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chaithetics · 2 months

Note

hey I had an idea for a stewy fic! Maybe it’s Roy!reader who gets scared on their wedding day (bc they’re a Roy and are not used to love) and stewy comforts them beforehand? I don’t know if that makes sense haha

Roy-ful Wedding Jitters

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Roy Reader

Word count: 2.1K

Author's note: Ah! I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry for how long this was in my inbox. I owe you big time and I'm getting around to the older requests, I really hope you love this and it was worth the note! Not proofread so do enjoy y'all! I think this is ending the biggest gap between fics I've had so I'm sorry, love you all! Also, wear sunscreen!

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established relationship, anxiety, not the best self-esteem, Roy childhood dynamics, mild cursing.

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It was a peaceful morning, or it should’ve been, it was a peaceful-looking morning at least. Well peaceful as long as you didn’t look in a mirror and see the fear in your eyes or the growing shake in your hands. The weather was perfect, it was sunny and beautiful but it wasn’t too hot and even though you shouldn’t say it, if somebody forgot to wear sunscreen for a couple of hours, they’d get off burn-free.

This day had been perfectly chosen, the location, venue, color scheme and of course, the weather to ensure it was the perfect location at the perfect time. Just as everything was when the Roy name was attached and you had a casual perfectionist like Stewy Hosseini as your groom. Your wedding day had been carefully curated as if it were an exhibition at the most pretentious and lauded of museums and galleries. The receipts, emails, and photos could be packaged like Sofia Coppola’s Archive and sold as another overpriced coffee table book that wouldn’t get touched beyond the hands of the wealthy at a ridiculous launch event.

Despite the sheer perfection of this intimate Italian wedding, you were shaking slightly and there had been a ball of dread growing in your stomach the moment that woke you up. The kind of almost nausea you had that was pre-flying anxiety whenever you had a flight, the one that means you don’t eat the morning of and then feel even more nauseated later because of that.

You rub your eyes and look at him, sleeping blissfully, completely ignorant of the shitstorm swirling inside of his bride. You’re still feeling anxious. Anxious to be this vulnerable in front of another human being, to be so vulnerable on an intimate level. Love is a weakness, a desire, and you’re declaring in front of everyone and legally that this person, this man holding you right now is your weakness. It’s terrifying.

You get out of bed and start to pace as you think about how you’re just as cursed as everyone else in your family and all their doomed relationships that were infertile for love and how nobody in the Roy family ever got the memo of what a healthy relationship is. You start to anxiously scratch your neck as you come to the conclusion that just like everything else in your life, this day is doomed. It’s cursed in fact! You can’t help but think.

Unsure of whether to scream, run away or cry you look around the room. You even think about climbing out of the window of the suite… Why are you thinking this when there’s a door. A goddamn door you could just climb out of! You facepalm yourself and mutter under your breath how stupid you are. These feelings are very real and it’s definitely not a trauma response or form of self-sabotage you think to yourself.

Stewy wakes up and you hear him whisper that it’s because of your pacing as he looks at you with sleep still in his eyes and his hair handsomely but messily tousled from sleep. It’s only then that you realize that you had been pacing.

“I need something to drink… juice… fruit juice.” You said as you paced around the room.

“Fruit juice…?” Stewy asked curiously, he’d only just woken up and he was trying to keep track with the frantic rambling while also calming your nerves.

“Yeah, fruit juice!” You said it almost defensively and then tried to take a deep breath but the oxygen wouldn’t go all the way down to the pit of your stomach like it should. “Your body absorbs glucose quicker through liquids than solids. ” You added on in a less defensive tone.

“Um…okay?” Stewy was feeling more confused as he watched you. “Are you going to explain the difference between veins and arteries to me next?” He asked in a curious and gentle tone with a slight inflection of amusement.

“Maybe my blood sugar’s low.”

“Low? Your blood sugar? Are you okay?” Stewy’s voice was more concerned now and his face reflected that as his eyes widened and he tilted his head. Stewy quickly poured a drink and handed it to you, you drank it immediately while pacing with your back to him.

“Maybe today is cursed?” “It’s not cursed, hon-” “But,” you cut him off. “Look at us, we’re sleeping in the same suite, same bed. I woke up as the little spoon Stew. It’s breaking tradition, bad luck, curse-” “That’s like not even a superstition, you’re not wedding superstitious.” He says as he runs a hand through his dark curls.

“Maybe I should’ve been? This is-” “Honey, it’s a tradition. An outdated one that just doesn’t reflect modern relationships anymore. We live together. Kinda defeats that whole thing, that was when couples didn’t live together, it was arranged marriages and you met at the altar.” “I know.” You whisper, and you do.

“Fortunately for us, that’s not our situation at all.” He smiles at you and you sigh as you look around, this hasn’t done anything for your anxiety yet though.

“Did you ever think that-that… that well, anxiety is like a parasite-” You start to say before he cuts you off.

You’re just taking turns doing it now, he cuts you off to reassure you and then you cut yourself off to catastrophize more. What a morning of the wedding day dynamic you’ll think about in 5 years. “No, I haven’t but-” Stewy sounds mildly flabbergasted but he’s still trying. “And I had this parasite left in me, that they didn’t even know to take out when I was born. An awful little parasite of the parasitic qualities of my parents and it just ate away… fed and grew during every fucking developmental stage Stewy.” “You don’t have a parasite.” He’s being soft and genuine with you as he speaks through all of the worst fears your spitting out at him right now.

