swallows, trying to formulate something, anything that would get him out of his. Give him a chance. 

Ivanov smacks him hard around the face with the handle of the gun.

Shiv’s mind sings, fizzles under the sudden pain and pressure. For a second he thinks he’s going to pass out, or throw up. Or both. 

Ivanov spits in his face, the salvia splashes up his cheek. “You think you can fucking say my name?” 

Shiv swallows, eyes closed and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” Warmth from his temple runs down his face. 

“Sorry?” Ivanov huffs, “You think that’s fucking good enough for a piece of shit like you? You think that-”

The gunshot explodes, shattering everything. Shiv gasps, his hands automatically covering his ears as he falls to the ground. He’s sure he’s been shot. Sure he’s dead. 

But the concrete’s cold. And despite the thudding pain in his head from the smack, and the thump from falling (plus the few good punches Ivanov had got in earlier) there’s nothing. No extra pain. 

Maybe the bullet had struck his head, shock removing the sensation as he slowly died. 

He breathed deeply, counting. One… two… three… still here. 

Shiv opens his eyes slowly. 

Ivanov’s open eyes stare back. Lifeless. The top of his head is missing. Blown out by a rifle shot. 

He’s going to be sick. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen a dead body. But it’s all too much. The brains on the floor. How close he was to death. Is to. Whoever fired that shot is still out there. 

He scrambles back, as far away from the body as he can, away from the seeping blood despite the spatter that is already covering him. 

He needs to get to cover, get out of Ivanov’s fucking car headlights at least.

It’s the dead of night, a sideroad in the middle of nowhere that’s hardly fucking used. Thick dense forest to the side. 

Despite the headlights, the stars are the only source of light, the moon not yet risen. He could try to hide in the forest, but he’s with it enough to know he wouldn’t last until morning. Exposure would get him long before daybreak. 

He could grab the gun in Ivanov’s hand, check his pockets for the car keys. But whoever shot that rifle is still out there, surely waiting for a clear shot to pick him off too. 

He does vomit then, the bile coming up all in a rush. He spits and wretches into the dirt. He needs to…

The sound of a car approaching, he can’t see it. Ivanov’s headlights are blinding everything despite how far back he’s moved, and whoever is coming doesn’t have theirs on. 

Shiv scrambles back further into the undergrowth. It had to be the shooter, come to finish the job, impatient to splatter his brains all over the ground. 

He doesn’t recognise the car that stops. 

Could he reach the gun? Shoot first? No. Stay. Hide. Hide. Don’t give away your position.

“Shiv?” 

He does recognise the voice instantly. Your voice. You. 

“Shiv?” You step out of the car when he doesn’t answer, there’s a handgun in your leather gloved hand. 

You look around, checking the body.

He calls your name weakly. 

Your eyes snap to the undergrowth. “Shiv? You okay? You hurt?” You rush over as he pulls himself back onto the little concrete instep. 

“Fuck,” you kneel down, holstering your weapon and touch his face gently just below the wound. It’s the softest caress and he just melts into it. Unable to do anything else.

“What are you doing here?” He asks weakly. “It’s dangerous.” He doesn’t want to cry, shouldn’t. But his voice is thick with it, his throat aches with the force of holding it back. 

“Shhh,” you look him over, checking for more damage. “Can you walk?” 

He nods. 

You help him to his feet and put him in the passenger seat of your car before you grab things from your boot. You return to him, wrap him in a thick blanket and then hold out two pills. 

The white of them seems to shine against your black glove.

“What are those?” He asks, his voice small.

“Pain killers, the good kind.” You say softly.

He takes them without asking more questions, drinking from the flask when you offer it. The hot chocolate inside surprises him, but it tastes glorious. 

You tuck him back up, putting the seatbelt on for him. “I won’t be long.” 

The medication starts to have an effect quickly, either that or just the situation in general. The sudden dip in adrenaline. He starts to drift off almost instantly. 

You walk over to what’s left of Ivanov, check his right coat pocket and wouldn’t you know, first time lucky. You find his car keys. 

You douse his corpse in the petrol from the can you have in your boot before you check his car. There’s nothing much of use in there, some drugs. About ₽250,000 in cash, you pocket that. 

