#succession roy reader

[chaithetics]

Furtive Hands

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) reader

Word count: 7.3K

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established/secret relationship, smut, fingering, P in V intercourse, some fluff, soft but also kind of dom-ish Stewy? Vague-ish mentions of canonical childhood abuse/trauma, and toxic family dynamics, Logan makes a cameo at the start (deserves its own warning), Logan's death and grief mentioned also Roman being a bit of a douche. I think that's it?

(Reader is technically a Roy because that's how the plot/idea worked but I avoided physical descriptions other than reader having AFAB physical characteristics. You're more than welcome to canon this reader as being adopted or half-siblings with the other Roys. I try to avoid giving physical characteristics and am tempted to continue to code all my readers as readers of colour out of spite due to the lack of intersectionality in fics. My reader in A Cinematic Lover has no physical characteristics other than being chronically ill but is Desi coded.)

Author's Note: I didn't proofread all of it, whoops. This is also my first time writing Stewy and I'm not too sure how I feel about this fic. I don't feel super confident in saying that "I captured his voice" etc. But I adore Stewy Hosseini and Arian Moayed and we need more Stewy fics. Please let me know your thoughts! I'd really appreciate the feedback :)

Like being in the Roy family, being the youngest in the clan had its perks and downfalls. You’d been able to get away most of your life with your father’s wrath directed towards your older siblings but at a certain point when they’d reached adulthood before you and it was quickly redirected towards you. You and your older brother Connor were the only ones to stay out of the family business, Connor was technically more involved than you which said a lot to anyone familiar with the family’s affairs. 

Despite being the youngest it would be fair to say you were the most emotionally mature of your siblings (although you could easily admit that’s a very low bar) and the most well-adjusted (again, another relatively low bar). You were a practising clinical psychologist who had of course undergone a bunch of therapy yourself for your childhood trauma. You’d wrapped up a session and were walking a patient out before heading back into your office for your office lunch date when you were interrupted by a booming presence. 

“Dad?” You immediately questioned. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here-” 

“I thought I’d stop by. See the new office-”

“I’ve had this office for 3 years.” You interjected. 

Logan quirked an eyebrow at that, he seemed almost amused at your assertive call out. You had been a louder child like Roman but unlike your brother, you became quieter as a teenager. You knew your father had assumed that was because you didn’t have whatever “deficiency” he believed Roman had and that you’d grown out of it. The reality was, that it was a trauma response and you’d learnt that life was easier with him if you were quiet and made your presence as sparse as possible. 

He’d always found playing his games with you particularly interesting due to this, you weren’t as quiet now as you were as a teenager and you weren’t as loud as you were as a child, somewhere in the middle. You could slink off at the few family gatherings you intended to not be questioned or dragged into shop talk. But you still had a known presence and you were the only one of his children who could somewhat confidently cut him off and respond to him with what he’d deem as some sense of calmness. You weren’t as pliant to him as your siblings which made his mind games all the more intriguing to him. 

“Right. Well, it’s a nice enough place.” 

“Thanks.” You bit your lip as you waited for your father to continue, he didn’t show up for no reason. 

You were trying to project a calm facade you were starting to worry for a myriad of reasons. With what was going on with your family this wouldn’t be any pure coincidence. You weren’t the most involved in the family business but you were well aware and received updates from Kendall. But there was also concern over the potential sighting of your lunchtime visitor. 

“Well dear, I need you to do something for me.” You tilted your head and your brow furrowed at his words. 

“Since when do you need favours? Specifically favours from clinical psychologists?” You questioned. 

“It’s to do with your siblings.” Logan spoke flatly as he then sat himself down on one of the armchairs in your waiting room. He was mildly irritated that you hadn’t invited him into your office and that you’d kept that room off limits for him, blocking the doorway to it. 

You scoffed at his words and rolled your eyes, one thing was for sure, whatever this was, it wasn’t good. 

“Continue.” 

Logan’s eyes narrowed at you slightly as he watched you as if it was the first time he was seeing you. He was used to you being uninterested and not the way that Shiv tried to play everything cool with Logan. You were genuinely uninterested, your eyes looked cold.

You had a colder approach with your father in comparison to your siblings, it was healthier and the easiest for you to maintain without being sucked in like they were. It wasn’t a big surprise to anyone that you weren’t impressed with the confrontations that happened in your presence, your siblings had weird concepts and responses of support. But there were the built-in responses as you’d gotten older, Kendall defended and you comforted. 

Logan hadn’t always given you a great deal of attention in those moments but he was familiar with your mannerisms as he’d call them now. But today you seemed annoyed, this wasn’t an emotion that Logan felt like he’d seen from his youngest in almost a lifetime. He  found it to almost be the most interesting he’d ever found you, he mused that you must know or be hiding something. 

“Well, you grew up with Kendall, Roman and Siobhan. You understandably know them well and you have a unique skillset with your area of expertise.” He paused for a moment watching your face as he said that before continuing. 

“And?” 

“You would’ve made observations of their behaviours over the years. Symptoms-behaviours- whatever the fuck you want to call it. You have the power to diagnose.” You looked at him and the cooler facade you normally actively projected with him was starting to fade into one of horror. “I’d like you to write a piece on that, about your siblings. Their credibility, illnesses. A media circuit perhaps as well. You’re a credible and telling source.” 

You stared at your father in silence, you didn’t know what to say to him. This was awful, even for him. 

“So?” He broke the silence, his eyes were deadly serious, and his lips were in a small but twisted smirk. 

“No. No! Just no…That’s absolutely fucked up. No.” You looked around starting to think about how messed up that your father hadn’t just come up with this idea but that he was willing to do it to his children, your older siblings and drag you into this. “No, and if I did that who would then get the chance to write the think piece on you?” You asked sardonically rubbing your brow. 

“Well, I’m sure Shiv could whip up a sequel to her letter on Kendall.” He bit back almost nonchalantly. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised but I just can’t get over the fact that you’d do this, that you’d ask me to do this dad. What you did to Kendall after that Board vote, was sick… And again? To all of them?” You were starting to feel nauseous and weaker around him. 

“Are you talking to Kendall?” He asked in a cold tone. 

“He’s my brother.” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“And I’m your father.” 

“Unfortunately.” You looked into his eyes and bit your cheek. 

He scoffed at that. He’d come in relatively calm, well calm for him but he was quickly becoming agitated at your lack of cooperation.  

“He’s a lousy excuse for a son and a brother.” 

“Kendall doesn’t interrupt my day of work for a fucked up favour.” You spat out, you weren’t shying away from his gaze even though his presence was getting too much for you. “I think you should leave Dad. I have patients and I need to eat something, I need lunch.” 

“Fine. Don’t give my regards to your fucking brother.” He said as he started to get up, you just leaned against the wall. 

“Hey-” Stewy’s voice crackled against the thick tension between you and your father as he waltzed into the entryway of your waiting room. He paused for a second as his gaze quickly landed on your father and you. You thought you saw a brief flicker of panic in his eyes but he quickly and efficiently plastered over it. 

“And what the fuck are you doing here?” Logan directed at Stewy with a huff and an eye roll. Logan’s concern and suspicion were piqued significantly now as his disappointed gaze flicked over to you. 

“Well sir Roy, your deleterious business plans and board meetings are getting a bit too traumatic, that much I now need to see Dr Roy.” Stewy immediately and confidently jumped in, his playful and pointed lie came across smoothly and convincingly. Logan scoffed at that and started to walk out. 

“Don’t think about trying any of your peacock philandering with my daughter,” Logan said to Stewy as he walked past him. 

“How thoughtful, safe travels sir.” Stewy laughed off Logan’s comment which just seemed to irritate him more. 

“Think about it.” Logan said as he looked back at you as he was in the doorway, you just held his gaze for a moment. 

“I’ll see you at the wedding.” You calmly stated, he narrowed his eyes again at you for a second and then just walked off. 

**********

Stewy wasn’t a patient of yours, he fortunately never had been, that would’ve been a massive ethical violation. He was meeting you at the office for lunch, something that you two often did. It had been vaguely discussed in the past that if somebody ever saw him in your office it could be easy to dismiss it as him being a patient or wanting some kind of psychological consultation relating to work. It was never an excuse that had been needed before today and you were surprised at how quickly Stewy went into that mode and how he simply sold it. 

You were sitting on the sofa in your office with your legs in Stewy’s lap, he had an arm over the back of the sofa and his other hand was gently caressing your legs as you recounted the brief visit from your father before Stewy came. Stewy was playful and a bit chaotic but he was also intelligent and he could be serious and thoughtful, which he often was for you. 

“I should call Kendall before something happens.” You said looking at Stewy and he nodded, continuing his comforting, soft touches on your sprawled-out legs. 

You grabbed your phone and called Kendall, the phone barely rang before it was answered. 

“Yo?”

“Dad came by the office earlier today.” 

“Oh? What did the old fuck want?” Kendall teased.

“He asked me to write a piece on you, Rome and Shiv. To air out everyone’s laundry, basically ‘diagnose’ you all and try to discredit your side of what’s going on. It was so fucked up Ken.” There was a pause for a moment, you heard Kendall sigh and then inhale. You made eye contact with Stewy who was silent and watching you. 

You had a requited soft spot for Kendall. He was your older brother and he was a good one at that. He was fiercely defensive of all his siblings, which he seemed to prioritise over his own trauma and feelings in confrontations with your father. But as the baby of the family and not having the same tongue as your siblings, you suppose you came across as weaker, more vulnerable. You’d concluded a long time ago that this added to the soft spot that Kendall has for you. You also thought subconsciously it was also linked to the fact that you were the most patient and sympathetic sibling he had. 

“What did you say?” Kendall finally asked, his voice was more serious now. 

“I said no, a bazillion times. I told him it was sick and asked him to leave.”

Ken nodded, and then he remembered that you couldn’t see that. 

“That’s pretty fucked up. Not surprising though I guess…”

“Are you with Rome and Shiv?” You asked. 

“Uh-huh, they’re in the uh, they’re inside.” Kendall answered quickly. 

“Can you tell them?” 

“Yeah, sure but-” 

“I’m really sorry Ken but I have another patient soon, I just wanted to tell you as soon as I could in case something happened. I didn’t want to do it over text.” You answered. 

“Okay, I’ll see you at the rehearsal. Thanks as well.” His second sentence was softer. 

“Yeah, of course. See you then.” You then hung up and looked at Stewy. 

“Did he sound okay to you?” You asked Stewy. 

“Sounded pretty okay for Ken.” Stewy responded as he moved his hand away from your legs and to hold your now phone-free hand. You just nodded and Stewy changed the subject to something else for the rest of your lunch hour which you appreciated. 

****** 

You would say you have a complicated but good relationship with your siblings. While you had the same mother as Kendall, Shiv, and Roman, you and Connor were bonded by your outcast status regarding family affairs. You didn’t agree with a lot of the opinions that left Connor’s mouth but he was still a compassionate older brother to you. You often were iced out together at family gatherings as it was all a business opportunity for your father’s attention. 

You were glad that you just had to relay your father’s request to Kendall. Roman was unpredictable and Shiv would’ve assumed that you had sold them out and this was a mind game. An opinion she’d probably make clear to everyone else and in some way to you as well. 

There had always been significant sibling rivalry in the Roy household. But Shiv had always seen you as her competition in particular, you two were the only women and she lived in a man’s world always striving to prove herself out of spite and nature. Even now she still believed your kinder nature was an act to disarm. She never hid the looks of distrust in her eyes.  

You were now home. You still had your apartment and stayed there occasionally but that was more to save face than anything else. Somewhere along the timeline of your relationship, you’d almost practically moved into Stewy’s apartment. The walk-in wardrobe was equally divided, and your favourite teas were in the kitchen. “It’s closer to your office” had been the justification at the time when he’d been encouraging you to stay over more. 

It was surprising that you hadn’t been caught yet with that in mind, part of you would sometimes wonder if your siblings did know but they were saving it but you knew that if they did it would’ve come out to slap you in the face by now. 

When you’d first met Stewy what felt like a million years ago you never would’ve expected something like this to happen. Then when this all happened and started a few years ago it was still, very unexpected. But he knew probably better than what anyone else would ever be able to comprehend what it meant to get seriously involved with a Roy, even one not involved in the family business. He and Kendall had an interesting friendship and history, with Stewy having been mostly good to your brother. But Stewy was always good to you. 

As you let yourself in you kicked off your shoes lost in your thoughts but you quickly noticed Stewy wasn’t back yet. This wasn’t a surprise though, your job meant you got to work more of a typical 9-5. Something you were grateful for, it seemed like life was just one, endless business meeting and opportunity for everyone involved at Waystar. 

You’d made yourself a cup of tea and were now leaning against the bench in the kitchen with it while scrolling on your phone. You had Google alerts set for all of your immediate family and Stewy, surprisingly there didn’t seem to be too much drama online today. 

“Ugh, fuck!” Stewy’s voice boomed and you heard a bang. 

“Shit, Stewy? Are you okay?” You quickly called out as you made your way over to the apartment's entryway. 

“Yeah, just tripped over your shoes again.” Stewy responded with an amused expression as he took his shoes off and moved them along with yours out of the way. 

This wasn’t the first time it had happened and Stewy knew it wouldn’t be the last. 

“I’m sorry.” You said bashfully as you walked over to hug him, pressing a soft, playful kiss to his lips. “I guess, it’s a good thing you love me.” You kissed him again, teasingly nipping on his bottom lip that was in between yours. 

“You’re such a brat baby.” Stewy smirked as his hand wrapped more firmly around your waist and he kissed you back. 

“I thought you loved that?” You teased between kisses as each one became more heated and desperate with lust. Despite Stewy often being caught or easily roped into your family drama he was the best distraction, escape and companion from everything. 

“I do.” Stewy breathed out as he continued to kiss you and was now kissing your jaw. 

“And I love you…” You whimpered out as his lips started to travel down your neck. He now had you pressed against the wall.  

“And what is it that you love exactly baby?” Stewy purred out as he nibbled around your pulse point. He was always such a tease. 

“I love your hair-” You moaned out as you dug your fingers into his soft, gorgeous curls that were always perfect. “Your voice, eyes, those goddamn turtlenecks, your smile, your colossal vocabulary-” 

“Didn’t you say it was farcical the other day?” Stewy said as he stopped kissing you and looked at you. 

“Stewy!” You whined out, you couldn’t feel his lips on you any more but you could still feel him against you but it wasn’t enough. You needed him. His gorgeous dark eyes were blown out with lust but he had his signature playful, mischievous smirk painted across his face as he cruelly teased you. “You’re such a tease.” 

“I thought you loved that.” He quipped back. You rolled your eyes and took the bait.  

“I do, I love how much of a tease you are.” He felt your breath against his neck as you spoke and then pressed a kiss against his neck, breathing him in. He always smelt so good, despite being a bit of a natural peacock it wasn’t showy, it was more subtle but strong enough. You were certain there was sandalwood in his cologne. “I also love how you feel inside of me.” You spoke as your soft lips kissed his handsome jaw, your soft lips a burning contrast against the tickle of his perfectly trimmed beard. 

“Someone’s getting laid tonight.” Stewy got out, pressing his hips against you as you continued kissing along his jaw and neck, tugging his now tousled curls. 

“That was the plan after all Mr. Hosseini.” You smirked against his neck, feeling him continue to harden against you. He let out a soft, melodic moan as you sucked softly on his neck. 

“How does now sound?” 

“Perfect.” You left his neck to kiss him on the lips, you moaned against his mouth as his teeth clashed against yours. 

One of his hands left your waist to quickly unbutton your pants. Once he’d done that, he quickly slipped a hand in, teasing you as he palmed you and then started to tease your bundle of nerves over your underwear. Your arousal had already started to dampen your underwear and it only grew with his attention. You continued to moan against him, as he gingerly traced a pattern.  

“You’re already so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” Stewy teased. “So beautiful and needy.”

Stewy smirked as he felt you press into his hand more, even with the friction of your underwear, you needed more. You wanted him then and there. You kept hungrily kissing him, feeling starved. Stewy snaked a finger under your underwear and rubbed it along your clitoris for a few seconds before dipping it inside of you making you gasp. 

“More, please Stewy.” You begged between kisses, panting as he chuckled. 

“Such a desperate girl with a needy pussy.” Stewy whispered into your ear as he added a second finger in, he picked up the pace a bit he continued to finger you and his thumb moved to rub over your clitoris a few times. His fingers were covered in your slick and you didn’t have any interest in holding back any of your moans. 