“No, I’ve become the parasite, the poison drips through and it trickled right into feeding and I’m… I’m just like him. I don’t want to be Stew, but I am.” There’s a desperation in your voice but also a resolution. “You’re nothing like your father. Right now, you share his last name and that is it. You are not him and you are not doomed to repeat the cycle.” Stewy says as he looks into your eyes.

“I’m a parasite and I’m just consumed… I’m going to latch onto you and just ruin you and this is just going to become miserable Stewy. I’m a Roy, it’s just…it’s just how it works. Look at my parents. My dad and his marriages. My dad and every relationship he’s had.” You say as you frantically run your fingers through your hair.

“Again, you’re not your dad. And you’re not your mother. We’re not your parents or any other weird item they’ve been a part of.” He says as he steps closer to you and tries to gently caress your arms.

“You get rid of parasites through antiparasitics and antibiotics, not marriage! That’s li-like… that’s like signing away your life for the parasite to chew on!” You spit out nervously.

“Good thing you’re not a parasite and you can’t marry them. And also for medicine existing.” Stewy says, he puts on a warm smile and his eyes glow as he tries to reassure you. “You’re okay babe, you’re okay. Just talk to me, just some jitters? What’s going on?”

His voice is so gentle as always and perfect. The way he speaks is just warm and inviting, like a cosy bath you just want to sink into and forget about everything in. His stupidly perfect voice just always had a way of making you melt, whether that was when he was trying to reassure you at your breaking point (right now), flirting with you and even when he was talking Wall St finance bro jargon and rubbish.

You took a deep breath and looked at him, your eyes were watery.

“Fuck…Now my eyes are watery and I’m going to get scolded for being puffy when they do make up, Stew.” You wiped your eyes and Stew quickly pulled you into his arms again and you rested your head against his chest as you tried to breathe.

“Some deep breaths honey, I love you and you love me.” He rubs your back gently in a comforting pattern and you take some deep breaths as you keep your face pressed against his comforting warmth.

“I do love you.” You whisper against his chest, you’re feeling a bit calmer now and enjoying the circular motions of how he’s gently caressing your back. Your words bring a smile to his face which you don’t see.

“Uh-huh, that’s why we’re getting married. We love each other lots, and always will. I haven’t seen the dress but I know you’re going to look smoking.” He says sweetly but the playful tone is evident and it makes you smile a little.

There’s still a feeling of terror dwelling inside of you but it’s easing up a bit, you look at him Stewy and you can’t help but be that scary thing, the thing your siblings run from and your father scolds, but vulnerable.

“What if I fuck it all up? That’s all… That’s all that Roys seems to be able to do.” You say sadly as you look up at him, you love him and it’s all you want to do.

Stewy gently caresses your face, his soft fingertips dancing across your cheek and he smiles adoringly.

“Well, it’s a good thing that in a few hours you’ll be a Hosseini.” You both let out a small chuckle at that and your eyes get a little teary at how he knows just how to disarm you perfectly with his big brown eyes, and his sweet and silly humour. “But even if you weren’t,” he adds on tenderly. “It doesn’t mean you’re the people before you, or your siblings. This isn’t bad, this doesn’t make you weak. It’d be such a lonely life if you never let anyone in, honey. Nobody deserves to feel the kind of loneliness you think you deserve because you grew up with that man and never experienced the love you deserved. That wasn’t normal or your fault. You’re worth love, you let me in and I love you. I loved you before you did and I love you even more now, and I’m just going to keep loving you.” His words are earnest and you can’t help but become even more tearier. It’s not from self-doubt or self-hate like it was before. Instead it’s from being so seen and loved by Stewy. Having someone reassure your worries and reactions, confrontations to being loved. Something that’s just so, so, so, so foreign to the Roys.

You look up at his big beautiful brown eyes and you see that he means every word he’s just said. He’s still hugging you but he caresses your cheek with one hand and you let out a content sigh at that.

“I’m sorry for… for this… I’m just… I don’t know, scared and-and you know how it gets sometimes. I love you more than anything though Stewy.” You admit as you lift your hand up to sit on his cheek and feel his always perfectly trimmed beard tickle against your palm and fingertips.

“I know, I know, and I love you.” He says back softly.

You lean and tilt your head and you two kiss, it starts off soft and you can’t help but deepen it as you once again admit to yourself, the all-consuming love you have for him and the need you have for him. The desire and need that is sparked by his simple existence, his cologne, his beard and how it feels against your face and hands, his voice of warm honey on a cold day.

His hand is firmly on your waist and he kisses you back, your hand snakes up to caress and run through his hair and you gasp for air against his lips but you don’t dare to pull away. You love him and you’re happy to have him, so happy. You kiss passionately as you know this is the start of the next milestone, the milestone happening today. He genuinely cares about you and you’re loved and you love, you love him. You’re capable of receiving and giving love and as you kiss your groom in your room before the intimate but big-deal ceremony, you know this is right. This is what’s right and you deserve this.

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wambsgansshoelaces · 2 months

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omg a headcanon like the one you did for tom but for roman snd stewy? the period one i mean !! also gender neutral pls :>

thank you for requesting anon, i love u!!! enjoy xx

really craving pizza bianca rn

on your period (roman + stewy)

Roman

ᝰ has no idea what he’s doing

ᝰ he calls your period a full stop because ‘they’re synonyms lol’ (as his text said)

ᝰ just wants you happy

ᝰ so whenever you’re on your period he just

ᝰ does things for you??

