#succession drabble

[romeulusroy]

Just Hold Me (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Word Count: 1,243

Character/s: Roman

Inspired By: ace song by lizzie burton

A/N: I may or may not have signed myself up for a sa support group at my college, which is scary and terrifying and I still don't feel like I belong, but I'm sorta proud ☺️ I go in for a screening because there's only one spave left, but hopefully it goes well? It made me think of Roman and all his issues. It just feels good to write again. Please don't feel alone if you've gone through or are going through this kind of thing. I'm always here to talk 💕✨️🌈

Succession Masterlist

You don't have to jiggle it or press upwards. You don't have to fidget or shake or try a second time. It doesn't rattle and the door doesn't fight back. The key fits perfectly. Inside the apartment is warm despite the space. Warm and quiet and dark. You take it in like you always do. The tv on the wall, reflective and massive. The floor to ceiling windows that make the city lights look like stars. Below you can hear the murmur of traffic, cooing like a baby fast asleep. The kitchen is sleek and goes unused if you're not here. The bathroom door is open, only for guests. You drop your coat, your keys and wallet and shoes. You let everything fall down the edge of the couch. There are no indentations. There is no pilling of the fabric. It is not worn the way yours is. This place is sacred. This place is holy. This place is your second home. A golden strip of light throws itself from the doorway down the hall. You don't need this invitation, but it's nice anyways. You follow.

It wasn't a bad date. It wasn't a good date, either. Third or fourth, you weren't sure what counted as one and what didn't. Still, they came with expectations. You blamed yourself, later on. You told yourself you lead them on. You gave them an idea, a want, a false narrative. You invited them over. The door stuck. The couch was frayed. The whole place was small enough all your furniture touched one way or another. Together, all of you. You and them and your things, your sanctuary. You wanted to watch a movie, order takeout. Thats what you did. They grew close to you, wrapped their arm around you. You offered a few blankets. The heater was always unreliable. You laughed. You joked. It was good. You thought things were going good. The story was coming to the end, the resolution, and it should have clicked. You should have told them, explained to them, but you weren't worried about that. It didn't cross your mind like it did everyone else's.

The bedroom is the most lived in. His button down shirt flung on the floor. You step over it. His shoes, his pants, all of it leads from one door to another. His bathroom. The door is shut, but you can hear him humming to himself beneath the running water. He never makes his bed. Says it's better to crawl back in just like the night before. It smells like him. This whole place does. His cologne, his soaps, everything trapped between the linen. You go to your drawer, the last one in the dresser, and pull out a pair of pajama pants and a big t-shirt. You don't fear the door will swing open. You don't worry someone's watching. He's not. You change without a second though, for a brief moment as naked as you'd ever be in his bedroom. You leave your clothes in a neat pile.

It wasn't a third or fourth date kind of talk. It wasn't any kind of talk. You didn't say it unless you had to, and even then you were reluctant. It wasn't fair to compare your story to others, people who had it so much worse. It wasn't right to use that terminology. It wasn't fair to real victims. So you danced around the subject. You made excuses. And when it was time, because it always was, you'd end it. You believed you couldn't ask someone to live without. . . to deprive them of something so natural, so human. It wouldn’t be right or fair. That was asking too much. Even when you really liked them. Even when you really found yourself falling for them, there was always that roadblock. This thing you still can't get over, you might never get over. Please, you'd beg, don't make me say it. You wished they'd just get it without the questions, the accusations, the hypotheticals.

You take your place in the bed, climbing through the pillows and covers. He notices, though he doesn't say anything. Instead, still humming, he turns out the lights. He throws himself into the mattress, half landing on you, making you laugh. Didn't see you there, he smiles. Of course he did. He always does. For a while you're both quiet, staring up at the ceiling, until he moves to his side. You follow, facing one another. Bad date? He asks, his voice small in the black of night. Like you're at a sleepover, afraid of getting caught by the adults if you talk too loud. You nod, your head rubbing against the pillow. Fuck em, he says. Isn't that the problem?

Beneath the blankets their hand slides down your thigh, between. . . You want to jump. You want to grab their wrist hard enough to break it. Instead you smile, standing up, saying something about popcorn. When you come back with a full bowl the credits are rolling. They don't want to watch another. They lean in, filling the gap, kissing you hard. Needy. You do what you think you should, what's right: you kiss them back. But then they're leaning further and their hands find your shirt and you can feel your heart speed up. It feels like it'll crack through your ribcage. Um, you try, I don't- I can't- I think I should probably get to bed. It's late. They look confused, before they assume. I'll join you, eagerly they say. No, I didn't- fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I think you should leave, you blurt out.AIt's the only way to make them stop. Angry. They always leave angry and hurt and frustrated. You really did like them. You really wanted to see them again. They slammed the door and that was enough of a tell to delete their number.

It's my fault, you hear yourself before you realize what you're doing. If only. . . But you let it drop before it becomes something he feels like he has to refute. He doesn't respond. The conversation always goes like this. A date. A rejection. You find yourself coming back to him. Of course you love him. Of course he loves you. But it's just not something either of you can have, not like that. So you date. You try to, at least. You try to find someone who can live without. And in the meantime, you have him to fall asleep next to. In rare moments, moments when you let yourself cry and relive all those terrible memories, moments where your date doesn't listen to the word no, he might hold you. Tight. Like he doesn't know how to do it properly. You're not sure what kind of night it'll be. You're so close you can see the sleepiness in his eyes. Thanks for letting me spend the night. Did I have a fucking choice? You roll your eyes, punching him somewhere close to the arm.

They were angry. They always were. And confused. Confused why you didn't want them. Why didn't you want to go further? Why couldn't you? What was wrong with you? But Rome understood. He got it. You two, it was the same. Different, but the same. So he holds you when you need it, even if he's unsure how, and never questions why you come back. You always come back. Because even when your dates go well, they will inevitably end.

