#succession fic

[strang3lov3]

The First Taste

Roman offers you money if you just let him put the tip in. Just the tip, that's all (it's not all).

Tags - smut, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, virginity kink, big dick roman roy, dare i call that cock gargantuan, ludicrously capacious, even? Unprotected piv, fingering, blow jobs, cunnilingus, hand jobs, nipple stim, just the tip (it’s never just the tip) dubcon, manipulation, deception, coercion, betrayal, Roman solicits sex from reader and is also insensitive about stds, pay him no mind. I made myself soaking wet every day while writing this so. Do what you will with that information. 5.8k words. A/N - This is just...smut. Beginning to end. I’m gonna be working on stepdaddy after this, probably write a stepdaddy sick fic cuz I feel kinda like shit. Kisses to all yall sluts 😘

Finally, some fucking quiet. For now. 

The couple in the hotel room next to yours has been going at it all night, a marathon of fucking. Endless moans, rhythmic squeaking of the bed becoming louder and faster, then quieter and slower. This couple makes you wonder if their room is the honeymoon suite or something, the way they’re fucking like a couple of newly-wed bunnies. You rest against the plush headboard, closing your stinging eyes momentarily. 

You dipped from the wedding an hour or so ago, maybe closer to two hours at this point. It’s about midnight now. You’re alone in your room, crinkling the once neatly made bedding as you play a dumb little game on your phone. Your mind wanders as you mindlessly tap the screen, thinking about what the couple next door is doing. What he’s doing to her, what she’s doing to him. How good it all feels, probably. You wonder what it’s like. 

Knock. Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock–

Roman. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to know it’s him. Nobody else knocks like that, and nobody else would show up at your door at this particular hour. You sigh as you get out of bed, taking heavy steps toward the door before opening it. 

“Evening, sexpot. You have something of mine and I’d like it back, please and thank you.” 

Roman’s still wearing the outfit he wore during the wedding, though missing his suit jacket and tie. The sleeves of his white button down shirt are rolled above his elbows, there’s an extra button undone. Once neatly slicked back, his hair is now disheveled, a few loose strands falling over his eyebrows. His eyes are half-lidded, lips curled into that smug, casual, infuriatingly handsome smirk he always wears. He looks gorgeous. 

“I do?” you ask, thinking before remembering quickly. “Oh, shit. Yeah, I do.” You open the door wider and make space to allow him to follow behind you, Roman first closing the door. You unplug his charger from the wall outlet and wrap the cord in a figure-eight around your fingers, some habit you’re not sure where or when you picked up. Roman holds out his hand and you place the charger in his palm. “So is the wedding finally over?”

“Mhm. You vanished on me, though, Cinderella. I thought I’d get at least a dance out of you but you stood me up, you heartbreaker, you. Felt like a virgin on prom night,” Roman laments with a dramatic flair, no real hurt in his tone. “But I’ll live. Me and some bridesmaid-chick totally dry humped on the dance floor, so it all worked out.”

You know he’s teasing, probably lying. Embellishing the truth. But it makes you squirm just the same, and you’re not totally sure why. You could be a little jealous, maybe. But there’s another reason, too.

“Anyway, uh. Thanks. I’ll leave you to it,” Roman says, toying with the charger cord. 

“No, thank you. Came in hand–” 

“Oh, fuck, like that. Just like that, harder, harder, fuck, ohhhh!” 

You’re interrupted by the sounds of your temporary neighbor’s moans that you’ve become very well-acquainted with. “Oh my god,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. 

Roman’s lips curl into an even wider smile, his eyes lighting up as he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, nice!” he says, giggling, “Man. That’s awesome. Lucky you, with your front row seat to the show. Maybe there’s a hole in the wall behind this mirror or something. You should see if you can watch.”

“They’ve been going at it for hours,” you deadpan. 

Roman nods in approval, that big, stupid smile still on his lips. “Awh, fuck yeah. Good for them. You should ask to join. We both could, actually. Let’s go knock.”

Your cheeks heat up at the idea, even knowing Roman’s not serious. Probably not serious, at least. Roman notices this, takes mental notes of your flustered expression, how you look anywhere but at him. The shifting of your feet, the unnecessary movements your body makes as you squirm. “Ahh, too shy. I get it,” Roman says. “So you’re just - you’re…what, jerking off to it in here, all by your lonesome? Fuck, did I interrupt? How rude, let me get out–”

“No!”

“No? You want me to stay?”

“No - you - I–” you huff, closing your eyes as you inhale and exhale a deep breath. “I meant that I’m not…you know. Doing that.”

Roman’s eyes sparkle. “It’s okay, you can admit it. I know you ladies are more, you know - audio than visual.” He wiggles his fingers by his ears as he paces slowly around the room, inspecting the slice of cake you brought back with you from the wedding, swiping a bit of frosting off the plate with his finger before sucking on it.

“Stop it, Roman.”

“I think I’m gonna stay a while, if you don’t mind. Listen to the music.”

“Whatever, knock yourself out. I’m not sleeping as long as they’re still doing it.” 

True to his word, Roman listens intently to the sounds of the couple fucking. You wouldn’t expect anything else from him. He makes little faces of intrigue or surprise at the noises, the extra loud moans or the occasional smack. You regret allowing him to stay. This is so fucking awkward, so you distract yourself by tidying up your already-pristine hotel room. Rearranging some glasses that haven’t been touched, then pouring yourself another glass of water even though you’re not actually thirsty. Roman notices all of this, too. At some point his attention shifts from the muffled noises coming from the other side of the wall to you, how you nervously flit around the room. He decides to up the tension, to make it all worse for you.

“We should fuck,” he says plainly. “You know, louder than them. Establish our dominance. There’s a bed right there.” 

It takes you a second to reply. “Funny,” is all you say, your voice coming out quietly and not very confident. Fuck. 

“You’re very shy about it, you know that?”

“Shy about what?”

“Oh, fucking - c’mon. You know what,” he deadpans. “Sex! Coitus. Fornicating. Love mak–”

“No, yeah. I got it–”

“Fucking,” Roman interrupts. “So why are you all shy about it?”

“I’m not - I’m not shy,” you stutter.

“But you are. Because you don’t talk about it, ever. You like, clam up, get all fuckin’ weird and quiet,” Roman says, gesturing to you. “And like right now, you won’t even look at me. It’s almost like you’re nervous or something. Are you?” he pauses, “Nervous, that is?”

You’re feeling defensive now, cornered, as Roman’s wedged himself deep under your skin. “No, I just - what does it matter, Roman?” you snap. Sighing, you sit on the edge of the bed and cross your arms. 

“I just wanna know, that’s all. Just curious,” he replies, tempering his tone to be much less pointed, less mocking. “You know me. No judgement here.”

“I just…don’t feel the need to talk about it, I guess.”

“You can’t even say it,” Roman digs, crossing his arms. “Are you a prude? Is that it?”

“No, Roman, I’m not a prude. It’s just a very personal thing for some people.”

“Naturally.”

“Not that you’d understand,” you bite.

Roman presses a hand against his chest, pretending you’ve just shot him. “Ouch. But yeah, no, I get it.” Roman pauses, then joins you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Is it herpes?” he whispers. “It’s herpes, isn’t it? You know, there’s no shame in it. I’ve actually created new strains of STDs myself in the course of all of my sexcapades. And look at me, I’m not ashamed,” he smiles, stifling a giggle at his own joke.

“If that’s true, Roman, you really should be. And don’t be facetious. That’s not something to laugh about.”

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he concedes, the apology devoid of any sincerity at all. “So are you saving it for marriage, then? Gonna give Mr. Right your most precious gift?”

You freeze then. Roman’s getting warmer, burning hot. It’s not the truth, but it’s not…not…the truth. An inch away from uncovering your big secret, that you’re a virgin. Never had sex, not once. 

It must be written all over your face in big, bolded letters or something, because Roman’s face twists in realization. His eyes are sparkling, jaw dropped in an open, wry smile. “Holy fuck,” he scoffs. “You’re shitting me. Virgin?! You’re a virgin? Oh my god, gross. Ew,” he laughs, turning your cheek to force you to look at him. 

It makes you feel bad inside. Insecure. Your bottom lip quivers a little as tears well up in your eyes, that awful feeling of embarrassment taking over every one of your senses. Face hot, ears pounding, the walls closing in. “Roman,” you whisper, tilting your chin down to hide yourself.

“Hey - heyyy. Don’t fuckin’...don’t be like that,” he says, tilting your face back up. Roman laughs, then makes a sympathetic expression as he pulls you close, wrapping his strong arms around you in a tight hug. Some of your tears soak the collar of his shirt as he presses your face into his shoulder. “I’m very sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I took it too far, that’s on me. I’m sorry. Hey–” Roman nuzzles your hair, “I mean it. I’m sorry.” 

