#succession fic

[strang3lov3]

Asleep

Roman can't sleep, so he fucks you to tire himself out. 2.6k Tags - it's a mixed bag today, guys. stepdaddy!roman, smut, somno kink, unprotected piv, roman roy jerking off, daddy kink, blowjobs, dirty talk, cunnilingus, creampie, comeplay, masturbation, does roman roy want to be your father or fuck you, both, general fucked up-ness, biting, bruising, alcoholic mom mentions, roman roy getting a little emotional and teary-eyed, mentions of roman's balls for that one anon who knows who they are A/N - howdy!! it's been a while since we've heard from stepdaddy but i've been on a somno kick and well, here we are. I planned for a stepdaddy somno fic to come later but I’ve outlined the rest of the series so…whoops. Anywho, i missed this weirdo so much and i hope you enjoy ♡ love ya love ya. Also this is like loosely proofread so if you see glaring issues, let a girl know 💀

Stepdaddy!Roman Masterlist

It’s so cold. You’re not sure what it is about your room in particular, but when it gets cold out, your bedroom seems to take the hardest hit. Roman won’t let you keep a space heater in there, citing your inability to ever blow out your scented candles or turn off your heat tools for your hair. He doesn’t trust you to not accidentally start a fire in his house. 

You cup your palms and bring them to your mouth, then blow hot air into the little space you create with your hands. It helps momentarily, but your toes are still numb. 

Sliding out of bed, you tiptoe out of your room and into the dark hallway. Next to your mother’s and Roman’s shared bedroom is a guest room, which is where Roman sleeps. Your mom spends a lot of nights on the couch, but sometimes she comes to bed and wakes Roman up in doing so, who already has a difficult time staying asleep. It’s just easier for him to have his own space, for a multitude of reasons. 

After opening the guest bedroom door, you find Roman sleeping on his side, moonlight casting a gentle glow on his pale skin. As you approach him, you see better his toned biceps, his soft and slim middle, how that curve deepens between his ribcage and his hips. The difference in width between his forearm and his wrist. Roman’s such a beautiful man. 

Carefully, quietly, you slip under his covers and inch yourself closer to him on the sheets until your tummy is pressed against his back. You wriggle your arms underneath his and tuck your feet between his legs, then squeeze him tight. Roman’s body heat soothes you immediately as you press your cheek against his bare shoulder. 

Reprieve is only momentary. A split second, maximum. Roman jolts awake, hissing at the feeling of your cold hands and feet on his warm body. He’s groggy and confused, and pushes you away frantically. He knows it’s you when you cuddle up to him again and he can smell you as you wrap your body around him once more. “Jesus Christ, kid. You’re fucking freezing, get away from me.”

“So cold,” you mumble, nuzzling closer to him. Roman’s on his back now, and you’re resting your head on his chest. You’d crawl inside his skin if you could. 

“It’s rude to invite yourself into people’s beds, do you know that? Or did you miss that memo.”

“Mhm, I missed that one,” you yawn. 

Roman chuckles. It’s sort of nice being woken up like this, by you, despite how unpleasant your cold extremities feel. Roman’s heart swells in his chest as he pulls you a little closer, pressing his nose against your hair. “C’mere and fucking give me these,” he huffs, taking your hands in both of his as he rubs them gently. “Before you give me frostbite.”

“I’m surprised it bothers you this much.” You wiggle your feet, rubbing them up and down on Roman’s legs to generate some friction. “I figured you’re so cold and heartless on the inside that you wouldn’t even notice.”

“Mm. That’s clever.”

Once Roman warms your hands enough, he lets them go and you wrap your arms around him again. Hands tucked under his torso, your head rising and falling a little with each of his rhythmic breaths. You’re curled up like a cat, soaking up all of him at this moment. The faint smell of his cologne and sweat, his warm breath on your skin. How soft he is. He’s tugged up your sleep shirt a bit, and his long fingers are now gently scratching up and down your back, soothing you right to sleep. 

“This is all I am to you, huh? Just a fuckin’...human radiator-pillow hybrid thing.”

“Mhm,” you answer on autopilot, farther from conscious than unconscious. Roman can hear in the way you’re breathing that you’re dead to the world. He chuckles again, smiling as he looks down at your sleeping form. He kisses your nose and your forehead, then traces your facial features with his free hand, smirking at how your nose crinkles and your brows knit together. Your pouty lips. If you were awake, you’d call him an asshole for tickling you. 

Roman puts two fingers on your chin, tilting your head back so he can kiss your lips. “Goodnight, baby girl.”

He just watches you. Watches and admires. He’ll go back to sleep in a few minutes, but for now, Roman savors the quiet, peaceful moment. You’re so limp, but clinging to him almost desperately. Roman knows it to be true by now, that you need him. Because you’re letting yourself need him, just like you used to. And inversely, Roman loves to feel needed by you. He feels valuable, he feels protective, masculine as he wraps his arms tighter around you. His arms are so much stronger when he uses them to hug you tight. 

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve slept with him like this. Curled around his body, limbs entangled. It used to be a somewhat regular occurrence. 

It started out when Roman would be going to bed, and as he walked past your bedroom he’d hear you whimpering and making other noises of distress. He’d let himself into your room to stop you from tossing and turning and thrashing, and then would hold you close as you babbled incoherently about your nightmare until you fell back asleep. Roman wonders if you remember that at all. It’s not like it was talked about.  

And there’d be moments similar when you were younger, you’d have a fight with your mom that’d leave you in tears. Awful, screaming fights, that even scared Roman a little. He’d listen to it happen, safe from a different floor or separated by doors and drywall. How scared you must’ve been. Your mom would be drunk and belligerent, aggressive. When you left, she’d follow. 

Roman always, always felt guilt for never sticking up for you. He carries that guilt even now. But when the screaming would end, and you’d tiptoe into your bedroom and cry alone, Roman would follow. He’d hold you close as you choked on your sobs, petting your hair. “You’re safe, you’re okay, kiddo. It’s just me and you,” he’d whisper, holding your trembling hand while he rubbed your palm with his thumb, pressing it into that little pad between your thumb and forefinger to try and soothe you. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. 

Pressure builds up behind Roman’s eyes as he recounts the memory, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks. “Jesus, fuck,” he whispers, wiping them away before they roll down his jaw and onto your forehead. He’s not gonna think about it anymore. He’s gonna go to sleep, holding you close and tight.

-

Hours have since passed. Maybe Roman’s gotten some sleep, but it’s hard to tell. Nothing real, at least. He lies awake, his skin damp from sweat. For someone so cold, you sure don’t absorb warmth very well. You seem to just insulate Roman’s own body heat. Roman scoots away from you to get some space, just a little, but you follow, and drape your thigh across his lap. As you move to get comfortable, you rub Roman’s crotch, his cock hardening in his boxer briefs. 

“Oh, gr- that’s great. Fucking fantastic,” Roman whispers, moving your thigh off of his body. It’s was only seconds and already he’s rock hard, all thanks to you. He presses his palm against his bulge in search of relief, but it only worsens the sensation. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…” 

Roman slips his hand beneath his briefs and pulls out his leaking cock, then spits in his palm and wraps his fingers around his length. He turns his head so that he can see you lying on your side, and hikes up your shirt, exposing your nude body. You’re not wearing any panties.

Roman watches you as he begins sliding his palm up and down, squeezing his fist tighter. Roman bites his lip as he thinks of you, thinks of being inside you. Fucking his hand is a means to an end, if only he could fuck you instead. Your mouth. Your cunt. 

Roman slides his thumb over the tip of his cock, collecting the wet, sticky precum that sits upon his slit as he fucks his fist. He breathes shakily and quietly as he works himself, a little moan slipping out here and there. With Roman’s other hand, he reaches into his briefs and cups his balls, squeezing them gently as he pumps his cock. “Look what you fuckin’ - God, you suck,” Roman grunts, then spits in his hand again. 

You pout, brows pinched together in annoyance as you grumble in your sleep. 