ᝰ makes you breakfast in bed, attempts to pack you a lunch, botches dinner

ᝰ he’s trying at least

ᝰ he usually just settles for buying you whatever you��re craving and letting you lay your head in his lap

ᝰ he strokes your hair, your face, your neck, your back

ᝰ he makes sure you’re feeling good

ᝰ lots of chocolate all the time

ᝰ just so that he can eat it with you

ᝰ if you ever ruin any pants or clothing or even furniture, he replaces it without you knowing

ᝰ “didn’t i throw this pair of pants out last week?” you ask him one time

ᝰ “i got you a new one, don’t worry about it.”

ᝰ if you suffer with cramps or any sort of chronic illness regarding your reproductive health, he’s always quietly concerned

ᝰ “you sure it doesn’t hurt? you should tell me if it hurts.”

ᝰ keeps track of how long in between painkillers your pain returns

ᝰ makes you try a bunch of homemade remedies he googled

ᝰ the first time you go on your period while you’re living together, he goes out and buys you a heating pad, a weighted blanket, and a heated blanking thing all at once

ᝰ if you use pads or tampons, he gets really confused when out trying to buy some for you

ᝰ but he’s too embarrassed to ask

ᝰ so when you’re taking a nap he scuttles into the bathroom and takes a picture that he keeps on his phone

ᝰ and then gets the exact ones when he notices you’re running out or you ask him

ᝰ this man bullies the doctors that don’t listen to you

ᝰ like he is well known with the endocrinologists and gynecologists in the are as a nusiance

ᝰ and lowkey an asshole

ᝰ but it’s all ‘in your honor’ as he says

ᝰ “if they say they’re cramping, they’re cramping. aren’t you supposed to be helpful? how the fuck do you have a medical license?”

ᝰ has gotten kicked out of the appointment many a time

ᝰ but he always waits patiently for you outside

ᝰ and calls corporate like the diva he is

ᝰ has the means to get you the best care

ᝰ and he does get you it

ᝰ “you literally deserve so much more than i can give you. you’re my everything, remember?”

ᝰ “i love you, ro.”

ᝰ “fuck off with that sappy shit…. i love you more.”

Stewy

ᝰ knows enough about periods to be able to help you

ᝰ like he’s knowledgeable enough to cook things he knows your body is in need of during your period of ovulation

ᝰ urges you to work out specifically on your period

ᝰ “it helps clear your head,” he says

ᝰ but if you’re not up to it, he won’t make you

ᝰ maybe just a small walk around outside and he’ll let you just nap

ᝰ but if you even don’t even want to walk, he thinks you’re dying

ᝰ and showers you in affection

ᝰ which he does anyway even if he thinks you’re fine??

ᝰ he’s just dramatic

ᝰ he’s an awfully good cook

ᝰ he loves cooking

ᝰ especially for you

ᝰ he specifically makes you pho for dinner every first day of your period

ᝰ “it clears your sinuses, babe,” he says every single time

ᝰ it does, really

ᝰ he’s really big about the two of you sitting down at the table for meals

ᝰ but if you’re unable because of your period, it’s fine with him

ᝰ he bought one of those breakfast in bed trays just for those moments

ᝰ if you struggle with bad cramps or reproductive illness, he’s with you at every single appointment

ᝰ sometimes he even sits next to you on the patient bed

ᝰ he just likes swinging his legs over the side

ᝰ he scrambles off whenever the doctor comes in

ᝰ he’s so subtly evil with bad doctors

ᝰ “oh, i understand it’s your professional opinion, but i also understand this clinic operates solely on donations? huh, and i think those guys whose names are on plaques all over the place are my buddies! you know jeff? i know jeff!”

ᝰ holds your hand through everything

ᝰ pain, ultrasounds, examinations

ᝰ you’re both walking back to the car from a normal check up and he’s swinging your hands back and forth with his

ᝰ “you know, i’ll help you with anything you ask me to.”

ᝰ “thank you, stew. you’re sweet.”

ᝰ “i love you.”

#roman roy #stewy hosseini #roman roy x reader #stewy hosseini x reader #succession #succession hbo #succession x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #anon ask #succession headcanons

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downthewishingwell · 3 months

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Stewy wins @richeeduvie

Images found on Pinterest

#stewy hosseini x reader #storyaesthetic #stewyhosseini #succession fanfic

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shivsdownstairsneighbour · 8 months

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Closer - End of the Line

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Fem. Reader Description: You get hired for a photoshoot with the man behind Maesbury Capital for a GQ-style magazine. Shooting is often all about the price. Rating: General/Teen Word Count: 2.8k AN: Hope you enjoyed it as much as it to ideate it! All photos from which I drew inspiration were done for the GQ article and the NYT article. Props to Erik Tanner and Derrick Leung for giving everyone a vision.

You arrive to the studio just in time to start setting up the equipment and doing test shots to determine the flash intensity. The magazine gave you a list of shots that you would be best to prepare for the feature. The videocall with the stylist was a good opportunity to start making up an idea of what the vibe was going to be with the outfits. You decided it would be best to approach the shoot with some Black and Whites, focus on lighting and keep the backgrounds simple. The man in question was running late and, while you were comfortable with the conceptual proposal for Flux, you didn’t know how at ease the subject would be with trying more artsy pictures and not the classic Bloomberg profile portrait.