You don’t say anything. You’re too pissed to speak but even if you weren’t, you’re not sure that you could conjure up any sort of response to…whatever the fuck just happened.

“It’s not so terrible, being a virgin.” Roman offers, rubbing your back soothingly as he kisses the top of your head. “There’s worse things to be.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” you ask, voice muffled as you mumble into his shirt. 

“Like…fuckin’ dead, I guess.” Roman thinks for a second, “Or ugly. And you’re not that, so…”

“Thanks, Rome,” you reply flatly. 

“And guys like virgins,” he adds. “Like, do you know how much some creeps would pay to fuck virgin pussy?”

“Uhh…”

“Millions. They’d pay millions,” Roman says, taking note of how your ears perk up at the statement, the incredulous look you give him. “Yeah, now that’s interesting to you, isn’t it? Shit, I’d pay you for it. Let’s skip the middleman, huh?”

“What? No.” You pull away from Roman’s arms. 

“Yes. Why not?”

Why not? Just the littlest amount of pushback from Roman and you’re already questioning the lines you’ve drawn in the sand for yourself. For a moment, you contemplate the idea of having sex with Roman, and you’re tempted - his naked body on yours, pleasuring you in a way you’ve never felt at the hands of someone else before, his attention all on you. His perfect, soft lips on yours as he swallows your moans, loving you the way you deserve. But ultimately you decide no, it’s not happening. It can’t happen. Not like how he’s suggesting. He doesn’t have the capacity to handle something like this with any amount of respect or tact.

“I don’t know, Roman. I guess that I always envisioned my first time having sex being with someone that I love. Or trust, at the very least.” 

“And you don’t trust me?”

You scoff “Fuck, no.”

“Yeah, that’s smart,” Roman nods. “Okay, fine. I won’t pressure you. You save that special little gift of yours for someone who deserves it.” 

You nod as you look down at the floor, tracing the pattern in the carpet with your eyes, gasping when you feel Roman touch your bare knee. “Or…” he murmurs.

“Or?”

Roman’s had the idea of screwing you in his head for a while now, and by his own admission, is especially turned on at the prospect of being the first one to fuck you. It fills him with a primal sort of feeling, knowing that at least for a moment, you’d be his. Your first lover’s name you’d moan would be his, your first orgasm at the hands of another will belong to him only, forever. There’s something about taking your virginity that fills him with a sickening, all-consuming sort of need. He’ll do it, too. By any means necessary.    

“Just the tip,” he whispers, his warm hand sliding up your thigh to toy with the edge of your pajama shorts. He wriggles them even higher, not stopping even when you hold your breath and grab his wrist to keep him from traveling further. “Chill. I’m not doing anything,” Roman mumbles, sliding his hand out from under yours to take your hand and put it flat on the bed. He holds your thigh again and speaks slowly, quietly, “You just let me put the tip in and I’ll pay you the same. Whatever - whatever fuckin’ number you want, alright? Put however many zeroes at the end, and it’s yours…if you just let me put the tip in. Sounds easy enough, right?”

“Just the tip,” you repeat quietly, thinking…thinking that it sounds like bullshit, and yet, you’re kind of falling for it anyway. He makes you feel stupid, even when he’s not insulting you.

Roman speaks again before you can talk yourself out of it. “Just the tip,” he lies. “So long as I don’t - you know, fully penetrate you - technically, you’d still be a virgin by the end of our little thing.”

“You’re saying it wouldn’t count?” 

Roman nods his head. “Wouldn’t count at all. It’s…a loophole of sorts,” he says, tracing his fingertips up and down your thigh, inching closer and closer to where he wants to feel you the most. “Virginity stays intact. C’mon,” he urges.

You’re fighting yourself. Roman can see the temptation and the self-preservation fighting each other in your mind, and he can’t let the smarter, safer side of you win this. 

“You’ve got nothing to lose,” he adds. And he’d get to satisfy a curiosity, but that’s not something he needs to tell you. 

“I don’t know, Rome. It - something about it makes me nervous.”

“I know. But I’ll be gentle with you, alright? I’ll take it nice and fuckin’ slow, walk you through the whole thing. No surprises.” Roman shifts a little and reaches into his pocket for his wallet, then pulls out a stack of bills, all hundreds, and places them on your nightstand. “There. Call it a fuckin’...deposit or whatever, I don’t know. Now do we have a deal or not, virgin?”

You bite your lip as you think - or do something resembling thinking, rather. You can’t think clearly, not with Roman’s hands now on your waist. He doesn’t have to touch you anywhere private or sensitive - just his hands on your body is enough to make your brain fucking melt, you poor thing. Don’t even know how badly you need it, need him. Roman will make it all better. Fix you. 

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. He presses a couple of kisses against the side of your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his tongue as he licks you there. You let out a broken moan in response, nodding urgently. Roman smiles against your skin in satisfaction. “Attagirl,” he murmurs, then pulls away from you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted. Perfect. 

He dims the lamps around the room and turns off the overhead lights, casting the room in a warm, orange glow before joining you on the bed again. “Let’s fuckin’ do this thing. You ready?”

“I don’t - I don’t -”

Roman calms you down before you spiral. “Shh, relax. Relax. We’re going slow, like I said,” he reminds you. “God, you’re so fuckin’...c’mere.” 

Roman puts both of his strong hands on your face, thumbs on your jaw, the rest of his fingers firmly pressing into your neck. He pulls you close and kisses you, and his lips feel even better than they look. You let out a little noise that Roman doesn’t acknowledge; he only continues to move his lips tenderly against yours, deepening the kiss when you begin to reciprocate. 

He’s an excellent kisser. The way he uses his tongue makes you feel dizzy and sets your whole body on fire, and you feel his hands everywhere. Your face, your neck, your waist, digging his fingers into you and squeezing you like he loves you. “Gimme these.” Roman takes your hands in his own and puts them on his own shoulders, his silent way of showing you how it all should be done as he inches closer to you. 

He’s warm, warmer than you imagined. Warm in a comforting way. He smells so…him. Slightly sweaty, but not in a bad way, with his cologne worn down to its base notes. He tastes good, but you couldn’t even begin to describe. You’d be content with just this tonight, really. 

Roman deepens the kiss and lays you down gently, caging you in with his body. You’re still feeling out of your depth, unsure of where or how or if you should even touch him, though Roman doesn’t seem to mind. Of course he doesn’t mind. He’s got only one thing on his brain, and that’s ruining you. Touch him however you like or don’t touch him, he doesn’t give a fuck. 

His fingers crawl beneath your shirt, climbing up your body until he’s squeezing gently at the flesh of your breasts. You gasp when he rubs his thumb in circles over your nipple, feeling it harden with his touch. “Rome-” you breathe, clutching his bicep. 

“It’s okay,” he tells you, repeating the action with your other nipple, causing you to writhe beneath him. “I gotta get you ready for it, sweetheart.”

Roman pushes your shirt up as high as it’ll go, and kisses your neck, dragging his tongue down your skin. He uses the muscle to tease one of your nipples, putting to use his lips and teeth as well. His hands travel down your body, fingers passing over the neat little bow at the front of your pajama bottoms as they slide down towards your center.

You gasp when you feel him touch you there, just over the fabric. Roman groans as he rubs his fingers, feeling how you’ve soaked yourself. “Yeah, you weren’t fuckin’ lying, were you? Made a goddamn mess down here,” he mumbles, pressing little kisses against your neck. 

“Lying about what?” you breathe.

Roman has to stifle his laugh so as not to embarrass you, but you are such a cliche, absolutely drenched from a bit of kissing. Too easy. “Shh, nothing,” he says. “Nothing. You’re fine.” Roman pulls your panties and shorts to the side, exposing your cunt to himself. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?”

You shake your head. “Mm-mm.”

Roman only nods as pulls your thighs apart, and your heart pounds hard. He traces your lips only momentarily before diving between your folds, feeling the pool of arousal he’s caused. 

“Fuck,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. “R-Roman, Roman…”

“Ohh, man, you’re sensitive,” Roman laughs quietly, rubbing lazy circles over your clit. “Holy fuck. That feel good? Huh, virgin?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, squeezing his forearm and bicep with your hands as if to anchor yourself or something. You feel like you’re gonna break. Everything feels heightened, but sort of sharp and fuzzy at the same time. Your head spins, and you can’t keep track of your thoughts. 

You whine when Roman pushes his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out slowly. “How does that feel?” he asks.

“Good, kinda - uh…kind - kind of hurts.”

“You gotta relax,” he tells you, “ It’s okay.”  

Roman shifts a little and smiles at you before curling his fingers, stroking that special, sensitive little place deep inside your cunt you’ve probably never found on your own before. By the way your eyes roll back into your head and how you squeeze your legs shut around his arm, Roman guesses he’s right. “Oh my - fuck, Rome, that - you–” Your voice comes out in broken, breathy moans and you don’t bother finishing your sentence. All you can do is bury your face into his neck and try not to shatter into a million pieces. 