“Shh- be quiet. Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Roman hushes you. He’s gotten a little carried away, and that’s what disturbed your slumber. Roman takes a deep breath and slows down, taking his time as he pumps his fist. It seems that the gentle, rhythmic shaking of the bed as Roman fucks himself rocks you back to a deep sleep. How fucking twisted…

…Yet it makes Roman harder all the same. And he tries, but his fist isn’t cutting it. Roman bends forward to tug his briefs off all the way, tossing them on the ground, then carefully shifts on the bed so that he’s kneeling right by your head. He adjusts you on the pillow, tilting your face just a little so that he can fit the head of his cock between your lips. “You gonna let daddy fuck that pretty mouth? Hm, baby girl?” 

Roman inches his cock into your mouth little by little. 

“You’re sleeping. And in my bed,” he adds. “So it’s not like you have much of a choice, do you?” 

With that, Roman buries his cock in your mouth, sliding it towards the back of your throat. You accept the intrusion so gracefully and with such ease, but a small part of Roman wishes he could watch your eyes widen as you choke on his cock, feel you gag and sputter on him. Roman will just have to make a mess of you himself. 

He pulls himself out of your mouth, his shaft soaked in your saliva and glistening under the soft glow of the moonlight peeking in through the window. He taps your cheek with the tip of his cock, dragging it from cheek to cheek, across your lips. He pushes it back inside, burying himself all the way so that his balls rest against your skin. Roman draws his hips back and forth, fist tangled in your hair as he fucks your mouth gently.  

But it’s not enough. 

He misses the warmth of your body, the feeling of your skin against his. Roman pulls out of your mouth and gently shifts you onto your back, then backs down the bed. He spreads your legs wide and fuck, he can fucking smell you. That sweet, musky arousal between your thighs, that scent Roman’s committed to memory and yet, nothing compares to experiencing it in the present moment. He pushes your knees back toward your chest slowly, little by little, until you’re laid out like a platter for him. You’d be so shy if you were awake right now, fighting against Roman to close your legs. It turns Roman on more, knowing that you have no say in how he sees you, how he fucks you. “I can do fucking whatever I want to you, huh?” he breathes, bending down so he can kiss your inner thighs. “Whatever I want. And you don’t know a thing.” 

He kisses your asshole, rimming the tight muscle with his tongue before dipping it inside, pulling it out again so he can kiss his way up your cunt. He nips and sucks at your slick folds, your arousal soaking his face. When his lips attach to your clit and he sucks in just the way he knows that makes you squirm in discomfort, tugging at his hair as you push and pull away from him. You breathe heavily, panting and whimpering in your sleep. “Yeah, you don’t like it when daddy kisses you like that when you’re awake,” he murmurs. “Sensitive fucking thing.” 

Roman licks you a while longer, tracing the beautiful shape of your pussy with his tongue. He presses his nose against your clit, rubbing it around in slow circles. With his fingers, Roman traces your lips, toying with your damp curls. He loves the way your pubic hair tickles his face, the softness of it when you let it grow out a little longer. 

After eating his fill, Roman kisses his way up your torso, taking care to lick and tease your nipples. He slots himself between your thighs, his face buried in your neck as he notches his tip inside your slick entrance. And with one slow slide, he fills you. You’re so fucking warm and wet and pliant, taking him so well. Roman braces himself with one hand above you, the other on your hip as he squeezes the flesh there. “You’re so nice to me when you’re sleeping,” he whispers. “Oh, fuck. You’re so good.” 

Roman sets a pace, softly biting your skin as he rolls his hips into you. Each of his thrusts, every rock of his hips into your warm, wet, cunt has him biting into you harder, bruising you. He kisses your lips as he fucks you, relishing in their softness. 

“Rome,” you whimper, voice thick with sleep. 

“Shh, you’re okay, kiddo” he breathes in between kisses, “Daddy’s here. It’s just me and you. I’m right here.” 

Roman keeps kissing you, leaving your lips a swollen mess as he buries himself over and over inside you. “Fuck - I love, oh, fuck.”

Roman savors the feeling of you beneath him like this, the specific warmth of your body, your skin and his skin together. Roman’s thrusting builds quicker, rolling his hips a little more frantically while still maintaining that gentleness needed to keep you asleep. The pressure’s building in his balls and deep in his gut, his cock achingly hard and rigid. He pulls you flush against himself as he finishes, moaning while painting your insides as he milks himself inside of you, his muscles tensing and relaxing. Roman lets himself fall limp on top of you, his cock still inside you pulsing with every beat of his heart. He commits all of it - all of this - to memory. The private, secret pleasure of being the only one with knowledge of this moment. When Roman’s ready, he pulls out of you, his spend dripping from your hole and onto his bedsheets. He kisses you one last time before settling next to you, pushing you onto your side so he can curl his body around yours. 

When you wake in the morning, Roman’s gone. There’s a faint smell of coffee in the air but it’s quiet, and you can assume Roman’s already left for work. You’re a dripping mess, likely from the dream you had. You don’t remember much - just sensations, the sound of panting, the feeling of pleasure between your thighs and the occasional picture of Roman. You spread your legs and reach for your cunt, tracing your folds. There’s a slight pain there, a feeling of sensitivity. Maybe you were grinding against Roman in your sleep. You waste no time, circling your clit with precision as you pump your own fingers inside your pussy, unknowingly fucking Roman’s come back into yourself as you come once, twice, three times. 

In your bathroom, you turn on your shower. You take off your shirt and in the mirror, catch a glimpse of darkened, damaged skin on your shoulder. You trace the curved mark, the bruise tender under your fingertips. 

-

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[springtyme]

roman roy and the reader on Halloween just eating candy? Like he’d probably be so against just sitting down and eating a whole bag of candy cause it’s unhealthy (all of the roy sibs are weird about food we know this) but sitting down and eating it with reader makes it all better? Maybe reader feeds it him (cutely) , he feeds her pieces of candy too. cute shit.

𝐀 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ♡

Roman Roy x Reader || Roman playlist || Main masterlist

word count: 888

warnings/tags: Fluff. Food. Implied disordered eating.

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎) 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲

The glow of Manhattan flickers outside the giant windows in the otherwise dimly lit living room of Roman’s lavish penthouse apartment, casting cheerful illusions against the darkening sky. 

Roman is lounging beside you, a scrunch of distaste evident on his face as he glances at the colorful wrappers packed with sugary confections sprawled out on the coffee table. He has folded his arms across his chest like a three-year-old who had just been told he couldn’t have his way, with one leg scrunched up beneath him on the plush couch, the other dangling off the side like a deflated balloon.  

“Isn’t this for kids?” Roman grumbles, eyeing the assortment of candy like it’s a personal affront. He leans back against the couch, his perfectly coiffed hair catching the light in a way that’s somehow both striking and slightly ridiculous given the occasion.

“What..? Candy?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you glance over at him. “I’m pretty sure candy is for everyone, Rome.” 

His skeptical expression deepens, lips pursed just enough to form a thin line. You shot him a gentle smile, reaching for a bag of gummy worms. You know how things are with him, you’re just going to be gentle.  

“You don’t have to have any if you don’t want to,” you say soothingly, picking out a colorful gummy from the bag and biting into it, pulling on the chewy sweet till it snaps in half. “I can eat them myself.”

He watches you, eyes narrowed. “Give me that,” he says, sounding faux-demanding, but you can still hear the hint of reluctance in his voice as he uncrosses his arms, reluctantly reaching for the bag of gummy worms. His fingers brush against yours. “I’ll indulge in your childish whims,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls the bag closer, a hint of unsurety flickering in his eyes despite his faux annoyance.

Roman selects a gummy worm, hesitating momentarily before finally popping it into his mouth.

You can’t help but smile softly to yourself as you watch him chew, the initial scrunch of his nose easing as the tangy sweetness dances on his taste buds. He takes his time, chewing for a while before swallowing. You sit in silencer for a few seconds, letting the moment linger in the air. The city hums with life outside, people in costumes on their way to Halloween parties or getting ready for a night on the town, but here inside the penthouse, it’s quiet. 

“How was it?” you ask, breaking the silence with a teasing lilt in your voice, but there is still an overlaying gentleness in your tone.