“Hey! So, it might take him at least another 20 minutes to arrive. Are you booked after this?”

“Not really, I would’ve just appreciated to be able to finish early so I could get the contacts back to you today.”

“You have until tomorrow night, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

You were starting to get bored so, in the meantime, you Google a little more about your subject to see if that gives you any additional hints on how to relax him in front of the camera. The headlines were a mixture of financial press and good old classic gossip. On the financial side, Maesbury Capital was almost as getting a visit from the Grim Reaper confirming you were a dead man walking. His word made the difference between a lifeline or the dissolution of whatever you had going for your company. The pictures were classical portraits with him sitting in front of the camera, not doing much aside from looking straight into the lens.

The gossipy headlines were from years past. They portrayed a youth where there were frequent clubbing outings with models, socialites, and actresses around. Some shots were almost from 12 years ago and, while paparazzi would always be pesky with those under the spotlight, he seemed to be out of that circle and into galas. He looked good without the beard during his youth and, in his 20’s, he must’ve been quite the player in the NYC clubbing scene. In either case, he was favored by the camera, so that was not going to be hard to replicate.

In the meantime, you were blasting some rock and pop songs, testing the waters of what could work best to set a mood. You started to bop to some of the songs when the knock on the door alerted you of the arrival of the man of the hour.

“Mr. Hosseini, let me introduce you to our photographer for the day.” He went on to shake your hand as you introduced yourself. “She’ll walk you through the plan as we have two outfits planned.”

He was handsome indeed and he matched the description of both gossipy and financial news. Bloomberg and People agreed on his presence being imposing and how he could command any room he walked into. The one he shouldn’t be able to control was precisely yours as you were the lead during the session, but it would remain to be seen as the pause between your introduction and your next sentence showed a crack in the process.

“Yes! So, we will start with the lighter pictures, making use of the set we have here.” You said, pointing to the indoor area with the flash rig you had created. “And then, once you’ve change to the second outfit, we move outdoors, and we try some high contrast stuff.”

“Okay.” He said, looking at the set as he was processing the brief, before looking at you. “Where do you want me now?”

“Dead center of the set, please.” You were determined to take back your shoot, so as the make-up crew were finishing some final touches once he was under the lights, you took a couple of sips of your coffee to ground you back to reality.

He was sitting, in perfect composure waiting for your instructions. You stood beside him with the exposure meter angled to his face to get a reading for setting up the camera. The proximity gave you a whiff of his perfume. A luscious fragrance, mixing some strong hints of coffee and cigars. The session would get increasingly harder to control if you were going to keep getting distracted with anything pertaining him.

“I’ve always wondered what that is.” He asked, searching for your eyes.

“Exposure meter” You responded, looking chill outside, cancelling the train of thought coming from that gaze inside. “We wouldn’t want to have you look like a ghost on the pictures.”

“Is it even possible?”

“Today, yes. We’re shooting black and white.”

“Any particular reason for that?”

“I think it gives a more intimate, timeless vibe to the shots.” He smirked, seeming pleased with your response.

Picking up your camera gave you back the sense of control you needed. You configure it to the meter readings and started shooting some pictures to confirm everything was according to plan. He looked dazed by the first couple of flashes but regained the composure by the final practice shot. He was a natural in front of the camera, as the third shot was already useful.

“We’re now set to begin Mr. Hosseini. We’ll go for a bit of a chat to get some candid shots, and for others I’ll ask you to pose for the camera.” He nodded affirmatively. “Any questions or music requests?”

“Yes, one.” You raised your sight from the viewfinder. “It’s just Stewy if we’re going get intimate with this.”

“Alright then.” You shield yourself with the camera to hide the hints of blush that appeared after the statement. “Stewy, would you mind angling yourself ¾ for me?”

The initial pose was awkward, but after showing with your body that you were expecting his torso to be in profile with the face angled more towards the camera than out of frame, he started nailing your vision.

“First question, where are you from?” You asked, standing in front of his seat, at eye level from him, and safely shielded away from any direct contact with the camera between both of you.

“Originally, Iran, though I should count myself as a New Yorker after a lifetime here. You?” You answered with the summarized version of your life. You had made it to New York on an arts scholarship that eventually led to your big shot.

You asked him to keep the body posture and change facial angles, but this outfit seemed to be running its course faster than expected. He also seemed to be out of his element with the jacket open, showing the shirt. You asked for a 5-minute pause to check how they were coming along. One was useful, but the rest were giving you very little to work with.

“Are you comfortable with this?” You asked, pointing at the open jacket.

“I can be if you ask me to.” He says, testing the waters with how far he can go with subtle comments.

“It doesn’t work that way. I want you to be you, not business you.” You were probably too in control to notice he was trying to flirt. However, that didn’t matter as you were feeling stressed about the lack of potential in the initial shots.

He started closing the jacket and you snapped pictures of the process. As he was settling the collar, he was getting dazed by the number of shots you were trying to milk out of the process.

“Hey, hey” He tried to get your attention. “Is this really necessary?”

“Everything can be good material.” You said, trying to appear more serious than what was needed from behind the camera.

“Can we pause for a minute?” He said, playfully trying to grab the camera lens. “I’m getting blinded here.”