You stayed sandwiched between the wall and Stewy, just moving to press your head against his shoulder, the fabric of his blazer muffled some of your moans as he continued to finger you. You looked down and started to undo his belt and pants. 

“What do you think you're doing baby?” Stewy asked in a low voice that was just making the space in between your thighs grow into an even bigger pool of dampness, you were melting against him. 

“I want you.” You tilted your head up so it was still resting against his shoulder but you were now facing his neck more, you started to kiss his neck again, biting it softly and then licking it. “I want you to fuck me Stewy.” 

“Beg.” Stewy breathed out as he let out a little moan as your tongue darted over his pulse point. His fingers were still entering you but not as deep as before and his thumb was painfully slowly, languidly massaging your bundle of nerves. 

“Please Stewy. Fuck me, I need to feel you deep inside of me.” You nipped him softly right near his pulse point and revelled in the groan he let out at that. “Please, I’m begging you Stewy. I need you.” 

“Tell me exactly what you need.” His thumb cruelly left your clitoris for a moment making you gasp out in shock but he added a third finger inside of you, getting to that soft spot that made you melt and his thumb gently returned to your clitoris after a few seconds. 

“I uh, I-I need you. I need you inside of me now Stewy. I need to feel your cock inside of me.” You moaned out. “Nobody has ever and could ever fill me up the way you do. It feels so good, you make me feel so good. Pl-please Stewy. Please.” You mewled out and you couldn’t quite see his face but you knew it would have that beautiful arrogant smirk. 

“I’ll fuck you, baby. I just need you to come for me first, you can do that, right? I can tell your desperate little pussy is already so close.” You nodded desperately, he wasn’t wrong. You were close to unravelling, he could tell from your breathing and how you weren’t just flooding his fingers but also clamping around him. 

“I’m so close, Stew, fuck.” You moaned out, panting against his neck, it tickled him slightly. You bit your lip and moaned against his neck, he could feel the vibration of it and he loved that, that and the sound of your pleasure. You could feel it coming and gasped into his neck again as you came, Stewy could feel it and smiled as his fingering eased to a slower, gentler pace as you came down from your orgasm. 

“How was that?” He smirked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“It was- it was…” You paused for a moment as your breathing started to settle, your heart was still pounding from that high though. “Good.” 

“Good? Only good?” He questioned with a tone of mock hurt.

“Just shut up and fuck me now, please Stew.” You bit his neck, just feeling even more needy for him than you did before. 

“I thought you liked my colossal vocabulary and voice?” He teased as he playfully grinded into you “I distinctly remember you saying so a few minutes ago.” 

“You’re so mean Stewy.” You giggled softly, gently pulling on the roots of his curls. 

“Was that just to get me into your pants?” Stewy paused the grinding, his tone acting as if he was hurt and that the insinuation was possibly true. 

“I guess not because that obviously didn’t work very well.” You responded, leaning back against the wall. He raised an eyebrow at you and then looked down at his belt. You rolled your eyes playfully and started to undo his belt, palming him. He was completely hard but you already knew this from when he’d been grinding into you. 

“Bedroom baby.” Stewy moaned out as you pulled his hard cock out and rubbed it with one hand. 

“You can fuck me here, you’ve done it before.” You pouted and he just chuckled as you kept up with your ministrations. 

“You said I was mean, so you’re not getting it here. You can wait the whole ten seconds it takes to walk to the bed. Our bed for me to have my way with you.” Stewy’s voice was low and firm but there was still that natural teasing tone there. 

You walked briskly to the bedroom that you two shared and Stewy followed and chuckled over the eagerness of your gait. As soon as you both were in the clean room, you kissed him hungrily again. He smirked and expertly unbuttoned your blouse as you pushed his blazer off. You kicked your pants and underwear off and he quickly followed suit. 

Stewy pressed you into the bed and you tugged on the turtleneck he was still wearing to bring him closer to you and then started to push it up off him. 

“Do you love my turtleneck baby?” Stewy teased as you did. 

“Absolutely love it.” You breathed out with a smirk. 

As soon as it was off and thrown to the floor, you were kissing each other again as if you couldn’t survive without the other. You were running your hands over Stewy’s back and up his neck to the luscious locks you loved as he quickly undid your bra. You were both now naked and he continued to kiss you as his hands cupped your chest. 

You moaned out as he started to caress you and pinch your nipples. His lips travelled from yours down to your jaw, your throat, he kissed your breasts and teasingly licked along your nipple for a minute as he started to rub your heat with his other hand. 

“Please Stewy.” You begged out in a desperate moan as your eyes were closed in pleasure. 

“Please, fuck you?” He again teases as he starts to line himself up at your entrance. 

“Yes, please that.” 

Stewy stopped his teasing and happily obliged after what felt like an eternity of almost edging. He pressed his head into you and you gasped as he did, gently scratching his shoulders as he did. It wasn’t long till he was bottomed out, he waited a few seconds for you to adjust before he started to slowly thrust inside of you, eliciting the most melodic moans he’d ever heard. 

“You’re so beautiful and tight, I love being inside of you baby.” Stewy cooed out as his pace quickly picked up a deeper and slightly faster rhythm. 

“You feel so good Stewy, so good inside of me.” You mewled out. 

Your words were literal music to his ears and it wasn’t long till he was grunting out as his thrusts became deeper and harder. 

It was so easy to become lost in Stewy. Especially when he was fucking you like this, having his way with you in the bed you shared. How couldn’t you be lost in him when your eyes were open he was all you could see?

His scent was dizzying as it mixed with the sweat he’d built up from snapping his hips into yours, he was all you could feel, on you and in you, his grunts, words and the filthy sounds you were making together were all you could hear. Stewy was intoxicating, overwhelming, a sensory overload in the most spectacular way. 

You were pulling on his hair as you felt him hitting that perfect soft spot deep inside of you. Your bundle of nerves was already sensitive from the teasing and your earlier orgasm and you could feel the warmth of another orgasm building. 

Stewy wasn’t clueless about this, he could feel you clenching around him especially as he reached that sensitive spot of yours and you were flooding him in your arousal. Other than the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, Stewy couldn’t think of anything sweeter than the noises of your moan and whimpers and the sounds of the squelches made of him thrusting into you and being met with your juices. 

Stewy continued to pound into you, his thrusts were faster and needier, and he was getting close himself. He pressed some sloppy kisses to your neck that warmed your insides up even more with desire and love for him. Stewy’s lips travelled back to yours and you opened your mouth inviting him in as your tongues and teeth passionately attacked each other. 

The kiss became deeper and deeper, you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and felt him groan at that against your lips which in turn made you smirk. You two continued to kiss and he started to rub your clitoris with his thumb, you moaned into his mouth at the sweet pressure and slightly writhed under him. 

“That feels so good Stew.” You panted out as the kiss broke for a second and you both panted as he continued to thrust into you while rubbing a circular pattern on your bundle of nerves getting closer to their peak. 

“You feel so good. I love you.” He panted out between moans, as his eyes rolled back at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around him. 

“I love you too.” You moaned out, as your legs tightened slightly around him and you scratched his back. “I’m, so, so, so close.” 

“Yeah? I can feel that baby. Oh fuck, I want you to come for me, come on my cock baby.” He encouraged as he continued. Kissing along your pulse point, fully knowing that would drive you closer to your climax. 

You moaned out while scratching his back and pulling on his hair as you unravelled from your orgasm. Stewy smirked against your neck and continued to massage your sensitive bundle of nerves and thrust at the same, perfect speed as you chased your orgasm and rode out that high. 

“Thank you, baby, that was so good. I want you to come, to fill me up.” You panted out as you placed a hand to cup his cheek as his hips continued to snap back into yours. 

“Fuck, I’m pretty close.” 

You dug your nails into his back as he felt you clench around him in the most spectacular way as you orgasmed and post that. He began to chase his own high and you knew he was close as his thrusts spread up and the pace was more sporadic than rhythmic. 

After a couple more minutes of thrusts, Stewy grunted and kissed you more desperately than he had all day and finally chased his own climax and finished inside of you. Before he pulled out the kiss changed to a gentle, affectionate one and you lightly combed your hands through his hair and then ran them along his face and jaw as he kissed you like that. 

Stewy kissed your forehead softly and then pulled out to go towards the ensuite to get a washcloth to clean up the mess you had made together. He was so firm but gentle with you. 

After that, he laid in bed again on his back, you were cuddled into his side, with your head on his warm chest feeling almost half asleep. 

“What do you think of marriage now?” Stewy asked interrupting the peaceful post-sex silence. There was an air of playfulness but his voice was softer, quieter, almost sleepy. 

“Pardon?” You shifted slightly off his chest to get a better look at his face. You were certain you’d heard him correctly but you weren’t sure if maybe you’d fully given into sleep and this was gibberish or a dream. 

“We’ve talked about eloping before.” 

“Yeah, yes we have but-” 

“I wasn’t joking.” Stewy said as he gently held your chin between his index finger and his thumb. His voice was still soft but it was a bit firmer now, more serious than tired or playful. You bit your lip unsure of what to say as he continued to look into your eyes with his beautiful, diluted ones. 

“You know what that would entail Stewy. Your career-” 

“I do and-” 

“Stewy.” You rested your chin on his chest looking at him. He could see that you were tired. 

“So you don’t want to marry me right before your brother and Willa? Maybe a day or two after? Get that IUD out, then pop out a few babies. I’ll even be super fucking generous and get a vasectomy.” His tone was more teasing now and you had a feeling the humour wasn’t completely genuine but partially a cover-up of possible hurt. 

“Sweetie, I love you. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Maybe not talk about this ‘post-coitus’.” You offered him a small smile and combed your fingers through his hair, admiring the dark locks and the stunning strands of silver. 

“Yes ma’am.” Stewy nodded and kissed your forehead. You settled back into his chest and it wasn’t long until you had dozed off in his arms and on the comfortable pillow of his chest with the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. 

********

You’d been the only one of your siblings to stay for Connor’s wedding. Weddings were just business opportunities in the world of the Roys, grief couldn’t exist with the market and leadership decisions. You didn’t like how the wedding or death side of that traumatic day went down or how it was handled but unexpected deaths weren’t meant to be convenient or follow logic. 

You were now in your deceased father’s penthouse at his wake, having spent most of the morning hiding in a corner from as many eyes as possible. You’d really only spoken to Connor and Willa, your other siblings were in a sitting room being as business-focused as possible. 

It had been a little while into the Wake and you were with your siblings when Stewy and the Furnesses came in. Connor and Willa had been the easiest to talk to which wasn’t really anything new. Kendall and you occasionally made little remarks to each other and even you and Shiv exchanged some looks over other people’s comments or well, audacity.

You took Stewy’s handsome face in, he looked well-rested and fresh-eyed despite the fact that he’d been up most of the night with grieving you. He was handsomely dressed and groomed as always. You wanted to be held by him again, to leave and be curled up in a ball with him. Normally you two acted amicably when your paths crossed in the Roy world and public like this. But you were too depressed and exhausted for the usual furtive nature. 

He’d hugged and given his condolences to your sister Shiv and then she’d moved on to Sandi. You looked at Stewy and gave him a small smile, he went to give you a hug and a faux kiss on the cheek as he did for Shiv but you needed more than that, you needed him. You genuinely hugged him and pressed your head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, a firm, undeniable reminder that he was there was always comforting. You didn’t care that your siblings were nearby, it wasn’t an indecent act. 

Stewy couldn’t and wouldn’t say no to affection from you ever, let alone in your state in this context. He reciprocated the genuine hug and you held onto him for maybe a few seconds longer than you should’ve if you wanted to avoid the suspicion of your siblings. 

You pulled away despite never wanting to do and tilted your head to see that he was looking at you warmly, sympathy written all over his eyes. His hands had moved to softly rest on the sides of your arm, the touch was comforting but could easily be perceived and argued as platonic to an onlooker. He had a small, genuine smile on his face as he looked at you. 

“Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hey.” You responded back quietly. You wanted to kiss him, you were almost tempted to and then Kendall was quickly whisking Stewy away. 

You went back to your corner and eventually, you were joined by Kendall and Roman. You saw that Stewy was making his rounds of small talk and his eyes occasionally wandering, searching for you to see where you were and how you were doing. 

“Have you thought about psychoanalysing yourself?” 

“What?” You questioned exhaustedly as your mind was pulled away from stealing glances at Stewy by Roman’s words. 

“That was a bit too touchy with Ken-doll’s boyfriend.” Roman retorted. “I didn’t realise jumping on your brother’s BFF was one of the five stages of grief.” 

“Excuse me?” You now glared at him. 

“Oh, I guess it must be a new one they added in.  Are you gonna get a model named after yourself? Or are you saving the Roy model for something more fucked up?” 

“I’m not doing this Roman.” You sighed in exasperation and walked off to find a glass of wine but were quickly disturbed again. 

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t actually know about you two,” Kendall smirked as he whispered to you. 

“What the fuck Ken?” You jumped at the fright from Kendall, you were grateful that you were still empty-handed or else you’d have stained your outfit if not all of your surroundings from your brotherly jumpscare. Your reaction just made Kendall’s smirk grow. “You knew? But Stewy never told you.” 

“He didn’t. I figured out a while ago that you two were uh…” He dramatically paused for a moment as if he was thinking of the right word with a teasing smirk. “Copulating.” 

“Ken!” You elbowed him softly to try and get him to quieten down. “Why did you never say anything?” You quietly questioned. 

“Well, it was pretty fucking weird at first. He’s not the worst Harvard finance bro out there.” Kendall said with a playful expression. “He keeps you happy-adjacent right?” 

“Yeah, he does. Thank you.” You gave Kendall a tight-lipped but grateful smile. 

“You know, you don’t have to hide it anymore right?” 

You looked up at Kendall, questioning him with your eyes. You and Stewy’s relationship was complicated and you’d say it was pretty healthy despite the furtive nature, it had been that way for everyone’s personal and professional sake. Kendall’s smirk started to slowly slip as he took in your expression. 

“He’s dead.” Kendall spoke softly as you stared into each other’s eyes, he placed his hand on your arm as his face grew more serious. You eyed Kendall trying to find the right words. Sure your father had been part of it but it was a complicated situation with many pieces. 

“I could live with dad icing me out, cutting that relationship. I made peace with what that is a while ago. But-but, it’s when Roman, Shiv, and you. That’s what really hurts.” 

“That’ll be all that Roman says and well Shiv, she’ll only say anything about it behind your back.” 

“So comforting and reassuring.” You dryly said. 

“I’ll send you the invoice for Kendall Roy’s Therapy.” He teased and you both chuckled dryly at that. 

There wasn’t much else to say to that and you knew Kendall wasn’t ready to talk about the bigger problems yet so you gave your brother a tight hug that he quickly reciprocated. You stayed in each other’s arms for a few moments, it was healing and reassuring in a way. 

You then left to sit on a miraculously empty couch as Kendall went off to talk to Roman and Shiv again about company matters you didn’t want to hear about and that they wouldn’t want to discuss in front of you or Connor anyway. As you sat there, Stewy caught your eyes again and this time he finally came over. He sat next to you on the sofa but left a reasonable, person-sized gap between the two of you. 

“Kendall knows, you know.” You quietly state looking at him tiredly, the events of the last 24 hours and your lack of sleep were quickly catching up with you. 

“Well, I’m in private equity not acting baby.” You scoff at that and smile, sinking a little further into the sofa. 

“Perspicuously not in comedy either, babe.” You say with a smile that grows. You tilt your head to look at his expression, his big beautiful eyes are watching you and there’s the cocky smile plastered on his face that you’re in love with. 

“I’ve learnt it’s best to save the wit for the Roys.” He shoots back with a mischievous gleam in his eye. 

Stewy’s here and he’s being cheeky for your sake. You love that about him, his tongue isn’t biting like your siblings but his humour is a way of showing up. 

“Do you want to go on the balcony for a minute?” You questioned. “I want some fresh air.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He leaned his hand over that empty space of safety between you two to squeeze your hand for a second before you got up and he then followed you. 

He leant against the railing and watched you once you were both out on the much more, pleasantly quiet balcony. 

You laid your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, listening to his heart calmly beat as he pressed his chin against the top of your head and exhaled. Stewy’s thumb was tracing reassuring patterns on your arm. He hummed softly for a moment and you could feel the vibration of it on the top of your skull. 

You and Stewy both knew this was a sure way to be caught but neither of you cared in this moment and didn’t care about any of the consequences. They were manageable, they felt minor now and realistically they were. This would shift the family dynamic and having furtive hands with your lover always seemed to you to be in the best interests of Stewy’s career and the dramas between him, Kendall and Waystar. 