It’s an easy matter to get in the driving seat and park the car over his body. You douse the vehicle in the rest of the petrol before you set it on fire. 

Shiv’s seemingly completely out of it when you get back to your car and pull out. 

You’ve been driving for about twenty minutes when he speaks. “I didn’t know.” 

“Hey, it’s alright.” You lightly touch his shoulder, comforting him. 

“I didn’t know,” he repeats, his voice thick and dreamy, “that you were such a good shot.” 

You smile a little at that. But it’s not a happy one. 

“I’m taking you to a friend’s, they’ll get you patched up.”

He breathes deeply, steadily for a few moments and you think he’s fallen back asleep. “Thank you.” 

You don’t reply, about to take your hand off his shoulder, but he reaches out from under the blanket, squeezes your fingers tight and he presses a kiss to your palm before he lets you go.

He’s practically unconscious when he speaks again, fighting through the thick veil of exhaustion to speak. “I love you, you know. I always have.”

You know. You love him too.

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[blue-sadie]

The Slick Back

Shiv x Girlfriend Reader

Series Masterlist

Prt 3 of the Different Versions Series

Summary: waking up in a small apartment in Moscow it reminds you of something and someone

Warning: shower sex

Yn/3rd person pov

My eyes slowly blinked open as I stretched out a groan leaving my throat as I shifted uncomfortably, I slowly sat up my eyes shooting open as my bed creaked loudly underneath me.

I looked down at the bed my eyes softening as I saw the torn and beaten up mattress and the wrecked bed frame, my lips slightly quivered as I remembered when I use to live like this before steven helped.

He helped me so much, helping my life get in gear keeping me grounded as I worked my way up, my heart ached as I thought back to when we first met everything was so special was it my fault everything changed.

A few tears escaped my eyes rolling down my cheeks and I let them it was said to see everything we built fall apart "I miss you guys" I whispered and slightly wiped my tears away before moving to the edge of the bed letting my legs hang off of it.

My slight blurred vision moved over the room, it was small and looked run down, the room only had a small window covered by tattered curtains and a door that looked really busted, I slowly stood up and made my way through to the window to look out of it.

What I looked down upon was a bustling street with loads of people crowding it and only a few cars here and there, my brows frowned slightly as I wondered where I was "maybe it's for the better I don't know" I murmured and stepped back from the window letting the curtain fall back into place.

I wondered into the next room which was slightly bigger then the bedroom it was cramped as the living room and dining room and the kitchen was only separated by a half wall and to my left was a small bathroom.

Each room was covered in a thin layer of dust and there was laundry thrown all over the bathroom, I used to be just like this never having the motivation to clean or to look after myself properly I hummed to myself slightly as I moved to the kitchen cringing slightly.

The small counter space was covered in dirty plates and cups the small of something bad filled my nose "yea I can't live with that" I murmured and huffed as I went to work on cleaning this place up, I started with the dishes to clear the counters and bagged all the trash around the apartment.

After that I went to picking up laundry putting it into a sorted piles before moving onto cleaning the floors and surfaces and lastly sorting out the bed, I was to busy humming to myself to notice the marc look a like admiring me from the door way.

His eyes stared at your ass as you bent over flattening the sheets on the bed, he bit his lip and raised his hand bringing it hard down on your ass, you screamed turning around and out of reflex you punched him causing him to hiss in pain.

"Shit baby doll its me shiv" he yelled putting his arms up in a surrender before quickly moving to his face covering the reddening patch of his face, "oh shit" I squeaked covering my mouth as I looked at him.

His russian accent startled me but the slap is what made me punch him, my eyes looked at him drifting up and down his body, he looked good in a red leather jacket with slicked back hair he looked as he would be in one of those detective movies or apart of the mafia.

"You throw a good punch" he muttered rubbing his cheek gently, I pressed my lips together as I stepped to him raising my hand to his face, he flinched at first before leaning into my touch "I'm sorry" I murmured making him smile slightly and shake his head.

"I should've announced I was here" he said his hands settling on my hips drawing little circles on my hips "I'm glad to see you up and cleaning" he murmured pushing his head into my neck his nose tickling my skin.