#writing #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy drabble #roman roy oneshot #roman roy fic #succession #succession imagine #succession drabble #succession oneshot #succession fic

[motions1ckness]

“comfort”

roman roy x reader blurb nsfw

( this is based off a dream so i had to write it)

You’re standing over Roman who’s sitting in his office chair. His head was resting on your chest as you played with his hair. Every time you ran your fingers against his scalp, you pulled a slight sigh from him; it was cute.

He was practically hanging off his chair, his body hugging your leg. This was normal Roman. Clinging into you, not knowing what’s going on in his head.

“I think I should bring it up next meeting, what do you think?”

Roman responded with a breathy “yeah” instantly, attempting to get this thoughts straight.

Romans hands found your back, pressing your body closer toward him. The action drawing a slight moan from you, but this is just how Roman is when it’s just two of you. Pulling you close as humanly possible, nuzzling his head farther into your chest. And creating friction with your leg.

“Comfortable?” you teased, but he just hummed back, too lazy to properly quip back.

He was rock hard but dismissed this as ‘just Roman’ and kept talking. Also because you liked how needy he was for you, gripping onto you like it was his dying wish.

As you were talking about possible dinner plans you notice Roman’s hips started rocking against your leg. It started slow as he kept trying to pull your body more into his, it wasn’t long before he reangled his hips for deeper friction.

Roman tried muffling his moans with your body, not loosening his grip.

You didn’t care if Roman was listening, you knew he needed the distraction from himself. The horniness of the situation alone had you suppressing whimpers.

Every thrust was so needy and desperate, he was unable to look at you. Just holding on and thrusting like his life depended on it.

Your mind was fuzzy. Unable to focus on anything expect for Roman humping your leg in his office, shamelessly moaning into your body to muffle himself. It was so hot.

“Rome I-,” You breathed. He was so close, his cock was twitching, his hips moving hastily. If there wasn’t just drawn curtains concealing the two of you from the rest of the office. You’d take him right there.

“P-please, M-almost there.” He muffled into your clothes.

Helping him toward the final push, you ran your nails into his hair again.

“You’re disgusting Roman. You’re sick. Getting off at work? C’mon, thought you were better than that.”

He was panting. “Yeah, I’m a sick fuck,” he moaned. One of his hands moved down to your hips to gain stability as his eye brows furrowed, about to cum. “W-What- What else?” He muttered out.

“God you can’t even look at me. You are like a depraved little boy. A little fucking failure.” You sneered at him. You pushed your leg deeper into his crotch, pretty whimpers and moaned leaving his lips as he came. He continued to buck into you until he came down.

You stepped back when he let go of you, seeing a wet stain in his pants.

“Oh fuck you. Get me new pants.”

#roman roy fanfic #succession fanfic #roman roy drabble #roman roy smut #roman roy x reader #roman roy blurb #blurb #drabble #succession smut #roman roy succession

[richeeduvie]

Kendall (and Shiv) watching Roman and Baby basically do foreplay on the dance floor of their wedding like 😐

The worst of it is the couples table.

Roman and Baby made it so they had a Bride and Groom table. Not one long run of a table for the bride and groom and their family. Disgusting. Absolutely pathetic and just a duo of cringe in terms of puffy romance. But Kendall's watching how they make out at the plate. Because they do very much make out.

Roman's eyes are still slightly puffy from listening to baby's stupid-fuck vows. But he's biting her ears or pressing his teeth against her neck. He's getting panicky and horny at her hand on his crotch and thigh under the table.

Shiv thinks it's a bit too much. But she's still, still hoping that there's some part of Baby and Roman that's real. Messy. Because it's just a little too fucking much, yeah? Yeah, it's Roman and it's Baby but...there's just parts of it that should be messy. Shiv doesn't want to hear about it. But she doesn't want to see her brother's tongue all over her bridal's friends skin.

Roman thinks it's fucking amazing. His wife is super hot and also his best friend and he'll kill himself on live television if she ever makes the choice to leave him. But he'd make fun of the rando-sadman who would clock out his brains on TV. Attention seeker. Maybe it's fitting.

#inbox #hc's #drabble #dog and bone!au #succession fanfiction #roman roy x reader

[m1d-45]

death, rebirth, new life

summary: uh zhongli gets nerfed, you get some new friends, xiao has a crisis of morality(?)

word count: ~3.2k

-> warnings: major spoilers for xiao lore, like very major. spoilers for liyue archon quest. not much else

-> lowercase intended!

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @thehoneymushroomhealer || @imyme20 || @bittersweetorpheus || @vampirecatsw || @willburzone || @some-mildly-happy-human|| @yourlocaldrugdealerbutfancy || @inmyprinceerafr || @depressed-bitchy-demon || @kithewanderingme

<< first part || < masterlist > || next part >>

zhongli allows his weapon to fade back into golden dust, his mind involuntarily comparing it to the way you dissolved before him.

they were quite similar. after he’d pulled away his polearm, you had sent him a final smile as your body disintegrated into white flakes, much like his spear had, the water rushing back to fill the space you’d left. it had surprised him, because he’d expected you to fall into the black smoke that hilichurls did. unless he had made some sort of…

no, he tells himself, shaking his head. you deserved it. to wear a face that wasn’t yours, to defy his god so, his actions were entirely jus-

a spike of pain drives into his lower back and zhongli reaches behind him with a hiss, feeling for whatever’s hurt him only to land on the glass of his fake vision. it stings through his gloves, and he’s quick to yank it off, uncaring as the string it’s hung on snaps. the small gems on it scatter, but he’s focused on the glass in his hand.

or, rather, the floor. his hand still hurts from the pricks of invisible needles it stabbed into his skin, and he wasn’t keen on holding it any longer.

“what’s wrong?” hu tao comes up to his side, hand landing on his shoulder. “are you okay? is your vision?”

“it’s nothing.”

discretely, he tries to turn a pebble on the floor in front of him. he tells himself it’s nothing, he knows it’ll work, he just needs the confirmation for himself, since if a fake vision could react like that..