You were pretty okay with being out in the open with Stewy and he felt the same way. As the relationship went on, he wanted that more and more. His post-coitus conversation was serious and not a post-orgasm thought. 

“You were serious about eloping before Connor’s wedding weren’t you?” 

“Probably poor taste to say it right now but yes baby, dead serious.” 

You laughed at that and he felt it vibrate against him and it made him smile. He just wanted to bring you a bit of comfort and joy on an awful day like today. 

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” 

“Are you saying you want to get eloped?” 

“Well, I was thinking of leaking the story to ATN that Stewy Hosseini is so whipped by the Roys that he gets a vasectomy for one and not the one they’d expect.” You teased, laughing a bit more and he laughed as well. 

“Well, as much as I think we could find you something short to wear as an elopement dress, maybe something fun and scandalous like Sharon Tate’s since you like those old flicks. I don’t think we should leave your dad’s wake to go off and elope, might be the cultural upbringing differences but seems a little rude to me.” Stewy teased, you laughed and kissed him on the lips softly for a moment. 

“How does tomorrow sound?” 

“For an elopement?” “Yeah.” 

“Perfect.” 

[strang3lov3]

A Favor

You’re on your period and needy. Roman takes advantage. (4k)

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, unprotected piv, period sex, free bleeding, nipple stim and titty play, dirty talk, creampie, blow jobs, fingering, daddy kink, aftercare that healed something in me, needy reader, typical Roman sexism, weird mix of roman being manipulative and dominant and condescending but tender and soft all at the same time,,,don’t give me that look. Fic Help - @endlessthxxghts and @ovaryacted thanks for your eyeballs! A/N - Let’s just indulge ourselves, okay? Let’s have daddy romey do a little bit of manipulating and teasing before fucking us while we’re bleeding our guts out.

Stepdaddy!Roman Masterlist

It’s midday and you’re finally showering. After lying in bed for a little too long, you did a workout in the home gym Roman had built for his home - just a little walking on the treadmill, some stretching too. You felt a little crappy, so you kept it light. You wash and condition your hair and then scrub your body, letting the hot, steady stream of water soothe all of your aches. After this, you’ll probably nap. It’s the perfect day for it, after all. Dark and overcast, a little rainy. You’ll waste the day away in bed, listening to the distant sound of What We Do In The Shadows playing quietly on your TV as you doze in and out of sleep. 

After shutting off the water, you reach for your towel and begin to dry off, squeezing the water out of your hair, patting beads of water off of your skin with the terry cloth. When you take the towel off of your body to hang back up, you notice splotches of red on the fabric where you dried the area between your thighs. Well, that explains why you’ve been feeling under the weather.

You look in the cabinet under your sink for a pad or tampon or something. You’ve got a hair dryer and a diffuser attachment that doesn’t match it, cleaning supplies, expired Bath & Body Works sprays, but no menstrual products, which makes sense. You tend to overbuy, thinking you won’t need to buy again for a while. And so you don’t, but you burn through supplies quicker than you ever anticipate. It’s not the first time this has happened.

You pause your shower playlist on Spotify and check your purse first - surely you’ve got some year-old tampon in there, probably covered in granola bar crumbs and melted lip balm. Nothing. You gave that last tampon to a stranger in a public bathroom last week. You call your mother next, but you’re met with no answer, leaving you with one last option: Roman. 

Do you really wanna call him right now while he’s at work? And have him make fun of you, or call you dramatic? Or worse yet, make some sick and perverted jokes? You’ve been trying to put distance between yourself and him, and the last thing you need is to invite any more opportunities for him to have his way with you. But then, what other choice do you have? You know that day one of your period you can’t exactly get away with a bunch of toilet paper rolled over the gusset of your panties. Your flow is way too heavy for that.

Your thumb hovers over his name in your phone as you contemplate the decision. You feel a warm rush of blood between your thighs, then quickly reach for the toilet paper to avoid a mess on the floor or another shower. Fuck it, you’ll call Roman. You press Roman’s name on your phone, flush your toilet paper and grab another towel, laying it out on your bed as you wait for him to pick up. 

“Hey, you.”

You hesitate before answering, “Um…hi,” Your voice shakes and wavers.

“Yeah, hi.” Roman picks up on your nervousness immediately and sounds concerned. “You sound - I don’t know. Is - is everything okay?” You hear him shutting what’s probably his office door. 

“Yeah, no. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” 

“If everything’s fine, what are you calling me for, then?”

 You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I started my period and I don’t have any pads or tampons here at home.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, “Oh.”

“So what, you’re hoping I’ll come home from work just to bring you some?”

“…Kind of.” 

“Kind of…I see. Yeah, it just kind of sounds like a you problem, is the thing, though,” Roman murmurs in a teasing voice. He waits for your laugh, but he’s met with an awkward silence. “Kidding, I’m kidd- it’s a joke. You can laugh.”

“Don’t be weird.” 

“I’m not being weird. You’re we- you’re being weird.” 

You sigh. Leave it to Roman to make a phone call awkward and longer than it has to be. “Can you just come…” 

“Yeah, yeah. I was just about to go to lunch anyway. Do you have a preferred brand or flavor or–” 

“Gross, Roman. See? You’re being weird. Just pads. Regular fucking pads.” 

“I was gonna say ice cream if you’d have let me finish, you fuckin’ smartass. But I guess I’ll forget the Ben and Jerry’s, since you insist.”

“No, wait. Please. I want ice cream.” You feel a little bad for thinking the worst of Roman. He’s gonna get you ice cream? “Please,” you repeat.

“Nope. You’re shit out of luck, baby girl,” Roman says. “Ship has sailed.” 

“Please?”

Roman hums on the other end of the phone, pretending to contemplate. The act doesn’t last long, though. “Fuck you, you make me soft. What flavor?”

You smile. “Gimme S’mores.”

“Got it. Phish Food. Hang tight, I’ll be home soon.”

You chuckle after he hangs up. Asshole. 

After stopping at a CVS and picking up a basic box of pads and a variety pack of tampons, as well as making a special trip to find your Gimme S’mores Ben and Jerry’s at the Walgreen’s across the street, Roman comes home. He kicks off his shoes, then puts the ice cream in the freezer before heading upstairs, knees cracking as he walks up the steps. He knocks on your door, “It’s Roman. Your knight in shining armor.” 

“It’s open.” 

Roman opens the door and finds you in bed wrapped in a towel, lying on another towel as you bleed freely. “My stepdaughter, withering away into nothing in a pool of her own blood. How grotesque. You look like hell. Like- like, straight out of The Exorcist.” 

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off. I’m dying.” 

“Oh, always with the dramatics. You’re not gonna get any sympathy points from me, you know,” Roman says, lifting his brows as he points at you. “Not a one.” 

“Can you just put the stuff in my bathroom, Roman?” 

“So impatient,” Roman murmurs, walking into your bathroom where he opens the cabinet under the sink and tosses the bag inside. He comes back out to see you lying on your side, your towel stained and hiked up past your thighs, exposing just the slightest sliver of your bleeding pussy to him. He bites his lip and presses down on his half-hard erection.

Roman rounds the bed to look at your face all scrunched in pain, moaning softly. “Is it cramps?”

“Mhm.”

“And a headache, maybe?”

“Mhm. You’re the headache.” 

“Charming as always, sweetheart. Never change.”

Short hums are all you’re able to vocalize as the pain begins to worsen. It always works this way when you’re on your period. It’s nothing, then all the pain at once. 

“Wow. So you’re uh…really not feeling too hot, are you?” 

You shake your head slightly. “Mm-mm. No, I’m not.” 

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Roman says softly, reaching for you. He strokes your hair, rubs his thumb along your cheekbone. What he wouldn’t give to fuck you like this right now, all wet and bleeding and pliant. He’d make it all better. “Poor thing. What can I do?” 

You open your eyes and look up at Roman, who’s frowning in concern above you. “Are you serious? You wanna help?”

“I can’t promise I don’t have ulterior motives, but yeah. So put me to work, what can I do? Want me to kiss it all better?”

 His eyes are dark and hungry like they usually are when he looks at you, but there’s a gentleness to them, too. Roman’s rubbing his hand up and down your bare shoulder, the simple touch calming you. “Can you just be with me?” Your voice is more desperate than you want it to be when it comes out. 

“Just like, be with you? Like, you want me to lay down with you?” 

You nod. 

Roman’s heart swells a little. “Yeah, okay. Fuck it. I have a few minutes,” he says after a second, as if he had to think about the choice at all. “Move your ass. Fucking bed hog.”  

You scoot closer to the edge of the bed and Roman climbs over you, hushing your whines with an I know, I know, when his movements disrupt you. He pulls you close to himself, soft middle pressed against you, his body heat soothing the aching in your back. It catches Roman off guard when you unwrap your towel and take his hand, then press his palm flat against your tummy. Fuck it, you think. He’s seen it, felt it all anyway. 

Roman traces his fingertips over your soft belly, rubs you with gentle circles. “You like that?” he asks, “Does that help a little?” You hum in response, relief evident in your voice. “S’warm,” you mumble. “Feels nice.” 

How vulnerable you are right now. Roman’s seen you at your most vulnerable before, albeit forcefully. He loves taking what he wants from you but fuck, the way you’re giving himself over to him on a silver platter right now has him aroused in a way he’s not yet experienced. You belong to him; Roman’s made that undeniably clear and you’ve been obedient to that. But he wonders if without the obvious circumstances of the age gap and being tied through family, without the wrongness of it all, if maybe the relationship could be just as special. If it’d make him feel the same, feel that raw, animalistic power. Maybe you’d still be his to do with what he wants and there’d be no guilt, no anxiety. But then again, maybe the discomfort is what makes this what it is in the first place.  

Roman’s hand slides up, up your torso, between your breasts. He palms one of them and squeezes, loving the way your soft skin feels in his hand. You moan, and Roman squeezes harder. “Little sore here, huh?” he murmurs. 

“Yeah,” you answer. “But you don’t have t–”

“Don’t,” he says. “Just let me.” 

You sigh and resign yourself to his touch. The pressure hurts, but feels relieving too. Roman has a strength to his hands that you do not, and he’s able to work out all the soreness, melt it all away with just his fingertips. 

Roman peers over your shoulder as he massages your breasts. He watches your flesh move and billow beneath his fingers, he loves their softness and their warmth under his palm. Intentionally, Roman rubs his thumb across one of your nipples. You gasp his name and back into his body and god, he never gets tired of working you up like this. You sigh in more than just relief, but pleasure too. Good.  Roman licks his fingertips and circles your areolas, watching your nipples pebble into small peaks as your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. “Roman, Roman…I…” 

Quick and easy, you’re too easy for your own good. Roman loves the effect a little bit of his teasing has on you. “What’s that, huh? Are you moaning for me?” he taunts, like he’s not the one with his fingers gently twisting and pinching your nipples. 

“Roman,” you breathe as he continues his teasing.

“Spit it out, sweetheart. What are you trying to tell me?” 

“I d- I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. I think you do know, but you’re shy,” Roman purrs. “C’mon. Don’t beat around the bush, just tell me what you need. Use your big girl words and tell your daddy.” 

You’re always horny on your period, and you know what he’s doing to you is intentional, probably calculated too. He was probably stroking his cock on his way home thinking of doing this to you. Pulling your strings just to watch you move for him - and yet you fall for it all the same, what with your squirming and your moaning. But can you even ask for this? If it weren’t for Roman’s deliberate teasing, could you really ask for what you want? He’s taken what he wanted from you before, given you what you needed without your say in the matter. It feels unnatural to have a hand on the wheel with him, even if just for a brief second.

“You’re not getting out of this, baby girl, I know you want me to make you come. Just ask me,” Roman says, pulling on your shoulder to lay you flat on your back. He crawls on top of you, caging you in as he closes his lips around one of your nipples, his fingers working the other. “It’ll fix your cramps, too. Win-win.” 

“You’re - fuck - you’re full of shit, Roman.” You hold Roman’s head, tugging on his hair as his tongue flicks and swirls around your sensitive bud.

“Yeah, you’re right. Guilty,” he shrugs. Roman pulls away momentarily to shuck off his shirt and pants, tossing them on the floor. He’s back at your chest in an instant, the head of his swollen cock rubbing against your hip fills you with need. “Bet it’d still feel good though, huh?” You bite your lip and nod, unable to conjure the words. “Still not gonna say it, are you?” Roman waits for your answer, his eyebrows raised. “That’s fine,” he says, “But one of us is coming here and I guess that makes it me.”

Roman pulls you by your feet down the bed, then plays with his cock as he climbs up it, each of his knees on either side of your chest. He taps it against your breasts a couple of times and then moves up even further, his knees snugly fitting against your armpits. He leans over you and takes both of your wrists in his hands, then slides them up the mattress so that he’s got you pinned beneath him. With one hand holding your wrists together, he grips the base of his cock with the other. “Open your mouth.” 

You open your mouth and Roman taps his thick head against your tongue, then slides it toward the back of your throat, causing you to gag. “That’s it, yeah. Fuckin’ choke on it.” Roman reaches under his heavy balls and holds your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, forcing your lips to stay open for him. He pushes himself into your mouth just a little at first, pulling out before going further. In time, he finds a rhythm he likes. Roman holds both of your wrists again as his hips roll against your face, his warm balls bouncing against your chin as your nose is buried in his neatly trimmed pubic hair. 

You breathe him in as he thrusts, his slim, soft belly touching your face. He smells like sweat but clean, too, and comforting. Your eyes close as you relish in the feeling of his hard cock on your tongue, the feel of each little ridge and vein. “Yeah, you’re good for this. Made for sucking my dick, aren’t you?” 

Roman pulls out of your mouth and watches a little string of saliva connecting his shaft and your lips break. He thrusts his hips forward so that his balls drag up your chin to rest between your lips, where you suck one into your mouth, then the other. Roman trails his cock down your cheeks before he shoves himself back down your throat unceremoniously. He folds his hands behind his head and groans long and guttural, drawing in and out of your mouth, savoring all of this - how powerful he feels right now, how pretty and helpless you look on your back and with his cock between your lips. 

Roman pulls out of your mouth for the last time and wraps his fist around his cock, pumping it furiously. “Fuck, I’m gonna - ohhh, god - this is your last chance, sweetheart, or I’m coming all over your face. Don’t you wanna come on my cock?”

You nod. 

“Then fucking ask for it.” 

Roman’s voice is low. He stares at you, eyes piercing and deadly serious. All charm, playfulness, affection - it’s all gone, and it sets you on fire. You’re panting, “Fuck - can I - oh, fuck -” 

“Get to the point.” 

You swallow thickly. “Can I come on your cock?”

“Oh, there it is.” Roman smiles, really, genuinely smiles. He thinks that like a young puppy, you don’t always know when the game ends. The way its mother bites its scruff, a stern reminder from Roman is all that’s needed to push you in the right direction. Poor baby. You’d be lost without him, all helpless and confused. “Yes. You may.”

He moves away from you so you have room, “Spread your legs,” he says, wrapping his hands around your ankles to part your thighs himself anyway. He fits himself in the space between them and pushes his middle and ring finger into your dripping hole, all the way to the knuckle so that you feel his wedding ring, cold against your hot skin. He curls his fingers up repeatedly, stroking that sensitive place inside you. You gasp when Roman presses down on your lower tummy, intensifying the feeling of it all. “I need you now, Roman,” you whine, “Now.” 

Roman pouts mockingly as he pulls his fingers away. “So needy all of a sudden, look at that. God, you are ornery.” 

You push Roman’s hand to the side and lift yourself off the bed a bit, then reach for his cock. It’s the first time you’ve ever really felt it; the weight of him in your palm, the satin-softness of his tip. “Please, daddy,” you whimper sweetly, stroking his length. 

Roman tilts his head back and inhales sharply through his perfect nose as you move your hand up and down. Daddy. The way you say the word never gets old, it’s special each time. Pathetic, needy, sweet. Just as much for him as it is for you. “Ohhhh, you fuckin’-” Roman lets out a breathless laugh, “You play dirty, kiddo. You and that daddy shit. You know what you’re fucking doing.” Roman shakes his head as you bite your lip and squeeze, giving him the gentlest of tugs to urge him closer. I need you. Now. Inside me. “I know, Jesus Christ. Daddy’s gonna make it better. Just like he always does, huh?” 