Roman fingers you like that for a minute or two longer, listening to those wet noises your cunt makes for him, then slows down his movements before pulling away. “You’re ready for it,” he tells you.

“I am?”

“Absolutely.” 

Roman leans back and sits you up, then pulls off your shirt without saying so much as a single word. He does the same to your shorts and panties, tossing them into a crumpled pile on the carpet. The way you squirm and hide yourself makes Roman smile. “Don’t be shy. I need to be able to see what I’m working with, right?”

“Yeah, no. That makes sense.”

“Hold on.” Roman unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, pulling off his undershirt too. His bulge is sizable in his black slacks, and when he unbuckles his belt and pulls the rest of his clothes off, his hard cock slapping against his tummy, your eyes widen. His dick is massive. The tip reaches his belly button, and it’s curved beautifully, slightly to the right. Roman wraps his fingers around it and squeezes, knuckles whitening a little.

“Y-you’re fucking huge,” you stutter.

“I know, right? It’s Roman Roy’s best kept secret.” He smiles wide, pleased with himself as he winks at you. “Alright. Spread those legs and let’s fuckin’ party.” Roman reaches for your ankles and pulls them apart, eyebrows raising when you fight to keep them closed. 

“No! No, don’t.”

“...No?” Roman drops your ankles and sits back, eyeing you. “Scared?”

“Very.” 

He chuckles. “You’ve never even felt a cock before, have you?” Roman asks, stroking his cock slowly. You shake your head and he nods in understanding. “Wow, it really is all new to you. That’s my bad, sweetheart.” 

Roman lays down next to you again, this time flat on his back. He shifts a little and grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock. “Get to know it a little. Just touch it, however you want,” he instructs. Roman waits for you to touch him, but you’re frozen. He raises an eyebrow, “It’s not gonna bite you.”

“I know, I just don’t know…don’t know what to do.”

Roman says nothing, only presses your fingertips against the large, blunt head of his cock. “Like this,” he says, dragging your fingers down his shaft. He wraps your fingers around his length, then lets you go. Your turn.

You slide your palm up and down his dick, just…taking it all in. His cock feels heavy in your hand which doesn’t surprise you, but you’re struck by his warmth, the heat radiating from him. You trace his veins, then squeeze him slightly in your fist, feeling him throb a little. 

Roman patiently lets you explore, despite it being an excruciating tease, groaning softly as he tilts his head back. “Now when you do this for real, with your Mr. Right or whoever,” Roman says, “Don’t just tease him like this. You’ll piss him off,” he warns.

“I will?”

“Oh yeah. No, you’re even pissing me off a little bit. Like, if this weren’t a teaching moment, I’d fuck you in two for this shit.” Roman words scare you a bit, and you stop touching him. “Relax, will you? It’s not gonna happen. You’re in good hands.” 

“Okay.”

“Let me show you what to do instead.” Roman takes your hand again, this time spitting in it. “You grab it like you mean it,” he says, wrapping your fingers tightly around his cock, tighter than you would have done yourself. “And–” Roman slides your palm up and down his length, helping you to maintain that firm pressure, “You go all the way up, all the way down. Like - fuck - yeah, like that. You’re a fuckin’ natural, virgin, look at you.”

Roman lets you work him on your own, simply enjoying the feel of your hand on his cock. He thinks it’s cute when you circle his tip with your fingers - it’s not something he taught you to do, but he doesn’t mind it. 

“Does this feel like, good?”

“Feels awesome. But,” Roman purrs, “You know what’d feel even better?”

“What?”

“You gotta be brave, sweetheart. Do you want to be brave for me?”

You’re not feeling very brave or adventurous but you nod a little anyway, and Roman jumps at the opportunity. He moves you down the bed, sitting you down between his thighs that are spread wide. “You’re gonna suck my dick,” he tells you, grabbing your face with one of his hands. “Don’t freak out, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Open your mouth.” 

Roman holds his thick cock between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He taps the head against your bottom lip, encouraging you to open wider. When you open your mouth more, Roman lowers your head and fits himself between your lips, simply letting you get used to the feeling of him there. It takes a lot of patience on his part, to not fuck your mouth here and now. 

You’re not sure what to do, and Roman knows this. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he bounces your head just a little on his cock, your tongue sliding over his weeping slit. The taste of his precome surprises you - it’s a salty, warm, masculine sort of flavor that you don’t really mind. You’re pleased by how soft his skin feels, how he smells. Gaining confidence, you take him deeper into your mouth.

If Roman were a better man, he’d stop you - he’d warn you that you’re going to choke on his cock, that it’s gonna be too much too quickly. But that’s not Roman, not by a long shot. He inches you further down his cock with each bob of your head, grinning at the way you gurgle and sputter a little. “Little more,” he says. “Keep going.”

Cock in mouth, drool dripping down your chin, you look at Roman, searching for some sort of approval or encouragement. “You got it. And use your tongue, sweetheart. You can make a mess on me. You should, actually.”

You move your tongue in inconsistent patterns, swirling it around his length as Roman moves your head. “Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. “You’re doing so well.”

 He lets out soft little groans and his eyes shut for a moment, lips parted. Saliva is running down his cock and your jaw is beginning to ache from his girth, but Roman ignores your noises of discomfort and the tears in your eyes. He fucks himself deeply into your mouth, pushing you far past the point he should. Then suddenly, you gag and cough harshly, pulling yourself off of him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck,” you spit.

Roman rubs your back and stretches across the bed, reaching for your glass of water. “You’re good, you’re alright,” he says, pressing the glass against your lips. “Have some water. You’re not supposed to take me all at once, virgin. That’s how you choke,” he taunts.  

After finishing the water, Roman takes your glass and sets it back on the nightstand. “Alright. Back to you, sweetheart. Lie back and spread your legs for me.” 

You tremble a little as you lie down, parting your legs only a little. You feel the bed shift with Roman’s moving weight and close your eyes, nervously anticipating the inevitable. 

Roman pushes your knees toward your chest and lowers himself, smirking at how tense you look with your short breaths, your fingers fidgeting with the comforter. He could warn you of what’s to come with a couple of kisses pressed against your inner thighs, but it’ll be more fun to surprise you. 

He licks your sex from bottom to top with a flat tongue, dragging it slowly through your folds. “Roman,” you gasp, hands darting for his head. You tangle your fingers in the sleek strands of his hair, tugging on them tightly. “You - you’re–”

“Shh,” he interrupts. His stubble scratches your inner thighs as he teases you, tongue circling your clit. Roman buries himself in that softest and most private place on your body, rubbing the tip of his perfect nose against your clit as he tastes you. He circles your entrance a couple of times before dipping inside, tasting your arousal right from the hole it trickles from. 

You’re babbling incoherently, whimpering his name as he then drags his tongue up and down your folds. He circles your clit once, then twice, then pulls the hood back and laves over the sensitive bud repeatedly, forcing you to lie still with a strong hand holding you down. He savors you like this, how you shudder and shake, muscles tensing as you fight to close your legs, not used to a feeling so intense. Roman fucks you with his tongue, guiding you through the first orgasm you’ve ever shared with another as you gush into his mouth, clit throbbing under his tongue. 

When Roman pulls away, you feel like you could cry. You bite your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling and try to will away that pressure building behind your eyes, but it’s hard. You wonder if Roman notices. 

“Now you’re really fuckin’ ready,” he tells you. 

“Okay,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Just the tip?”

“Mhm. Just the tip,” Roman confirms. He hovers over you and reaches between your legs to gather your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your slick. When he presses the thick head of his dick against your pussy, your heart races. You can’t conjure the words to tell him what you need, and urgently take his free hand in yours. 

“You wanna hold my hand?” Roman smirks and laces his fingers between yours, pinning your hand against the bed. “We can hold hands, sweetheart.” And then, in one swift, brutal motion, Roman fully buries his cock fully inside you. 

It sends you reeling. He’s so huge, it feels like he’s splitting you in two. You feel betrayed and try to squirm away, but Roman forces you to stay down with a hand on your ribcage. Forces you to take it, to feel it all. “Shhh, shh. You’re - hey - you’re fine.” Roman catches the free hand you use to try and shove him backwards and pins it to the bed with the other. 

“Y-you–” you sob, unable to form a sentence. 

“Ohhh, I know, I know, I know,” Roman coos mockingly. “I played a dirty trick on you, huh? Wasn’t very nice of me, was it?”

You look at Roman and cry, tears falling down your temples and into your hair. With his hand still clutching yours, he uses your own knuckles to wipe some tears away. “Poor thing. You’ll get used to it.” 

“But you said–”

“I know what I said,” Roman interrupts. “It’s never just the tip, baby, you know that. Or–” Roman pauses, thrusting into you deeply, “Maybe you really don’t know that. But this is real life, sweetheart. It’s a cruel fuckin’ world out there.” 