“hey, don’t worry about it. the dead need to stay that way. whoever that was, i trust your judgement. i’m certain you did the-“

she cuts herself off with a pained cry, her shoulders jerk back as her hands reach for her back, her face twisting in pain. zhongli takes a step over his ‘vision’, turning her by the shoulder to see what he knows but doesn’t want to believe.

her vision is glowing brightly, the diamond-shaped gem heating up the metal around it. he wastes no time in removing it from the clip holding it in place, though he has to drop it as well from the heat. it burned her jacket, and she’ll certainly need a new one, but that’s not what he’s worried for.

after all, the stone hadn’t moved.

the sun stung your eyes through your lids, forcing you awake if only to move to a more shaded area. the ground beneath you was hard but not harsh, warmer than wuwang hill by a long shot. you were tempted to stay, to allow yourself to slip back into sleep…

something squishy bumped into your right arm.

you pushed your eyes open, pulling at the numb strings of muscles in your arms to help yourself up. you were sitting in a stone… building would be too generous. there were four pillars and a roof, with a ramp to your left and a staircase in front of you.

and immediately to your right, the object that bumped you earlier, is a small dendro slime.

wide orange eyes peer up at you, the sight cute enough for you to forget your aches.

“hey,” you mumble, reaching a wobbly hand to nudge against its side. the slime chitters, hopping into your lap, and you notice something shining in the leaves atop its head. it doesn’t seem bothered, only pressing itself further into your hand with a chirp that nearly sounds apologetic.

“don’t be sorry.” you move your hand to pet over the stems on top of it, the slime’s eyes slowly beginning to close. you feel something hard beneath your palm, and move to see what it is. in the center of the slime’s head is a small tangle of grass, something golden shimmering in the center. you’ve never looked really hard at the models in-game, mostly because they’re always attacking you, so you’re not sure if this is meant to be there or not. maybe they’re like crystalflies, with a core in the middle? but why be exposed…

the slime chirps in your lap and you move your hand away, a ‘sorry’ on the edge of your lips when it stretches to move the tangle between your fingers. did it want you to fix it?

you tilt the slime towards you, but you don’t have a chance to try. as you watch, the tangle undoes itself, cradling a golden ring between the stalks. it looks about your size, with a small blue gem embedded on one side. the slime makes a soft noise, the ring sliding forward as it tilts.

“for me?”

you picked up the ring at its affirmative trill, sliding it onto your finger. it fit as good as it looked, surprisingly. where had the slime gotten a ring your size, let alone know it would fit you?

the slime looked up, seeking a response, and you smiled.

“thank you, little guy. it’s beautiful.” the slime visibly grew happy, hopping lightly in your lap, and you couldn’t help but laugh. it looked so excited, orange eyes beaming as it twirled itself into a little circle. how could they be enemies?

“where’d you get this?”

your question didn’t dampen its excitement—a surprise, since you expected it to have stolen the ring—and it only hopped off your lap, moving halfway down the staircase before looking back at you.

using the pillars to support yourself, you stood, wincing at the combined pain of old wounds and sleeping on rock. as you carefully move down the steps, you hope that the slime wont lead you to some poor merchant’s cart.

the small slime hopped along a dirt path, and you took the time to look around. behind you to the left was a large pit, for lack of a better word, a tree growing in the center on a platform surrounded by water. if you had to guess, you were probably still in liyue, just more south. the horizon was dotted with spires, and you think you see something like the jade chamber off to the left of your current path. it’s hard to tell, given the distance, but…

the sounds of humanoid chanting reaches your ears, and you startle for a moment before hearing the trademark woo! of an abyss mage. the slime stops, checking on you, but you just give it another smile as you continue to walk. so it got it from hilichurls, then? odd, but better than stealing it from somebody. it was in remarkable condition for being from hilichurls, though…

the slime leads you onto some rocks, and you can see the camp just below you. an abyss mage turns as you approach, the red film of a shield beginning to appear around it before it recognizes you. it was a small camp, only a handful of hilichurls around, and they all crowd you as you climb down the rocks.

the abyss mage chitters in a language you don’t understand, its red ears flopping as it gestures. it finishes with a deep bow, looking up at you, and your face twists in apology. luckily, it seems to get it, pointing to you before waving you into the camp. you take its hand and let it lead you to a crate to sit on, watching as it turns to the rest of the group and says… something. nonetheless, the hilichurls seem to get it, all nodding. the abyss mage puts its hands on its hips, satisfied.

the dendro samachurl says something to the large mitachurl, who nods, hefting its rock shield and standing near the entrance of the camp. the samachurl then pulls over another hilichurl as it walks to you. its staff is more at eye level with you than it is.

the samachurl chitters beneath the mask, and the hilichurl besides it—you assume, based on prior experiences—translates.

“unu boya ika zido mosi aba nunu,” it says, pointing further down the path, where you can barely see a wooden structure.

now, your hilichurl isn’t the best. in the beginning, you learned somewhat, but definitely not enough to know the entirety of what it just said. you catch the word for enemy and some sort of time word you think means later in the day, so that together with the gesture.. you’re hopefully assuming that it means later in the day there will be enemies, likely the millelith, over that direction.

you nod. the hilichurl seems proud of itself.

the samachurl continues, much shorter this time, and the hilichurl holds out a hand.

“muhu mita?”

ah. those ones you know just fine.

you accept the offer of a meal and let it walk you to a rock near a campfire, listening as they talk to each other. they bring you food and share more amongst themselves, the electro shooter waving its bandaged hands in a story you didn’t try to decipher. the heat of noon begins to fade after an hour or two, and though the campfire is now embers and your wooden plate is empty, you’re content.

the dendro slime from earlier sticks close to you, shifting as close to the dying fire as it dared whilst being out of range of the jumping sparks. it wasn’t particularly cold, only around 3ish by your best judgement. the sun still shone in the sky, washing over sand and stone and the things that sparkled under it. there was nothing to worry over, nobody near, and the mitachurl and pyro grenadier were still guarding the entrance. it was a welcome respite.

you hope it’ll last.

xiao pulled his polearm from the body of a hilichurl, picking a tuft of matted red hair from the jade edge. the shattered remains of its mask fell to the floor as its body dissolved, but he just stepped over it, dismissing his weapon. the boy from qingce was uninjured, the hilichurl grenadier had fallen, and his work here was done.