Roman pries your fingers from around his cock and lowers himself between your legs, hardly taking the time to fit his head in your entrance. He pushes himself inside you, the motion so swift and brutal that it has you gasping, choking on his name. You cling to his body, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he pulls out and peers down at the place where your bodies connect. His cock coated in blood, that same beautiful, crimson mess between your thighs. He slams in again and this time sets a pace, without waiting a single moment for you to adjust to his size. You wanted this, didn’t you?

As Roman rolls his hips into you, his strands of hair tickling your skin, you bury yourself in his neck and inhale his scent while nipping at his collarbones. Roman grunts, “You’re so fuck - fucking desperate, baby girl. You know I’m not going anywhere.” Roman adjusts himself, spreading your legs further apart. He keeps one hand on the back of your thigh, the other by your head as he fucks himself into you. He draws in and out, each rock of his hips into your warm, wet, bleeding pussy has him biting his bottom lip, fighting to keep it together. He could come right now and leave you on the bed, seeping a pretty, pinkish mixture of his spend and your own blood. But Roman’s just as addicted to your pleasure as he is his own. “Yeah, I got you,” he breathes, “Daddy’s here. I’m right here.” 

You whimper as Roman fills your cunt impossibly perfectly each time he thrusts. It’s hard and fast, the head of his cock rubs exactly where you need it to as you grip him tighter, your fingernails scratching up and down his back, leaving little dents in his skin. He’s so close to you right now, exactly where you need him. You take in all of it, committing every little detail to memory - the weight of his torso on yours, his hot skin, his flexing shoulders and biceps, the pleasure building deep in your gut. God, he smells so good and you can almost taste him. You still don’t know the feeling of his soft, pink lips, or his tongue mingling with your own, the feeling of his scruff scratching your cheeks. 

Roman lowers himself further so that he’s resting on his forearm. He wriggles his hand between your bodies and finds your clit, then rubs those tight circles against it. “Come for me,” he whispers as he thrusts. “Right now, sweetheart.” 

You’re there. You come hard on Roman’s cock, walls pulsing around him as you moan freely. Roman fucks you through your orgasm until those sweet noises of yours subside, until he’s drawn out every bit of pleasure from you that he could. He lets himself go then, emptying inside you as he moans, his hot breath tickling your ear. 

Roman pulls out of you, furthering the mess made on the towels. He’s not worried about it. He leaves you lying naked on the bed as he goes to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth with warm water, then returns to gently scrub your skin. He washes between your thighs, he turns you to the side to clean away the blood there, the action so profoundly intimate it sort of stuns you. Roman leaves the dirtied cloth on the towels and goes back to your bathroom to clean himself next, but first grabs a fresh pair of your underwear from the top dresser drawer. After washing his hands and his cock with soap and water, Roman fits one of the pads he bought you onto your panties. There’s a bit of your blood still in his wedding ring. 

Roman returns to you again, panties in hand. He puts one of your feet and then the other through each leg hole, then hikes them up your legs. “C’mon, lazy ass. Up.” he says, and you lift your hips for him to pull your panties on the rest of the way. “It’s like I have to do everything for you. There. That good? Did I do it right?” 

“Nope. It’s crooked.”

“Fuck off. I did good.”

You smile. Roman smiles too, then dresses himself. He draws your curtains shut, then pulls the dirtied towels from under your body, he’ll throw them in the washer downstairs. “Be good. Try not to bleed out or anything, I don’t know how it fuckin’ works,” he says, “I’ll see ya.”

“Wait-”  you grab his arm and toy with the fabric of his sleeves, fingers traveling lower until you’re holding his fingers. “You’re leaving?”

“I mean, yeah. Lunch break isn’t all day, so…” he trails off and laughs awkwardly. “What, you thought I’d-”

“I - sorry. Yeah. I just thought you’d stay with me. I thought you’d…I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Roman’s heart breaks a little. You look disappointed, genuinely sad. A small part of him feels delighted; he knows you need him. You always have, and he’s known it this whole time. But you’re getting sloppy again, letting that facade begin to crumble. Letting whatever this is happen. 

“But you’re not gonna stay late tonight, right?” 

“Mmm. I might just have to, if this-” Roman holds your chin in his hands, “-is what I’m coming home to. A whining, bleeding mess…I might be better off in the office. Don’t feel like getting my head bit off, you know? I happen to like having it attached to the rest of–”

“Roman.”

“Chill. I’m fucking with you. I’ll be here and we’ll eat your Phish Food, hm?” Roman kisses your cheek, his lips lingering a little longer than they should. “Take a nap. You’ll feel better.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog, leave me a comment, jump in my ask box ♡ your kind words go so far in keeping me motivated to write.

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 @highinmiamili @verstappensrealwife

@thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @/luiscarrutherss @pastelpinkflowerlife @baronessvonglitter

@myromeow @ovaryacted @/doll-0f-flesh

[ichorai]

hell, yeah ; series masterlist.

pairing ; roman roy x f!reader series synopsis ; pain was an old friend for the both of you. wc ; 105.3k and counting! themes ; fluff, angst, drama, slowburn, smut, childhood friends to lovers warnings / includes ; drugs, alcohol, depictions of abuse, mentions of death, hospitals, a lot of sexual jokes and general foul language, sexual situations, reader is logan's goddaughter, a lot of business talk, roman being an asshole, emotional constipation

main masterlist.

chapter one. “Jump, you fuckin’ pussy!” exclaimed Roman, though he was quick to shut his mouth when his therapist flung himself into the pool face-first.

chapter two. “I’m supposed to slip this under your pillow while you’re sleeping, but I have a feeling you’re not gonna let me get up for the rest of the night,” you whispered, crawling back to him and throwing a leg over his waist. He curled his own legs around you as well, leaning his weight into you. His head throbbed, his jaw throbbed harder, his heart throbbed the most.

chapter three. “We were kids,” you mumbled tiredly. Blurry memories of leering, smoking men and jaunty laughter crossed your mind. “How could I have known?”

chapter four. Kendall’s expression seemed to soften, recalling how the two of you would always argue over the last remaining strawberry popsicle during the summers you were still little children. When you would grab it from the freezer before he could, he’d tug on your pigtails and call you mean as you denied ever taking them, and you’d hide the wrappers in Rome’s room so he’d never know it was you. But he could always tell from the sticky red on the corners of your mouth and your sugar-highs that seemed to last for a little too long.

chapter five. “Dad,” Roman said, disrupting the eerie, tense silence. “Please?” He was a child asking for a dog again. He was a teenager asking to come home from military school again. He was a young adult asking for his dad to stop hitting him again.

chapter six. You sipped on a glass of champagne that Kendall handed you. There was more chatter—amicable and light and teasing. You poked fun at Kendall’s lame hat whilst Shiv plainly told Roman that his shoes were a size too large for his feet. That his feet were small and dainty and he would fall over if they were any smaller. More drinks, more giggling, more stories. You learned that fresh-faced college Kendall once puked on Stewy’s bed and cried at the foot of it after drinking too much. You told the siblings that you once slept with Angelina from accounting during your first year at the company, to which they responded with shocked snorts. There was a point where Roman grabbed your face and kissed you and kissed you until the rest of the siblings began faux-gagging, and Connor complained that it was like watching his siblings make out. Goddaughter-and-son incest, he’d said.

chapter seven coming soon!

[beechu-beechu]

[ OC x Canon ] I'm in the trenches send help

[chokepoet]

Cruelty & Empathy 18+

gif by @romulussy

Summary | A night alone in the office has Roman and his assistant escalating their tension past a point of no return. The aftermath of which leads to confessions that will change the trajectory of their relationship forever.

Genre | Angst, Fluff, Porn With Plot

Content | anxiety, biting, blood, bondage, choking, crying, dom/sub tones, degradation, dirty talk, mentions of past physical abuse, power struggles, thigh riding, sadomasochism, slapping, spitting

Word Count | 8.5k

A/N: Y’all this fic is fuckin’ filthyyyy… but like in a romantic way??? I wasn’t going to share it but my best friend insisted. If y’all hate this I volunteer as tribute for boar on the floor lmao

Roman Roy’s Office | 10:33 pm

He was sprawled out across the couch as if this were his family’s private estate. It might as well have been. The building’s climate control always seemed to be blowing a peculiar air. One that felt like his father breathing down the back of his neck at all times. Left calf draped over the backrest, right hand cradling a whiskey, and head tilted back over the armrest. His once-slick hair now hung limp, with loose strands reaching for the carpet below. His upside-down gaze willed me to stop my attempts at meeting our deadline and to focus solely on him instead.

My bank account's dwindling had my morals emaciated. They’d weakly played tug of war with my last braincell when I'd accepted Roman’s job offer nearly two years prior. About 6 months into being his assistant, I found myself earning another role: his best friend. His only friend. My typing picks up speed as I contemplate what level of fucked-up I had to be in order to actually enjoy this job. I decide it must have been top-tier when my thoughts drift to the one Roy that had me feeling this way.

In the past 22 months, I came to understand Roman better than anyone else ever had. He somehow wormed his way into gaining just as much insight into me as well. It made me feel strangely protective over him. Oddly enough, he seemed to reciprocate. We still rarely aloud ourselves vulnerability in the presence of the other. We much preferred self-immolation. I don’t think he ever intended to grow so attached to me. He certainly would never admit to it. If you had asked me if the feeling was mutual, I’d lie through my teeth.

I loved him madly.

I don’t exactly know when or how it happened. I do, however, vividly remember when I first realized he held something soft for me.

Siena, Italy | 4:21 am

He was drunk off his ass, his head resting on my shoulder. He had been leaning into my frame for support long before he even needed it. Roman mumbled something about liking me because I was the only “sad sack of shit” in the office who could make him laugh. I asked him why I was a sad sack and not just a regular sack. He blew out a huff of air, causing his lips to trill. The sound was quickly preceded by the flipping of his wrists in a few circles.

“Isn't it obvious?” I nudged my shoulder against his head.

“Because I work for your sorry ass?”

He clumsily tapped the tip of my nose with his right pointer finger, nearly blinded my left eye in the process.

“Bingo, bongo, banjo.” The nonsensical words tumbled out and the rest of his drink tumbled in. “Itstheeyes.” I’d been unable to make out the slurred syllables mumbled just under his breath. For all I knew, they could’ve been Latin for ‘bastard’.

“What?” He dropped his now-empty glass into a historic fountain as we passed. I stopped to try and fish it out, but he dragged me away. I remember wondering if he had made a wish on it in his drunken haze. Rich and careless enough to pretend it was a penny. Maybe that had been why he was so adamant about me not retrieving it. My mind wandered as I pondered what Roman could have possibly wished for. His father's approval? An endless supply of luxurious Korean face creams? A pair of stunning Italian supermodels to lean into instead of me?

Tripping over his own two feet, I instinctively gripped his bicep. Stubborn as ever, he shoved me and muttered something along the lines of 'fuck off'. God forbid he’d take my help. Throwing my hands up, I left him to walk alone a few steps ahead of me. He weaved for a while before slowing his pace until he could lay his head back on my shoulder.

A beat passed, where the only sound was the soft crunch of our shoes against the weathered cobblestone. I caught one of his bleary eyes peeking over at my face. Content with whatever it was he found, he nodded to himself.

“Yep.” He popped his lips on the 'p' and absentmindedly kicked a pebble from our path. “It's the eyes. Sad sack of shit eyes. You've got 'em.” The laugh that had left me seemed much too loud as it ricocheted off every crumbling brick ahead of us. Roman smiled proudly for a moment. “I love your laugh.” The words were said mostly to himself. My cheeks warmed considerably.

“Really? It's obnoxious as all hell.” His brows furrowed, and he shook his head.

“No, it's fuckin’—fuck off. No, it's not.” He kicked another stone. “It's pretty. Pretty like… like your face.” Pretty. “Nothin’ like a hyena.” Hyena? “I think I'm gonna puke.”

He did.

Roman’s Office | 10:47 pm

“Hi.” A small voice lounging across from me pulls my attention. I look up from the computer and rest my head in my hand, my elbow propped on his desk.

“Hi.” I smile softly with a raised brow.“Need somethin’?” The grin that breaks across his features is almost childlike. His big brown eyes could even be mistaken for innocent; I knew better.

“As a matter of fact…” Extremely happy to have garnered my attention, he pulls himself to a sitting position. “Yes!” With a swift motion, he slams his whiskey onto the coffee table. The sharp sound of glass on glass reverberates throughout the room.

“Yes?”

“Yes?” His voice drops into a cartoonish impersonation of my own. His hand was still clasped around his drink for some reason. Flipping his face up to me with a saccharine simper, he adds, “Will you kindly suck my cock?”

“Will you kindly go fuck yourself?” My impression of him was just as cartoonish as his of me. The hand holding my head returns to typing. Groaning loudly, he lets go of his glass to dramatically fall back into the couch.

“Will you? ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ bored!” He drags out his words until they turn to whine. “This is fucking boring. Aren’t you bored?”

“Yes, you’re extremely boring.”

“Hurr-hurr.” He mocks while crinkling his nose. “I’ll have you know I’m anything but and am widely known as delightful company.” A snort escapes my nose and Roman smiles.

“Really? I thought you were widely known as a terrible person.” He rolls his eyes as I quote his cousin.

“Yeah, yeah fuck you.” He gives me the finger. I flip him off in return. “The fuck does Nosferatu fuckin’ know anyways?” The nickname makes me chuckle and has Roman mimicking Greg. “Oh, I—I couldn’t help but—couldn’t help but notice that my gargantuan height may be alarm—alarming the schoolchildren. I—is that why Iverson is um c—crying? Or is he like, I—I mean, is he… y—ya know… special?”

The laughter still bubbled up uncontrollably even as I tried maintaining focus on the task at hand. My passive interest towards Roman was annoying him to no end.

“Come on! I want entertainment! Entertain me, woman!” I roll my eyes. A cinnamon tinted stare was steady burning apertures into my features, willing me to stop ignoring him. “Come—Come on…” His hands outstretch in my direction, middle and index finger beckoning quickly. “Come show big daddy watcha got.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, my typing stops and I fully turn my attention towards him. His face contorts in a grimace already knowing what was to come. My brows raise as I slowly repeat his words back to him.

“Come show big daddy what I got?” Roman’s hands drag down his face and he groans loudly as soon as big leaves my mouth.

“Oh, fuck y—shut the fuck up.” He sinks lower into the couch with high hopes of it swallowing him whole. The smile that breaks across my features is downright malevolent. I couldn’t recall having ever seen him this embarrassed. Surprising, considering all the lewd shit he spews at me daily. There was something sick inside me that enjoyed it. The urge to play cat rather than mouse overtakes me.

“No, no, no. I just want to understand you clearly, Mr. Roy.” Our dynamic had never been much of a professional one. I couldn’t recall the last time I had addressed him so formally but I wanted to really get under his skin. Oddly enjoying my place in its prickled embrace. Rising from my chair, I place both palms on the desk and lean forward with a pout. “Are you saying you wanna shut me up with your cock, big daddy?”

“I’m going to fucking kill myself.” He was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Aw! Weawwy, Daddy? Jus' 'cause I won't suwck yo big thick cock?” At that, a cushion flies towards my head. I narrowly catch it as I’m doubling over in laughter. He’s standing now, hands overtly animated.

“I swear to GOD, I’m going to fucking—fuck! Fuck you! Out the window!” He’s angrily pointing towards the giant window panes beside him. “I’m going to throw you out the fucking window!”

“Oh wow, you’re gonna fuck me out the window?” His face was the deepest shade of crimson I had ever seen it.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I swear to Christ I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” I was doing a piss-poor job at stifling my laughter.

“I just fucking told you. Ass through glass.” He dismissively waves a hand in the air.

“Bullshit.” Finally looking at me, I cross my arms. His eyes flicker to my chest. “You don’t have the balls.”

“Are you saying I don’t have the balls to murder you?” The words come out in a bemused laugh. “I could murder the fuckin’—murder the shit out of you. Easily.”

“Okay.” With a shrug of my shoulders, I feel a dark coil in the back of my mind start to twist. “Prove it.”

“Prove it? You want me to—to what? Throw you through the goddamn window right now?”

I smirk back at him with a shrug, an inkling I had about him spilling to the forefront of my mind. It colors my vision and stains my tongue. If there was ever a time to find out if my suspicions held true, for some reason, I decided that now was the time. The office was definitely empty at this hour, and the privacy blinds were drawn, so no cameras. Risky as all hell, but if things go south, maybe I could play it off as riffing. I could be quite the convincing liar when I needed to be. My mother saw to that.