Roman sets a pace then, drawing in and out of you. Not particularly harshly or quickly, because the penetration alone hurts enough. He rocks his hips, pulling out of you and filling you up all the way with every stroke. 

“Roman, stop–”

“No. Fucking take it.”   

Roman ignores your sounds of discomfort, going so far as to cover your mouth instead. Your sobs are muffled under his palm, skin dampening with tears and saliva. Roman builds the tempo, lips curled into that awful, lopsided smile. “Listen to yourself. You’re fuckin’ soaked, do you hear that?” he taunts through a strained breath. 

The pain is utterly blinding, until it isn’t. You almost resent the way the hurt is replaced with pleasure now, because the betrayal is still there. Betrayal by Roman, and now by your own body. This…this isn’t what you were promised. You trusted Roman and he exploited that, but you’re fucking enjoying it.

Roman’s palm tastes salty over your mouth. When he removes it, a moan slips past your lips, and Roman grins. “Yeah, there it is. Not so terrible, huh, baby?”

You free your hands from his grip and wrap your arms around his shoulders, which is the only thing that feels right. You don’t entirely know why, you just know that you need him close. Roman pulls back a little to watch you, his greenish, hazel eyes darkened with something primal as he pulls out of you and pushes into you, again and again and again. You bury your face in his neck as he fucks you, and one of his hands slide up your torso to grope your breast and tease your nipple.

“Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good,” Roman grunts, rutting his hips into you. He’s in love with all of this, in truth. Addicted. How soft your body is for him, for his hands to squeeze and his fingers to dig into. He could fucking eat you. 

He fits his hand between your bodies, the heel of his palm pressing into your pubic bone. He rubs your clit in circles, thrusting into you harder, faster, deeper. “Look at me. Right here” he pants, using his free hand to hold your face. “Come on my cock. Come for me, sweetheart.”

He pulls your orgasm from you effortlessly. Roman’s name spills from your lips in choking sobs as you come on his cock, feeling impossibly full as your cunt pulses around him. It’s the heaviest, most overwhelming feeling, washing over you in waves, muscles spasming and twitching. Roman’s thrusts turn frenzied and frantic, and there it is - he’s coming too. Milking himself inside you, spurting thick, hot ropes of his come, and you take all of it. 

Roman pulls out of you then, and uses two fingers to push his escaped spend back inside your poor, raw, throbbing cunt. This time, you do cry. “Ohh, come here,” Roman says softly. He scoops you up into his arms and holds you tightly, stroking your hair. “You okay?”

“No,” you sniffle. 

“No?” Roman repeats, momentarily moving you to lean over the bed. He reaches for his pants and grabs his phone out of the pocket, then takes his place next to you again, pulling you into his side tightly. “You’ll get over it. Watch,” he murmurs, unlocking his phone and opening Venmo. He pulls up your profile and shows you the screen, the little blue cursor blinking. You type in a number, then give the phone back to Roman, who adds an extra zero before tapping Pay.

If you enjoyed, please lmk ♡ i love when you reblog and send me asks. It means the world to me ♡

romey tags

@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 @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

@/perpetuallymanic @/111melo @/veryverycoolgirl @/marisemonteiroo

[cosmicwavelengths]

you're joking, right? (he's not)

minors, dni! - 18+ only

pairing: roman roy x assistant! reader

summary: you spend a weekend away on a business trip with your boss, roman roy, who asks you for an unusual request -- and you pray these are one of those jokes he doesn't actually follow through with. a/n: i swear this started with an innocent "roman gets pussydrunk" prompt i came up with but it spiraled into something completely different - enjoy! cw: smut (fingering, oral, face sitting - reader recieving), dubcon, explicit language (thanks roman), f! reader, roman is your boss wc: 1.7k | masterlist | ao3 ────୨ৎ──── “Did you not hear me the first time?”

Roman sits with a smug smile, arms folded up behind his head and feet on his desk. You shift nervously on your feet, taking sudden interest in the patterned carpet on the floor. “Roman, it’s late and I’m not in the mood for jokes. Please, just tell me what it is you actually want so I can go to bed.” Working for Roman Roy has its perks, but you often find yourself victim to his ridiculous antics. But this? This has to be the worst one by far.

He huffs out a chuckle before sitting up, putting his elbows on the table. “Are you slow? You really want me to repeat myself again? Just, fuckin’-, look here.” He rises and walks over to you, standing closer than you’d like. “I said, I am going to lie down—” He pauses, gesturing dramatically towards the bed next to him. “And I want you to pull down those little panties of yours—” He taps your hip where your underwear sits. You recoil from his touch. “—so you can sit on my face.”

You can’t convince yourself that he is joking by this point. You glance up at him. His eyes are dark with mischief, neck slightly tense. He leans back from you, throwing his arms out. “C’mon, don’t be a fuckin’ prude. And I’m not joking. Just pull off your little shorts and sit on my face, that’s all,” he all but whines, as if he were a petulant, spoiled child. You sigh at that, folding your arms. “Roman. Stop playing with me. Now, unless you have something you actually need, I’m going to go.” You turn to leave, but Roman grabs your wrist with a quickness, tightening his grip. He spins you around to face him, putting you much closer to him than you were before. “No, no, no. You’re not fuckin’ going anywhere. Whatever you think you’re gonna do, you’re not, so cut it out.” At that, he pulls you in for a hurried kiss. You’re unsure you can really call it a kiss, though, he all but bites your mouth, tugging your bottom lip with his incisors and causing them to bleed a bit.

You pull away quickly, face flushing with embarrassment. “Roman! What are you— Why?” Suddenly, you’ve never felt more alone in your life. You left your phone in your room, keycard on the desk. You have nowhere to run. At this realization, tears begin to prickle at your eyes. “I don’t want to, please don’t make me…” You trail off, words breaking off into a small sob. Concerningly, Roman seems unmoved by your unnatural display of overt emotion. He hushes you, bringing up his other hand to wipe away a tear that had rolled down your cheek. “Oh, don’t cry like that. Just take off your shorts.”

You really begin to cry now, genuine fear striking through you. You shake your head rapidly as one last plea to let you go. “No, no, please, Roman?” Losing his patience, Roman grabs you by the waist and pushes you on the bed underneath him. His hands roam all over your body, teeth coming up to graze your earlobe. “Don’t you make me ask again,” he grunts into your ear, hands having found the edge of your waistband. With quick movements, he yanks down your pajama shorts and panties, having exposed your slit, unwillingly slick with your arousal. “Shit, you’re actually wet? You’re a sick slut, y’know that? Getting off on me having my way with you…” You let out a sob of fear and pleasure as he drags a gentle finger through your folds.

You slide up to move away from him, but a firm hand on your stomach keeps you in your place. “Please don’t, Roman…” you try again, weakly, falling victim to the attention his thumb is giving your clit. You let out a quiet moan. “No, shut the fuck up and take it. Besides, why are you asking me to stop when you’re clearly enjoying it?” He drags his hand up your shirt for your tits, beginning to fiddle with one of your hardening nipples. You reluctantly arch into his touch, biting your kiss bitten lip to hold in a groan. At that, he teases your entrance with the tips of his middle and ring fingers, tracing the outside and barely dipping in. You throw your head back with pleasure. “Please, Roman?” you whine out quietly, a voice almost foreign to you. Roman stifles a laugh, so as to not humiliate you further. How kind. “Holy fuck, no way you’re actually begging me, now. Don’t be scared, just let me in.”

He shoves his digits in your cunt, causing you to cry out. His fingers reach that soft, spongy spot of your walls, causing you to flutter around his fingers and keen loudly for him. “Fuck,” you groan to yourself, eyes rolling back into your head. Roman angles his head to look at you, movements slowing down slightly. “You don’t need to beg me, sweetheart. I’m going to give you exactly what you need,” he says smugly. At that, he pistons in and out of your pussy. “You take my fingers like a fucking slut, I can feel the way your cunt mouths at my fingers,” he mumbles to himself, locked in to the way you’re being stuffed full of him. You babble mindlessly, getting closer and closer to release. He twists his fingers in a particular way and he makes you cum, loudly and pathetically. Your hips buck with reckless abandon, and your bones feel like they’ll dissolve under the extreme pressure at your core. When you’ve come down from your high you lie still against the bed, tired and breathless.

Roman pulls his fingers out of you, eyeing the way your arousal coats his fingers. He brings them up to his mouth for a taste. “Wow,” he states breathlessly, having fingered you rather aggressively. “You’re a shitty liar if you said you didn’t want that.” You remain quiet, still shocked by his initial aggressive demeanor towards you. You lean up on your elbows to look at him, dazed. “Okay, Roman, you’ve had your fun. Can I go to bed now?” He kisses his teeth, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. Besides, I haven’t actually had my fun until you sit on my face.” You offer a shy smile at that, hoping it will deter him from continuing to be pushy. “I don’t want to suffocate you. I mean, what if you can’t breathe?”