“It was fine,” he replies, trying to maintain an air of indifference. “But don’t expect me to start collecting candy like some deranged trick-or-treater.”

You chuckle, leaning back against the couch, feeling the plush comfort envelop you. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He leans back too, looking at you with those big eyes of his.

“Wanna try one of these?” you ask, gesturing toward a bag of small chocolates. He looks from you to the bag on the table, staring at it for a moment before reversing his gaze back to you, giving you a small nod.  

You reach forward and take the bag, ripping the plastic open and pick out one of the bite sized chocolate bars inside and unwrap it for him.      

You lean closer into Roman, holding out the piece of chocolate to him. He eyes you for a moment, as if considering the implications of such a gesture.

With a slow exhale, Roman leans forward, almost hesitantly bridging the gap between you both. His breath softly brushes against the tip of your fingers as he, with a deliberate gentleness, bites down around the chocolate in your hand. The warmth of him momentarily lingers on your skin, and the soft scents of his cologne mix with the faint chocolate aroma. 

He takes the bag from you, unwrapping another treat, holding it out for you like you did for him. You lean in, smiling around the treat, feeling a rush of warmth at how effortlessly intimate this is. Roman watches you, a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

The glow of Manhattan is streaming in through the windows, warming the room as he leans back against the couch, both of you now silent, reveling in the fleeting tranquility.

Roman shifts slightly, nudging closer to you. Without a word he leans into you, resting his head on your shoulder. A long break of silence stretching out between you. 

“Are you trying to give me cavities?” he finally asks with mock seriousness.

“Just trying to share,” you respond sweetly.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters.

You smile. “I like you too, Romy,” you tease, and you can practically feel him melting against your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he really means it, instead it sounds more like he secretly loves it.

The light of the city twinkles like stars against the night sky, their reflections glistening in a swirl of metallic hues across the glass panels of the penthouse. Roman shifts again, this time tilting his head slightly to steal a glance at you. His features soften, the lines of skepticism now faded completely.

[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

[richeeduvie]

hey👋 😊🤗

where’s wedding bells pt.2 😠😾🔫

Wedding Bells (Part Two)

Stewy H. x Reader, Roman R. x Reader (complicated), Kendall R x Reader (minor, minor as in what Baby was when she was groomed by him) here yall go damn!! (jk it's been long overdue after my failures I love u guys)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

PART ONE (OUT OF FIVE), AUTHOR MASTERLIST After assuring Roman that Stewy being your date was nothing but a platonic necessity for Shiv's wedding, the start of the night has decided on proving you wrong. It's much to your dismay...maybe not so much Stewy's (for the most part), but most certainly Kendall's. Knowing the aspects of the "DogandBone!AU" do help add content to both parts of this story, but you do not need to read anything prior to understand it. If you would like to, you can go onto my masterlist linked and browse through the masterlists/content of my succession characters. All are content for DAB!AU. Or you can simply search up the tag. (Stewy's POV next!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

The ceremony was beautiful, vows mandated. Knowing Tom as your technical boss, you're sure he wanted to say something from the heart. Knowing Shiv...Shiv, Shiv, your only girl friend Shiv...you know she wouldn't have that.

Roman took to looking bored next to Tabitha. You caught him making quips to her and you hate to wonder what he was saying, if he'd tell you the same things if you were his date.

Or maybe there's just some different with you that you wouldn't get the default comments out of Roman. Something just for you.

Maybe that's true for the past, before Tabitha and the now. You hate to think that, you think to not be over it already - you were asking Roman the what ifs of finding someone for you and you've got nothing to show for being ready to find that someone. That not-Roman.

Almost. Not really. No, you won't say you do have something to show for you. That something being taking looks at Stewy in the aisles.

Feeling your heart skip when he caught you taking those looks.

You were to not figure what the fuck Stewy was thinking at your stares when you were supposed to be gooey-goo over the new marriage of your friend. You were and are to not think about the way he met your eyes. You were to not notice the way Roman's head quickly, curtly snapped to follow where you were looking.

And now it's time for pictures!

"Has new, tanner dick brought you cause to lie to me?"

Roman kicks the grass, cut and too green underneath the both of you. What he's wearing isn't much different than his suits day to day at Waystar, but he looks nice. You don't know how to feel about how you don't feel the warm roll throughout your body at the sight of him handsome. Like he's not your boyfriend anymore.

He never was, he wasn't ever anything but the only person you've ever been in love with. Felt your loins on fire for, if you want to be gross about it.

You tilt your head.

"What?"

They're flashing pictures of just the bride and groom and it leaves Roman to whine to you on the sidelines. Stewy...in fact him and Kendall are nowhere to be found. You just know it's got something to do with whatever will ruin this family again. It'll be by tonight and forgiven in two weeks. At least the way you've grown into Roman over the years isn't something of a complete waste, you get understand the family you're working for for the rest of fucking time. Life.

Frank waves to you, you wave back.

"Ow! What the fuck?"

Roman's slapped your hand down mid-wave.

"You told me you just needed a date and you were too stupid to go with the obvious three-way Tabitha and I offered. Okay. I accepted that like I wasn't being fucked, but then you're fucking Stewy with your eyes, opening legs with your irises at my sister's wedding. Bridesmaid gangbang."

"...Are the bridesmaids gangbanging Stewy?"

Roman's brows are perpetually down, nose flared. You've shat on the grass, basically. The joke's bombed.

"You. Stewy...and his of color cock and his smarmy eyes. You think you can find out the number to his shaft shade by now? With all the times you've-"

Your eyes dart to where his fist opens and closes, then to where his neck rolls and head jolts. It's like a visual cough.

"Jesus Christ, you know what? Let me just not quip bullshit, I can be serious. I think I deserve that, maybe?" He sniffs.

And there it is...or there it isn't. No automatic, instinctual rush to comfort Roman and hold him or punish his insecurities with teases or insults punchier than his. Nothing.

Because you see Stewy coming up behind him.

You've always noticed he holds himself well, ever since you were younger. But now...no.

But then, you look into Roman's eyes, brown - facing rejection or no-care he's always so sure of. You sigh.

There it is. The rush.

Roman leans into your palm on his bicep.

"I'm going to ask if you've been keeping track of how many times you've ridden him. Or he's ridden you. You've taken to American Paint Horses."

"...When the fuck did you know pony breeds?"

"When you started fucking the brown kind."

Jesus. Roman.

"Roman! Fucking cool it. You're being...like, racist. Cartoonishly racist over something that you've made up in your head."

"It's not racist. Stewy's brown. Shocker. You went from me, not brown, to him. That's a fact. I didn't press negatives onto the color of his cock or our cultural differences in...fetishes."

Roman blinks, he turns to Stewy smiling at you before he's talking to Kendall.

"And did I make it up? Really."

You blink. You sigh.

It just slips out.

"You went from me to Tabitha. Should I whine?"

The words already leave a bad taste in your mouth once they leave it. They're not even particularly jealous-sounding, it's more of a casual tease to bite Roman and his hypocrisy. Still, it reeks on your tongue - it's a gag of admittance and by Roman's smug fucking face, you know he knows it too.

It's a slow growing smugness, too. First it's comprehension of what you said in the first place, then it's realization - life breathed onto his face.

Complete satisfaction.

....She still likes me. Wants me. Fuck it, knew it. Her vagina cares enough to be jealous. Knew it, knew it. Knew it. Thank God, I thought I was fucking done for and ready to be shot out back.

"I'm joking, but it's also a genuine question...because you're doing that over something you're making up in your head, Rom."

Roman puts his hands on his hips, lips pursing out.

"I just question the stares, you baby. That's all I'm doing. It's fair, they were like - fucky eyes."

No.

You don't know what they were.

"No. They weren't. And I-"

"Okay, now the family together!"

You turn to the photographer, Roman doesn't.

"I don't think you get to think over who I stare at, may-"

"Fuck you. Of course I do. I don't deny you from commenting on Tab's love for me as a result of pussy envy. I don't. I won't...and we..."

Roman turns to his family gathering, Shiv's blinking quick at him. It's like she's cursing at him to hurry the fuck up. He turns back.