“See? I knew it.” With hands on my hips, I tilt my head to size him up. My tone shifts into something silky as sin. “You won’t do shit.” The air begins filling with static causing Roman’s lips to twitch. “You and I both know it. Don’t we…” I slide out from behind the desk, feeling taller as I grow closer. Feeling bolder seeing him swallow. “Romulus?” Using his father’s nickname for him causes his nostrils to flare. A clench in the jaw, a quick exhale. I fucking knew it. “So why don’t you just…” Fully standing in front of him now, I look down with a smirk “sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up for once in your life.”

The air was now overcome with static. Thick and heavy. The subjugated desire etched into his features felt so familiar to me. While I had never seen him this way, or anyone else for that matter, I myself had given that look many a time. That inkling I had was no longer an inkling. It had grown roots that smiled with wicked teeth; I was right.

The electric silence between us started to prick at my skin. My bottom lip twitches as it fought against every instinct to fill the silence with some form of an apology. To try and turn my sudden shift from dominance back into normalcy. His eyes dart to my mouth immediately; he knows.

“Make me.” His head slowly tilts upwards, as do the corners of his lips. The heat that had been slowly brewing between us for well over a year licks up my thighs. He was sneering up at me as we stood toe to toe. His burnt espresso eyes had my mind spiraling in their steam. The look on his face said everything. He saw me, he had me, he called my bluff, he won.

No.

My hand wound itself in the silky hair at the nape of his neck and I use it to jerk his head back. His jaw immediately goes slack. Something akin to a whimper escapes his throat. Surprise has my brows raising and Roman feeling embarrassed. His heavy lids fall and he turns himself away. Reaching up with my free hand, I grip his jaw until he’s facing me once again.

“Look at me.” He does in an instant and I’m flooded by a mixture of emotions. Relief, power, love. I never want to forget how he looks beneath my hands. The way his pupils eclipse the hazel of his eyes. The way his freckles scatter under the pinkish hue of a blush. The way his lips part slightly as his breath shakes out across them. Just as my eyes dance across his every feature, his do mine. Is he etching my features into his own memory?

He attempts to lean forward but I hold him steady. Roman wanted to kiss me but I wanted to tease. I press my lips beside his mouth before trailing them along the smooth path of skin leading to his ear. Sucking his skin into my mouth, I bit gently. A soft sound of content slips from his lips, so I trace up the shell of his ear with my tongue. Upon my return, I bite down once more; harder this time. Just as my teeth release him, the fist tangled in his hair gives a sharp tug. His hum bleeds into a moan that has me squeezing my thighs together. A cool plume of air billows past my lips along the now damp skin; goosebumps erupt immediately. I slide my hand from his jaw until my fingers wrap around his throat to hold him.

“Do you like this, Rome?” The soft whisper has him murmuring his satisfaction. “Come on…” I lightly squeeze his throat. “Be a good boy and use your words.” When I pull away to look at his face, I find his lids are nearly shut.

“Y-yeah.” He swallows in an attempt to steady himself. It doesn’t. “Y-yes, I like it.” He could barely look me in the eyes and it made my stomach flip in the best way possible.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.” The words slip out before I have the chance to stop them. He inhales sharply, and the air seems to rattle through his skull. His eyes quickly leave mine as his face warms considerably. My heart beats as if it were trying to rip itself from my chest and collide with his. The blood rushing in my ears was chanting 'I love you' over and over again. My teeth dig into my cheek until the taste of blood envelops my tongue. I'm raging a war with my own body in silence. This newfound power was locking talons with my own subjugated nature and death spiraling through the emotion in my chest.

His pulse was racing underneath my thumb. My voice cascades over his flushed skin as I let feather light kisses rain upon him. His first name glides along the tip of his right cheek, his last over the tip of his left. Hovering just out of his reach, I whisper into his open mouth.

“Tell me what you need.” He desperately tries to press his lips into mine but I just pull back. He grunts in frustration.

“Just fuckin’ kiss me already.”

“No.” Releasing my grip, I shove him into the couch. He trips backwards, gracelessly collapsing into the cushions. I climb onto his lap with my knees pressed to either side of his hips. With one hand, I weave my fist around his tie and pull him to me. My other grips his jaw tightly. “You wanna try that again?” His jaw clenches beneath my fingers. His eyes were wild as they flared up at me. Suddenly, his hands lock onto my hips, hard. He pushes his face into my fingers until the tips of our noses bump together.

“I said, just fucking kiss me and I meant do it now.” His words were caught somewhere between a hiss and a growl. He never could handle the word no, so his response shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. The power I’d been holding over him was now leaking through the lace under my skirt. My thighs instinctively flex around him and it has him digging his fingers in harder. A liquid heat spreads through my chest at the thought of later seeing the bruises he was surely leaving behind.

“Well?” My teeth clench and the hand holding his jaw twitches. The attitude lacing his voice drug it’s nails up my spine as I’m reminded of how entitled he could be. He wasn’t supposed to be the one making demands anymore. His smile twitches as a darkness blooms behind his glee. “You wanna hit me don’t you?” My grip loosened; my lungs suddenly feeling like he held them in his fist.

“W-what?” I didn’t want to hit him. Did I? He was selfish, he was arrogant, and he could be so goddamn cruel. Still, the urge to physically harm him was something I had never once encountered. Knowing the history of his childhood and having bared witness to his father’s present day violence against him had made me hyper aware of the constant pain pulsing below his surface. My eyes rapidly blink as they search past his burning stare and into the darkened crevices of his soul.

Oh—he wanted me to hurt him.

His need for it radiating from the blackened pits to scald me. It scared me. It scared me because it felt dark. It felt wrong. But it scared me the most of all because suddenly in this moment, I wanted to. “I-I don’t-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Again, my teeth clench and my grip retightens on his jaw. His smile grew. Mother fucker knew what he was doing. He was basking in it.

He reaches for my hand wound in his tie, quickly unraveling before bringing it to his throat. His own then slide towards my ass. Gripping tightly, he pushes me down against his length to make sure I felt how badly he wanted this. He throbbed against my center; he wanted it bad. “Listen to me. You’re gonna let go of my jaw and you’re gonna fuckin’ slap me, aright?” I nod and release him. “Fuckin’ hit me.” As I draw back my palm, his tongue peaks out to wet his bottom lip.

Slap.

My palm makes contact and brushes across his cheek. It was a sad attempt really. Weak. Even though I knew he wanted it, needed it, something inside held me back.

I was still scared of harming him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Come on!” He roughly digs his fingers into my ass, significantly harder than before. “I said fucking slap me!”

Crack.

I slapped him. Hard. His face jerks to the side. My hand stung as it instinctively goes to cover my mouth in shock of myself. His lips twitch before slowly turning up in a demented grin. A bloom of red seeps out from his bottom lip and his tongue slides across it. With the taste of his own blood, his smile widens. He laughs softly to himself and I slowly lower my hand.

“There she is.” His voice low, a rumbling purr. “You fuckin’ bitch.” The hand I had just used to strike instantly flies into the mess of his hair; our lips collide. A groan escapes, but from which of us—I didn’t know. The metallic taste of him fueled me. It felt frantic, bruising, needy. We pushed ourselves into each other as if we were feral creatures, held captive and starved. Feeding on something we had buried deep inside only to be found behind the teeth of the other. Sucking his tongue into my mouth causes him to moan and set me ablaze.

I force our mouths apart with a pull of his hair; desperately needing to catch my breath and clear my head. Panting heavily, we stare into the depths of the other in quiet disbelief. This was really happening.

“You sure you want this?” I needed to hear him confirm that he did, in-fact, want to go where we were obviously heading. I knew Roman long enough to know he had serious intimacy issues. Their seeming lack of presence in this moment had me in a whirlwind. He pressed himself into my center once again, his nails bruising crescents into my skin.

“What do you fuckin’ think, dumbass?” I let go of his throat and dig my own nails into his jaw to grip him harshly. He openly smiles with swollen lips.

“Tell me then. Tell me exactly what you want.” His expression falters and his jaw tenses beneath my fingers, eyes flickering from mine.

“You know what I fuckin’ want.” His words seep through gritted teeth. I press my forehead to his. Ever so slowly, I begin rhythmically grinding my hips down upon him. The friction causing his eyes to slip shut. A loud groan escapes from somewhere deep within his chest.

“Roman, I swear to God I’ll stop.” He doesn’t say anything so I still my hips. Umber eyes shoot open and he tries to move me himself. I won’t budge. “I will get up and I will fucking leave you here like this. Pathetic and alone with nothing but your hand.” As the words leave my mouth, so do my hips leave his. His brows snap together and tries in vain to pull me back down again. Still, I don’t budge. “I will walk out this door and you will never fucking see me again. Is that what you want?” The threat was hollow but said with a bite that had shaken me. I was falling into this role a little too easily, a little too well.

He gapes up at me when I completely let go of him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I attempt to push myself off. It’s him who doesn’t budge this time. He yanks me back down with every ounce of strength his small frame contained. The sudden action has all the air escaping my lungs. With a hand clasped to the back of my neck, he seizes me into a searing kiss.

“Whatever you want.” The words frantically rush into my mouth. “I don’t care.” Fighting against the grip on my neck, he finally gives. I pull back to contemplate his words. Tilting my head slightly, my gaze falls to his tie. An idea begins forming as I slowly untie the silk. My nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt has him intently studying my face. Whatever I want.

Cupping his warm face in one hand, I smear the blood of his bottom lip with my thumb. He parts his mouth and sucks it in. With my other, I reach for Roman’s and slide his own thumb into my waiting mouth. As I swirl my tongue around him, Roman’s eyes darken and he sucks me harder.

Pulling from his lips with a pop, I rub my now wet thumb against his nipple. A soft moan is let loose. My tongue continuously plays with him inside me. He shudders as I pinch the bud beneath my fingers before doing the same to the other. Letting go of his hand, I reach forward to pinch both simultaneously and he groans loudly.

My cheeks hollow around his thumb as he slips it from me. He drags it down my bottom lip and stares intently. Transfixed by my spit glistening in the incandescent light. Cupping my jaw, he pulls me forward to replace his thumb with his tongue. That familiar groan returning when I suck him in. His other hand tangles itself into my staticky waves and he kisses me with everything he has.

“Give me your wrists.” The order was partially muffled against his mouth.

“Huh?” The question was mumbled into my lips.

“I said,” Threading my fingers into his own hair, I pull him back. “give me your fucking wrists.” With a dramatic tug, his tie is jerked from underneath his collar in a rush. He sat still, blinking up at me. The walnut shells of his eyes fall into my hands. There was a slight apprehension, a nervousness to them. “Do you trust me, Rome?”

“Y-yeah.” His voice was hushed as he presents his hands to me and I slowly start wrapping the silk around his wrists.

“We can stop at anytime. You know that, right? Just say the word and I’ll stop immediately.” My reassurance seems to irritate more than comfort. He rolls his eyes with a tilt of the head.

“Would you fuck off? I’m fine.” A crease digs itself into the bridge of his nose and my actions immediately still.

“I’m not going to fuck off unless I know that you know that you’re safe with me, okay?” This dominate role was far from the submissive one I was innately familiar with. We obviously had never discussed boundaries and I didn’t know where the lines were anymore. “I need you to know you can speak up. That I’ll stop the second you tell me to.” Roman looks like he’d rather get a root canal than continue this discussion, but I don’t care. This was far too important. “I need you to know that your comfort is important—that your feelings matter.”

“I fucking know it, alright?” He snapped before groaning and throwing his head back. “God, what the fuck else do you need to know before you just shut the fuck up and get on with it already?” My hand quickly finds its way to his throat with a squeeze. He seems more than pleased by this response.

“Do you wanna fucking cum?”

“Clearly I wanna fuckin’—“ My other hand slaps over his mouth and I can feel him smiling underneath my palm. Roman was gladly trying to piss me off. He was itching to see me lose control; yearned to meet the creature locked inside me. The wicked one I never acknowledged or came near; the demon only he could see. She bathes me in the blood of solidified suspicions.

Roman didn’t want my empathy.

Roman wanted my cruelty.

“Then are you fucking stupid? If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll make damn sure to have you crying like a little bitch before I even think of letting you cum.” His eyes blackened as he watches my succubuss unhinge her jaw to swallow me whole. “Got it?” He nods quickly. Rapid bursts of air shoot from his nose across the back of my hand. “And lose the fuckin’ attitude.” Removing my hand, I slap him across the mouth; handing myself over to his desires completely.

Having finished binding his wrists and setting them behind his head, I rise from the couch. Standing between his ankles, I unzip my skirt and let it fall to my feet. The muscles in his forearms flex. His tongue peaks between his lips as he gawked at the damp lace between my thighs. Sliding my finger below his chin, I tilt his head until he meets my eyes.

“You know what I want, Roman?” My hand takes home around his throat once again. Now having his full attention, I feel him swallow as he shakes his head. His excitement was palpable. Settling my right knee between his thighs, I nudge it gently against his hard length. His nostrils flare with a sharp inhale. “I want you to watch me get myself off on your thigh.” He groans loudly. I couldn’t tell if it was out of desire, frustration, or a mixture of both but the response delighted me nonetheless. Placing my left knee to the other side of his thigh, I fully seat myself upon him. “Knowing there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

“Fuck.” Slowly grinding against the fabric of his thigh, my lashes flutter at the sensation. A soft moan escapes me before I can stop it. I was dripping wet and could already feel myself swiftly ruining his ostentatiously expensive pants.

“How does it feel Roman? To have me use you like this?“ A whimper meets my ears. His eyes transfixed on my clothed center sliding roughly against his thigh. There was a fire beneath his skin and he was entranced by the sight of kerosene being poured upon it. “To ruin you like this?” His smokey gaze flickers up to mine and I use the moment to grind myself harder against him. The rough friction elicits another moan from me, louder this time. “This is all you’re good for—” My final word comes out in a whine causing Roman to tear into his bottom lip hard enough to draw more blood. “Tell me. How does it feel?” I nudge my knee into his throbbing member once more and the deepest groan ripples through his teeth. His arms jerk against his binds as I use my free hand to sharply twist his nipple. “Answer me!”

“Good! It feels—Fuck.” The sentiment came out hoarse and husky. He shoves his head back into his tied wrists, thrusting himself against my knee. “Feels so f-fuckin’ good.” Digging my thumb into his pulse point, I slide my knee back. He whines; all hopes of friction dashing in an instant.

“No. You don’t get to cum until I say you do. Got it, you demented little fuck?” He’s a whimpering mess beneath me; eyes wide and watery. I wanted to drown myself in the sight and never touch the light of day again.

My thong bunches to the side from the aggression in my movements. Now fully bare against him, a shiver rushes through me as my clit kisses the luxurious fabric of his thigh. I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“If you don’t fucking behave I swear to God I’ll leave you like this—tied up and soaking for whoever to find.” The bite in my threats were losing their edge. My voice lost somewhere between a moan and sigh. An impending orgasm flicks it’s tongue at the base of my spine.

“Wouldn’t want it to be your father who finds you like this, would you?” A mangled whine shakes itself from his throat and has me smiling.

The blood seeping from his parted lips seem to glitter under the city light of his windows. I flatten my tongue across his jaw and drag it up his chin until my mouth fills with copper. The taste causes a sigh to slip from my mouth into his.

“You’re close. I-I can feel it.” His voice tight and high-pitched as he starts to slightly bounce his leg. “You’ve f-fucking drenched me.” The jolting of his thigh into my clit has my head falling into his shoulder; grinding harder and faster against him. The nails of my right hand embed themselves into the skin of his waist. A carnal mosaic of the flesh born below my grip. I was at the brink. “I-I wanna feel you cum.” He’s whining as he starts to bounce his leg faster; face buried in my hair. His shaking breath against my cheek has my entire body erupting in goosebumps. “P-please lemme f-feel you cum.” His beg hitches to an even higher pitch. His thigh nearly vibrating under me, desperate pleas rippling through me. Every nerve ending in my body felt ablaze.

It was all too much.

A scream rips from my lungs and I sink my teeth into the flesh of Roman’s shoulder. He tasted of salt and brimstone. My nails frenetically scratch into his skin as my thighs tremble and squeeze. Groans barrel up from his chest to mingle with my own. My release shatters through me with a blinding intensity I had never experienced before. I was overflowing; drenching his thigh to seep into his soul.

The heaving of our chests pressed tightly together slowly lulls me back down again. My fingertips absentmindedly painting shapes into his skin with the blood I’d drawn from his waist. Sparkles of light and voids of soot twirl across my vision. An indention of my teeth remained etched into his shoulder. He shudders when I press a soft kiss onto the bruised skin. My head falling heavy when it replaces my mouth to lean into him.