He sinks down on the bed so his face hovers above your pussy. His hands slide up, holding you open for him. He gazes at your glistening cunt, arousal stewing deep inside of him. “Then I’ll have to worry about that when, or If, that becomes a problem.” Suddenly, he hooks his arms around your thighs and rolls over so you’re on top of him. Even though you’re more or less the same size, you thought he wouldn't have had that much strength. He moans underneath you, sending shocks of vibrations through your clit and up your spine. You shudder with arousal, causing your thighs to shake.

“God, your pussy is so perfect f’me. Just like I imagined.” He eats you out wildly, tongue gliding through your folds and circling around your bundle of nerves at the top. You bring your hands up to hide your face out of embarrassment as you rock your hips gently against his mouth. “Hey-hey, keep your hands down, I want to see you cum.” His eyes fix darkly on you, “Be a good little assistant for your boss and take your hands down.” He sucks obscenely at your clit, causing your back to arch deeply and make you hold onto the headboard for support.

His hands slide up your hips, digging his fingertips into your flesh. “Roman, Oh God, Roman, please make me cum! Please?” you beg, still grinding on his tongue. He groans again, sending another flash of ecstasy through you. He pushes you up to get room to speak, “Fuck, be a good girl and cum for me.” Sitting you back down, his tongue flicks out again over your clit, aggressively shoving you over the edge. You shatter above him, waves of bliss coursing through your body. Your hips rock uncontrollably, unknowingly causing your arousal to spread across Roman’s face. He drinks up your orgasm, lapping at your hole as you ride out your orgasm. When you finish, you flop over unceremoniously next to him, legs going limp. Roman sits up on his elbows as he tries to catch his breath. 

You roll over to look at him and you see how your orgasm soaks his face and absolutely ruined his dress shirt. Your face blushes deeply as you scramble for an apology. “Roman, I’m so sorry about the shirt, I really didn’t mean to—”

He waves in your direction, silencing you. “Eh, it’s fine. I’ll just take the dry cleaning costs out of your next paycheck,” he says with a hint of bland humor in his voice. You pout at that, knowing that the few things he actually jokes about is your compensation. He throws a cunning look in your direction, filled with promise which makes you feel uneasy. “I guess that means you’ll have to make it up to me next time.”

--

The following week, you’re back at your desk at the New York office, typing away and organizing documents. Hearing a knock at your door, you stand up and round your desk to investigate. Upon opening the door, your vision is taken up by a huge bouquet of roses, about two or three dozen you think. The delivery man, struggling to hold the heavy vase, sets it down with a huff in front of you. After confirming your identity with him, he walks away trying to catch his breath.

You lean down, noticing a small white card buried in the petals of the flowers. Opening it, reading the  tiny letters printed in the card makes you feel light headed. Round two in Stockholm next week? — RR

[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!"

[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.

[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.

•

[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

[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.”

[wambsgansshoelaces]

prompt number 4 with shivvy please 😇

Honey

Prompt: “C’mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done working.”

Siobhan Roy x Reader

summary: cuddles, baked goods, and insecurity

okay so a few things… this is my favorite fic I’ve ever written. I’m sorry that it’s so much shorter than everything else, but I’m sooo proud of it I love it so much it’s my little baby

I wrote way beyond the prompt, so I hope you don’t mind xx I was just making myself feel better haah xx

anon, thank you so much for requesting <3 I love you and I hope you love it xxx

tw for weight and eating talk. you’re beautiful, I love you, and you deserve the world, reader <3

Word Count: 1.628k

“Come on, babe, just give me another half hour.”

You’re perched on your girlfriend’s desk as she works. Shiv’s been here, at the Waystar office, since six in the morning. It’s now eleven P.M.

“You’ve been here for way too long,” you point out. She doesn’t say anything, absorbed in whatever it is she’s working on on her computer. “I wanna go home.” You pout at her, trying to earn some sympathy.

She heaves a sigh, going to type something. “Then go home.” Her voice comes out harsh, and you wince. She’s been overworking herself for weeks. You know she doesn’t mean to be snappy- it just happens to her. She gets overwhelmed, she gets frustrated, and she’s still working on being able to regulate her emotions when they’re negative. You frown at her from your spot on the corner of her desk. She stops herself, taking a short breath. “I’m sorry. I just really need to finish this stuff.” She rolls her chair closer to you and leans up, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss before going back to work.

“Love, what’re you even working on?” you ask softly, moving to hook your fingers around hers. She smiles, but keeps her eyes trained on her laptop.

“Just some campaign things. They need to be done before tomorrow afternoon, and I have meetings all morning…” She fiddles with one of the rings on your pointer finger.

“Look, do you know you really can’t wrap up now?”

“No, really, babe, I have to get this done-”

She’s interrupted by the noise you make sliding off her desk. “I’m sorry, it’s just- I’ve been here all day, Shiv. You have, too, and if you’re not going to come home with me…”

“What? You’re going? No, No.” She looks up at you, brow furrowed. “C’mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done working.”

“Siobh-”

“Come on.”

With a sigh and dumb smile on your face, you go over and deposit yourself into her lap. She strokes up and down your thigh with one hand, reaching around you with the other. She sets her head on your shoulder and she continues to peer at whatever it is she’s doing.

You lean back into her, strangely content. You turn your head far enough to be able to kiss the side of her temple. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she murmurs into your shirtsleeve. “You know, I like this.” Her hand shifts from your thigh to the side of your neck, her fingers hunting for a strand of hair to play with. She twists a soft lock around her fingers, pressing a lazy kiss into your shoulder.

"So, how's Weston doing?" you ask with a smirk on your face. You'd met him at one of her work parties, and she swore up and down that she had nothing to do with him. You believe her, obviously. You know she's only interested in you. But you know Weston's into her, and she's oblivious.

"He's been acting... strange lately. I think you scared him," she says, lips brushing over your neck. You laugh. You enjoy teasing her like this. You know she doesn't take it personally. She's just happy she gets to spend time with you, see you laughing, see your face split into that radiant fucking smile of yours.

"Ha! Good." You nuzzle into her, using your hips to burrow further into her lap. You can feel the heat rush through her body, her hand clamping down on your side. It's only a matter of seconds before her attention is off of you, to your dismay. "Shiv," you whine. "Enough work for the night. Please? For me?"

She lets out an airy sigh, pressing a kiss onto the back of your head, into your hair. “I’m sorry. Let’s go home.”

You take her chin and guide her mouth to yours.

She makes a satisfied noise against your lips. She tastes like honey. Honey crafted by Dionysus for one of his wines. She groans deeply when you shift in her lap, unintentionally grinding against her.

You get to your feet, Shiv following after packing up her things. Her computer bag slung over her shoulder and her hand in yours, she drags you through the parking garage. “Do you really have to go to work tomorrow?”

“What kind of question is that?” She pauses to toss her stuff into the back seat of your car while you climb into the driver’s seat. “But no. I’ll stay home. I know you have the day off.” She gives you a peck before you start driving.

God, you love staying home with her. Your life became infinitely better when you moved in with her. You were both so madly in love with one another. Life was in color when you were with you, in black and white when you weren’t.

Before she disappears into the bathroom to begin her nightly routine, she kisses you deeply. You’re sure you can get drunk off of the way she tastes alone. She tastes like pure sunlight. Like liquid gold.

She’s stressed, she has so much on her mind, so much to do. It’s getting late, but you want to do something for her. If you hurry, you think you can have your plan neatly executed before she’s inclined to go to sleep. As fast as you can, you find the spare dough from the last time you did this for her. You quickly roll everything out, shaping the cinnamon buns, and have a glaze and frosting made. You pour honey over the dough so that when you bite into the buns, the honey oozes out, warm and sweet. You dip them in the glaze and you have them in the oven under the half hour.

Shiv strolls out from the bathroom, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. God, her eyes. You can never look away from her eyes. Her silk pajamas leave most of her skin exposed- her supple thighs, her plush arms. Her hips fill out her shorts in a way that makes you embarrassingly hot and bothered. She's a goddess walking on earth unworthy of her. You want to drop everything you're doing in your life to just do whatever the fuck she asks of you. To spend the rest of your days with her. She's so fucking beautiful and you can't believe she's committed herself to you. You just love her so much. You feel so fucking lucky.

“What’s baking?” she asks, cuddling up to you on the couch. “It smells nice.” She takes your arm and puts it around her. Her cheek presses into your shoulder. She’s blinking back sleep, but she’s holding on. Anything to spend more time with you.

“Your favorite,” you murmur back.

“Are you sure? It’s late,” she says unconvincingly, looking up at you with a dreamy look on her face.

“You should treat yourself, Shivvy,” you tell her. Your expression is one loaded with affection. You hope you two never have to separate.