“-jianguo, what are you doing out here? you should know better than to wander near wuwang hill!”

xiao rolled his eyes, hoping the fading debt of the hilichurls would dissipate faster. he couldn’t leave without endangering the child or his mother, but he wanted to leave earlier sometimes, if only so people would learn not to wander into areas they didn’t belong.

“but mama, all the hilichurls fled to wuwang hill! our charms worked!” the small boy triumphantly held up a small piece of paper, sloppily colored gold with some sort of crayon. shaky black penmanship made a crude imitation of a sigil of permission, a hilichurl’s mask in the center. or, at least, he assumed that’s what it was. children…

“no, jianguo, hilichurls don’t listen to your sigils! just… just stay away from wuwang hill, okay? say your thanks to the nice man who saved you and let’s go home.”

the boy turned, wide eyes fixed on him, and xiao checked that he had absorbed enough of the karma for it to be safe before teleporting away.

he landed on unfamiliar dirt, haunting trees surrounding him. judging by the blue wisps floating around, he could guess he was in the forests atop wuwang hill.

his question was why.

normally, he teleports away to the next source of concentrated karma to ensure it doesn’t end up infecting the people of liyue. but this… he knew wuwang hill had hilichurls and cicin mages, but certainly not a high enough concentration, right?

‘…all the hilichurls fled to wuwang hill!’

unless something called them here.

with one hand on his mask, xiao drew his spear and started to walk.

the forest was oddly quiet. the leaves themselves seemed to stay still, the only noise being made by his shoes upon the path. there were no cicins, nor their mages, nor hilichurls of any kind. yet what was left of his tattered soul was called up the path, some remnant of an instinct telling him to let go of his polearm.

he gripped it tighter in response.

the stone steps ahead seemed to taunt him, seeming to stretch further and further away as he walked. whatever intuition tugged at him felt like it was tied around his soul, tying up the scattered pieces to drag around. it.. was less irritating than it should be, something that frightened him more.

every step he took highlighted the rips across his heart, the scars of karma accentuated. but it wasn’t the surveying gaze of a predator looking for weak points, the invisible eyes prying into his soul neither threatening or aggressive. it felt like he was being assessed by a doctor, like he was young and still being fostered by morax, like he’d gotten into a scuffle with bosacious and he was being scolded even as his arm was being bandaged, the warm mug of tea in his hand soothing the ache in his knuckles-

water on his cheek drew his attention, and he was quick to wipe it off his face, glancing at the sky. he didn’t remember any stormclouds coming in, and the skies seemed..

clear…

…

xiao set his jaw and kept walking, determined to keep his mind on his task.

the stone was cold beneath his feet, the seelie court glowing as the seelie inside buzzed. xiao turned the corner, ignoring the weird feeling in his chest. it had to be nothing. it had to be just some random memory that he was reminded of because of the trees, or the air, or… anything.

xiao walked up the second set of stairs, stopping at the top in shock. the pathway across the pool in front of the domain was covered in wildlife, everything that was missing from the forest condensed into one space on the path. birds, butterflies, even a crane and an electro cicin, all gathered around a small space.

he slowly took a step forward, confused by the display. to see so many animals getting along, crowding such an area as wuwang hill..

xiao continued to walk, his foot splashing into the water above the path harsher than he intended. he froze, making sure he didn’t disturb anything, but the gathering remained. he quickly made his way over the tree in the middle of the path, ensuring he landed quieter this time. as he closer, the details of what he was looking at slowly filled in. between the legs of cranes and over the heads of crows, he could see that a portion of the stone was a different color than the rest. the water above it also refused to move, the ripples from the various animals not moving it an inch.

the birds finally moved when he got close enough, flapping over to the opposite side of the discolored stone. xiao crouched at the edge of the still water, mindful not to get himself wet.

the stone, and water to some extent, thin as it was, was stained a yellowish color. the path looked newer, less worn, the water above it clearer.

his frown deepened the longer he looked at it. he’d never seen anything like this, any substance that froze water while it was still liquid and cleaned it of any dirt whilst never dispersing. he never saw so much wildlife, for lack of better words, getting along like this. the cicin confused him further- it also linked back to what he’d heard, that hilichurls had been called back to wuwang, but he’d yet to see one.

the slashes across his heart pulsed as it beat, reminding him of their presence as he tried to focus. the string tied in his chest pulled him forward, to reach and sink into the shallow pool of gold. he shouldn’t, it was dangerous, he didn’t know what it was or what effect it had on him—he should leave now, in rationality, because he was already being affected. if whatever this was was strong enough to affect him, a yaksha, then surely it was a danger to the villagers nearby..

then why didn’t he feel like it was a danger? why, though his heart burned with the remains of his karmic debt, eternities of slaughter, did he feel lighter?

questions remained unanswered as the pull strengthened, the animals around him growing bold, risking being near him for the chance to crowd the shimmering water. he checked that there wasn’t anything or anybody lying in wait—the chance of this being a trap was too high to ignore—before hesitantly dismissing his polearm, making way for a large raven to land beside him.

xiao stared at the bird, watching as it kept its body entirely out of the odd zone while still sticking close. did it not feel the same pull as he did? was this water meant for creatures such as him, with lifetimes worth of sin on their shoulders? was this where the hilichurls vanished into?

his heart beat against his ribs, the cuts of karma pulsing with it. this water, this stone, he had to be affecting it somehow. though he made sure that his shoes were outside the boundary and that his hands didn’t touch inside it, it was hard to deny the way whatever was dissolved in the water was attracted to his end. it had formed a gradient, the sheen across it darker on his end. he felt a need to reach out, to hold his dirtied past to this cleansing water and be clean of it. no matter how impossible. no matter how irrational. no matter how hard he tried to tell himself it was outlandish and would only get him into trouble, no matter how strong his will or how many rips crossed his heart.