You pull the camera down, to find him standing closer than what you expected. You get a renewed whiff of the perfume, now having interacted with the leather jacket.

“Is this how it’s supposed to go? You were so relaxed before.” Stewy looks intently at you, leaving the distance of the camera in your hands be the only thing separating you two.

“I’m sorry about that but I need you to do your thing, without minding me, for the candids.” This made you pull your guard down and steal a glance from him being so close. The little glimpses of grey in his beard suited him so well.

“Can I see what I’m doing? Just for reference.”

You show him the monitor with the pictures already taken and give him a few comments. You make a mental note that the candid of him trying to grab the camera is definitely going for final selection. The left side lighting managed to capture the light contrast coming from his streak of grey hair and he looks relaxed. With some additional instructions, Stewy gets the hang of the candids and you repeat a couple of shots with the jacket open.

By now, you’ve learned that he studied at Harvard Business School, quit his rising career in McKinsey for starting Maesbury, and had been to some of the most exclusive bars around. You also start easing behind the camera, letting the atmosphere lighten from your initial absolute grip on the course of the session. He had an imposing presence, but you were guiding how that would translate into the shots.

“I’ll check one final time the monitor, but I think we’ve run this outfit’s course!” You said cheerfully, placing the camera on the table after almost half an hour of continuous shots. Stewy stands behind you, peeking from above the shoulder some of the final outcomes. A playful “No peeking” leaves your lips, making him laugh.

“How can I approve in which I look best if I can’t see them?”

“You won’t. I’m the one getting paid for that.”

“Controlling, I see.” He gave you a side glance before following the styling assistant for the outfit change.

In the meantime, you take a break to gulp the coldest water bottle on sight and start making notes of which pictures you’ll preselect for the contact sheet. You could trace the simultaneous process of you two getting comfortable with your roles. He let go the initial stiffness and you got comfortable directing him. Knowing the next shots were outside, gave you the full confidence you could finish with some quality content. You leave with your camera to the side of the building where the studio was located and start doing some practical shots for adjustment.

While you had seen the outfit pictures from the stylist’s videocall, nothing could prepare you for the final result. If he was looking in control with the first outfit, this one clearly settled who was commanding anything moving forward. The ultramarine blue outfit was doing a number or two on both of you. Stewy was clearly on his element, an impeccable tailored suit, giving him an almost regal look. The blue contrasted with the darkness of his hair and eyes and was ultimately elevated with a watch on a matching color. You were dreading to go with the exposure meter because every step tempted you more towards touching at least the suit lapels.

Standing in front of him, you got it close enough to his face to get the reading and exchanged a determined glance. You were not about to lose it so close to the finish line.

“Are you always so stately in your daily life?” You said standing in front of him, holding your ground.

“Do you mean in control?”

“No, stately. The suits, the watches, the whole cold business persona.” You say taking your stance behind the camera, ready to shoot.

“So, you’ve done your research.” He was standing full frontal, fixing his lapels as you started to shoot.

“I’m asking because that’s all the reference shots I had of Stewy the financier.” The lack of an external flash would give him less hints of any incoming shots. While he could put up more resistance to the guidance, you could get other shots, in motion, that otherwise wouldn’t come.

“What do you know about finance?”

“As much to know you’re like a death sentence.” The response made Stewy smirk and try to pierce the distance between the camera and you after your response.

“Some would call it the circle of life.” Something ticked in him, and he was determined to get his way.

“What’s in it for you? Power tripping?” You crouched to get a lower shot, angling towards getting his hands at eye level.

“Money, definitely. And control.”

“Is that why you want to select the shots? Or are you scared of what finance bros will think of this?” You said teasingly, though keeping a serious tone to match the severity with which he was looking.

“What do you want out of this spiel?”

“You.” You punctuated. “Show me you in absolute control.”

The next shots were a blur. No softness in his eyes, pure and unabridged desire to have it all laid at his feet. You try a couple of takes without the suit jacket to impressive results too. The dark background highlighted his greys and enhanced the depth of the blue suit. It made the exposed parts of him become accent pieces on an otherwise monotone setting.

“Is that what you were looking for?” He said once you lowered the camera and placed it across your chest.

“I’ll let the monitor be the deciding factor.” You say before spotting one final potential angle, something to be playful with since you had made none of those shots. “Before we finish, how about you give me one final angle? An extreme close-up if you will.”

Stewy stands by the doorframe, sunlight hitting his left side. You’re standing a step away from him, enough to get the scene in but benefit still from the extreme close-up angle.

“Do you want me to still dominate you?” He asks, his voice soft enough to make it seem an innocent remark despite the angle you’ve recently explored for the other poses.

“I highly doubt you ever were.” You respond, pulling your confidence out while counting on the camera as a shield. Stewy raises his hands, almost as a sign of a faint victory for himself, shooting a smirk from behind them. His eyes, while on the side, are still fixed in you. The confidence of Stewy Hosseini in one picture, you thought.

Once you walk back and plug the camera back to the screen, you start deciding what could work best for the contacts. You’d let the editors decide, but you were already partial on a five-picture set that would be best for the article. He was taken immediately to get changed and finalize the profile, so he didn’t get a peek of the final shots. The last moments outside had really made you see him in what he must incite in people once he walks into a meeting room. You surrender, let things take its course, and put some resistance but as a method for self-preservation more than salvation.