I’m suddenly reminded of Roman’s own much needed release upon finding his hips desperately grinding circles into empty air. He’s whimpering; body begging. My hand still cradled his throat so I languidly brush my thumb along his pulse point. His heart was racing.

“Do you need to cum, Roman?” A loud, high-pitched whine answers me.

“Please.” The word comes out in a choked sob. “I need—“ He was fighting against his binds, the silk digging painfully into his wrists. “Please.” He frantically presses open mouth kisses into any inch of my skin that he could reach; pleading with glassy eyes. “Please lemme cum.” I leave his throat to gently cup his cheek and smile softly before pulling back from him. “No—“ He stops himself when I thread one hand into his hair and place the other bloodied one atop his chest.

“You gonna cum your pants for me, Romie?” I take my sweet time sliding my palm towards where he needs it most. “Like the needy little slut that you are?” The whispered words were dripping in ghost pepper honey that had him swallowing. “Are you that desperate? That pathetic?”

“Yes.” The answer comes out in a quiet quick rush of air. “Y-yeah, I am.” My hand finally reaches his pulsing length and it twitches beneath my fingers. He immediately ruts against my palm and I squeeze him before jerking his head back.

“Stop.” He clenches his teeth but surprisingly does. Tensing beneath me, using every ounce of self control to still himself. He was trembling beneath my grasp. Frustrated tears caressed his lashes and began streaming down his flushed cheeks. His breath was coming out hard and shallow through flared nostrils.

A memory flashes through my mind: Roman’s captivated stare watching his glistening thumb press into my bottom lip.

“Open your mouth.” Again, he follows my orders instantly. Hovering my face above his, my lips purse with a drop of spit. He catches it with a moan that I immediately kiss into my mouth. “Cum.” My voice drops just above a whisper against his raw lips. “Make a mess of yourself.”

He instantly begins fucking himself roughly into my grip. The heat of his flesh searing me through the fabric. Grunting into my open mouth as I tug his hair into the cushions just below his wrists. His hands opening and closing before locking into tight fists. “Look at me.” His eyes shoot open. “Such a good boy for me.” A familiar emotion swirls through the sliver of hazel around his pupils. His lids flutter as he fought with everything in him to keep himself rooted in my gaze. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Roman.”

His hips shoot from the couch as he explodes and spreads me open across his thigh. The sensation causes my breath to catch in my throat. A gravely yell rips from the deepest parts of himself and tears apart every muscle in my body. He pours everything he has into the fabric beneath my hand with wide eyes never leaving mine. He collapses hard with shuttering breaths; body limp and twitching.

I release him to bring my palm to my lips; the slightest bit damp from him. My tongue paints his taste into my memory with pupils blown. Jaw slack, he watches intently through heavy wet lashes. His muddy eyes fill with that same emotion I had seen from him earlier.

“Lemme taste you.” The request was nearly silent but it rattled me like a wail. If I was any further from him I wouldn’t have heard it, but I did and couldn’t believe he had asked. Lifting my hips slightly, I run two fingers through my sensitive folds and shiver. He immediately takes notice and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.

My fingers tremble as they rise towards his mouth. He inhales deeply before parting his lips for me. Slipping into the velvet of his mouth, his eyes flutter shut. His pointed tongue runs up between their gaps before flattening to drag back down. He was savoring every drop as if he were a starved man lost at sea. An involuntary hum reverberates from his throat into my skin and his cheeks seem to darken even more. He playfully bites down with sparkling eyes when I slip my fingers from his warm mouth.

The sight had the blood pounding in my ears beginning their familiar chant: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ It overwhelmed me and I couldn’t help but pull him into one last searing kiss. Tasting myself on his tongue had my head spinning. Here on my knees, I prayed to a godless sky that he could taste my heart overflowing into his mouth. Cupping his cheeks in both hands, my thumbs brush away the damp paths left by his previous tears. His forehead suddenly creases beneath mine.

“You okay, Rome?” He shakes my hands from his face and turns away from me. My own brows knot together in worry.

“I’m fine.” His face further contorts upon hearing how his voice cracked. It might as well have cracked my ribs right along with it. He clenches his jaw before gnawing at the inside of his cheek. His hands form into tight fist behind his head. He was trying not to cry again.

My fingers twitch in my lap and it takes everything in me not to wrap him in my arms. Instead, I reach for his wrists and bring them forward. They felt heavy and limp in my hands. Right as I began my attempt at untying them, a small sniffle brings my attention back to Roman’s face.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay, you know?” I try to gently reassure him but it only deepens the tortured disgust in his features.

“I said I’m fucking fine.” The words are spit with a venom that eats through to my bones. Feeling me search his feature has him crumbling before me. Fresh tears immediately start spilling down his cheeks and into the pits of my soul. I couldn’t help but reach for him. He surprisingly lets me cup his cheek, so I gently turn him to face me. His eyes squeeze tighter below my lips as I lightly kiss their corners. The small gesture of affection has a mangled sob ripping from his chest. Fully burying his face into my hand, he lets himself weep into my palm.

Brushing back the strands of hair sticking to his sweat, I feel my own eyes filling with tears. Refusing to let myself cry, I leave his hair to clumsily attempt untying his wrists with one hand but the knot had grown significantly tighter. No doubt from Roman constantly pulling against it all this time.

“Hey, Rome?” He responds with a mangled sound in the back of his throat. A desperate need to comfort and free him started anxiously clawing at my throat. “Listen, I know you’re totally fine and everything but I’m actually not.” His watery eyes glance to me, not registering that I’m joking. “The she demon that possessed me, she—the bitch was a Girl Scout from hell. This knot’s tighter than a goddamn hangman’s noose.” Roman pulls his face from my hand while rapidly blinking. The sounds of grinding metal fill my ears and their smokey scent tickles my nose. I flash him a goofy, albeit nervous, smile and the gears inside his head finally click into place.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” There was no bite to his words, having spoke them through a bemused chuckle. He wipes his nose with back of his hand and inhales the remnants of his vulnerability. Grateful relief balms the scrapes at my neck left by worry’s desperate claws.

His smile falters when I suddenly get up and leave him; it's as if a burst of panic fills his chest. However, when he watches me pick up a pair of scissors and the joggers from his gym bag, I sense the tension in him ease slightly. It's only when I climb back atop his thigh that he appears fully relieved. The weight of my warmth sinking into him seems to ground him.

After tossing his change of pants onto the cushion beside us, I carefully slide the blade under his tie and free him. The silk had dug in painfully, leaving nearly raw indentions in it’s wake. I mentally make a note to check my purse for some soothing lotion later as my fingers lightly brush across his skin. My thumbs begin rubbing into the muscles of his forearms. Roman was studying my face intently.

“These feel okay?” Shaking out his wrists, he rotates them a few times before letting them fall limp in my lap. It was his way of silently asking me to continue with my actions. He had far too much pride to express his desire for such a tender expression.

“Feels fine.” He fights off a shy smile when my hands pick up where they left off, massaging him gently. “My side on the other hand feels like fuckin’ cruise papers with the way ya shredded me.” He chuckles but I could still hear the residual emotion behind it. I lift the corner of his shirt up to take a look. The sight has my stomach instantly dropping; tangled weeds of angry wounds imbedded deep into flesh. Needles of red hot guilt begin sewing threads of shame up my legs. Looking down, I’m greeted with his blood caked under my nails. Memories of violence and words of degradation take ownership of my lungs.

“Fuck Rome…” My voice cracks and I suddenly feel my own tears holding a knife to my throat. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Roman quickly tears the fabric from my grasp and yanks it down.

“Oh shit. No no no no no—fuck fuck fuck.” His panicked expression made me feel so much worse. The canines of an anxiety attack drag up the nape of my neck like a threat. “I—I was fucking kidding!”

“I shouldn’t have d—done that to you. I—I shouldn’t have hit you. I shouldn’t have said—I didn’t—Rome, I didn’t mean them! The words—I—I’m so sor—“

“Oh dear God, would you fuckin’ stop.” He quickly cut me off but I had already dove to the deep end of a molten lava shame spiral.

“I—I made you fucking bleed Roman!” He rolls his eyes. “Multiple times!” His hands slap themselves onto the sides of my face, pressing hard into my cheeks.

“Yeah and you licked it up and it was the sexiest fuckin’—” I couldn’t open my eyes to look at him. If I looked at him I’d most certainly start crying. “I mean, I’m literally fucking drenched in cum right now.” My mouth was set in a hard line but my bottom lip quivered. “Come on now…” Nope, didn’t have to look at him. Turns out his voice alone could send tears falling. “I was kidding! I liked the fuckin’—fuckin’ feral scratchy shit! It was hot! And—and I told you to hit me! I—I wanted it! I wanted you to say all that fuckin’ nasty shit!” His fingers press into my skin harder as if he could force his sentiments to penetrate my skull. “I…I fuckin’ loved it. Like a lot. Okay?” My head was shaking back and forth trying to gain some control over my emotions, shake free of my tears. Roman didn’t know that though. How could he? I wasn’t speaking. He probably thought my actions were just my way of rejecting him. “Please don’t fuckin’ do this.”

My eyes crack open as I remove Roman’s hands from my face. The knotted look of bewilderment etched into his features summons the childhood phantom of my mother. Taking her disembodied palm to slap me across the mouth and rattle me with shrill screams: ‘You need to pull yourself the fuck together!’ I follow suit, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes.

“Promise?” My question came out pathetic and small. I fucking hated it and I fucking hated crying. I’m being fucking ridiculous. Stupid.

“Again, and I can’t stress this enough, soaking in my own cum right now.” His reassurance comes with a laugh that tugs my frown up slightly.

“I just—I’m sorry. It was one thing in the moment but just like… I dunno. I’ve never done anything like that. I—I don’t know what came over me.” My face felt feverish as the backs of my hands wipe the shame staining my cheeks. “Seeing the aftermath just kinda, it just—The thought of actually hurting you makes me feel fucking sick, Rome.” I feel the back of Roman’s knuckle brush away the tears I had missed. Chancing a look at his face gifted me the softest expression I had ever seen from him. “I never want to cause you any real harm.” My voice sounded almost foreign, weak with emotion and vulnerability. Where did all my bravado go? Oh yeah, it’s dripping down my thighs.

“Well you didn’t, alright? I’m fine. Like completely. A-o-fuckin’-kay over here.” He throws me the okay symbol and tries offering me a reassuring smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“But you were crying, Rome.” The smile instantly drops.

“That? No, I wasn’t—“ He shakes his head before scratching at his jaw. “It—it wasn’t because of that.” My brows furrow, and he groans, hands dragging down his face. “Look, I didn’t—I don’t—fuck!” He shakes his fingers through his hair and looks as if he’s about to rip it out. Refusing to meet my eyes, his stare finally settles on my hands lying face up in my lap. “It was your fuckin’—your hands, okay? It was your fuckin’ hands.” My eyes fall from his face and focus on the blood staining my fingertips. So it really was because I hit him. “The way you—“ He sighs. “The way you held me.” Oh. His head falls back as a long frustrated groan escapes him, eyes searching for heaven in the ceiling. “I dunno, okay? It just felt—it felt—“ He couldn’t finish. His eyes fall shut before he continues, his voice even quieter than before. “All I could think about was how you had looked at me.” I swallow before whispering just as quietly as he.

“How did I look at you?”

“I don’t know.” His voice grew thick with emotion once again. He shakes his head and finally meets my eyes; looking so defeated and sad. His pain bled me. “You’re always fuckin’ lookin’ at me like—like—“ Again, he can’t finish. He clenches his jaw like a threat towards the words caught in his throat.

“Like I love you?” His eyes squeeze shut and he turns his face from me once again; hiding himself from my words. I watch him clench and unclench his jaw until courage clenches my own. “Because I do love you, Roman.” Every muscle in his body seemed to tense beneath me, but I couldn’t stop my feelings from shattering their shackles. They’d been locked up for so long that their first taste of freedom sends them sprinting. “I love you so fucking much.” He clenches his fists, still unable to open his eyes and look at me.

I let myself lean into him and lay my head onto his shoulder. His fist start to unfurl and he lets his head fall against mine. A shuddering breath leaves him and he buries his face into my hair, hands tentatively resting on my hips. We sit in silence as I listen to his breathing slowly steadying. Once it had nearly returned to normal, I feel his lips gently press into my temple.

“I love you too.” The words were murmured into me, a heavy sigh follows after them. “You have no fucking idea.” The wilted buds of my heart and mind begin to bloom. My arms wrap themselves around him and squeeze him to me tightly. He reluctantly wraps his arms around me as well; slowly tightening his embrace until he’s clinging to my soul. Turning my head I press a kiss into the side of his throat and hear him sigh once again; the weight between us was dissipating.

“I’m sorry for freaking out earlier.” The words he had stuttered out when trying to calm me drift to the forefront of my mind. “I—I liked it too.” The warmth of his skin embraces my shy confession. “What we did together, I mean.” I hear him snort and it has me smiling against him. The air was feeling lighter.

“I’d fuckin’ say so, ya fuckin’ banshee. You shoulda seen how fuckin’ hard you came. I mean—Jesus Christ, you were fuckin’ feral.” I hide my face further into his neck but can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from me. “And now you act all fuckin’ bashful and shit? How the fuck does that even work? You literally tied me up and road my thigh like a buckin’ bronco.” I bite his throat and my body shakes from his laughter vibrating through me.

“Fuck you! I’m complex.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He tangles his hands in my hair and pulls me back to face him. “You’re fuckin’ insane, you know that?” He was smiling as he said it. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“The feelings mutual.” His smile only widens and he bounces his leg. I yelp in surprise, frantically gripping at his arms to maintain balance. He’s giggling uncontrollably. “You’re a sick fuck, Roman Roy.”

“Ooo round two already, thigh master?” He bounces his leg again. I try to slap his chest but he catches my wrist with his freehand and pulls me into a kiss I’m never going to forget. It was different than all the ones we had shared prior. This one was so much softer, so much gentler. Our foreheads rest against one another. His smile against my lips illuminates every crevice once void of light; I was loved.

[dorims]

I like the way you make me feel (about you, baby).

gif creds @/cassandrahoward

pairing. roman roy x reader

wc. ~700

genre. fluff

just a morning before work with roman roy

tags. NO beta, english isn't my first language // established relationship, roman's low self-esteem makes a very subtle appearance, suggestive (one line), mentions of roman's slutty waist (literally)

a/n. i love him your honor, thats it. i was also gonna add that for some reason i seem to be keen of writing intimate scenes inside bathrooms but that come outs...weirder than it is lol ANYWAY i hope u enjoy !!

“I have a what?”

You could see the furrow of his brows through the mirror. It made you bite back a giggle, hiding the cheeky smile on your lips behind his shoulder.

“A slutty waist.” you mumbled against his work shirt, pulling him tighter against you. It was impossible not to interrupt his morning routine when he wore those shirts and those pants and when he looked way too good for your own good. Which, to be fair, was more often than not. Regardless, there was something about him in the mornings, when his tie laid over his shoulders unknotted and his hair fell over his forehead free of gel. 

“Uh…thanks?” He looked baffled while making eye contact, and you only broke it when he shook his head, your eyes teetering upwards to see his profile. “Between the two of us, I always thought you were the slut but oh well-“

“That's not how it works!” You laughed, slapping his shoulder lightly. He pulled your arms tighter around him gently, missing the pressure around his body when you stepped backwards. 

It felt good for you too. Feeling the warmth of him after fighting your way out under the comforter made up for being woken up at 6 in the morning by his alarm. 

“Well,” interrupting himself as his fingers fought the silk of his tie into a knot. “I don’t want to be the only one that's getting slut-shamed.”

“I didn’t call you a slut, I called your waist slutty.” 

“Oh, so you’re slut-shaming my waist, same difference.” He scoffed, basking in the way you rolled your eyes as you turned his body to face you. 

He wanted to complain as your arms snaked away from his waist but held back once he felt your fingers pick up both ends of his tie. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was some sort of weaponized incompetence or actual incompetence that didn’t allow him to tie it properly by himself. A mix of both, probably, but you always did it better than him. 

Plus, if he had to access some weird part of his brain, then he’d have to admit he quite liked it when you let it get tighter than usual before loosening it up.

“You say that as if you’ve never slut-shamed me.” You joked, pretending not to notice how he shivered when your fingers grazed his neck as you flipped the collar. 