…when xiao gave in and touched the golden stain, one of the tears healed.

the water’s shine faded in an instant, quickly turning back to clear as the stone beneath it aged before his eyes; animals around him rustled and cried, feathers ruffling as they came to their senses and took flight, leaving him with his hands over his sternum and a bright light beneath his skin.

feeling like one of the birds himself, xiao sat in a daze, his mind racing as he tried to rationalize what just occurred.

what was that? what had happened? why did he feel so light? why was his mind covered in warmth and memories of his time with the yakshas, with morax, with the traveller, why was he so- so free? what happened to the chains of karma crossing his limbs, binding him to his nightmares? what happened to the voices repeating his sins as the worst song ever played, where did the pain and the aches and his debt go? how could this water heal what the adepti could not? what morax could not?

clutching the healed seam of his soul, alatus fled.

#words cannot describe how proud i am of that title #ideas in the tags #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin #genshin impact #self aware genshin #sagau impostor au #sagau hu tao #hu tao #sagau zhongli #zhongli #sagau xiao #xiao #xiao angst #can't believe i studied HILICHURL for this. suffering from success /j #hey what do we think about god having ‘karma'? like xiao's but if anybody kills god they have to deal with that karma? #and it can only be relieved by like… true forgiveness or some other disney shit? like until then they have nightmares #and/or physical manifestations of the karma? like golden chains or some other obvious thing so other people Know What They Did #may or may not write a little drabble on that later.. to the anon asking for venti angst… expect a letter?

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Human Resources

Roman Roy/reader (drabble)

~ Having lunch with your problematic boss is about as fun as it sounds (very fun)

warnings: joking about sexual harassment (no actual sexual harassment)

notes: i wanna make this guy meow for me. lil somethin to shake off the cobwebs. this is like a little corny but I forgot how to write good during my hiatus

“I could bludgeon you to death.” 

“What?” 

Roman almost seems offended by your surprise. He looks at you from across his desk as though he’d asked you the weather and you slapped him across the face. You’d been having a relatively peaceful afternoon–it had been hectic in the office, so you both decided to eat lunch at Roman’s desk. Your conversation had been fine, if maybe a little mundane. You were almost grateful for Roman’s weird outburst for allowing the both of you to fall into your regular routines. 

“I feel like, if it really came down to it, I could bludgeon you to death,” He leans forward in his chair. “I’m not saying I want to, I’m just saying if the situation called for it, I wouldn’t, like, struggle.”

“Why the fuck would the situation call for it?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t fucking know, maybe you start PMS-ing and end up taking a swing at me.” 

“Jesus, Rome,” you chide, “Is this the kinda shit you fantasize about? Spend a lot of time playing with yourself imagining what it would feel like to bash my brains out?” A part of you is grateful that you've finished your lunch already–this conversation is not working wonders for your appetite. 

“Ok, well, now you made it weird.” Roman slumped over in his chair, sitting at an angle that could not have been comfortable. “I was just throwing it out there, no need to get your fuckin’ dick twisted in a knot.”

“Y’know what? I bet you’re wrong,” This catches his attention. “If we got into a fight like that–like, life or death–I could kick your ass.”

“No fucking way, are you kidding? Have you seen yourself?” he pushes himself up where he sits, fitting his legs underneath his body and leaving him perched on his chair like a bird. “You’re, like, 2% muscle and 98% bitch. You can’t even send your drink back if they get your coffee order wrong–I think if you were faced with life-threatening danger, your heart would self-destruct to avoid the conflict. I wouldn’t even have to bludgeon you to death.”

If anybody else was saying this to you, you’d be appalled. Thankfully, you’ve had years of practice fully dedicated to building up your Roman tolerance. “You’re hardly life-threatening, Rome. All I need to do is call you gross, like, once, and you’d be too blinded by weird, horny brain-fog to fight me,” You’re not sure when you rose from your seat and began to lean against his desk, but you pay it no mind. Like clockwork, he rises up on his chair to reach your eye level. He has a smug look on his face that you’d grown increasingly accustomed to. 

“You’re disgusting, you know that? I could get you fired for talking to a superior that way, you pervert.” He narrows his eyes at you, and the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. He’s moved closer to you, close enough so that you feel his breath on your face. Too close. You take the opportunity to flick him on the underside of his jaw, and he throws his head backward as though you’d socked him in the nose. 

“That’s assault! You just assaulted me! God, Human Resources is going to have a field day with this. The young, naive assistant violently assaulting her boss after making crude, sexual comments about him–feminism really has gone too far.” He leans back toward you, this time straining to seem as though he was towering over you. Instead, he ends up talking to your forehead. 

“Please, Roman, you’re being delusional.” His jaw drops.

“And now you’re gaslighting me. I cannot believe I’ve had someone so cruel working for me all these years.” He fans himself like a southern belle. You stifle your laughter at his dramatic display. “You’re toxic, this is toxic. Do you think Greg treats Tom this way? Because I sure don’t.”

“Greg treats me in what way?” Tom’s voice cuts through. Both you and Roman jerk backwards, and for some reason you feel your face heat up. It feels like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. 

“He treats you like the pretty pillow princess you are, Tom.” Roman quips, seemingly unaffected by Tom’s sudden appearance. Tom’s face contorts strangely, and he lets out a strangled half-scoff-half-laugh while flapping his hand dismissively. You cock an eyebrow at his behavior, which draws out for just a little too long. Tom clears his throat.