"We can talk about it. Past the bullshit."

...Really?

"Really?"

The word on your tongue is more sarcastic than it is in your head. And there, in the pause...it's like Roman's pulling back from the openness of himself. Taking what he's put out away.

"Me and Tabitha and you...sure."

"...Mm. Shiv's waiting for you."

"Like, do I have to stop playing bits here and be fun for you to actually still have fun with me-"

"Roman, hurry the fuck up, dude! Seriously."

"Cool it! I don't care that it's your wedding, Shivy Ginge. I'll set fire to your minge."

He taps into his British roots there before he's off. Not before he kisses your knuckles, though.

"I just fucking miss you, weirdo. I want conversations. I just...I don't like...do things in spite - not towards you, even though you're being fucking weird. I don't make wounds and shove my dick into them as a gotcha."

It's said as he moves off. They take photos - the Roys...your Roys. You smile at Kendall when he smiles at you. Your thumb rubs your knuckle, you won't think about his kiss.

"Tabitha, just get it here."

But you don't think anything at all when they let Tabitha into the frame. It's easy for her. Rightfully so, but it's on your skin on a knife and you don't feel that's right.

But you don't feel it go away.

It hits you like the first time you cried as a child. It's a childish hurt and you can't make it go away as you watch the camera flash and Roys and Tabitha smile, as they bring Rava into the picture taking. Rightfully so.

It's a nail in the coffin, the confirmation what Roman has with Tabitha is real.

Your love, it still here thumping at your heart, is not.

Why are you about to cry?

"Hey, you."

You turn to the dark-haired, clean bearded man at your side. His knowing but soft voice.

"Hey, Stewy."

"What's with the glossy eyes?"

The burning is against the sudden, unwanted warmth you feel. You don't want to feel warmth at how Stewy's so close to you. You've been close to him before and nothing - nothing like what you feel with Roman.

But here, everything with what you feel with Roman. Maybe something new, something giddy that differs because Stewy isn't Roman, he's Stewy. He exists differently.

And now Roman exists away from you.

"Weddings, you know?"

Stewy smiles thin, brown eyes light.

"...Yeah. No. But even if it was yeah...I don't think it'd be Mr. and Mrs. Wambsgans getting me leaky. How's your legs from your formal-attire workout."

"...Upright planking?"

"Exactly."

You are sore. "It was a workout. At least I didn't have to listen to DIY vows. That would've been the real challenge."

Stewy leans you. You try not to breathe, you don't know why.

"I don't know, I think it'd be fun to see a Roy attempt romantics in public. Do you remember Ken's wedding with Rava?"

Yes. You won't be mean in your thoughts, genuinely.

"Yeah. The singing during the dinner was cute, I'm glad he chose to put that stunt there instead of the altar."

Stewy puts his hands in his pockets.

"Isn't that fucking right." His voice is warm, almost teasing - well...always teasing, even if the conversation is genuine. You know him well enough to know he's not fucking with you, laughing at you in the bore of small talk. It's just how he talks.

You also know him well enough to know his cologne is wearing off.

"You're not going to join the happy family photoshoot?"

"No. Have no reason to."

You and him haven't been facing each other in your talk, eyes to the Roy family with Tabitha and Rava as the reception beings to bustle inside.

You wonder if Stewy feels the tension too. If you're crazy - if you're childish for thinking he does or if you're both for feeling it yourself in the first place.

"That's a same, you're basically a fifth child. Which makes whatever you had with Roman incested. Which makes it less hot. I know, I'm weird, not...illegally weird, though. For the most part...so, the honorary incest is not hot, now that I think of it."

Stewy takes his hand out of his pocket. You see it out of the corner of your eye and you feel his touch on your back a couple seconds after.

You don't see how he pauses, you couldn't know how he thinks about how this touch is going to feel on his skin.

What the fuck happened, man? What happened that now things are...fucking coiling inside him. Like he's a boy - or no. Gross, cartoonish to describe it like...now it's just different with you. What fucking happened?"

Stewy smiles.

"You're perfume is disappearing on us. I don't want to be sniffing up on your sweat follicles while we're dancing, princess."

You shiver.

Why the fuck are you on fire in the best way possible?

"What a bore, right? Let's get inside."

Shiv fixes the waist of her dress.

"Yeah, honey. Photos are a bore, but important for our memoralization of our love...tonight, right? And I think we're supposed to let everyone go in first before we come crashing as bride and groom."

Photos are done. Everyone separates and even in the fire, you look to see if Roman's watching the flames. And....

Of course he is. But then you realize that you didn't tell Kendall that Stewy's your date. You didn't think you had to, but his eyes catching to where his best friend holds you is where you remember that yeah, Stewy's his best friend. The only reason why you know Stewy is because he's Kendall's best friend that he introduced when you were 14. You'll give him more leeway than you give to Roman. Even though it's still a date you needed, it must be weird for Kendall to see without context.

"I think you looked very beautiful up there."

You turn to Stewy, heart beating quick. Too quick for you to judge yourself for it.

"For Shiv's sake, I won't say you outdid her but...you were the closest bridesmaid to doing the out."

You smile to break away from that tension - between him and between how Kendall's hand drops from Rava's waist, how his eyes blink low from afar.

"You were examining all of us up there to figure that out?"

It's a joke you think warrants another smarmy-charming reply.

But all Stewy does is just hold his head up with something....serious along his face. Nothing under a tease, just eyes not blinking before he looks to the grass.

"No."

You can't stop your smile from falling before the photographer comes up to the both of you.

"Hey, you two want a photo? Cute couple."

"Oh, we're jus-"

"Sure. Have at us."

Stewy says it as charming as he says everything before he pulls you close by the waist.

"Oh, I can smell you better now. Smile, princess."

You do with every roll of fire on your skin. Your stomach turns over.

Maybe it's not childish...it's just new, it's just how you feel. What you hate is that you do, that it's Stewy. You have a right to new people, a new person to feel like this for...but not Stewy.

But it is, for some strange, new reason.

The camera shutters on you and him.

"Can I kiss you? It'll be modest. Cheeky."

It doesn't take you more than two seconds for it to slip out.

"...Sure. Yeah."

"Alright, yeah."

Stewy says it quietly before he kisses your cheek.

Oh, God.

The camera shutter, you might be...shuddering. You smile anyway. The photographer smiles too.

"Alright, make sure to catch the bouquet!"

They walk off and Stewy doesn't let go of you. You realize that he was holding it before the photographer came up for photos.

...Just breathe, just breathe.

And you do, Stewy's face doesn't stop you from breathing, you're able to breathe into it. Because of it - suddenly.

With his smile, with his smile.

...Maybe you'll indulge, maybe you have been indulging.

"I-"

You were going to, just before there's the sound of immense gagging. Vomiting.

"Fuck!"

"Rome?"

"Roman? What the fuck?"

Stewy turns to the commotion, brows rising up.

"Oh...oh. Fuck. That's disgusting."

It's Roman puking chunks onto the grass. Tabitha stands over him, complete ohs and rightful confusion on now knowing what to do. His father, Logan just looks completely disappointed.

Roman's hunches over. He's holding his head in what you know to be complete pain.

What the fuck?

"Roman?"

Of course, he doesn't answer you. You go to go up to him, but there's a hand on yours.

"I think we can go inside. Roman's vomit breath will meet us there, it looks like he's got enough people to check on him and his insides."

"I don't th-"

Even after everything, or because of everything, you still try and go to Roman. But Tabitha's hands rubbing his back stop you.

It takes the breath out of you.

Yeah, it's just...he'll meet you inside. Roman's got comfort, he decided it wouldn't be you and that'll stop hurting.

Roman will stop hurting a lot easier than you, you're sure. It'll be okay, you've got the rest of your life to take his insults of tonight.

"Okay, yeah. Let's go."

You hear the last of the gags as you and Stewy head inside to the start of the reception.

"I think they got my favorite desert, actually. I don't know how. If I'm feeling sultry and you're feeling consensual, I'll fork it into your mouth for you to try."