She kisses you quickly. “I love you.” Soon enough, your timer rings, and you get up to get the honey cinnamon buns out of the oven. She hovers over you as you set the tray on the counter. The steam swirls through the air, twirling between the two of you. Her arms wind around your waist, her head leaning into your neck. “I mean it. You’re the best human being on the planet.”

You kiss the top of her head. “You’re my girl. I’d do anything for you.”

She plants a warm kiss into the crook of your neck before grabbing a plate from the silverware cabinet. “Let’s share one!”

“Oh, uh, you can have it all,” you say quickly.

“No, you too. I can’t eat this all by myself.” She cuts the bun in half, settling both sides on the same plate so you could share. Like you always do.

“Um, I really shouldn’t be having any sugar,” you say meekly. “I’ve been gaining.” You look away, ashamed.

You’ve had issues with your body, with eating, for as long as you can remember. It was embarrassing to admit, but they started and childhood, and no matter how hard you fucking tried, they never went away. Especially as of recently.

Going to the gym, eating healthy. You did it all- or at least you thought it did. But you suppose not, because you were worse off than you started.

“Baby,” Shiv says incredulously. “Gaining? Where? If anything, it’s muscle.” She nudges you with her hip. She can tell when things run deep. This is one of them. “Come on. You can’t actually think you need to lose weight.” When you don’t say anything, she presses on. “Is this a self confidence thing? You’re literally the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re hips are the sexiest thing-”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, let’s just eat?”

“No, no, I’m solving this issue,” she insists. “I don’t care if you’re a little chubby- which you’re not -because that doesn’t mean anything. You’re healthy, you’re a smoke show, so what’s it fucking matter?”

She drops the knife she was waving around while she spoke, instead coming over to smooth her hands over your jaw and give you a nice, long kiss. She pulls away and presses a fat kiss to the spot just above your belly button.

The two of you eat together, you albeit hesitantly, but she urges you on. You’re glad you have her. She’s everything to you, and you’re everything to her.

When you kiss her the last time for the night, she tastes of what you imagine the rest of your life with her is going to look like.

Honey, pure sunlight, liquid fucking gold.

[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 :)

[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]

Doctor’s Orders

You can't cum, so you visit Doctor Roy.

Tags - gyno!roman, abuse of power, dubcon, sexual frustration, finger fucking, finger sucking, pap test, breast exam, titty play, medical kink, gyno kink, morally bankrupt roman, also. anyway, don't worry babies, you will fuck doctor roy later. but not tonight :) A/N - YEP I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW. STEPDADDY, ROOFTOP FUCK. I had to get this out of my system, okay? I love you. It’ll be okay.

You hate waiting rooms. Medical offices, whatever. Everything is sterile and smells like alcohol and hibiclens, which isn’t an unpleasant smell on its own, but it’s sort of aggressive and sharp and…

Whatever, doesn’t matter. It’s just the context. Nobody likes the doctor, right? All the needles, the being poked and prodded at by blue hands. The invasive questions that you know are asked for the sake of your health, but still. How much do you drink? When was your last period, and describe in detail the texture, color, and smell of your menstrual blood. Are you sexually active? Do you smoke? You shouldn’t, you know. 

It’s just an unpleasant experience. But part of being a healthy human.

You tap your nails on the clipboard after filling out your paperwork - date of birth, current address, billing address, insurance, emergency contact - all that shit - while listening to the music playing from the tinny, staticy speakers. Doctors’ offices always seem to play the worst songs from eight years ago, for some reason. The thought tickles you. Like that’s universally appealing, or something. 

A nurse opens a door and calls your name. You collect your things, then join her as she takes your paperwork and leads you down a long hall, your shoes squeaking on the linoleum flooring. She has you slip off your shoes then stand on a scale to jot your weight, then leads you to an examination room. 

“And what brings you in for your visit?” 

“Uhh…” You fidget with your nails, picking away the chipping nail polish you painted on a few days ago. “Struggling to reach orgasm,” you murmur.

Your nurse nods as she types your response into her laptop, and you’re thankful she doesn’t show any judgment. Maybe she is judging you, but so be it. She hides it well. And,  she’s not the one you have to worry about. 

She bends over and opens a drawer, then hands you a paper gown and a large paper sheet. She shows you how to wear the gown, then instructs you to lay the paper sheet over your lap. The doctor will be in shortly, she says, then leaves and closes the door behind herself. 

The cool air has your skin erupting in goosebumps as you strip bare. This part always feels…awkward. Putting your clothes into an awkward little pile on the chair across from the examination table, putting that awkward, baggy paper gown on, covering yourself with that awkward paper sheet. It could not be less flattering on you, and makes you feel sort of dehumanized. Just not yourself.

You hope this will be over soon. You’ve already been sitting on the examining table for about fifteen minutes, legs dangling in the air as you wait for your doctor to show up. While toying with the paper sheet, crumpling it and smoothing it out again, you notice a few stray hairs you missed shaving on your legs - fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. Or worse, say something. He totally fucking would, too. 

Good god, you feel nervous. Do other people feel this nervous, usually? Or is it just you? You’re looking at all the sterile, scary-looking tools on that little metal table covered in a blue sheet thinking–

Knock knock. Doctor Roy doesn’t give you time to say anything before he’s opening the door and waltzing in the room, and there’s a rush of cool, moving air that prickles your skin. 

“Hey, hey, if it isn’t my favorite fuckin’ patient,” Roman announces. “How the fuck are you?” You open your mouth to speak, but Roman cuts you off, “Cute panties,” he interrupts, pointing to your pile of clothes. The comment makes your cheeks heat up, and Roman laughs. 

Roman Roy, MD. He’s a rather unorthodox gynecologist, and that’s putting it generously. He’s got no bedside manner whatsoever - which likely contributes heavily to his abysmal two-star rating online. He’s very rude, very short and impatient with people. Lewd. Inappropriate. Everything you don’t want your gynecologist to be. Oh, god, people are so fucking sensitive now, right? What, can nobody take a joke? 

He was the only doctor in your insurance network when you started visiting the gynecologist, and you’re stuck with him. Feel like you’re stuck with him, at least. You’ve thought about going elsewhere, but Doctor Roy knows you, and he knows your medical history. Being so fucking unpopular amongst patients due to his terrible demeanor, there’s only seldom a wait to see him. If you get a yeast infection or a UTI - or, shit, even strep throat, he’ll write you a script quickly and easily, no jerking you around. You just have to put up with his dirty jokes, and stuff. Things could be worse. Right?

Roman gets right to it. He sits down on the leather-covered rolling stool and opens his Macbook to read through your chart. “Buh-buh-buh…” he hums absently, scrolling through your records. “Oh - okay. Great. Fuckin’ nurse didn’t ask you anything or take your blood pressure or any of that shit. Jesus fuck, I have to do everything around here.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, sorry. She’s new. Fresh out of nursing school and fucking useless,” he mutters, his eyes still glued to his scream.

Roman stands up and switches on the blood pressure machine to your left, and it whirs to life. He unsticks the gray, Velcro cuff from itself, “I’m gonna take this, thank you,” he murmurs, taking your left arm in his hand without your permission, and raising it up so he can wrap the cuff around your bicep. Roman presses another switch and the cuff slowly fills with air, squeezing you. “Sorry,” he says. “Fuckin’ thing is slow as shit.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. You study Roman’s face as he watches the numbers on the display. He’s growing a little bit of scruff - you like the look on him. In the bright, sterile room, his hazel eyes lean slightly green. His hair has grown out a little, and you find it interesting how it’s darker and lighter depending on the season. He’s got the softest, most beautiful strands. 

Being honest with yourself, part of the reason you still visit him is because he’s so fucking handsome, and you just can’t help yourself. That has to be true with his other patients, too. On no other fucking planet would his antics and lack of ethics fly if he weren’t so attractive. 

Looks really do get you everywhere. 

The machine hisses as the air is let out of your cuff, and then Roman’s taking it off of your arm. He grabs his stethoscope next and puts the two little earpieces in his ears. He flicks your paper gown to the side and presses the cold metal bell against your bare chest, brows furrowed as he listens to your heart. Then, he smirks. 

“Heart’s beating a little quick today, huh?” he muses, teasingly. “What’s up with that? You nervous?”

“A little,” you admit. Fuck, you can smell him - his cologne and the almond-scented soap he washed his hands with. His breath is warm on your face as he moves the stethoscope around, listening intently to your heart. When he’s done, he shuffles and  moves the bell to your back. 

“Deep breath in,” he instructs, voice softer and more measured. You inhale deeply. “And out. Good. Again. In,” he guides, “And out. Goooood.” 

Roman notes your shaky breaths. Nothing to worry about, he concludes. They match your pounding heart. You’re just a little nervous, is all. And fucking turned on, if your dilated eyes are any indication - Roman’s not stupid. He knows you’re attracted to him. He guesses that the minute you put your feet in the stirrups and your cunt is on display for him, he’ll see you dripping down the examination table. Whatever, though. He’ll make his nurse do the grunt work. 