“Anyways,” he straightens his tie. Your mind wanders to a late-night conversation you had with Roman where he called Tom a ‘sad, deeply repressed, half-muppet-half-man hybrid’. It becomes clearer everyday that he was spot on. “Kendall asked to see you in his office. I’m not sure what about, but he seemed… frazzled.”

“Frazzled.” Roman repeats, irritated. He turns to you, and for a second, you almost think he looks disappointed. “Duty calls. I’ll have to report you to HR later. Try not to sexually harass anyone else until then, m’kay?”

Before you have a chance to respond, he blows you a kiss and scurries out the door, leaving you and Tom alone in his office. Tom looks at you with his muppet eyes.

“Sexually harass…?”

“Get out, Tom.”

#roman roy x reader #roman roy drabble #succession fanfic #succession #roman roy fanfic

[pretz3l-log1c]

Recently I saw a post explaining cats vocalize around humans as a way to social signal. That Humans do a lot of social signaling as well. That's why people talk about the weather or will grumble about the long wait in line to the person near them. Or why people will ask 'Hey, how's it going?' and just want a 'good. Thanks for asking. And you?'. It's all about recognizing you're part of a group.

Then I saw, and reblogged a post, explaining that compared to most marketing stats, fanfiction is exceptionally above engagment averages at even 10% kudos per hits.

Yet, fanfic writers often feel as if they're screaming into a void and that engagement is down/dwindling/dying/etc.

So now I'm wondering if these two things are connected.

I think the problem fanfic writers are currently facing is a matter of community. In a way participating in fandom by writing fanfic is a way of social signalling. It is a way for the writer to go "I like this thing, don't you like this thing too?"

It's like the writer is calling out hello only for 90 out of 100 people to blankly stare at them. 10 out of 100 will wave hello. Only a few out of 100 will actually say something back.

Is it any wonder writers feel like they're screaming into a void? At least when you scream into a void you don't know how many people heard you, you just hear who screams back. It has to hurt mentally to put your heart out there and feel like it's being ignored.

I think about how forums of the early internet age have largely died off. How Tumblr engagement has ebbed over the years. How fanfiction has become some people's main means of engaging in fandom because it's 'free'.*

So I genuinely think the problem here is fanfic writers want community and are trying to gain that through fanfic. And they feel largely ignored/abandoned/snubbed because they're not recieving that engagement.

So my advice to writers:

turn off/hide/ignore your fanfic stats. If email alerts for kudos and/or comments spark joy then keep them. Otherwise turn those off as well.

create and/or join fandom focused discords. Find people you connect with and build a community that way.

put an author's note on your works that you like to engage with readers. That you want their thoughts, feelings opinions, etc. on your writing. Provide links for people to to chat you up on whatever social media site you prefer.

My advice to readers:

if you're going to talk to fandom friends about a fic you read, maybe leave a comment as simple as 'I love this and I'm going to share it with everyone I know.'

if you find a fic you regularly re-read or an author you loyally follow, let the author know that.

if a fic had a huge impact on you, let the writer know that.

Readers please note: I am not saying leave kudos more often, I am not saying comment on every fic. I am saying, in short, if it moves you then let the author know you were moved.

* yes I know fanworks are a labor of love/hobby and not actually free for the creator at least in time/effort. I write fanfic. I'm just saying it doesn't typically cost money to consume.

#pretzel rambles #writing #fanfiction #fanart #I do make an effort to leave comments on RB art for example #anything from 'oh the color scheeme so pretty' to 'a short fanfic drabble #i don't always succeed #and I think that's ok because ai am still RBing the art so other may see it #and maybe someone else will have the spoons to comment #I think we talk a lot about the spoon theory here on tumblr #so I think it's important to think reading fanfic cost 1 spoon but engaging with it cost 2 and most people don't have a 2nd spoon to spare #i think we need to kinder to ourselves about our expectations for how 'successful' a fanfic is #also kinder to readers and our expectations of them

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

angst w happy ending/fluff + fake dating + “was any of this even real” with stewy PLEASE 🙏 honestly i will take ANYTHING stewy but i feel like this fits him…

Play Pretend.

44. "Was any of this even real?" + h. Fake dating + 4. "Marry me."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested. this is a part of my campaign to become your favourite stewy writer x

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing

Word Count - 810

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

You never meant for it to go this far. Neither of you did.

Stewy had cruised into your bar one night, and you'd hit it off. Several whiskeys later, he's making you an offer you can't refuse.

He proposed that you be his girlfriend for any and all events that he had to attend with a date. In return, he promised to help connect you with some important people in the art world. You'll have a gallery of your own in no time, he'd said.

That was 8 months ago.

At first, it was fun. He'd send a fancy gown to your apartment, request that you be wearing it by 8pm sharp. He'd pick you up in a shiny car, and keep you on his arm all night. It was like you were living in a whole different world. You enjoyed it.

But the more you two pretended, the realer it became. You spent hours laughing, teasing each other, talking the nights away. You got to know each other, bared pieces of your soul. Now, it's bordering on something more.

You've fallen head over heels in love with him, and he sees you as a fake date.

You're stupid, and you know it. You should have known from the moment you met him that his charm would wear you down. That beaming smile, the grey streak in his hair, the way his hands were always warm. You'd fallen hard, and there was no going back.

You're panicking. You're scrambling around, looking for the eject button. You know if you keep going, you'll reach a point of no return. So, you do the only thing you can think of. You cut it off.

Can't do tonight, you'd texted. No explanation, no apology. You felt guilty, of course you did - you know he needed someone at the gala with him. But you were trying to protect yourself.

You'd expected him to reply fuck you then! and be done with it. But when has Stewy Hosseini ever been predictable? Instead, he's banging on the door of your apartment so hard you're worried he's going to break it down.

"Sweetheart, what the fuck is going on? Open this door before I kick it down!"

"Don't kick it," you yell back. "You'll ruin those Louboutins I know you're wearing."

"Open. The. Door."