He kissed my neck tenderly whispering sweet things to me as he pulled me in closer his hands hugging my waist "I wish I could stay here forever but I really need to shower" he pulled back from me and quickly kissed my forehead but as he was about to turn and leave he stopped.

"How about you join me" he murmured looking back at me his eyes already filled with lust and desire I thought about it for a second before nodding "sure why not" I smiled before squealing out as he quickly picked me up.

He walked us into the bathroom placing me onto the small counter "fuck I really missed you doll" he growled his hands fumbling with his clothes as he rushes to take them off his eyes locked with mine.

I giggled as he almost fell as he kicked off his boxers "oh shush" he laughed as he kissed me, he quickly helped me on to the floor his hands quickly working to pull off my clothes "I miss the way your body feels against mine" he mumbled as he urged me into the shower.

He pressed me against the wall of the small shower it was the only way we could fit in together "I want you so bad" he muttered kissing the skin between my neck and shoulder lovingly I let out small whines and gasps as he pressed his body against mine.

"Get ready" he said, I opened my mouth to ask why but the cold water hitting us made a small scream leave my lips "that's cold" I squeaked my hands moving to grasp his shoulders tightly he laughed at my reaction, my body was tense intil the water turned warm.

"Fuck that was freezing" I muttered breathing out as the water ran over my body, he chuckled again biting his lip "but it wakes up the body doesn't" he murmured leaning down so we were face to face "awakens each part of you".

His hands traced up and down my body as he pressed his lips against mine in a passionate kiss, I let my hands fall down his body to his cock, my hands wrapped around it making his breath hitch against my lips.

"Please doll please" he begged his voice shaking as he spoke I bit my lip as I teasingly ran my finger tips up and down his cock making him whine, "why don't you beg" I murmured which made him pause and look at me and I knew I fucked up.

He raised his eyebrow looking down at me "what was that baby doll" he asked his voice laced with a dominating tone, I blushed darkly looking away "n-nothing" I whispered his breath tickled my neck as he leaned closer to me his hand coming up to cup my face and force me too look at him.

"What did you say" he muttered but I didn't answer, he chuckled darkly and turned me over in a swift motion I gasped as I was pressed against the tiles "next time don't think your in control" he growled a slapped my ass a few times each time a gasp of pain left my lips.

"Aw such a red ass" he chuckled giving it one last smack before squeezing it, "you took it so well doll" he growled as he pressed his cock in between my thighs up against my core "now can you take something else" he teased.

I nodded my head eagerly pressing myself back against him "fuck" he muttered and moved himself to my entrance "shiv" I moaned as he slowly entered me making my hands helplessly hold onto the wall.

His thrusts pushed me further into the wall, his lips attached to the back of my neck leaving love bites along my skin "p-please" I whined as I felt a knot formed in my stomach, my eyes rolled back as I clenched around him making him grunt.

"Fuck I'm close" he groaned as his cock twitched inside me "cum with me cum with me doll" he grunted and I squealed out as I cum and soon after he filled me up with his seed, my knees buckled underneath me and he picked me up just intime.

"Go to sleep doll, I'll take care of everything all you have to do is rest"

[winniethewife]

Let me taste your silhouette

(Shiv X F!reader)

Prompt: Piercings

Words:1280

Warnings: Smut under the cut, Pierced reader, Nipple piercings, Breast play, humping, Switch!reader Switch!Shiv, Pet names (Puppy), oral sex (Fem receiving), PinV, unprotected sex, cream pie

A/N: For my Event Nine weeks in hell, and Kinktober.

Shiv was captivated by the way the small metal bar bell felt under his fingers as he held her breast in his hand his fingers rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. His hand under her jacket, attempting to hide his actions from the group she was talking to. Her body pressed close to him as they stood in the corner of the party they were at. A plastic cup of Vodka and some kind of Kool-aid in her hand as they stood, Shiv’s back against the wall, her hips pressed into his, as she talked to some others standing around them. Shiv desperately wanted to leave the party, for her to stop talking and take him home with her so he could finally get what he wanted, the feeling of the metal between his teeth, her bare skin under him. He used his unoccupied hand to pull her hips closer to him, rubbing his hard on against her ass, trying to show how much he needed her. After what felt like an entirety he was almost about to give up, when he whispered in her ear.