“I don't slut-shame you, I slut-praise you.” Smirking as if trying to hide the effect you had on him, he quipped back. His attempt fell flat though. He swallowed down hard when you finished the loop of the tie with a gentle yet firm tug before smoothing it out.

“In that case, I’m praising your slutty waist too.” You let your hands trail down his chest until your grip rested on his hips. Gentle as always, your touch felt all too warm. The mushiness of being tired, you supposed. He thought so too as you pulled him closer, “And I’ll keep doing so because I think you’re,” and placed a gentle kiss against his and then hovering, intertwining each word with another. “beautiful and hot and gorgeous and breathtakingly stunning—“

“Oh fuck off, get out of here.” He broke into a bashful smile, cheeks tinted pink as you punctuated your affection with a kiss on his cheek.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” You sighed, pushing yourself off him to let him get ready, though not before lingering against the door frame. “I’m gonna make coffee, you want some?”

He chuckled, “You know we have people to do that, right?”

“I know,” you shrugged, “but I enjoy making some for you.”

You didn’t need verbal confirmation from him. Knowing the answer had grown into a pleasant habit, the same way picking the coffee he liked and using the same brand of low-fat milk had. 

You closed the door with a lovesickness unlike any dripping from a smile of your own. And if he had to access an even darker, twisted and weirder part of his brain, as he had done before, he would struggle to admit that the way you cared made him feel awfully warm, like hinting to the despair that gnawed at the back of his head that he wasn’t as unlovable as he thought. 

[z3nitsusgf]

omg help me your Roman Roy fic was amazing,,, you truly have a gift .

we need more Roman pussy eating fics! just thinking about his hands moving up your skirt, you sitting up on his big important boss man desk, his face buried between your legs, stubble grazing your inner thigh, you grab his hair and your back arches, head thrown back, your gasps and moans are echoed by his own as he gets off from eating you out.

You resist the urge to make a sound. Even though he’s lapping at your cunt like a fucking dog, you restrain yourself. You gnaw on your lip, feeling the busted capillaries at the surface release that familiar iron taste. You’re wet, embarrassingly so. You can hear the slick sloppy sounds of Roman sucking at your clit. You’re breathing heavy, panting and clawing at his desk as if that’ll help.

Anyone could walk past and see you getting tongue-fucked by their bosses son. Not that they’d say anything, but you’d be absolutely mortified.

“Roman- please, you can’t,” you squirm when he nips your folds, “not here.”

He groans, you sound so whiny. So breathy and on the verge of crying. He grips at your hips, your pencil skirt slid up and pooled around your waist. Panties tugged down (semi-ripped) across your ankles.

“Shut up.” He mumbles into you, the stubble across his jaw prickling your inner thighs. You jump at the feeling, squeezing around his head. You whine, trying not to kick up your legs and crush him.

“Just let me fucking drown myself in your pussy.”

He’s pawing at your hips, slipping them from outside to in. Running clean hands across your jumpy thighs and over your slick folds. He smashes his thumb against your sticky clit, rubbing sloppy harsh circles against the soft bud. Your hips stutter, he chases your bucking hips to rub at your clit.

“Sensitive?”

He asks with a grin, he knows you are. He loves it. You whine, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs drip.

“Roman-“

There’s most definitely a puddle of cum and slick underneath your ass. But Roman doesn’t give a shit, he’ll probably get some underpaid janitor to clean it up. It’s not like they haven’t done it before. Vaguely, you wonder what would happen if someone important saw. Like his brother, or his dad. Or even Gerri.

“Fuck, you’re fucking dripping.” He mumbles, hair messy and swept back. Strands of brown draping across his wide eyes and tickling your thighs.

You let out a yelp when he buries his face back between your legs, licking from the bottom of your cunt to the very top. It’s like he’s making out with it, dipping his tongue in and moaning at the way he can feel you clench around the soft pink muscle. He’s almost tempted to just say fuck it and fuck you over the desk. Who cares?

You feel like you’re gonna pass out. You’re panting, chest heaving and you scratch at his expensive glossy desk, nails trying to find purchase without tugging at your bosses hair. Your moans have his cock leaking against his slacks, staining the light grey dark. He tries not to hump the air, but it gets harder with each passing second. He might cream his pants if he’s not careful.

“Gonna soak my face, hm? Gonna get nice and fucking wet for me?”

You wish you could say you hate the way he speaks to you, but you’d be lying. It makes you whimper and drip and clench around nothing. Nodding your head and shuffling your hips to try and get a better angle. Roman grins like a fucking demon, staring up at you while he demolishes your pussy. Sucking at your sensitive clit and pressing his thumbs into your thighs to hold you open. It’s debauched, messy and wet. The definition of slutty.

It’s like the middle of a shitty porno, a boss eating out his favorite assistants cunt on his desk. Uncaring of the consequences because he’s never had to face them before.

Because who’s gonna tell the Roman Roy shit?

[salbei-141]

Be honest with me (Roman Roy x reader)

Masterlist

word count: 1.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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!"

[senselessviolets]

being roman roy’s personal assistant (and his obsession) would include…

Rating M

WARNINGS:

Language, sexual tension, degradation, power imbalance, Roman being Roman weird.

Author's Notes:

Pretty self-explanatory. No uses of Y/N. Some brief RomanGerri. Very much inspired by @nanabrainrot's fic series with Pervert!Roman because it's divineeee. Highly recommend it!!

Roman never saw himself as the type to have an assistant. In fact, he was the only one of the Roy siblings to not have one. Kendall, of course, had Jess, Shiv had Sarah, and even though Connor never liked to bring it up out of fear of making him seem less earnest and hardworking to his supporters, he too had a “yes man” managing his personal affairs for him. 

It was following the Hungary company retreat that Gerri offered to set Roman up with an assistant. She knew of a trusted agency that would be able to help him narrow down candidates and find a person best suited for his needs. 

That person just so happened to be you. 

Roman absolutely wolf-whistled at the picture attached to your portfolio when thumbing through the candidates he was matched with through the agency. Gerri made him promise not to make any untoward or inappropriate comments to you during your interview for the job. Roman saw it as a ‘woman thing’ but Gerri being legal counsel saw it as a nightmare waiting to happen.

Upon meeting with you and the hiring manager, Roman scoured the internet for any information on you. Even though all of the important need-to-know info could be found on your resume or your fucking LinkedIn profile—that wasn’t enough for him. 

He tore through all of your public social media accounts, saving any particularly flattering images of you (swimsuit pictures, nightclub outings, etc.) and examining them throughout the day.

Suffice it to say, you got the job.

At first, Roman doesn’t know what to make of you. He sits you at a small desk on the opposite side of his own in his office.

Personality and demeanor-wise you’re in line with what he had wanted. Physically, he was already well-acquainted with your curves and the way certain types of clothes clung to your body. 

In the long stretches of silence of you two working in the same room, he imagined briefly what you looked like underneath your clothes. 

At home when it was just him and his right hand, he imagined what it’d be like to tear them off and leave them in tatters on the floor.

The better you get to know each other, the bigger his private album devoted to images of you grows.

Roman starts to pry into your personal life, asking if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Then he makes random passes at you throughout the day. Having worked with a wide array of smarmy, gross men in the past—you were hardly phased. Because a part of you sees through the facade. You know he just wants to rile you up—to get a reaction out of you.

You realize after a while that he wants you to be repulsed by him. 

This incites something within you.

Roman starts dragging you to one-on-ones with investors and having you sit in on board meetings, much to the annoyance of many.

Shiv tells you (jokingly) to run before you wind up being chased down the hallways with a chainsaw. 

While waiting together outside of a rather important meeting with many high-level executives, Greg informs you of a rumor that Roman has a dick pic circulating the office. But that in particular—he had meant to send it to you. 

You don’t know how to feel.  

These forced attendances at random meetings turn into becoming his designated armpiece for public events and parties. 

At one of them, Stewy taunts Roman, saying you’re not the only woman he pays to touch him. 

You laugh loudly at this joke which surprises them both. You crack a few of your own at Roman’s expense. Some are based on fiction, the others in fact. The shame floods his cheeks but the way he grips tighter at your waist tells you to keep going. To get meaner. So you do. You get a lot meaner.

Roman’s jaw clenches for a moment. Then his lips part. You convince yourself it's just a buzz from the drinks you’ve just had; that you did not just shit-talk your boss into arousal. 

But the clumsy way Roman adjusts his stance, the subtle outline of something forming at the front of his pants, and how he excuses himself to the bathroom says otherwise.

The text you receive moments later from his number confirms this; “You know what you did, you fucking bitch.”.

It’s your direct reply to that message though that makes his breath hitch; 

“Show me then, you sick fuck.”

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

<3

[chaithetics]

Stewy Hosseini Masterlist

*Indicates smut

One shots

Couchside Comfort (endometriosis reader)

Roy-ful Wedding Jitters

Furtive Hands Universe (Can be read as one shots)

Furtive Hands*

Don't Let Me Go

Chance Meetings

Jealous Disclosures*

Covert Conversations

Glasses

Porcelain and the Shark

Porcelain and the Shark: The 80th

Porcelain and the Shark: The Engagement

Porcelain and the Shark: Too Much Birthday

Porcelain and the Shark: Sweet Jonathan

Porcelain and the Shark: Barbie Hosseinis

Porcelain and the Shark Headcanons

Jonathan's Baby Shower

Proxy Battle Dynamics

Porce's Middle Name

Porce's Career pt. 1

Porce's Career pt. 2

Porce's Career pt. 3

Caroline Dynamics

Proposal

Baking with the Hosseinis

[strang3lov3]

Under the Table

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

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

Stepdaddy!Roman Roy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still remembered.”

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

“Mm. Tasty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m taking you out.”

“You are?” 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“Ew. Don’t, please.”

“So that’s your favorite dress, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine with water.” 

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

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

“For me?” You reach for the bag. 

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

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

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

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

“I know, I know.”

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

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

“Shush. Just open it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re kinda pink.”

“I’m not…pink,” Roman mumbles.

“You are. You’re blushing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

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

“What do you think I’m doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. Yep.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We have sorbets, too.” 

“What sorbets?” Roman asks.

“Mango calamansi, cantaloupe, and lemongrass.” 

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

“Tiramisu,” you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

“Mhm. Please” 

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

“You kissed me first, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Then it’s on the table.” 

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

You nod. Roman smiles at you. 

“I’m glad. Goodnight, kiddo.” 

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

tags (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

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

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

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

@romanarose @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamili @verstappensrealwife

@thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @luiscarrutherss @pastelpinkflowerlife @baronessvonglitter

@myromeow @ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh

[vclvetfleur]

Obedient

Pairing ▹ Roman Roy x Fem! Reader

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.Playlist ・✫・゜・。.

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

[beechu-beechu]

[ OC x Canon ]

I have come to offer more OC x Roman Roy stuff <33 weird nepo babies ft an absurd amount of unhealthy codependence. Public decency is a foreign concept I'm so happy I got nice comments on my last post about Cecilia TT please do feel free to send me asks about her/them I am down to draw them in situations

[myromeow]

roman roy core

[from-the-clouds]

lost in the fire - kendall roy x f!reader

| masterlist | succession sideblog: @kendollroyco | my kendall playlist

chapter summary: your boyfriend works too much. a oneshot, but if we're being real, i was thinking about kendall and the reader from thinking of a place, because i miss them. pairing: kendall roy x f!reader words: 4.6k warnings: SMUT (18+ only). soft dom Kendall. Somewhat unhealthy/jealous/co-dependent relationship but this is a Succession fic so like…what do we expect? Alcohol consumption - I don't know what Kendall's definition of sobriety is but he drinks a cocktail in this. a/n: i'll get back to tlou but i've had this partially written for like a year at this point. It started out as more of a manic Ken on a power trip type of fic but then it got really soft and fluffy because I am feeling touch-deprived lately so I’m sorry if I didn’t deliver enough evil ken for ya’ll. :/ OOPS!

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

"We're like the Lewis and Clark of fucking." - Kendall Roy

Teetering down the hallway, you attempt to quell the outrageously loud click, click, click of your stilettos against the marble floor by shifting most of your weight into the ball of your feet and shuffling forward. It only makes it harder for you to balance while you attempt to put on the flashy gold hoop earrings your friend had insisted you’d wear. Of course, being quiet didn’t really matter, because you were the only person inhabiting the Hudson Yards penthouse. 

As usual, you are running late. Famously, you always underestimate how long it will take to get ready for social events – your friends could attest to that. It is a bad habit that, despite years of trying to correct, you can never quite shake. 

Beelining for the double doors of the multi-million dollar home, you are interrupted by your name being called out in a sing-songy voice. There is a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turn towards the familiar sound to find your boyfriend rounding the corner, a drink in hand.

The sight of him at home is rare these days, that for a second, you aren’t even sure if it’s really him. Maybe the place is being  haunted by an eerily similar lookalike, or it could be some new ridiculous billionaire technology that he’d invested in– holographic messaging, or something similarly dystopian that you’d roll your eyes at when he tries to explain it to you. It’s fuckin’ next level, I’m telling you. I’m a fucking tech pioneer. You can practically hear him trying to sell you on it despite your distaste.

“Ken?” you cling to the clutch under your arm, unable to stop the shit-eating grin that works its way onto your face. “Hey. When did you get home?”

“Hey yourself,” he answers, poorly hiding a bemused smirk behind Baccarat crystal. “I just got in.”

That much was clear, even though his briefcase and coat had already been cleared away from the table in the entranceway, and his suit jacket draped over the back of a barstool. “Are you going out?” He lowers the tumbler and leans against the counter, but still keeps it close, one finger sliding along the rim. 

“Yeah,” you approach Kendall cautiously. “...did you get my text? I thought I’d get ready here, we’re going to that place around the corner.”

He’d given you a key to his flat, even though the relationship was still pretty new – but decidedly not that new, given your history. Things were still moving quickly though, if you compare him to your past flings.

Kendall’s eyes close briefly in recognition, his brows pulling together as though he is scolding himself. “Oh, uh-huh, yeah….right.” It’s then, and in closing the space between you, that his haggard appearance becomes clear. You’re one of few who would probably even notice it. To the untrained eye his white dress shirt is impeccable, crisp and stark as usual – save for the lack of cufflinks, which you notice he’s discarded on the counter alongside his drink. His tie is still fastened tightly around his neck in a perfect half-Windsor. But salt and pepper stubble is sprinkled across his jawline, faint red hazy in the whites of his amber eyes. 

Work has consumed him in the last few weeks. It’s been nonstop. And he is still home earlier than you have expected, even though the sun had gone down long ago.

Kendall’s hand wraps around your waist and you lean against him, accepting his affectionate peck on the cheek. “Hey, honey.” The cedar notes of his cologne, the acidity of the vodka on his breath, and the weight of his arm around you makes your stomach flip, even as he draws back, releasing you so he can sit on a barstool. It’s probably for the better, as the impulse to throw yourself into his arms and abandon your plans will become impossible to resist if you don’t leave soon.

It would be a lie to say his career hasn’t put a strain on things lately. Business trips, dinner meetings, weekend conventions all seem determined to keep him away from you. For the past few weeks, you’ve been deprived of him, forced to accept only minutes of his time – mostly sweet nothings and apologies whispered as falls into bed beside you, then presses of his lips on your cheek, still half-asleep in the early hours of the morning as he leaves the next day. You have been forced to savor those moments, even though they are hardly substantial. But you know yourself, you aren’t better off with someone else. He has always been what you wanted.

Still, lately you have been thinking about all his failed past relationships. There is certainly a…pattern. You’ve seen enough, and sometimes it feels like you are purposely ignoring the signs – Watch Your Step!, before falling into a pit of daggers. 

He needed a break or he’d burn out, but you’ve learned when to bite your tongue and save those suggestions for when you are sure they won’t erupt. And you both aren’t always good at keeping arguments good-natured. 

Kendall shifts in his chair so he can look you up and down – this time up close. “Is this what you’re wearing out?”

“Uhhhh, yeah,” you answer hesitantly, feeling your face heat up. 

“Turn around,” his resting facial expression is already kind of indignant, but you can tell right now that he’s definitely frowning. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says. “I want to see.”

You shrug, but obey, unable to hide the way your lips quirk when you are back facing him again, hands on your hips. All you have to do is read the look on Kendall’s face to know that he doesn’t approve. And even though there is no way in hell you are going to change, the slight blaze in his narrowed eyes makes you think this is about to become a controversy. 

“Do you have a problem?” you ask, feigning innocence, glancing down at the getup. The red dress barely covers your ass – is far more revealing than anything you’d normally wear, accompanied by stiletto heels that lace up your calves. Sure, it’s a lot, but you look good, and you’re going out. 