He came out of the dressing room on another stately suit, yet this was the actual one he had been wearing while you were setting up and chilling in the studio. He was wearing a sweater underneath instead of a shirt, giving it a more casual and welcoming presence.

“Do you have anything else to do afterwards?” He said placing a hand on the upper part of your back. Nothing suggestive until, as you two walked towards the studio entrance, the hand started sliding down towards the lower end of it and you were walking beside each other.

“I wasn’t so sure before, but I might now.” His raised eyebrow gives you an open window for proposing what you had in mind. “Have you ever heard of Rhomboid?”

“Do you know anyone?”

“A couple of friends are organizing it.”

“I’ll pick you up.” He handed you his card and you took it with the hand closest to him. “Dinner will be my treat.”

“In that case, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” You stop besides his car, and you hand him one of your business cards from your camera bag.

“Pleasure’s all mine.” As his car goes off into New York traffic you head home ready for a night about town and the new venue your friends scored for this week’s party. You’d have time tomorrow to sort the pictures out. But, tonight, it was all about power dynamics.

#succession #succession fanfic #stewy hosseini #stewy succession #stewy hosseini x reader #succposting #stewy hosseini imagine #arian moayed inspired fic #in a fun world it would've been nice to be in such a position as to do this

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shivroyspantsuit · 9 months

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thinking about doggystyle with Stewy. He would be slamming into you like there was no tomorrow, muttering praises like 'good girl' and 'takin' it so well for me baby'. He'd grip your hair and pull your back up to his chest and whisper absolutely filthy things into your ear.

#reader insert #female reader #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini smut #need him

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 10 months

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Clandestine. Part Three.

It's better this way. At least, that's what you're telling yourself.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female!Roy Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - cursing. allusions to smut. angst. mention of death. quick mention of drug use.

Author's Note - it's here, you guys. part three !! thank you so much for all of the continued love on this series, it makes me so happy. there'll definitely be at least a couple more parts after this one, so don't worry!! i'm a sucker for a happy ending ;)

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Part One. Part Two. Series Masterlist.

Main Masterlist. Inbox.

"-and I know it's a fuckin' tough challenge, but I think we can do it. We've got people on our side, and I got a call from Lawrence this morning - I'm gonna see if I can convince him. So, we definitely need you in that fuckin' meeting."

Silence.

"Are you even fucking listening to me? Hello?"

"... What?"

"I said, we need you at the Board Meeting this afternoon. Kendall made me promise I'd show up with you."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Roman looks you up and down carefully, brows quirked in curiosity.

"The fuck is going on with you? You've been super weird these last couple of weeks."

That confirms your suspicions that Kendall hasn't told anyone about that day at Stewy's apartment. You were wondering if he had, nervously trying to play detective around your siblings.

"I'm just... tired. I'm fine. Don't worry about me, okay?"

Roman doesn't look convinced, but nods anyway.

"Just... you know, I, uh - I'm... I'm here. If you need me. You know that, don't you?"

You smile softly at his awful attempt at affection.

"I know, Rome. Thank you."

"Come on," he says, jumping from his chair. "We better get to that meeting early, Ken wants to talk strategy."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're sitting silently, heels kicked off, curled up in an expensive leather chair. Kendall and Roman are talking business, the complex jargon going straight over your head. You're in a world of your own, completely detached from your current reality, when you hear it.

Rome says it off hand, not thinking anything of it. You watch as Kendall flinches ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. Your throat tightens, your heart kicks up in your chest. Then, he says it again.

His name.

Stewy.

"I know if you push him the right way, Ken, Stewy is fully on board. We got him, I know we do."

Stewy.

Stewy, Stewy, Stewy.

The word plays on repeat in your mind, like a stuck record. Kendall's eyes flick to you, as if to gauge your reaction, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. You haven't spoke since your argument, deciding that the silent treatment was the best course of action. You know it's torture for Kendall, but you're both stubborn. Neither of you is willing to back down first.

"Uh - yeah, yeah, I, uh, I think, maybe. I think maybe he is. I don't, uh, I don't know."

Rome is oblivious to Kendall's reluctance to speak on the subject, clearly.

"Well, can you fuckin' talk to him? You know you're like the only person in Waystar he'll listen to."

Kendall's eyes are darting between you and Roman frantically. You can read him like a book.

"Yeah, I'll, uh, sure. I'll talk to him."

You scoff under your breath, but he hears it.

"You got something to fuckin' say, Princess? Huh?"

Princess. You haven't heard that one in a while. Your childhood nickname. It started off as a sweet endearment, but now, it's thrown in your face when the boys want to get under your skin.

"Fuck you, Kendall," you bite.

"Uh... Did I miss something?"

"Fuck off, Roman," you and Ken say simultaneously.

Any other day, you'd laugh about saying the same thing at the same time. You'd joke about how in sync you are, how you share one brain. Now, it just makes you infinitely sadder.

You're about to make another sarcastic remark when Sandi and Sandy enter the room, cutting the moment short. You're not sure if you're grateful or spiteful.

One by one, the Waystar Board members file in, taking their seats at the table. You're holding your breath, sitting at the edge of your chair, waiting for the inevitable. You can predict it now, the way you're going to feel when he walks in - chest tight, lungs knotted, fists clenched.

Stewy walks in, and the opposite happens.

You exhale your held breath, and relax slightly. The tension leaves your shoulders for a moment, your lip gets released from in between your teeth. It's like seeing him has cured you, even temporarily. As if he's your own brand of medicine, your personalised prescription.