“Please Baby, end this, let’s go home and let me show you how good I can treat you.” his hot breath against the shell of her ear sending shivers down her spine. She smiled and reaches around to hold the side of his face, rubbing her thumb along his cheekbone.

“Shhh, Puppy, wait your turn.” She whispered, her thumb continues to teasingly caress his face, her attention returning to the conversation she was having with the other party goers. This of course irritated Shiv but at the chiding from his lover he pulled back slightly and waited, his fingers still fidgeting with her pericing and his face still buried in the crook of her neck. And there he waited patiently for a while, as she continued to talk and talk. Shiv was getting impatient, he started to grumble his voice low and irritated.

“I want to go. Rather spend the night talking between your legs.” He huffed. She gave him a glance, an unspoken warning in her eyes, but he wasn’t playing anymore, he grabs her breast squeezing it as he continues to roll her nipple between his fingers. “I know you really want to.” He growls. Their eyes meet and she can tell he isn’t going to back down. She turned her attention to the people she was talking to and grinned.

“I apologize, I have something to attend to.” She said in a faux-cheery voice before she grabs his hand from her breast and dragged him across the room. She finds an empty bedroom, closing the door and turning on him. “Okay Puppy, You need this right now? you can’t be a good boy and wait for me to be done?”  She spoke dangerously low, standing centimeters away from him. Shiv smiles devilishly.

"When you're talking, I go dead, It’s so boring.” He replied in a childish tone, egging her on. He takes her hips in his hands and pulled her in close, his lips hovering over hers. “Let me show you better ways to use that mouth of yours baby.” He whispered before pressing his lips against hers, drawing her closer into his embrace as he kisses her hungrily like a starving man. At first she was resistant to relinquish control of the situation, but when his hand held the back of her head and he sucked gently on her top lip, she melted like putty in his hands. She pressed her body against him, He pushed back walking the two of them over to the bed, forcing her down on to the bed, his hips trust against hers, seeking the relief from the glorious friction. His hands tracing her curves, starting at her ass and up her sides, finding their way to the edge of her shirt, pulling the fabric up over her breasts, exposing her pierced nipples to the cool air, his fingers graze over them with reverence. The sensation draws soft whimpers from her lips and she arches into his touch. Shiv smiles, how the tables have turned, now she was just as needy as he had been, he watched with delight she writhes underneath him, bucking her hips up into his, kissing him passionately. She grabs at his jacket and pulled him down on top of her, her whole tough woman persona out the window. She just wanted him to give her exactly what he’d been begging to give her all night.

“That’s it Baby, let me give you this dick, it’ll put you on right.” Shiv babbles as he pulled off his belt buckle and undid his jeans. “Make you feel so good baby, right? My dick is the only dick you need.” He continues, clumsily pulling down her own jeans, getting ready to slide himself between her folds and fuck her into tomorrow, when she grabs his hair, tugging his face down in between her thighs.

“Shut your mouth, give me your head.” She growls pulling on his ink black hair until he was perfectly positioned, his nose bumping against her clit as he eagerly lapped at her wet folds, his dark eyes looking up at her in the darkened room, eager to please. As Shiv continued to lick and suck at her, she leans her head back on to the bed lost in the moment as pleasure pooled in her abdomen, her climax surely approaching. Shiv moaned into her, thrusting his hips into the bed, his boxers wet with precum, his dick is achingly hard, his nails digging into her thighs as he grips them either side of his head. He focused his work on to her clit, swirling his tongue in circles around the sensitive nub. Her eyes roll back into her head as she felt the warmth of her climax over take her body her whole mind shutting off as the pleasure overrides her thoughts. When she returns to her senses Shiv is positioned over her, gently kissing his way up her chest, swirling his tongue over her nipples, loving the metallic taste in his mouth, she could feel the head of his cock rubbing on her folds, begging to fill her up.