"...Sounds sultry. Okay"

You neither lean or move away from his hand on the small of your back. You let him pick something out of your hair.

"Roman, what the fuck? You okay, bro?"

"That was...you okay, son?"

You won't catch how Roman can't catch his breath. He can't recover. He can't come up from his knees. He actually lowers.

Tabitha's hands feels like bees, unfuckingfortunately. Roman crawls away and jolts at her palm finding him again.

"Stop! Just- it's fine. Stop. Sorry, sorry, Tab's. Dad, I'm good. I'm-"

He hacks. He can't breathe.

He knows why he can't breathe, but where are you? Where are the hands that actually feel like life digging back into his lungs?

Roman looks up.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

Where are you?

"Roma-"

Whoever's talking to him gets interrupted by more vomiting. He's choking on it.

"Oh fucking Christ. I'm going, I'm going inside, Pinky. Someone get him water. Absolutely disgusting."

He would say he doesn't know what he did, but he does. He just doesn't...but he's sorry.

Where did you go? Why don't you come back?

"Roman, baby-"

"Don't fuckin-I said! I said stop. Sorry, you'll touch me later. I'm sorry."

He really fucking is, but someone else will be. If Roman sees Stewy in there...the bullet in Roman's head will be his to blame. That'll make him feel better.

Roman wipes his mouth, his eyes. He sniffles.

"Are you cry-"

"No! Tabitha, stop! Shiv - go get banged, it's your wedding day."

He can feel eyes. So, he's right. Staring does mean things.

"Fuck off!"

[cum-a-calla]

Roman getting so overstimulated from cumming so much that he just starts sobbing 🫣🫣🫣 flinching away from touch but also pliant to it. Its too much but dont stop bc youre literally his only anchor right now. He needs his soul crushed back into his body. He needs to get squeeezeedd

The first orgasm had rushed through him surprisingly quickly. It had been a while, and hearing the things you’d whispered into his ear and your eager, slippery fingers gliding over his cock had him thrusting into your fist within minutes.

You sit behind him, watching him in the mirror. It’s full-length, ornately framed in brushed chrome and clean enough that you feel you could reach forward and touch right through to the twin images of you and Roman inside. You’re snug draped over him like that, legs splayed out on either side of his as you wrap your arms around his body to jerk him off from behind. He’s got his button-down shirt all rucked up over his slim belly, no pants to speak of. He watches your hands in the mirror and occasionally even meets your eye, his pupils dilated beyond belief, like wet, blackened moons hovering above the fever-spots high on his cheeks. His cock barely wavers after the first climax.

“I can’t do it,” he mumbles, voice drawn high. He shakes, all the way from his core. You hold him, anyway. His hands are free, able to stop you from doing anything he doesn’t want to do. He keeps his fingers taut and tight on your thighs, almost tucking them underneath your legs. Completely surrounded by you, by your scent, your tickling whispers into his ear. He whines and hangs his head back, but only for a split second - he can’t resist watching himself like this. You know just how much he needs it, needs to be treated like a desperate little slut. Your own arousal builds between your thighs, but that can wait. That can wait for quite a long time, if need be. “Too much… can’t. Can’t do it again.”

“Not up to you,” you coo into his ear. He shivers and you pick up the speed, reaching your other hand down to cup him by the balls. You pull on them so deliciously slowly, almost like a long stroke. He inhales sharply and holds his breath, staring so intently at what you’re doing that it’s almost like he’s glaring, eyebrows drawn, a vein standing out on his forehead. Sweat slicks him from hairline to his throat, and he smells so good you could sink your teeth into his ribs. Kissing his damp skin is salty, exciting. “You’re my disgusting, needy boy and I want you to cum for me. I want it again.”

“I f-fucking can’t, you’re not - you’re not listening to me,” he lashes out. His tone is angry, almost as angry as his cock, swelling and flushing a deep pink that signals another release on the way. You give his balls a harder squeeze, a warning, and he looses that breath he was holding in a hiss. “Ah! - okay, oh - okay, please, please, I’m close! Please!”

“Use your big boy words, Roman. Tell me what you need or I’ll keep you on the fucking edge until it starts to hurt.” He makes these quick, panting breaths, hips rocking up once more. It’s almost like he wants to say it, the words building on the back of his tongue and disintegrating into pathetic little whimpers. You read all of this at once and act accordingly, ready to follow through with any and every threat at a moment’s notice. You ring your fingers around the base of his cock and hold it there, firm, squeezing him. He stiffens up and moans, almost a sob as it’s drawn out and trembling through the air. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

“Oh, I fucking want to cum, please let me cum! Please let me have it, please! I wanna cum, I wanna cum,” he cries. His voice keeps breaking, and in the mirror, you catch his chin trembling before he throws his head back again, hiding, blinking his tears back as he shakes out of his skin. A hitching gasp takes his voice away, and an almost imperceptible ‘please’ slips from those lips. He’s sniffling, trying unsuccessfully to swallow the sounds of his exhausted crying.

He’s beautiful. He’s a fucking painting, tensed and agonized and on the verge of coming completely apart one way or another. Every muscle tight. He digs his fingers so hard into your thighs that it really hurts, but the pain hides behind all the raging excitement of seeing him this way. You want to take a picture, you want this moment tattooed into the soft gray meat of your brain, illuminated behind your closed eyelids any time you blink. You could tell him right now that you loved him and it would be true. This Roman, this desperate, horrifically flawed being. Stripped completely bare and fleshless, everything exposed. Every nerve raw.

You loosen your grip and work your way back into a rhythm, slow at first, bringing him back. Showing him a kindness.

“See?” you say softly, lips against his skin. “See how good I take care of you? See how I can make you feel anything I want you to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I fuh-hucking - I do, I do, oh my god.” Roman openly sobs, eyes and cheeks and nose red. “Th-thank you, I want it, I- I-”

“I know. Good job. You’re gorgeous like this, you know that? I could keep you like this forever.”

“Keep… keep me?”

“Yeah. All mine.”

“For- for…” Roman stutters into a moan, voice rising out of him like a powerful tide as pleasure crashes between his thighs once more. He’s close, dangerously so, cock bouncing in your hand. He doesn’t bother finishing his thought, instead allowing it to carry him away. Completely at your mercy.

“Give me everything, Roman. Go ahead. Cum for me, good boy.”

He goes so taut he points his toes, his body a long, thrumming line of energy. He’s nearly shrieking this time, thrusting up again into your wet fingers, almost thrashing against you. You don’t go anywhere, tight around him, and hook your legs around his to keep them apart, keep them still from kicking. He whines and seems to have a little second rush as you do so, words spilling out of his mouth but remain indecipherable within the chaos of his crying and moaning. It takes him longer to relax his body down this time, catching his breath and letting the aftershocks pass through him. It’s easy to stroke his stomach, to run your hands up inside his shirt and stroke his chest. Your fingertips tickle at his collarbone and he hums, going limp against you. Aside from the odd sniffle, his emotions are back under control. You know he’d hate it, hate you staring at him like this, but you steal a long glance in the mirror. His eyes are half-closed, face blotchy with all that red. Swollen around the eyes, all cried out. The shape of his thighs is lovely, the shape of his cock even as it softens. The sparse hair on his lower belly.

“M’tired,” he mumbles. “You… you killed me, you… bitch.”

“I know,” you say, smiling behind him. The both of you rise and he haphazardly pulls on a pair of boxers, stripping his shirt off and throwing it on the floor as he heads to the bed. He scratches the back of his neck and does a little stretch as he stumbles. He spares an annoyed glance behind, an eyebrow lifted.

“Well… get up. You’re coming too, right?”

Right? A quick flash of hope, holding another breath. The only way he knows how to reliably reciprocate to you, to show a kindness, a tenderness. Don’t leave. Stay with me.

“Yeah - yeah, Rome. Need to rest my arm, it’s fucking dead.”

Roman’s face relaxes, smirking at you and rolling his eyes. “That’s on you. Pervert. I’m just a victim in all this. Now, less talky. More sleepy. Get up.”