Roman sits in his stool again. “When was your last period?” he asks you. 

“Uhhh, the twenty-eighth.”

Roman types that into his computer. “Still on the Nuvaring?” Roman looks at you, eyebrows raised. 

“Yep.”

“Any side effects? Still workin’ out okay?” 

“Still working out okay.” 

“Any pelvic pain or discomfort? Are you sexually active?”

“No and yes.” 

Fuck Doctor Roy and that stupid fucking smirk he wears. “Latex allergies?”

“No, Doctor Roy.” 

“Good, good.” Roman ruffles a hand through his hair, using the other to scroll back up to the “reason for visit” section of your chart. “So you’re here because…” Roman’s mouth drops open. “‘Patient can’t reach orgasm’. Oh shit,” he laughs. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” you answer quietly, embarrassed, and heat creeps up your neck. It’s one thing to talk to your friends about this. They’re shocked too, but sympathetic, at least. “I know how you feel. My boyfriend never makes me cum.” As if that’s the same thing.

“The fuck am I supposed to do about that?” 

Your jaw drops. You feel so embarrassed, but you’re fucking pissed now, too. 

“Chill. I’m kidding, okay? It’s a j - it’s just a joke. The doctor is on the case, or whatever.” Roman crosses his ankle over his knee and clicks a pen. “So how long’s this - y’know. Been a thing?”

“Mm…forever, I guess.”

“Oh, fuck. You should’ve come in earlier,” Roman says. “Maybe you need a new partner, huh? ‘Cause like, you can achieve orgasm on your own at least, right?”

That comment pisses you off too. It’s one thing to be on the receiving end of some dirty jokes and Roman’s foul mouth, but you don’t need to be shamed and made fun of by your doctor. “No,” you answer, then grit your teeth together. 

“No? How do you fuck yourself, huh? Sorry - how do you stimulate yourself, honey?”

“Just - I usually just use my fingers—”

“Uh huh. You should try a vibrator, sweetheart. Doctor’s orders. There’s a sex shop nearby - the girls are real nice there. Tell them Doctor Roy’s got a script for you, huh?” Roman winks. Gross.

You sigh, frustrated. “I have tried toys, Doctor,” you explain. This is demoralizing. Is he gonna tell you to drink a glass of wine, too? Smoke a little weed the next time you fuck yourself? “Something - something’s just wrong with me,” you huff. “I just can’t do it. I can’t fucking cum, and please stop clicking that pen.”

Roman makes an amused face at your little outburst, and makes a show out of putting his pen down. He smirks to himself - it’s probably, you know, all your pent up frustration. “There’s a lot wrong with you,” Roman says, “But not that. You can cum.”

“How do you know?”

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you. “Uh, because,” he scoffs, then smiles with his tiny sharp canines on display, “I am a fucking expert in vaginas, thank you very much. Never met a pussy that I couldn’t make cum.”

Ugh, he’s fucking disgusting. You don’t doubt he’s telling the truth, though, and the thought of him pleasuring a woman makes you throb despite yourself. You open your mouth to speak, but Roman speaks first. 

“Anyway–” He claps his hands, a look of something…something, in his eye as he wears a teasing, sickening sort of smirk. “It’s your lucky day, did ya know that? You, my dear, are due for your pap.” 

“Oh.” That’s it? Just…whatever. Okay. No orgasms for you, probably ever.

“Yeah, oh. I’m gonna start with a breast examination,” Roman says, squirting a bit of sanitizer into his palms. He rubs his hands together, then stands next to you at the examining table. “It’s not always routine, but breast cancer’s on the rise in young women, so y’know. Gotta feel you up a little. I’m gonna have you lie back–” Roman puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you backward, walking the line between forceful and gentle. “Do you ever check your breasts, sweetheart?”

“Not like - not really, I guess.” 

Roman hums. “Well, you should,” he tells you, reaching for your hand. “Arm goes up, hand behind your head like this, right there.” Roman bends your right arm into place and then opens the side of your gown, exposing your right breast to him. “Ready?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, he just touches you. You take a shaky breath as he walks two fingers over the flesh of your breast, up, down, and around again. He touches near your armpit and you jerk a little. “Oh, ticklish, are we?” Roman murmurs, now doing little circular massages, working his way from the outside in. You swallow hard. “Any pain here? Discomfort?” 

“No, it feels–” you gasp as his fingers touch your nipples, and Roman does a little hum as they pebble up under his touch.  

“Feels what, honey?”

You close your eyes, searching for the words as Roman covers your chest again. “Uh - doesn’t hurt.” 

He chuckles as he rounds the table, and repeats it all with your other breast. Hand behind your head, lightly and firmly pressing into your breasts with the pads of his fingertips. You keep your eyes closed, breathing heavily. You hope it passes off as anxiety, but Roman knows better. Thoroughly versed in female sexual health, he knows an aroused woman when he sees one. Good, he thinks. 

“You can sit up now,” Roman says, giving you a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. He helps you up and then stands in front of you, and opens the front of your gown to visually assess your breasts, apparently. They look good. No abnormalities in shape, texture, color. Healthy. Roman quite enjoys the look of your breasts, too. There’s a lot of things to love on a woman’s body - her ass, her curves. Her cunt (fuck, how he loves a pretty fucking pussy). But Roman’s always loved breasts. The soft, yielding flesh as he massages and gropes that flesh, the way nipples rise and harden with a practiced flick of his thumb, or tongue. 

Now finished with your breast exam, Roman covers your chest with your gown. He sits in his stool as you sit on the table, legs dangling over the edge, bouncing your mismatched sock-covered feet against the metal. He rolls his stool over to you, dragging his instrument stand a little closer as well. 

“Alright. Say ahh.”

“What?”

Roman laughs. “Your legs, genius. You know, say ahh? Open up?”

“O-oh. Okay.” 

Roman pulls out the stirrups from the table, and takes the liberty in assisting your feet into them. First one, then then the other. His hands are strong and cold, fingertips pressing gently into your skin. You can still feel them after he lets you go. “I mean, I guess you could open your mouth, though. Vagina, mouth. No real difference there, huh?”

He’s so unfathomably unprofessional and inappropriate fucking…rude, but you’re still throbbing for him. You wonder if he’ll notice your pulsing cunt, if it’s as visible as it feels. 

You feel awkward as the cool air ghosts over your exposed center, listening to the sounds of Roman getting ready for your pelvic examination. He rolls up his sleeves past the elbows first, then takes the two blue latex gloves on his instrument stand and puts them on, snapping the elastic on his wrist each time. “Ready?” Roman asks, tugging the material down as he wiggles his fingers. 

“Uh - yep. Yeah, I guess,” you breathe.

“Oh, fuck off. You’ll do fine,” Roman tells you, patting your leg. “You always do, right? C’mon. Scoot your ass down, sweetheart, you know the fuckin’ drill.”

You scoot a little down the table, holding your breath while looking up at the ceiling. Roman scoffs and rolls his eyes before standing up, sliding both of his gloved hands under your paper gown. He lifts you and situates your bare ass right at the edge of the examining table, then sits back down. “Yeahhh, there she is. Oh, that's sweet. You even shaved for me.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment and Roman’s subsequent snickering. You did shave for him. 

He touches you then, spreading you wide as he examines your vulva. And he called it - you’re fucking soaked, arousal glistening under the fluorescent lighting. He presses on your swollen labia, watching as your clit and your hole pulse. “Just relax,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning over your heat. “It’s just you and me, right? Relax for me, sweetheart.”

Okay. You can relax. You take a big breath in and breathe it out as you interlace your fingers, resting your hands on your tummy. “Good,” Roman tells you, lightly running his thumb over your clit. “Good fucking girl,” he praises quietly, noting the way your breathing changes and how your thighs twitch at those two little words. He’s teasing you, just for shits and giggles. His right as a gynecologist, really. Running his thumb up and down your seam, then circling your clit just once. 

Roman reaches for the Surgilube and the metal speculum, then squirts a generous amount of jelly onto the tool. He rubs it around, then turns the speculum to the side and notches it at your entrance, then slowly pushes it all the way inside your hole, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. “Oooh, shit. Is it cold?”

“Yeah, a little,” you answer, wincing. 

Roman pouts mockingly. “Poor thing,” he mumbles. “You’re just gonna feel a little pressure,” he tells you, widening the instrument. Again, Roman reminds you to relax - not that you can or will. With each loud click of the speculum opening comes a rather uncomfortable increase in pressure, but not necessarily painful. You’re squeezing, tightening around the speculum as Roman looks inside you. “You’ve got a niiiice fuckin' cervix, you know that?”

“Thank you?” 