“Baby, please…I wanna fuck you so good.” Shiv muttered, mouth full of her tits. He doesn’t have to ask again, she’s already flipped him over, straddling his hard dick as she works to lower herself onto him, slowly teasing him with every move she makes, everything she takes, everything she gives, it was surely going to drive him mad. His hands come to rest on her hips, his eyes tracing her figure, his expression filled with unfiltered adoration and desire. He was practically drooling at the sight of her riding his dick, and he certainly wasn’t being quiet about it, his moans and whimpers fill the space in time with her movements. He wasn’t going to last long, but every moment he did felt like nirvana. As Shiv felt the pressure building in him he couldn’t be patient any more, he grabbed onto her, pulling her down on to him as he rutted up into her, frantically seeking his release in her sweet slick, his rhythm chaotic and wild.

“Oh, Fuck! Shiv, please, god, mgh. Cum for me baby, please” She pleaded into his ear as he pushed up into her again and again until finally he felt the mind scrambling pleasure flow through his body, his spend filling her with warmth. They fall into each other’s embrace, filled with the joy of the afterglow as they came down from their highs, blissfully unaware of the party outside.

~

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Taglist: : @silvernight-m @queerponcho @boredzillenial

[myromeow]

!! contains spoilers for season 2 of Succession generally but MAJOR episode 10 SPOILERS !!

-

Shiv Roy was never satisfied. Whether that was in her work life or her love life, Shiv was always striving for the best angle. She would never settle for something that was any less than what she thought she deserved. Then why, why was it so hard to find someone who could keep up with her? But no, that wasn’t it, because even someone like Nate couldn’t satisfy Shiv in the end. Then there was Tom. In theory great, but still not enough. It was her interest that always, inevitably, waned.

I suppose Shiv always knew, but shoved it so deep down out of necessity. It was hard enough in the business world to be a woman as it is. She had to work ten times harder than her brothers to be taken seriously, and face ten times as much criticism when she fucked up. Misogyny was a bitch, but homophobia was worse. Never mind that her own father is the king of right wing news media, and has single handedly done more damage to the societal position of ethnic and sexual minorities than perhaps any other person in America. The world, even. Never mind that his reaction would break her, surely negative. Not out of hatred for queers specifically—Logan hated everyone, after all, especially his own children. Shiv could imagine his disproving gaze, one she was all too familiar with. His lecture on how, if it ever came out, it could, no would scare the shareholders. It would ruin everything. Never mind all that. Never mind that her first kiss was with a girl in boarding school, who left after the second term. Her first heartbreak. Never mind that the best sex she ever had was during a threesome, kissing some girl she hasn’t seen since. Never mind her disappointment when Tom said no to the threesome with a girl she’d picked out on the Roy’s yacht. Shiv could’ve fucked her anyway but the risk was

too high. Too many snakes lounging on deck chairs and sipping drinks around too polite conversation. Too many eyes. Shiv Roy liked to be in control of the narrative, the when, where and who—no interruptions or mishaps.

She sat glumly on the beach next to her husband, face frowning like a child who’d been scolded, suppressing her tears that showed up on queue. She loved Tom, is what she told herself. Maybe she did. She’d loved how easy he was to convince, how trusting he was, almost like a dog. A big soft lump, sentimental enough to get choked up at their wedding. But his vulnerability, his weakness was also why Shiv could never love him the way he needed her to. Shiv did not have a soft bone in her body. And dogs learn not to trust humans that hit them, over and over again.

Shiv Roy was never satisfied with anyone. Whether that was due to her narcissism or her abidance to compulsory heterosexuality, was anyone’s guess. Shiv had built her icy grave, cold and frigid walls unreachable by all human warmth, totally isolated.

She lay in it.

A/N — I know it’s is a hotly debated topic if Logan loves his kids but imo Logan thinks he loves his children (as Brian cox says) but REAL love is shown in actions not just words. In practice, he doesn’t love them anymore than he can use them for his own benefit. You see how quickly he throws Kendall away after u know what. Like Shiv and Tom, who she used and needed at a vulnerable time in her life when they first got together, but when someone needed to be sacrificed for the company and it was in her self interest, she would throw him under the bus in a heartbeat. Also Shiv’s face in the beach scene really reminded me of a child who’d been told off and was having a strop hahahhaha.