[spxllcxstxr]

Shitshow at the Soulmate Factory • R.R

(Gif not mine)

Request: Please I'm begging on hands and knees, I'll take any Roman or Tom fic. Anything. I would do desperate things for it. Kisses xxx! I honestly love the countdown soulmate au, just running into each other unexpectedly is a really adorable thing for me. Maybe they are late from somewhere and they run into reader, could be whatever. You can also ignore it. If I may I would like she/her reader, but I'm fine with gender neutral reader also. — anon

Summary: In less than twenty-four hours you’ll meet your soulmate. Your friend drags you to some weird underground private party

Warnings: soulmate AU, logan roy mention (also quick mention of abuse), mention of drugs and alcohol and all that shit, not a lot of dialogue I’m sorry lmao, 9/11 mention? (iykyk)

Word Count: 1.5k

A.N: first Roman fic!!! This was actually going to be a blurb and then I kept fucking writing. I hope his characterization is ok, if you have any tips don’t be afraid to let me know!! Hope you all enjoy!

•

Roman had never cared for the timer on the inside of his elbow. The black bold numbers inked permanently into his flesh. It was always hidden away underneath expensive suit shirts and well-tailored business jackets. It was a ticking time bomb; never to be acknowledged until it finally blew him to bits.

Or, in this case, meet his soulmate (though to him, that was one and the same).

It's not like he wasn't curious about who some higher power judged to be his soulmate--because he was. It was, however, more of a morbid curiosity. He was Roman Roy for fuck's sake, no one should be tied to him.

His father never talked about his own timer, the one time he ever asked about it he got backhanded so hard he face planted onto the tiled floor beneath his feet. That was that. He laughed it off afterwards, when Ken was placing ice against his bruised cheek. He really should've known.

Kendall had spent months convincing Rome and his other siblings that his timer went off when he first met Rava in college, though they got divorced so he highly doubted that was the case. And if it was? Well shit. That didn't bode well for the rest of them.

Shiv's situation confirmed that he was doomed. Despite Roman being in charge of her soon-to-be husband's bachelor party, his sister once drunkenly confided in him that her timer had went off years before she even heard the name Tom Wambsgans. The next morning, when she called him with a splitting headache, she said she couldn't remember anything she told him the night before. She was fucked too.

Connor was Connor and Roman was sure he had ranted about his at one point, but whatever goes in one ear goes out the other with him.

So when Roman glances at his timer in the mirror it feels like a cooler full of ice water just got dumped on him. His body is frozen but his skin crawls with anxiety. Today was the day. In less than twenty-four hours he was to meet the person he was destined to be with.

What a sick cosmic joke.

He bites his nails and paces the length of his kitchen as he waits for his driver to get to his apartment. By the time he's seated in the back of the car with the smell of worn leather overwhelming his senses the thought is pushed so far back in his mind that he barely remembers why his fingers are absentmindedly stroking the inside of his elbow.

You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.

The timer on your wrist was frequently the topic of discussion both with your friends and in your personal journal. It had always been exciting, the guaranteed notion that you were going to meet the love of your life.

Your friends had married their soulmates which had made you believe even more in the timer. The people around you were happy with what the universe had promised and you just wanted that to be you already. You were content waiting but that never stopped you from watching the numbers tick down whenever you could spare a glance.

The childish romanticism of the timer never faded throughout your life.

It kept you going--you woke up in the morning because you needed to know what, or, rather who, the universe had in store for you.

You were jittery in the morning. Not just because your friend was forcing you to join her and a couple others at some underground private club, but also because your timer had indicated that today, of all days, you were going to meet your soulmate. Every inch of you buzzed with excitement.

Toying with your bottom lip you wait for your friend to pick you up. This party would be it, you determined.

It was going to be a dream come true.

The club sucks.

They had taken your phone at the door, the music is way too loud, and your drink tastes sour when it should be sweet. Not to mention the amount of people having sex in every corner of almost every room.

Your friends ditched you about an hour ago and your timer still has an hour left.

Taking a sip of your drink your face scrunches in disgust. Your eyes focus on the drinks behind the bar, the colorful glasses occupying your vision so you don’t accidentally make eye contact with the drugged up people around you. The pungent smell of weed surrounds you.

You sit and watch the bartenders dart across the space behind the bar, mixing and pouring drinks expertly. Men and women approach you occasionally, but you’re not interested in conversation if your timer doesn’t go off.

You wish you had Twitter to at least occupy your mind.

“Hey, I’m Connor.”

You turn to face the man to your right, his grey hair and piercing blue eyes are nice, but your timer doesn’t go off so what’s the point?

“Not interested.” Taking a quick sip of your drink you turn away from the man.

“Oh come on, I just want to chat,” He sits next to you, nursing his own drink. He smells of alcohol and expensive cologne. “Say, where were you on 9/11?”

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, eyeing the man trying to find any hint of a joke. He looks completely serious.

“Where was I on 9/11?”

“Yeah, I mean, I gotta make sure…y’know what I mean?” He shrugs at you, still waiting for your answer.

Subtly you glance down at your wrist, the numbers now under a minute. Slowly you smile, nerves washing over your entire being.

You get up from the bar stool, drink in hand. “Try that on another girl, I’m sure it’ll work next time.”

Passing by people you attempt to get out of the stuffy room when someone knocks into your shoulder. It’s not hard, but it certainly warranted some kind of apology.

You turn around only to see the other person doing the same.

Your breath hitches when you hear the noise—it’s crystal clear and high pitched, like a bell. Eyes widening you stare at the stranger in shock.

“Oh fuck.” His brown eyes widen at the noise, the realization washing over him. “Shit so you’re—you’re my…?” With one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair he looks you up and down.

“You’re my soulmate…” You say, just above the music. The air feels as if it’s been punched out of your lungs.

The man’s eyes can’t seem to stay still.

Your own eyes run over his handsome figure. His clothes imply at least a decent amount of money—his white dress shirt crisp and recently pressed. The sleeves, however, are rolled up to his elbow exposing his forearms. Your face heats up at this; the casual gesture being a lot more attractive than it should be.

Swallowing down the thoughts and the bubbling nerves you extend your hand.

“(Y/n) (L/n).” You smile, hoping to ease the tension.

“Oh uh, yeah—yes.” He stutters, hand taking your own. His palms are a bit sweaty but he has a nice firm grip. “Roman Roy.”

Roy—well that explains a lot. So far the universe has got good taste.

Your hand tingles as you pull it back to your side. Biting your lip you take him in again, how he flexes his jaw and drums his fingers against his hip bone. The music pumping throughout the room becomes muffled as you focus solely on Roman Roy.

It seems he has a difficult time tearing his eyes away from your own, but eventually he’s successful at examining the expensive watch on his wrist.

“Oh shit fucking damnit…” He mutters, brows furrowing momentarily before softening when his gaze lands back on you. “I gotta go, I have this stupid fucking meeting…” Apologetically he steps closer to you. You deflate a bit at this. “It’s just big company stuff, I’m sorry. Can I uh…can I get your number though?”

Smirking at the question, you nod. Excitement courses through your veins again. “Do you have a pen?”

“A pen? What is it 1999?”

“They took my phone at the door, dumbass, I assume they took yours too.” You snort teasingly.

“Shit.” He pats his body, searching for anything in his pocket. He’s quite quick about it and eventually he finds a shitty black pen with barely any ink in it.

Giggling you write your number down on his forearm before handing the pen back to him.

“You better call me, Roman Roy. I know where you work.” You wink, toying with your bottom lip again.

He flushes at that, cheeks turning pink as his eyes settle on your lips.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna call you.” Clumsily he winks back before turning around and getting caught in the crowd, heading to whatever meeting he had.

Setting down your drink on the nearest table you head the opposite direction, towards the exit, cheeks aching from the satisfied smile on your face.

•

[helyiios]

“Why the piano ?” he asks, turning to face his friend. “Why not something else ?”

“I don’t know,” Tom admits, looking at him, at his hands, following their movement. “It soothes me. It’s a kind instrument.”

“Kind ?”

“It’s warm,” he explains softly, and then moves to face the keyboard. “Do you not feel it ? The notes ?”