“You’re welcome,” he says, reaching for another tool - a little brush. Fucking weirdo. Roman unwraps the brush from its plastic packaging, then leans forward as he inserts it inside of you. “Gonna feel a little tickle,” Roman lies, brushing your cervix with the tool. It’s less of a tickle and more of a light scrape, but it doesn’t totally hurt. Just feels…weird, more than anything. “Done,” he says, pulling the brush away from you and reaching for the collecting tube. He puts your sample into the tube and closes it tightly, then loosens the speculum and pulls it out of you.

You sit up, lifting your feet out of the stirrups. “Ah ah ah, not so fast. You keep those fuckin’ legs open,” Roman scolds as he puts the tube into a small plastic bag with your name on it. “Doctor’s not done with you yet, honey. Good try, though,” he grins. 

Roman peels off his gloves next, then wipes a bit of the lube off of his wrist with a paper towel. He squirts more sanitizer into his palms then, the scent of isopropyl alcohol burning your nostrils as he rubs it into his hands. He puts on another pair of those blue gloves, snap, snap. As soon as he’s done, he’s rolling back in front of you on his stool.

“Just gonna feel around a bit for the pelvic exam,” he says, prodding at your folds with gloved fingers. He spreads your labia out, this time truly examining you, not just doing his secret little tease. He is a professional, after all. Somewhat, at least. Roman squirts a little more Surgilube onto his fingers before inserting them inside you, not that you need it. He bites down on his smile of amusement as you clench around him. 

He stands up then, reaching under your sheet with the other hand to press on your lower abdomen. He assesses how you feel inside, the size and position of your uterus and ovaries. Good, good. Nothing swollen or anything like that. 

You look at Roman and find him staring at you, his eyebrows raised. “Any pain?” he asks. You shake your head, and he nods. 

You can’t cum, huh? That’s what brought you in today? Oh, you poor fucking girl. If only Roman knew this whole time that you were struggling to reach climax, he would’ve done this sooner to you. It’s a mental block, more than likely. You said yourself that there’s something “wrong” with you, after all. 

There’s nothing wrong with you. Really. There’s nothing wrong with any woman who can’t orgasm. They, and you, just need Doctor Roy’s touch, his steady stroking and massaging. Just someone to show you that it can and will be done.

Roman adjusts the hand on your stomach and presses down firmer, then searches for that special little spot inside of you, the one he’ll use to make you see stars. “Feeling okay? Maybe a little discomfort, hm?”

Roman begins to rub your g-spot slowly, intentionally, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. You squirm on the table, tearing the paper underneath you. Legs starting to twitch. 

“N–just,” you gasp, arching your back, “Just pressure, Doctor.” 

“Uh huh, sure. Pressure.” Roman smirks at you. “I think you fuckin’ like this.” You sigh as he pulls his fingers out of you, then rubs on the seam of your cunt. Men - and women, too, for that matter - always forget this part. The labia are hardly touched enough. Roman drags his warm, gloved fingers through your folds, his other hand sliding up your torso. He opens your paper gown, exposing your breasts, and squeezes a handful of flesh there. Not harshly, just gentle. He rubs his thumb in circles over your nipple as he rubs your clit with his other hand, noting the way your breathing deepens. 

He massages your clit expertly, wearing a crooked grin as you grip into the soft leather of his exam table, further tearing at the sanitary paper. “Oh,” you moan, canting your hips into his touch. “Oh, Doctor - fuck.” 

Doctor. God, Roman loves that. Loves being called a lot of things. Sir. Fucking…Daddy. But Doctor, well. The prestige and power that comes with that little honorific is second to fucking none, isn’t it? 

Roman’s moving his hand lower again, and slipping two of his slick fingers into your cunt. He teases your other nipple as he pumps those two fingers in and out of you, savoring the way you squeeze him. Roman curls those fingers inside you, stroking lazily as he stares down at you. 

You’re making all the right noises, all the right faces. Those pretty moans and that scrunching of your nose. You’re gonna fucking cum. Roman’s gonna make you fucking cum. 

He strokes harder, now repeatedly curling against your g-spot. The action makes you moan loudly, and he clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shhh, honey,” he tells you, gagging you with two fingers. You taste your own arousal and the latex from his gloves, and instinctually suck on his digits, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t fingerfuck all of my patients like this, right? So keep quiet.” 

Roman steadily fucks you on his fingers as he adds his thumb into the mix, rubbing that swollen clit of yours as he works you. You’re getting sweaty now, soaking through your paper gown. Roman can feel your thighs twitching, and your walls beginning to pulse in non-rhythm. 

You try to speak but can’t with Roman’s fingers still in your mouth, and make only desperate little moans instead. It’s for the best, really. He knows you’re gonna try to tell him that it’s too much or whatever, not realizing what you’re on the brink of. 

“You’re gonna cum for me,” Roman tells you. “Okay? Doctor’s orders. Cum for me.” 

With the methodical, almost ruthless way he fucks you on his fingers, you have no choice but to lay there and fucking take it. Surrender to it. He’s got you trapped between his fingers, playing you like you’re an instrument. Pleasure seems to build almost exponentially, and before you know it you’re imploding; clamping down on Roman’s fingers as he relentlessly works you. The relief you feel is almost palpable, pleasure running through your veins in unending waves. 

Roman guides you through your orgasm until the very last of your twitches, then pulls both of his hands from your body. He leaves you gasping on the table as he removes his gloves, and when he looks back at you, you’re crying. It’s natural, of course. To be expected. He’s still gonna be a dick about it, though. 

“Oh my god, are you fucking crying?” he asks, joining you at the table. He helps your shaky legs out of the stirrups, then reaches for you. “Need a hand up?”

You take his hand and pull him close, wrapping yourself around him as you cry it out. All of that pent up energy, everything. “Oh, you’re fucking hugging me. Yeah, that’s…whatever. Uh huh. There, there,” Roman says, stroking your back. “Fuckin’ told you,” he adds. 

A knock at the door has Roman pulling away from you. “Welp, duty calls, huh? Pleasure to see you as always, and fuckin’...glad we sorted you out. You can schedule your next appointment up front and I’ll see you next year, I guess. Same time and place. Okay. Bye!”

If you enjoyed, let a girl know :) I love reblogs and when you hop in my inbox.

[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.

[richeeduvie]

Oooohhh that kieran culkin photoset 😣 bearded Roman once again comes to mind. Baby absolutely loves it and gets crazy about it and Roman says she has a hobo fetish but is secretly flattered that his wife is so in love with him post waystar and after everything. She tries really hard to convince him to keep it even after he gets really tired of it 🤭

"You know," Baby taps on his chin. She's on and over him. He's looking up with her hair falling over. It tickles. It's annoying. He doesn't want anything else. "I wouldn't mind if you grew out your beard again. I know our daughter would be happy."

Roman's eyes flicker down. "Don't fucking remind me. My face is still peeling from when I tried to glue the bits back on."

"She didn't ask you to do that."

"I know! I'm not fucking blaming her."

Baby knows. There's no point in time where he'd ever blame their daughter for anything.

She trails her fingers over where his beard would be.

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"...You have a fucking hobo fetish. Oh my god. You wanna fuck a hobo and not me, so you'll make...make fucking do with me growing out my hair. What, I'll stop showering too to calm the qualms of your pussy? Oh my god!"

Roman tries to get up, Baby takes her forearm and presses it against his chest.

"Jesus! Get off me! I want nothing to do with your hobo fetish and kinks for itchy pussy! Remember? That's what you said? The beard was annoying to the point where I could tongue you-"

"That was only when you'd trim it!"

He squirms under her.

"That's too much upkeep!"

She's smiling bright. And there, there's her kisses all over Roman's face.

"You're so beautiful with a beard. That's all."

Roman blinks. It's a softness that feels childish and pathetic and so needed in his eyes.

He holds a bite down on her forearm.

"Fine. As long as you grow out whatever you have down there."

"...Is that supposed to be a comprise?"

[cosmicwavelengths]

wip wednesday

“Shit, already? And I barely even touched you, whore,” he spits. Roman presses his longest fingers in, stretching you out and making you mewl loudly. Probing his fingers about, he massages your spongy walls anywhere but that spot. A firm hand on your lower back keeps you in place, preventing you from rocking into his thrusts. Your hands scramble for purchase against the expensive material, and you just barely begin to spasm around him before he pulls out, leaving you empty. Sharply exhaling, you relax into the couch, face falling into the cushion. Roman storts at your reaction before he slides back under your skirt, vibrator in hand. Pressing the small toy against your entrance, he slides in again, the stretch of the device making you whine out quietly. He wiggles the toy around to ensure it stays in place. “There ‘ya go!” He taps your thigh, signaling you to get up. Squirming around the intrusion, you roll your tights backup your legs, rising to stand contrapposto. Roman taps his phone, making the toy roar to life. Oh… now that… “This’ll be fun,” he muses with a teasing grin before shutting it off, leaving you breathless and wanting. “Trust me.”

[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?”