Please if you have any thoughts on this let me know in asks or reblogs! (I can’t reply to comments as this is a side blog). This was inspired by my pinned post on Shiv & comphet and is cross posted to my AO3

[wambsgansshoelaces]

guess what guys!! like a third of the way done with a normal sized request 😗 hopefully will be done by tomorrow, but for now I’m going to retire and play good pizza great pizza like the iPad baby I am

[httpjupiterbby]

i hate it here so i will go to secret gardens in my mind (fictional women)

[yourgirlxp]

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[salbei-141]

Be honest with me (Roman Roy x reader)

Masterlist

word count: 1.1k

warnings: 18+, pure fluff and comfort, mentions of verbal abuse

a/n: Inactivity who? A rare update I know lol. Anyway y’all I’m so in love with him - honestly in love with all the Roy siblings, but Romulus got a special place in my heart <3

I love how late I jump onto writing trends for characters, but in my defence I've had this in the drafts for MONTHS. Anyway, hope you enjoy my loves <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment was silent, it felt too out of character, especially for Roman. The both of you lay in silence on his bed, still in today's clothes.

You move your hand slowly - scared that a sudden movement would cause him to suddenly get up and leave without warning. Tentatively, you inch your fingers onto his own - he said nothing, nor did he move. Gaining more confidence and desperate to comfort him knowing how loud his mind must be right now - you encapsulate his hand within your own. They’re soft and warm - Roman was always warm to touch. You feel his hand squeeze your own back - still no words being said.

You take a deep breath, feeling the need to break the silence finally, but before you can, Roman cuts you off.

“Please don’t,” his voice came out weak - he was usually so quick witted…he just sounded tired.

“Okay,” your voice was soft - a complete dichotomy to the tone he was used to from his father and siblings.

Another 30 minutes went by in complete silence - the both of your steady breaths being the only thing heard. Your hand still lay in his - he hadn't moved an inch unless it was to gently squeeze your hand every so often.

You turn on your side, slipping your hand out of his - he still didn't move. You decided to move closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder and draping your right arm across his chest that rose up and down with each breath he took.

You studied his face - he looked like he wanted to push you off of him, and yet simultaneously he was aching to pull you closer to him. Your touch was the only touch he felt safe feeling - you'd never hurt him, and he never doubted that thought for a second, but he was just so used to being alone and pushing people away.

You were desperate to hear his voice, to understand what was running through his head. You knew he was probably going to say some stupid quip to hide how he really felt, but you'd see straight through him; he knew this and it was the scariest thing to him - that you actually saw him.

"Ro...," you were gentle - a part of him just wanted you to shout at him and tell him he was a waste of space just like his father had - it was all he knew. However, you were just too kind, you actually cared for him, and not in the way his father cared for him - if you could call it that - but in a way that was so genuine and pure that it felt wrong to him, but he craved every second of it.

His gaze moved from the ceiling to your worried face - you looked beautiful he thought, he had always thought you were the most beautiful person he knew. "Yeah," his voice sounded small and tired.

"Are you okay?" the question was stupid, you knew he wasn't, but you wondered if he'd answer you honestly - if for once he'd be vulnerable with you, and truly let you into what was going through his mind.

"What? Pfft yeah I'm fine, real fucking good...just thinking about who has bigger tits - you or Gerri...I think Gerri does," there it was...he couldn't be honest with you for a minute if he tried - he'd rather say some crude shit and hope you'd be weirded out enough like everyone else and just leave him so he could avoid sharing his emotions.

You sat up, leaning on one hand as you stared down at him while he tried to avoid your gaze which was slowly glazing over with unshed tears. "Roman...please I-...can you just be honest with me?" your voice had a slight shake - scared that you were going to push him over the edge and he'd run.

He made eye contact with you, his heart clenching in his chest, no one had made him feel the way you could make him feel, and that scared him. He didn't know what to do - his mind was screaming so many things at him all at once that he couldn't really make a decision, so he stayed silent.

Several minutes passed of you both just holding each other's gaze then he opened his mouth tentatively, "Why do you care about me? Why can't you just call me a freak or a perv and leave?" You watched as his eyes reddened and glazed over as he tried his hardest not to cry in front of you. Had you cracked him? It felt bittersweet that he might finally just be honest with you, but the pain in his eyes was tearing at your heart.

You smiled, giggling softly as you lifted a hand to his cheek and wiped away a singular tear that had managed to fall, watching as he turned his face to meet your caress - he trusted you. "Because I fucking love you Roman".