“I don’t…think I follow, Tom.”

“A Do,” Tom starts, pressing the white key with astute gentleness, almost worried he would break it, “is a gentleman in a top hat. He’s in a rush, he’s always moving. It’s black and white. A Si,” his ring finger moves, “is a young man in love, yellow, bright. A La is a lady in a pink dress, on her way to meet her friends.”

—

A Tomgreg fic centering around music :)

[wambsgansshoelaces]

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

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

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

In My Corner

Roman Roy x Reader

Oneshot

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

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

Word Count: 2.181k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hell if I know,” he calls back.

“Then what’re you going to wear?”

“No clue.”

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

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

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

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

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

He leans over, kissing your cheek.

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t take very long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking cheese ball. Go to bed.”

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

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

“Yeah. I do.”

[starsandsugars]

Burning Desire

PAIRINGS: shiv roy/f!reader

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was ridiculous, and beyond irresponsible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why don't you come show me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be. Quiet."

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

"Shut up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[strang3lov3]

Under the Table

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

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

Stepdaddy!Roman Roy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still remembered.”

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

“Mm. Tasty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m taking you out.”

“You are?” 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“Ew. Don’t, please.”

“So that’s your favorite dress, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine with water.” 

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

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

“For me?” You reach for the bag. 

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

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

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

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

“I know, I know.”

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

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

“Shush. Just open it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re kinda pink.”

“I’m not…pink,” Roman mumbles.

“You are. You’re blushing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

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

“What do you think I’m doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. Yep.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We have sorbets, too.” 

“What sorbets?” Roman asks.

“Mango calamansi, cantaloupe, and lemongrass.” 

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

“Tiramisu,” you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

“Mhm. Please” 

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

“You kissed me first, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Then it’s on the table.” 

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

You nod. Roman smiles at you. 

“I’m glad. Goodnight, kiddo.” 

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

tags (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

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

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

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

@romanarose @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamili @verstappensrealwife

@thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @luiscarrutherss @pastelpinkflowerlife @baronessvonglitter

@myromeow @ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh

[springtyme]

𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐫 ♡

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

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

Chapter 1 Chemtrails Over The Country Club

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

More chapters to come

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Clandestine.

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

Part Two. Part Three. Part Four.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x female Roy reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, allusions to sexual content

Word Count - 1.5k

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

Series Masterlist.

Masterlist. Requests.

You’re bored.

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

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

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

Or so you thought.

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

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

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

Stewy Hosseini.

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

The man you’re hopelessly in love with.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

Until it wasn’t.

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

They’d kill you if they knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

“Where did you go, huh?”

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

“Just daydreaming,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Knock. Knock. Knock.

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

Knock. Knock. Knock.

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

Knock. Knock. Knock.

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

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

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

The door swings open.

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

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

[richeeduvie]

Baby coincidentally changing her locks around the same time Roman gets with Tabitha. I remember reading something here once that he just makes himself home at her place even if he is with Tabitha 😭 he has such a hard time being told no and Baby just goes “oh right,, i had to change my locks recently because I uhh lost my keys ??yeah” and he just stares at her like yeah?? Well?? Wheres my duplicate then🤨 and she just sighs 🧍‍♀️

Dog at Your Door

So we do know he's panicking, right?

It's after a slight conflict, Baby's secretly tense and insecure after witnessing Roman's affections towards Tabitha and was in his words "Acting pussy-hungry."

"Eat a cock. Preferably mines, who elses?"

And Roman, in all his fuck-assery and annoying, attention seeking nature, knew that got to Baby. He didn't know why, but it did. His shit-eating smirk faltered a little, barely noticeable to most. He scratched the back of his neck, watched how Baby walked off into the hall with a fucking attitude.

It just didn't help Baby at all to see the way Roman still holds the belief that he's safe in their friendship to have sex and act as if they're joined by their genitals and hearts while playing boyfriend-girlfriend with Tabitha. It isn't fair, not to her or herself - but Roman holds it so tightly that she knows it's genuine. It's not spiteful, as if he's saying "I own your heart, what are you going to do about it?"

It still hurts.

And all those blood-gushing moments of when Baby pretends to be angry or disappointed in Roman to get him small, insecure, and panicked? It's there when she changes the locks. But it's not purposeful. Not fully, at least.

Roman goes over to her place with almost fully forgetting their little stunt in the day. He knows she's not home, but it's routine to make himself home when she's not there. Sometimes he'll jizz on her pillowcase, or play a game on his phone. Sometimes take a nap, even though naps are for people who are about to turn to dust or toddlers.

But the door doesn't budge. The knob barely moves.

"What the fuck?"

And Roman tries again. And again. The vein along his forehead appears, there comes the thinly-pulled lips and the look in his eyes gets more childishly strained.

"What the fuck?"

So does his voice. It'd make Baby smile if she was there.

After the thirteenth door jam, Roman begins to pull at his hair.

"Fuck!"

It's about a hour worth of constant text messages when Baby reached her place.

'why the fuck can't I open the door to the pent'

'hey'

'what the fuck'

'What the actual fuck?'

'literally what did I do? It's an actual different lock too'

'fuck you seriously'

'I didn't know you were that pussy hungry but I didn't do anything and what?'

'What are you trying to say with this?'

'or can you tell me the lock broke or something?'

'hey'

'why can't I open the door?'

"Roman."

It's Baby standing over him in front of the door. He's rested, casually pissed and passive aggressive.

"I lost my other key."

His fingers play nervously with themselves. Baby watches Roman's chest rise and fall, it's even. But she knows him. It's manic. Not a good enough answer for him. He needs complete assurance that she's not going to leave him or filter him out - that and a kiss, an arm wrapped around his stomach while he sleeps.

"Why didn't you just get a new key?"

"That would mean a place where a stranger could have my key to my door. Changing the locks is safer."

He blinks up and scratches his nose.

"...That's fucking stupid. I'm here in like...belief? Belief you want me out and fuck Roman and his tiny, occupied cock that is perfectly available but I won't accept because your womanly ego convinced you someone might pick up your key and think you're worthy enough of a sex crime."

She looks the knob above his head, scratched up. She assumes (and assumes right) that that came from Roman growing increasingly more frantic and kept missing the keyhole when trying to open it over and over.

"You were about to break in. And what? Wait for me naked to pounce on me? Which would be more like begging. I'd reject which would get you huffy and then I would have to rub your chest like you're a fucking baby who had a bad day with Daddy."

Baby unlocked the door over Roman's head.

"If you were the cautionary scenario I was imagining when I was changing the locks, Rome, I'd keep the door wide open. It's all a pathetic, corporate nature."

"...I didn't even say anything."

"Say hi to Tabitha, and tell Shiv tha-"

"I wanna come in."

"Rome."

He steps in, tense and needy and every other word to describe and man stepping a panic, doing what needs to be done to be the center of her love and affection and she can't leave him outside the door.

And Baby knows that, and she's been so lonely that she'll indulge for the sake of herself.

Roman butts his head into her neck nearly-softly, like a cat. He smiles, not in smugness, but relief.

Sometimes a dog and his bone, other times a cat who gets what he wants anyway.

[jaebeomsbitch]

All I Want Is You (R.R.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—side story—

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

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

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

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

[catherineflowers29]

Announcing the SUMMER FOR SICKOS extravaganza! From July 1st to August 30th, we will have an open collection on AO3 for all the sickos in our fandom to upload fic, art, vids, interpretive dance or whatever you like to keep us entertained in whatever sicko ways you fancy. This collection will be Roman and Gerri based, but not exclusively romangerri, so peripheral ships involving either/both will be very welcome, too. The theme will be Summer, but it is entirely up to you how to interpret this - the important thing is that the creative juices flow.

The collection will be opened as an anonymous collection so we can all have a bit of fun guessing who created what while it's going on, and then on Sept 1st, anon will be dropped, and all will be revealed. So try to avoid discussing what you're making publicly! There are no requirements for participating; you can just upload your fanwork to the collection during July or August to be part of the fun. Feel free to DM or whatever if you have any questions.

REBLOG TO SPREAD THE WORD!