“You’ll definitely be getting a lot of attention,” he conveniently doesn’t answer your question.

If you weren’t wearing lipstick, you would’ve bit your lower lip to keep your composure. Instead, you tilt your head and give him a coy smile. “You should come with me.” 

Kendall glances down at the countertop and shakes his head, the comment causing him to drop the subject of your attire entirely. “I can’t. I’ve got a meeting first thing.” To be fair, he avoids the club scene most of the time, so it’s not a well-thought-out offer. Too much temptation. “But you look good,” he concedes. 

“A work meeting on a Saturday?” you ask, ignoring the compliment. “Fuck,” you reach to take a sip from his tumbler. The vodka he keeps here is always chilled to perfection, so smooth it tastes like it’s melting off a glacier. “It’s that bad?”

He takes the beverage from your hand when you return it, shrugging before throwing the rest back, then standing to pour another. “Just the usual, la-dee-fuckin-dah….corporate bullshit.”

You frown and stare at your shoes, flexing your foot and inspecting its soles.

“Those heels don’t look very comfortable,” he remarks as he passes you.

“They aren’t.”

“Well then I’ll guess I’ll have to take you shopping to replace them.”

You feel yourself flush. “Let me know when you can fit me in your schedule.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kendall ignores your jab, changes the subject. “How’s your job?”

“Same as yours. La-dee-fuckin’-dah corporate bullshit,” you repeat his words from earlier, lowering your voice slightly to mimic his cadence of speaking. 

The sound of his warm chuckle makes your stomach flip again. “You want me to, uh, pour you one?”

“No, I should probably get going.” You sigh, pulling out your phone to text your friends that you are running behind, and you hear the clink of ice against crystal.

Then, his voice, deep and husky, directly against your ear. “Who’re you texting?”

You jolt in surprise at his sudden proximity.  “Fuck! Sorry,” you clear your throat. “Uh….the group chat.”

Kendall’s arm reaches past you to place his drink on the counter, and you feel his fingertips brush the hair away from the nape of your neck. Then, his lips follow, pressing there gently, his thumb trailing down your arm and then back up again. You shiver at the contact, and it dawns on you how touch-deprived you are.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against sensitive skin. His hands land on your shoulders and begin to knead at the taut muscles there. You try to keep yourself tense, even as you feel your phone slipping out of your hands, the drafted text all-but forgotten.

But instinctually, you shift backwards to feel the weight of his chest pressed against you.“You’re all wound up,” Almost chastising. Every part of your body below your bellybutton clenches. It’s those hands, his hands. Hands that used to wrap around your throat, thread into your hair, hold your wrists in place. Pin you down, spread you open…. While you think about them, you let him work at the tension that he is partially responsible for, nodding and letting out a long exhale.

“Just a little.”

“When are you gonna quit that job?” he asks you.

You first, you want to say, but let the retort die before it could leave your mouth. “Hmmmmm,” you pretend to mull it over, but you’re only half-aware of things he’s saying to you. “I don’t know.” 

“What kind of uh, feminist would I be if I let a girl as hot as fucking you have to worry about a job?”

You can’t help but snort, turning your head so his forehead bumps against your own. “Is that how feminism works?” 

“Uh-huh,” he chides, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Fucking whatever. I wish you’d just let me look after you.”

You are unable to find your voice to answer, because you remember through your needy haze that you are running late, and when he says things like that, it certainly doesn’t help you regain composure. It’s only after you straighten, trying to pull yourself out of the trance he’s worked you into, that you discover how close he has pinned you to the countertop.

“Ken-” you try to protest, but the way it comes out sounds more like you’re pleading.

“What is it?” Kendall asks, returning his lips once more to your neck, beginning to work them tenderly up the column of your throat, which makes it impossible for you to finish the rest of the objection. “I’ve missed you so much,” he pulls you back against him by your waist.

“Me too,” you sigh. “But I-,” you’re cut off when he grinds against you, already half-hard, and your pelvis hits the granite lip of the countertop. It hurts, just for a second, but the pain is quickly replaced by warmth. Kendall pulls his hands away and you’re only held in place by his hips, the metal of his belt buckle cool against your sacrum. The dress you’re wearing is so thin it feels like there’s nothing separating him from your bare skin. 

“You what?” he prompts when you remain silent. You know him well enough to hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face, and his nails rake up and down your arms.

It’s a little petty, but you are hesitant to give yourself over so easily to him. To abandon your evening, just because he’s finally decided to see you at a reasonable hour. Of course, if your friends knew you were late because you were with him, they wouldn’t care. Kendall had been a well-kept secret until it was impossible to deny his existence in your life. But they were all a little too supportive of the relationship, since it meant they suddenly had guaranteed access to any club VIP section - and you perpetually pick up the bill. Not to mention the first-class, luxury accommodations they get on girls trips. 

There was more to it than just being late, though. You had always been willing to do anything for him, even before you were dating. He told you to jump, you asked how far? He gave you one pleading look from underneath those thick lashes – and you folded. And Kendall is very aware that he’s your weakness. So you constantly try to convince him otherwise, lest he get too comfortable. And really, after his neglectful behavior, did he really deserve you without any opposition?

“Kendall,” you manage to turn slightly. “I’m going to be late.” Wriggling some more in his grip, but it’s only enough to bring you face-to-face, looking up into his stormy eyes. 

He studies you carefully, like he might let you leave if he senses enough conviction. “I don’t care.”

You might’ve laughed, if it weren’t for how stern he sounds. It almost scares you. Almost. Hoping to soften him, you fit your thumb into the dimpled fabric of his tie, and use it to drag him forward, offering a tender kiss on his cheek. Returning the embrace, his stubble scratches your face as he smiles against you. He reaches behind you for another sip of his drink and his unoccupied hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass through the silky fabric. 

You are burning, fire licking up your arms, your neck, your face. It’s too much, to have him so close and not be able to have him. All the tension building with nowhere for it to go. When he pulls back, you lean forward.

It’s a little rough at first, because you are so desperate, tasting the vodka, drawing his bottom lip between your teeth. Kendall is the one who softens you, cradles your jaw to draw you closer, opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, so deliberate and practiced that you’re unable to speak when he pulls away. 

“Tell me something,” full lips so close to yours that they brush your own when he speaks, your eyes fluttering shut. His touch coasts up your sides, up your arms, landing on your shoulders. “Who are you showing off for in this?” Kendall hooks his pointed finger around a spaghetti strap of your dress, and lets the elastic snap back against your skin. You savor the sting it leaves behind.

Admittedly, there’s a third reason why you’re being so withholding. He’s so spoiled, so used to getting what he wants, whenever he wants it. Not just from you. And when he doesn’t get it, he becomes petulant, fiery. You’ve learned that if you piss him off just enough, you don’t have to ask him to fuck you within an inch of your life. He just does. 

So, you decide to poke the sleeping bear, shrugging and crossing your arms like it’s nothing, giving him a demure smile. “You wouldn’t know him.”

Kendall’s nostrils flare as his hand rises to grip your jaw – tightly. “Uh-huh.” Even if you’re only joking, the very idea of you dressing up at all – let alone like that –  for anyone except himself, pisses him off.  “Fuck you.”

“You’d like to, wouldn’t you?” you try to keep your voice even, but it sort of loses the steadiness you were hoping for when he hooks a finger behind your knee, dragging it up across the expensive, soft wool of his slacks to peg around his hip.

The bruising kiss that answers is clearly intended to erase the smug look on your face, and it works – your breath hitching, the hand on his tie tugging him closer. Kendall seems to speak without saying anything at all, grabbing your opposite thigh and lifting until you are perched on the edge of the countertop.

It’s getting real, but you still haven’t decided if you are actually going to stick around. The way he looks right now, however, swings the pendulum farther into the side of staying in – red lipstick left behind on his cheek, shirt wrinkled, tie hanging loosely around his neck. You wanted to make him look even more wrecked. 

Kissing him again, his hands begin to roam, tugging the dress off your shoulders and freeing your tits. “Shit,” He dips his head to sloppily mouthing at the newly exposed skin. “Knew you weren’t wearing a fuckin’ bra.”

“Ken,” you squirm when he latches onto one of your nipples, pinching the other between two fingers. “I really need to get going.”

“Not yet,” he hums, the vibration of his voice against your skin makes the space between your legs ache. “If you’re going to go out in this fucking dress,  I don’t want you to forget who you belong to.”

You squirm in his grip – not because you want to get away from him – but because you want to see if he’ll pin you in place, be even rougher. He does. He is. “Stop that. This isn’t a fucking negotiation.”

Well, okay.

He kneads into your thighs now, one of his hands dipping beneath the skirt of your dress that’s already so short he’s only an inch or so away from your already-soaked panties. 

“Fuck,” You tilt your head back to look at the ceiling, like you might find some self-control there, some will to resist him, but it’s about as cold and uninspiring as the rest of the apartment. “Please.”

Kendall lets out a dark chuckle,  pushing aside your thong and brushing his knuckles against your damp cunt. He loves to tease, and right now is no exception. His touch isn’t enough to satisfy, so you press yourself forward to seek it out yourself. You don’t dare meet his eyes, which you can feel are watching you intently, admiring how you keen and arch and whimper in frustration. Still, you aren’t quite ready to beg. 

Thankfully, you don’t have to. Without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you, groaning as he does, his thumb finding your clit.

“Yes, Kendall, that’s–” you don’t finish the thought because you aren’t entirely sure what you actually have to say. His digits curl, attentive, practiced – tuned in to  exactly what you like, what you need.  You grip at the fabric of his shirt that’s bunched around his elbows. Despite how intense meeting his gaze right now will be, you turn to look at him anyway, surprised by the affection and warmth you find in his eyes. 

“You try so hard not to be,” he says while he continues to stare you down. “But you’re always so fucking good for me.”

Your stomach flips, partly in shame, partly because of how good it’s always felt to be seen by him. Throbbing around him, feeling your pleasure build, but he withdraws his fingers from you before it can crest. An embarrassing noise leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut. 

The clink of his belt unbuckling immediately snaps you back to reality, and you hike your dress further up your hips, shimmying out of your thong. It’s pitiful, the way you don’t want to delay any longer the feeling of him inside you. 

He strokes himself in his hand, lines his cock up, and pushes a piece of hair off your face. 

“You want me?” he asks, and you bob your head enthusiastically. “Tell me, then.”

“I want you, Kendall. Please, I want you so bad.” 

“Yeah you do,” he mutters, and wastes no time jerking forward to enter you. 

Though you’d had him plenty of times you never could quite get used to the feeling – he’s big, of course, and it’s always electric, the blood in your veins buzzing, your hands tightening on his shoulders. 

“Relax, honey,” Kendall says, feeling the way your body tenses at the intrusion, placing a hand on your sacrum, one between your shoulder blades to steady you.

He presses his hips forward until they are flush against your own, bottoming out inside you, pausing. It’s welcome at first, a chance to catch your breath, to let out a shuddery exhale - temporarily appeased by the way your cunt stretches to accommodate him, and he’s so close to you after so much time spent away. You’re embarrassed at how badly you’ve needed this, how reliant on him you’ve become, but he always feels so good. 

Kendall stays still for long enough that you grow frustrated, and you use his tie to pull him closer, loosening the knot and rutting against him until he presses his thumb into the crease of your hip and thigh so hard you are forced to stop. Once you do, he starts to move, thrusts slow but deep, lips pressing hastily between panting breaths. 

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” he laments.

Despite everything, you can’t help but talk back. “You don’t say?”

Kendall doesn’t like that at all, his hips snapping at a punishing pace, which seems more like a reward than anything else, his hand clasping your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at him. 

“Don’t speak to me like that,’ he warns.

An involuntary, low moan leaves you. It’s overwhelming – always is. You aren’t used to sex with someone you feel so connected to, or with a lover who is so attentive to your needs, who effortlessly strikes a perfect balance between rough, passionate, and tender. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, anxious to run your hands through the smattering of hair on his chest, feel the warmth of his skin under your palms. Even if it’s not possible, you want to be closer to him. Needy. So needy. You’ve heard it from him before, and would probably hear it again. He is right, and in moments like this, you can never bring yourself to care. You like it.

He’s watching you so intently, and the rest of the city might as well be too. He basically lives in a fishbowl, you’re surrounded by windows that offer panoramic views of the glittering lights of the city. The only reason you have any privacy at all is because of just how high up you are, no one else can actually see you right now. Even if they did, what could possibly happen? Kendall loves to take advantage of this – he’s taken you up against the cold glass windows, has let you sink to your knees in front of him out on his balcony. 

“What are you gonna tell your friends when they ask why you were so late tonight?” he asks. “Gonna tell them you were letting me spread you open on the fucking counter?”

“God,” you stutter out, always shocked by the things that come out of his mouth when takes you like this, voice deep and firm, enunciating each syllable like he’s giving a speech – frustratingly collected. It makes you ache that much more. “I missed you,” you whimper, pulling his shirt off his shoulders. As much as you want it fully off, not just hanging loose around his elbows, you don’t want him to release you from the bruising hold he’s got you in. This would have to do. 

“Uh-huh,” Kendall answers by fucking into you even harder, his pelvic bone kissing your clit with every thrust, and your nails etching crescents into his biceps. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

His head falls to your shoulder in a brief moment of humility, lips working on your neck, and you feel your release fast approaching. In moments like these, you don’t doubt how he really feels. He gives it all away, tries his best to make it up to you, and it’s so easy to forgive him.  Kendall’s fist wraps around one of the stiletto heels of your shoes, lifting your leg to hook over his shoulder and drive his cock deeper into you. He’s perfect, feels perfect, there’s no one else who makes you feel the way he does. When his thumb begins to rub delicate circles around your clit, you’re gone.

Your body tenses up for so long, you actually think you might’ve psyched yourself out. And then everything releases. Kendall coaxes you through your orgasm, deep voice muttering things that are either unintelligible or that you wouldn’t dare to repeat out loud, and you cling to him while your cunt pulses in waves. It lasts for a long time, or at least it feels like it does, he slows just to fuck you through it, so you can both savor how good it feels. That’s it. That’s my good fucking girl. When he tries to kiss you, you oblige, but it’s open-mouthed and sloppy since you’re struggling to breathe and can’t stop whispering his name. 

“Ken, you’re so good, it’s so good–”

You know he likes to be praised just as much as you do. He cuts you off with a deep kiss, moaning into your mouth and vibrating every nerve in your body as he follows you over the edge, spurred on by your own release. He buries his cock inside you as deep as he can, you feel warm and full and complete. 

For what feels like a few minutes, you remain tangled with one another, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the soft puffs of his breathing against your skin, which is now damp.

Eventually, he draws back, kisses your cheek and tucks himself back into his underwear. You pull the straps of your dress back into place and when you push yourself off the counter, realize your legs are trembling and you wobble.

Kendall reaches to steady you. “Go sit down,” he squeezes your arm and you barely manage to stumble to his couch before you’re slumping against the cushions and struggling to unlace the strappy heels you’ve still got on. 

He joins you a moment later, placing a glass of cold water on the coffee table and kneeling to help you out of your shoes. You can only imagine what you must look like, because he looks disheveled, shirt still hanging open, pants unbuttoned, your lipstick still smudged on his cheek. Exhausted as you are, it makes you want him all over again. 

He settles next to you, pulls you to his chest, and you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning up to whisper softly in his ear. “Ken,” he turns his head slightly, cheek pressed against your forehead. “I love you.” 

From this angle you can only see the corner of his eyes, the way they crinkle as he looks down bashfully, eyelashes nearly touching his cheeks at your admission, words he so rarely has heard before. Words you have vowed to repeat until he believes you – because sometimes you think he doesn’t. Still, he answers. “I love you, too.” You close your eyes a moment, your heart rate returning to normal, and take in one final deep breath. Content. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your friends,” Kendall says eventually, hands in your hair, tugging gently so you’ll look up at him. 

“Right,” you nod. “Honestly, I don’t know if I even want to go out anymore.”

“But you got all dressed up,” he smirks.

“Look where it got me.”

He laughs. “Uh-huh. You knew what you were doing what you fucking put that shit on.”

You don’t deny it, feeling your cheeks grow warm. It’d be too easy to stay with him, to slide across his lap and kiss him until he takes you again. But your phone dings on the counter, and you know you can’t abandon your friends entirely. You sigh, pulling away from Kendall and looking him in the eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” he encourages. “I’ll wait up for you.”