"Aren't you supposed to be at the gala by now?"

You know it isn't exactly mature to be yelling through the door at each other, but it feels easier, somehow.

"Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? Just tell me what I did and I'll fix it!"

That's your breaking point. You swing open the door to be met with Stewy in a navy blue suit, dressed up to the nines.

"You can't fix it," you murmur.

"Let me try," he begs, moving closer to you.

"Look, Stewy. Thank you, for everything, really. But I'm done. I can't do it anymore."

You sound so sure of yourself. His heart shatters so hard, he wonders if you hear it break.

"Was any of this even real?" he whispers, looking at you intently.

"... What?"

"Was any of this even real? I mean, I know it wasn't at the start, but I thought... I just... Nevermind."

"What did you think?" you ask gently. He isn't making sense, and it's putting you on edge. He's usually so assured.

"I thought - I thought this was something. I know you were my fake girlfriend, but I thought you were at least my real friend."

"I am your friend," you reassure, wrapping your arms around his middle instinctively. "That's why I can't do this anymore. Because we're friends. It's not fair."

You're holding onto each other for dear life. You both think this is the last time you'll get to do this.

"I thought you loved me," he whispers into the top of your head. "How stupid was I?"

You pull away to cradle his face in your hands, looking at him carefully.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"No, Stewy. Say it again. Please."

"I said, I thought you loved me. Guess it was all just pretend," he laughs dryly, no real humour in it.

"Oh my god," you chuckle. "We're so stupid."

"Speak for yourself," he mutters.

"I do love you," you laugh. "I thought you didn't love me. I thought you were just pretending."

"I don't think I was ever pretending."

With that, you lunge at him, smashing your lips to his. He tastes like peppermint and smells like his woody cologne and it's everything you've ever dreamed. He pulls back to wrap his arms around you, spinning you around the living room.

"You know, I think we should just skip the rest. What's the logical next step? Marriage? You wanna marry me?"

"Easy there, Casanova," you tease. "Take me on a real date first."

#murphy's 500 followers celebration #stewy hosseini x oc #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini #stewy succession #stewy hosseini imagine #stewy hosseini fluff #stewy hosseini angst #stewy hosseini smut #succession fanfic #succession fic #succession #succession imagine #succession fluff #succession angst #succession x reader #stewy hosseini oneshot #stewy hosseini drabble

[secondhand-snow]

I have a request on mencken: what do you think of reader being his questionably young wife? (This is probably going to end in pwp but i dont mind lol) he likes to show her off and buy her expensive things from the money he pocketed 😂 she's practically his sugar baby but she has a side hustle of being the first lady too

your mind... im obsessed this is such a good dynamic

nsfw | jeryd mencken x f!reader (succession)

The sugar baby comments don’t really get to you anymore. They’re pretty accurate, truth be told. But people don’t need to know that. 

Your relationship with Jeryd Mencken began in your late 20’s, back when you still had a bad dye job, student loans, and a shitty studio apartment. You were employed at a jewelry store, barely making minimum wage, working 9 hour shifts every day just to pay your rent. The first time he came into the store, you treated him like any other customer. Any other incredibly attractive, extremely charismatic, and undoubtedly rich customer. But all the same, when he made his purchase and you parted ways, you never expected to see him again. Until he came back to the store a second time. And a third time. And a fourth, fifth, and sixth time. When he finally asked you on a date his image had already been clouding your sexual fantasies for weeks.

And so started your incredibly complicated romance. Jeryd expected you to be submissive and compliant when you first started going out, basing his speculations on how you’d acted at your job. Let’s just say he was more than surprised when you talked back to him, not afraid to be a brat in public to get what you wanted. This revelation was more of a thrill than a shock. Not only did he get to fuck you so hard the neighbors complained on the noise, he also got to punish you when you acted out. And you acted out a lot. But more than the sex was the attention the pair of you got in public. He’d bring you to his business events, dressing you in expensive silks, showing you off to his colleagues. He loved how amazed his peers got when he arrived with a pretty little doll on his arm, how the women would envy you and the men would crave to be him. 

The gifts started as a reward of sorts. Everytime you accompanied Jeryd to one of these work benefits, everytime you made him look good in public, everytime you were especially well behaved in the open, a present would arrive at your door. Wrapped in gold wrapping paper, with a handwritten note on the top expressing his appreciation, and usually sporting a designer logo of some sort. It began as just a few times a month, but you reacted so happily each time you opened one that he started delivering them almost daily. Oh and he loved when you wore his presents out in public. Most outings with you wearing his gifts would end with him pulling you into a bathroom, car, or empty room, making you thank him for the present while he bent you over and fucked some gratitude into you. He started paying your rent when he convinced you to quit your job, saying that you're too pretty to have to work so hard. And when he sees your apartment for the first time, he immediately insists on finding you a new space. When you can’t find anything you like enough, Jeryd just moves you in with him.

When you finally get married, it’s more a formality than anything else. Your love goes beyond metal bands and a piece of paper. The 5 carat diamond ring does help, though. The wedding happens when Jeryd’s career starts really taking off, when his name starts to seriously come up in political discussions. You both knew he needed a loyal wife to further his traditionalist image, and you were more than capable to play the part. So what if your age gap was controversial, you would make sure every other aspect of your public personas was absolutely perfect. And you did! You wore the business casual skirt suits and attended the charity events. Shit, you even learned about government systems to understand his campaign better. But you can’t tame the perversion away, not completely, not forever. So when Jeryd finally wins the presidency and your lives become semi-private again, it’s a massive relief.

It’s only his first week in the White House when you can’t hold back anymore, sauntering into the Oval Office and kneeling underneath his desk as he works. 

“You missed me this much? Had to come in here while I’m working, couldn’t wait a few hours?” Jeryd’s hand is tangled in your air, slacks around his ankles as you sit on your knees in front of him. You kitten lick at his tip, already red and leaking from your touch as you stroke his shaft languidly. “Such a little slut, so desperate for my cock.”