"But why?" he interrupted you like a child would trying to understand such a foreign concept that you were trying to explain.

"There's no reason - I mean there is, you're...you. I love you Roman." You were so soft with him, it felt alien to him. It broke you that he couldn't fathom the concept of someone genuinely loving him, and in such a pure way too. This love wasn't like the love from his father, nor from his siblings - it was something so foreign that he couldn't understand it, but he liked it...he liked this.

You laid back down beside him, "Come here Ro...please" your eyes had such a soft stare - they were so warm and inviting, he couldn't object to the embrace you were offering him.

Roman inched across the bed over into your arms, wrapping his arm around your waist and burying his face in your chest, while you wrapped an arm around his back, holding him close to you. You fell into a comfortable silence, holding each other without a care in the world - it was just the both of you.

"I love you too, you know?" he muttered it so quietly that it almost went unheard, but a smile spread across your face at his confession. You knew that he had probably been having an internal argument with himself on whether or not he was actually going to say it to you; without any sarcasm too.

You felt your heart fluttering in your chest and you pulled him closer to you, "Yeah I know". You tilted your head down slightly and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. He went to open his mouth to say some sarky comment, but immediately shut it - he didn't need to feel defensive around you, not now, and not ever.

[demureflaneur]

age gap yuri… if you can hear us please… please save me age gap yuri…

[vclvetfleur]

Obedient

Pairing ▹ Roman Roy x Fem! Reader

Synopsis ▹ After graduating college, you had a hard time finding anything. You were living paycheck to paycheck, until your old college roommate tried to help out with getting you an interview at her job, Waystar Royco. After a mix up, you find out that you were interviewing for Kendall's little brother, Roman. The more time you spent with him, you realized his whole facade of being the weird noisy arrogant douche was just to cover up really dark issues. But how much of it can you take til it just becomes way too much for you? You had your own stuff to deal with.

Notes ▹ I decided to finally start a series about Roman. There is not enough fan fictions about him. There's going to be talks about past traumas and unhealthy coping mechanisms. I plan on making the character have deep rooted trauma as well, but hiding it a lot better than Roman, not as well though. There will be triggers for past child abuse, implied (c)SA, mentions of EDs and some substance abuse. Regardless of the heavy tones, I hope you have fun reading. This is mostly a therapy writing thing.

.・。.・゜✭・.Playlist ・✫・゜・。.

Chapters ▹ Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20

[diana-foggy-master]

𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝟐

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴏʀ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ɪꜰ ᴜ sᴀᴠᴇ

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

more icons from Succession on my Pinterest: HERE

[bowieandqueen11]

Kissing Roman Roy Would Include...

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

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

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

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

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

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[winniethewife]

Dark Room, Corner Booth (Shiv x F! reader)

Warning: smut under the cut, thigh riding, public, Alcohol consumption, reader wearing a skirt.

Words: 530

It was dark in the club, which was the point. Shiv didn’t want anyone to see, he hadn’t exactly been in the best graces with Tusk lately and all he wanted was some peace and quiet with his girl. After they grab drinks Shiv takes her to the farthest darkest corner of the club, plopping down on the couch and dragging her down on his lap. She giggles, holding onto the collar of his leather jacket as he holds her hips.

“Pretty good spot huh?” He gives her that sweet smile, the one that gives her butterflies in her stomach and makes her heart skip a beat.

“It’s perfect.” She whispers as she runs her fingers over his slicked back hair affectionately. He practically purred at her touch. His dark eyes scan her, looking over her body as he grabs his drink taking a sip. They enjoy the music, the closeness. Once their empty glasses are set aside, Shiv returns his hands to her hips, pressing his thumbs into her flesh, loving the feeling of her under his fingertips. She situates herself on his thigh, grabbing at his jacket again to steady herself as she starts to move back, and forth, eyes half lidded with pleasure as she feels the friction through the damp fabric covering her needy cunt. Shiv looks up at her slightly surprised, they’ve never done anything like this, in public. He takes a glance over her shoulder to see that no one was even aware they were over there. He lets out a sigh of relief, he runs his hands up her back, pulling her closer as she rides his thigh, pressing his lips to her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along her sensitive skin, drawing soft moans from her lips.