His eyes catch yours, and you have a silent conversation. So much is said in such a short time.

Hi. Hi. Are you okay? No, are you? No. Not at all.

The room is oblivious to this emotional exchange - except for your older brother. Kendall watches your every move like a hawk. He's trying to figure out if the two of you are still together, still sneaking around behind his back. You haven't spoken to him since he stormed out of Stewy's apartment, meaning he has no idea about the events that occurred after his departure.

The meeting goes off as usual, full of tension and sniped remarks. You don't listen to a word anyone says, too focused on keeping your attention away from Stewy across the table. You're determined not to look at him. You know that if you do, he'll see right through you. He'll know how you really feel. And that is something you're not at all prepared for.

"Okay, well, if no one else has anything they'd like to cover, I think we're done here. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone rises from their places, shaking hands and having quick discussions before leaving through the tall glass doors. You stay put, in no rush to exit. Kendall approaches Stewy, and you watch the exchange with a clenched jaw.

"Hey, uh... can we, like, talk, maybe? I think, yeah, I think we should talk."

Stewy takes a long, hard look at Kendall, before chuckling humourlessly.

"I've got nothing to say to you, man."

Your brother stays stuck in his place, staring at the floor beneath him. As Stewy leaves, he can't resist running his fingers across your shoulders gently. You look back at him, but he's already gone.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Home doesn't feel like home anymore.

Everywhere you look, you're reminded of Stewy.

You're in the kitchen, and all you can think about is the time the two of you slow danced in the middle of the night, slipping and sliding on the tiled floor. There's a half finished bottle of wine on the counter, abandoned in favour of gliding around the room in your socks. Stewy clicks on some low, jazzy music, and pulls you into his arms. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the bathroom, and you can't stop thinking about when the two of you took a bubble bath together, lavender scented steam filling the air. Your back is pressed to Stewy's chest, sitting in between his legs as he massages the shampoo into your hair. He's humming softly, a song his Mother used to sing when he was a child. There's not an ounce of tension in either of your bodies. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the living room, and you can't avoid the memories of curling up with Stewy on the couch. He always lets you pick the movie - sarcastically rolling his eyes at your choices, but never protesting. You sit there for hours, bodies tangled together like two pieces of the same puzzle. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the bedroom, and you can't stop picturing the way that Stewy would take you apart and put you back together again. Before him, all of the sex you had was quick, transactional, impersonal. But it was different with Stewy. With Stewy, it felt like you had all the time in the world. It was tender, loving, connected. He genuinely cared about your pleasure - learning your body inch by inch, memorising it like a sculptor. You allowed yourself, for the first time ever, to let go. You put your soul in his hands with full faith. Lying there, limbs intertwined beneath the soft sheets, there was no doubt in your mind. You belonged somewhere.

And now that safe place is gone.

Home doesn't feel like home anymore, and it's all because of him. You could move at the drop of a hat, find a new apartment tomorrow if you wanted. But you can't. You can't leave all of these memories behind. As painful as they are, they're all you have.

You turn on the TV, and flick to ATN News. They're running a story on a young baseball player that tragically died in a car wreck, aged twenty four. You sit and watch the whole segment, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen. When it ends, you turn it off, and sit in silence.

You sit there for hours, in the quiet, just thinking. About everything. The number twenty four keeps circling around in your head.

He was twenty four. Twenty four years old. He hadn't even got to live properly. Life is so short. Life is so unpredictable. God, anything could happen tomorrow. Twenty four. Twenty four. Twenty four.

You glance towards the clock on the wall, which reads 10:24. It feels like a sign.

All of a sudden, you're sick of waiting. Sick of being told how to live your life. Sick of trying to conform to these ideals that people are placing on you. Fuck them. Life's too short. You have to start living for you.

You're pulling on your shoes and grabbing your keys before you can even process it. You call the number for a car, but no one answers. Fuck it, you'll run across New York City if you have to. If it means you get to hold the man you love in your arms again.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The knocking on the door is so loud, Stewy's half convinced he's about to be murdered. He swings open the heavy oak to be met with the sight of you, looking like you just ran a marathon.

You stand still for a moment, staring at each other, as if you can't believe what you're seeing. You're here, in each others vicinity again. It'd be so easy to reach out and touch him.

So, you do.

You barrel into Stewy, jumping into his arms, throwing yours around his neck. He catches you easily, holding onto you as tight as he possibly can. You wrap your legs around his waist and press yourself even closer, as if to merge both of your bodies into one being.

You breathe him in, and it's the first time you've taken a full breath in weeks. He smells the same as he always did, musky and woody and expensive and yours. He still smells like he's yours.

You don't realise you're crying until you pull away from him slightly, and see the wet spot on his t shirt. He puts you down and closes the door, locking it behind you. He grabs your hand and leads you into the kitchen, parting from you to pour two glasses of wine.

You jump up onto the counter and part your legs, Stewy coming to stand between them instinctively. He places a hand on each of your thighs, warmth seeping through his palms. You're face to face, unsure where to start.

"Baby," he breathes. "What are you doing here?"

He sounds unsure, almost scared. If only you knew how frantically his heart is beating in his chest.

"Life is too short," you reply quickly. "Way too short. I could literally die tomorrow."

Stewy looks at you carefully, brow quirked in confusion.

"Honey, are you on drugs? Because they're really not good for you, you know."