[hughiecampbelle]

In Another Life I Did Everything Right (Roman Roy x Baby!Roy)

Character/s: Roman, Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Logan

Word Count: 1,761

Inspired By: the popsicle I was eating lol

Requested: Can you write something with Roman and baby!roy? Whatever you want to do is fine. I really love your baby!roy writing and I adore Roman - anon

A/N: I took a lot of creative liberty lol, I hope you don't mind! Feedback is always appreciated my loves! 💜💜💜

It’s always the same memory, the same dream, that comes to him when the weather is warm, and humid, and he falls into a fitful sleep. It’s a realization that comes to him each time he sees your face: how young you are. Not the chubby cheeks of childhood, yet you remain untouched by adolescence. Though he knows he was a much younger man at the time, he is all grown up now. He feels his age, how old he must seem to you, how worn. Tired. He stands in the grass, the sun bright and willing to burn. He holds two plastic pouches. He knows what they are. He knows what you’re going to say, how worried you are that they’re beginning to melt: popsicles. They wouldn’t have been allowed in the house at all. They wouldn’t have made their way into the shopping cart, nor found a home in the freezer, had it not been for Connor. All his doing. He used to know the story, but tonight he can’t recall. Did you ask him for them? Were they a surprise? How could they have been hidden so well from the disapproving eyes of your father? It doesn’t really matter, he knows, but so much of this dream has become lost to him. It’s been so many years. He can no longer rely on his memory. This day has been contorted over the years, malleable and pliable, until, as far as he knows, it no longer resembles what truly happened. You’re on the pavement, legs dangling off the edge of the pool. The water is clear and, unfortunately, not as cool as you’d like. You wait, hand outstretched, for your treat. He makes you pick. Left, right, left right, left. Finally, you choose left. He smiles. Not then, but now. How big that decision must’ve felt, how harrowing it was to decide, blindly, the flavor. Older and wiser puts things into perspective. Time is funny that way. He’s grateful you remain untouched by this. Let this be your big decision. He tears yours open: orange. There is no mourning, there is no disappointment, though there is a mutual understand red is the best. He holds his up to the light, the wrapper giving way to a dark inky color. He’s glad you picked what you did: no one really liked grape all that much. 

He wants to talk to you, to ask you questions, to understand where it all went wrong, but he is limited. The dialogue has been chosen for you. This is a reenactment, a loop, a labyrinth of muscle memory he must abide by. He settles beside you, legs crossed, listening to your teeth break through the ice and syrup. He wasn’t a spiritual person. He didn’t believe in God or Heaven or Hell. He didn’t have anyone or thing to turn to when things were hard, when times were tough. Sometimes he wished he was. A different person who could pray and believe and have faith. The cynic in him thought it was bullshit. The optimist, weak and tender, fought back as best as it could. There has to be something, right? There has to be something after all this? Life, mortal life, was so small in comparison to the time before and time after. How could there be nothing? He wants to ask you what you think, if there is God out there and, if so, how vengeful they must be. You were young, yes, but you grew up. There were so many opportunities for him to ask you, your views and opinions, and he didn’t. He wasn’t thinking as he was now. He didn’t have the perspective. Instead your voice slices through his thoughts, a knife to watermelon, it all becomes a sweet, sticky mess in the middle of his cheat. Where’s mom? You don’t have to clarify you mean your mother and not his. Logan’s latest ex-wife. They lasted longer than anyone expected, separating just a few weeks prior, when Spring turned to Summer. He speaks, and though he cannot hear himself, he knows his lines. He wishes now he’d been nicer. Kinder. Instead he is full of teenage angst and decides a snide comment is the best option to ease your growing unease given their recent split. Like all of your mothers, Connors and his and yours, they’ve left their children in the care of your father, though he understand this thought is cheap and really, only Connors mother couldn’t help it. Still, two out of three? 

Did you see her today? You watch him, and wait, and your eyes are big, and there is melted popsicle down the front of your shirt. Yes, he admits, for a moment, but refuses any further details. Mascara ran down her face. She wheeled two large suitcases out of their (now Logans) room and down the hall, towards the stairs. He’s not sure where she was going, or for how long, and he suspected you wondered the same thing. Were the popsicles, similar to the cake Logan had bought Connor, some sort of bargain? A peace offering? Sorry kid, mommy and daddy are splitting. Here’s some sugar! Was this Connor’s way of making things better? He noticed the absence of his older siblings lessening these recent months. He found Shiv helping you with your school work, patiently listening to you ramble on about grade school drama: Leah liked Tommy, but Tommy liked Madison, who wasn’t your friend anymore because she was no longer sitting at your table during lunch, so Tessa was your new best friend. Kendall, with whatever he did to busy himself all day, took his evenings to hang out with you, trying his best to have something in common with a ten year old. Connor, who had never been lacking in your life, became an even more involved presence. Wrapped up with his own affairs, and probably several affairs, Logan had little time for his youngest. So here he was, doing his part, hoping a little attention wouldn’t leave you screwed up like the rest of them. 

He wants to ask you what you think of all this. He should have, at the time, but he was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable that, finally, you were earning the Roy name. Your mother was just another wife, you were just another kid he didn’t like or want. You weren’t special, you weren’t going to change him. Uncomfortable because you were a child and children had big emotions. What if you cried? What if you got upset? He didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know how to help. You wouldn’t know it at the time (how could you?) but your mother would move on. She’d remarry a few years down the line, and have more children, and leave you behind. Her second husband wasn’t a fan of your father. By association, he wasn’t keen to you either. Roman never asked, even when you got older, how you were dealing with it all. Not just this, but everything. Adolescence. He figured, like the rest of them, you’d move on. Recover. Find your way. You couldn’t. You were in Logan’s custody sure, but it was her you wanted. Holidays, and birthdays, and events, you wanted her. Instead he decides the conversation is over. The in-between is murky. There are popsicles, there is this grimm realization, there is regret, and then what?

He isn’t sure what it is that keeps him reliving this day over the others. There were plenty of times he spent with you, though usually you were drinking, attempting to run away from the family, your bloodline, your future. He saw you so rarely, you were such a different person when he got the chance to really look at you, talk to you. Logan shipped you off to boarding school the school year after your mother leaves. It’s prestigious, and sterile, and ruins any of that person he’s sitting beside. Somewhere between here and then you changed. Not just growing up, though is any other big brother really prepared for their baby to get older? You grew harder, colder, bitter. You drank more. You disappeared often. Your grades suffered, though that kind of information was kept mostly between you and the school. Every so often, Connor would send out a group text saying he was going to visit you. Roman, at least, knew what that meant: you got into trouble and needed someone to clean up a mess you made. Everyone had grown up and adjusted as well as to be expected. They were waiting, impatiently, for you to catch up in maturity. You were a teenager expected to act like an adult, treated like a child. You begged Logan to come home. Your school was far away. It was lonely. It was brutal. But it was the best education anyone could ask for and he believed you were being a brat. 

You wanted to see your mother. It had been years, at that point, since you last saw her. Occasionally you’d receive a cold phone call, but that was all you were allotted. That’s the story, anyways. No one really knows why you went out that night, why it was so urgent, only that you were drinking and you weren’t wearing a seatbelt. They found the car wrapped around a pole. You took your place in the family mausoleum. As far as he knows, your mother doesn’t visit. But they do, all of them. This was years ago, a little over a decade. You’d be all grown up by now. He still sees you as a ten year old. He always will. Maybe he dreams this day, over every other, because it was before everything turned sour. Maybe he just likes the taste of popsicles. Either way, it’s always a treat. He wants to ask you everything he didn’t get the chance to, but he can’t, and soon he will wake up. He’ll wake up in a cold sweat and make a point to visit you sometime soon, taking this as a sign that you’re lonely and looking for company. For now, he looks at you, really looks, and takes you in. You’ve been talking this whole time about what you’ve been learning in school, what Shiv has been helping you with. He will nod. He was bored then, wondering who would take over babysitting duty, but he isn’t now. He soaks up every word. He misses your voice, your mannerisms. So much has changed since this day. So little has changed, too.