“That’s it baby. Who do you belong to huh? Whose making you feel good?” Shiv softly growls in her ear.

“Y-you Shiv. F-fuck…it you, always you.” She whimpers, rubbing her clit on the rough texture of his jeans, soaking the fabric as she chases her high.

“Mmm, that’s right baby girl, I’m the one who makes you feel like this, no other man can make you feel this good right? Just me.” Shiv puts his hand on the back of her neck holding her in place before catching her lips in his, licking into her mouth as she whines in desperation. She keeps rocking her hips on his thigh, squeezing her thighs tight around his as she feels the knot in her stomach wind tighter and tighter. Shiv’s other hand on her ass, pulling at the tiny skirt she wore, feeling his own arousal pushing against his jean zipper. He groans into the kiss as he feels her wet juices seeping through his pants leg. He digs his nails into her ass guiding her back and forth, taking her further and further until, she felt the snap of the rope breaking, releasing her climax in hot waves along her body. Shiv swallowing her moans as she clung to him. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her. Right then right there… where everyone could see, she was his, and He was hers. 

~

Masterlist

Tag: @silver-night-m

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Clandestine. Part Four.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

Chapter Synopsis - Death puts everything into perspective.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Roy!Reader

Warnings - cursing. lots of talk about grief.

Word Count - 3k

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

Series Masterlist. Main Masterlist. Inbox.

You’re floating around in a daze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

“Why?”

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

“Rome-”

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

“Roman.”

“What?”

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

“The fuck are you talking about?”

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

“I’m in love with Stewy.”

Roman’s silent for a moment, processing.

“Hosseini?”

You can’t help but laugh.

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

He shakes his head, still visibly confused.

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

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

“You’re dating him?”

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

“For how long?”

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

“Two years?”

“Are you mad?”

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

“So you don’t hate me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Promise. No more secrets.”

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

“So Kendall… walked in on you?”

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

“Oh shit,” he laughs.

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

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

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

“He’s horrible at feelings.”

“Says Mr Communication over here.”

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

“What now?”

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

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

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

He’s free.

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

He’s free.

You all are.

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

“I need to get out.”

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

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

“So you’re gonna… leave?”

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

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

“I am too.”

“Wait… what?”

“I’m doing the same.”

“Roman.”

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

“Jeez. Thanks.”

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

You roll your eyes, kicking him under the table.

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

Your brother chuckles, leaning back in his chair.

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

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

“What about Kendall?”

“What about him?”

“I feel like we’re… abandoning him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, so your brother doubles down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When did you get so smart, huh?”

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

“That they do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You sure about this, Rome?”

“One hundred percent.”

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

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

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

“You too. Anything.”

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Stewy? You home?”

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

“Baby.”

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

“Missed you, Hosseini.”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“Marry me, Stewy.”

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

“W-what?”

“Marry me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit. Really?”

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, back to my original question…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that a yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, what?”

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

“But… your money.”

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

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

“Stewy?”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“Say it again.”

“Mrs Hosseini.”

“And again.”

He kisses you, mumbling against your lips.

“Mrs Hosseini.”

“Mhmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ddarker-dreams]

watching a tv series you enjoy when yan chrollo's in the general vicinity is a dangerous gamble.

on one hand, you get the much needed mental reprieve from your subpar circumstances. throughout the episode's duration, you lose yourself in the narrative and reality fades into an insignificant blur. it might not bring about tangible change, but it makes your day to day more tolerable.

then chrollo slides in.

you expect him to interject unwanted commentary and ruin the viewing experience — he doesn't. he isn't just creepily staring at you for the 22 or 50 minutes either. chrollo might not laugh and cry at the writer's behest, but he's engaged. if the episode ends on a cliffhanger he'll share his theories for what happens next. it's annoying because he's so unfairly engaging. if you aren't mindful, you could easily sink hours into discussing the various characters and major plot points. he gives you insight you never would've thought of yourself, listens dutifully to your contributions and genuinely cares about getting your input.

it's disconcerting. you wish he'd just be weird and keep trying to touch your thighs or something so you could know it's all a means to an end. your every thought holds such significance to him and this causes a flurry of uncomfortable feelings.