"Says the man who did coke off my ass last month," you tease defiantly.

He fights back a smile, but it curls at the corner of his mouth. You grin at him, hands moving to play with the hair at the back of his neck.

"I'm not on drugs," you reassure. "I was just watching the news, and it kinda put everything into perspective. Life is so short and so fragile. Why am I wasting mine trying to appease my family, who'll never be happy, no matter what I do?"

He smiles at you softly, nodding as you continue.

"I just - my whole life, my brothers have just done whatever the fuck they wanted. Especially Kendall. But I make a choice for me, and all of a sudden I'm the villain? How is that fair?"

"It isn't," he agrees, squeezing your thighs in reassurance. "They're all hypocrites. Do you know how many stupid decisions I've watched Kendall make over the years? They think they know everything, but they don't."

"I mean, look at them. Roman is incapable of affection, Kendall's ex wife hates him, and Connor practically bought Willa. My Dad's on his second wife, not including the countless mistresses he's had. None of them know anything about love. They don't know a thing."

"I think you're the only person in your family capable of love," he chuckles.

"I'm starting to think you might be right," you laugh.

You lean forward and press your forehead to Stewy's, exhaling the tension from your shoulders.

"I'm really sorry," you whisper. "For everything. I treated you horribly, and none of it was your fault."

"It wasn't your fault, either. You know that, right?"

"I don't know. It's so hard to get a view on things when they're happening. But when I took a step back, it gave me a clearer look. And it made me realise something."

"And what's that?" he murmurs.

"I realised that I cannot live a day without you, Stewy Hosseini. I don't want to."

"Thank God," he breathes in a laugh. "I've been going fucking crazy here without you."

You beam a grin at him, so bright it's a wonder that the lights don't shatter.

"I love you, and I won't apologise for it," you confess. "Whatever the consequences are, I'll accept them. Nothing can touch me when I'm loved by you. You're like my own personal armour."

"Man, we're the worst," he laughs. "We could love anyone in the world, and we just had to choose each other."

"I'm gonna choose you everyday, I'm afraid," you tease. "There's no going back now."

"I wouldn't want to," he murmurs. "I don't want to go back."

"Me neither," you whisper against his mouth.

Stewy leans forward and captures your lips with his, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You get completely lost in each other, revelling in the feeling of being back together. You feel like you can finally breathe again. The other half of your heart has returned.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The two of you are tangled among the sheets, limbs intertwined and hands linked. You run your fingertips in mindless patterns over his chest, the sprinkling of hair tickling you, making you smile gently. Stewy's playing with your hair, soothing you softly. His heartbeat is lulling you into tranquility, relaxing you completely. This is paradise, you're convinced. Paradise.

"It can be like this forever, you know," he murmurs into the top of your head, kissing you tenderly.

"I know," you reassure. "And it will be."

Stewy can't stop thinking about the diamond ring still sitting in his nightstand. After your fight, he thought he'd never get to see you wear it. But now he knows he will. And that makes his heart flutter uncontrollably in his ribcage, like technicolour butterflies trying to escape him.

He pulls you impossibly closer, trying to breathe you in. He never wants to let you go. You don't want him to.

"We should tell them," you say suddenly. "Fuck the consequences."

"Are you sure, honey?"

You sit up in bed, looking at him carefully. His hair is mussed, shoulders relaxed, lip bitten between his teeth. He's never looked more beautiful.

"I'm sure. I wasn't, before. I think that's why I tried to push you away - I was trying to force myself into doing something I wasn't ready for. But almost losing you has made me realise that you're it for me, Stewy. You are my first and only choice. You are the only thing I'm sure of."

Stewy's chest swells with emotion, throat tightening, eyes welling. He's determined not to cry, but fuck, he's close.

"Do you know how many times I've dreamt of you saying those words to me?" he chokes out. "I love you. Fuck, I love you so much it makes me ache."

"I love you," you whisper back, cradling his face in your gentle hands. "I love you. I'm never letting you go again. Not ever."

You kiss him softly, basking in the feeling of his lips on yours. You get lost in each other once again, both of you in disbelief at being back in each others arms.

"Let's tell them," you whisper against his mouth. "Fuck the consequences."

"Fuck the consequences," he grins. "It's you and me, baby. You and me against the world."

You feel as if you're floating, levitating, powered by the sheer force of your love. Nothing can touch you. You're invincible, when you're in Stewy's arms.

He knows this is it. This is the moment. He makes his decision, and reaches his arm out to open the top drawer of this nightstand. His pulse quickens, body practically vibrating with anticipation. As he pulls it open, your phone rings, the shrill tone piercing through your peace.

You go to decline it, but notice that it's Connor's name lighting up your screen. There's a weird feeling in your stomach, suddenly.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetheart. It's Connor. Where are you?"

You cast a glance towards Stewy, and he shakes his head softly, silently communicating. Not yet. We'll tell him in person.

"I'm at a friend's place. What's up?"

"I, uh, I don't... I don't really know how to, um... you need to come to Dad's apartment, ASAP."

"Wait, what? Why?"

There are a million scenarios swirling around in your head, clouding your mind, overwhelming you.

"He's, uh.. I just, um, I don't-"

"Spit it out, Con."

A pause. He takes a deep breath.

"Dad's dead."

Silence.

Your heart breaks. Stewy hears it happen.

Stewy Tag List

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

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