Your only response is a little smile as you press a teasing kiss to his public bone. Then, you swallow his dick to the base in one movement. His hand tightens in your hair, his head falling back as soft sighs of pleasure leave his plump lips. You’ve done this more times than you can count, having his likes memorized to the point of instinct. You know to cup his balls as you suck his cock, to trace your tongue along that one vein on the underside of his shaft, to hum around his length as he’s fully sheathed in your throat. If you wanted to, you could bring him to release in a matter of minutes. But where’s the fun in that? 

You release him from your mouth with a pop, taking a few seconds to deviously lick the pre-cum on his tip before addressing your husband. 

“You haven’t given me attention in so long…” You lean forwards on your knees, face moving into a pout as you look up at Jeryd with the eyes of a sad puppy. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me anymore.”

He scoffs at that, but takes the bait enough to pull you into his lap, hand coming to your chin to force eye contact. “Don’t be a brat. Just say you want me to fuck you- without making bullshit excuses.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Good girl.” He captures your mouth in a kiss. 

It's all teeth and tongue, messy and sloppy and charged with passion. Before long he has you bouncing on his cock, face pushed into his shoulder to muffle your moans. You cum once as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, then again when he bends you over his desk to fuck you from behind at a brutal pace. You're glad the building is less busy this time of day, since the sounds of wet skin and hushed groans would be unmistakable to anyone passing by. Jeryd finishes inside of you, like always. When he pulls out, he kneels behind you, your ass swaying temptingly side to side in front of him. He spends several minutes collecting any liquid that leaks out of you onto his fingers and fucking it back inside of you, making comments that his cum is too important to waste.

The next morning you wake up to a golden wrapped present on your night stand. Inside, a remote controlled vibrator, and a note with a promise to film next time.

© secondhand-snow 2024

#ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #succession #succession fanfic #justin kirk #jeryd mencken #jeryd mencken x reader #jeryd mencken x ofc #jeryd mencken x you #jeryd mencken x oc #jeryd mencken fic #jeryd mencken smut #jeryd mencken imagine #requests #snow's drabbles #smut

[aller-geez]

Remi has been waiting weeeeeks for his new Guardin hoodie that he preordered to come in the mail. This morning though, he found the box stuffed full of merch he bought online sitting neatly on their front porch. He scrambled to get the hoodie out of the packaging and shortly, he had the clothing pulled over his head and his arms were the last to slide through. Once on, he tugged down the sides of the hoodie and adjusted it to his liking, only able to see himself partially when looking down and at an awkward angle.

Remi huffed, racing into another bedroom where he knew there was a full length mirror he could use..

But he didn’t think about the fact that the spare room was hit with direct sun around that time of day, and the sun rays would easily pour through the huge windows and sliding glass door..

Just as the wolf turned the door handle to the bedroom and practically ran into the room with excitement, the sunlight that illuminated the small room bore deep into his optic nerves. Suddenly the world went dark, and the normally intense radioactive green color of his irises was now a cloudy, mottled whiteish green.

“F-fuck..” Remi spat before throwing both hands over his nose and mouth, a rather large tickle quickly barreling down to the tip of his nose.

“Hhh’ISCHHIH! Hh’IISCHH! HH’IETSH’UE!!” Remi sneezed in rapid succession into his open palms, ducking back out of the bedroom quickly until his vision had completely returned.

“Damn photic sneezes..” Remi growled in a low rumble, scrubbing at his nose with his index knuckle.

#idk why you guys are suddenly getting drabbles but HERE WE ARE #geeziefic #geezieart #remington connors #snz ocs #snzblr #snz #snz kink #snezblr #snz fet #sneeze kink #snzfucker #snz things #snz blog #snz art #succession #sneeze #sneezing #sneeze art #sneezefucker #snez #snzkink #snzario #snz scenario #drabble #photic sneezes #snz fucker #snzzzzz #snez kink #snez art

[wambsgansshoelaces]

omg the stuffed animal headcanons were adorable. I feel like shiv would secretly love it even though she’d try to pass it off as cheesy if you dressed up her bear in a suit when she went to work or a little wedding dress before you got married. maybe she gets a dress altered and you use the spare fabric to make a little outfit for shiv bear 🐻

eee this is so cute!!! introducing drabbles to my blog just because of this ask

thank you for giving me the idea anon this is literally adorable

the stuffed bear, to her, is just something silly the two of you do but really she’s become emotionally attached to it- like the first time the bear gets an outfit change is before a really big work conference of hers

“why’s the bear in a power suit?” she asked you that day, laughing.

“it’s for good luck!”

“aw, no way. it’s just a plushie.”

but in reality it alleviates her nerves and just makes her love you more

you bring the bear with you when you get married

no new outfit this time, the stuffie just chills on your bed until you both go to sleep

shiv did get her wedding dress altered, though, and you managed to get the fabric that the tailors cut away

so over the next year, you learn how to sew and make the bear a little dress from the fabric scraps

the bear sits with the other gifts you get her for your first anniversary

she treasures that little bear the rest of her life because it reminds her of nothing but your love for her

#drabble #siobhan roy #siobhan roy x reader #siobhan roy drabble #succession #succession hbo #succession x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #anon ask

[romeulusroy]

72 Hours (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,409

Warning/s: hospital, hospital tw, mental health, mental health tw

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This is something different lol. December of 2020 I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital :) It was scary and new, but it was definitely necessary. I don't think it should be a taboo subject. It's definitely not something my immediate family will or likes to bring up, but it's also not something to be ashamed of, y'know? Idk. I've been feeling bad again. Not like in 2020, that was- it was very bad, but still not great. It happens. Meds stop working. The heaviness sets in. I use writing to get through it, those bad feelings, so that's what I'm doing. Just know you're not alone when you're feeling bad. My inbox is always open, I am always willing to talk 💜💜💜💜💜💜

They are terrible thoughts. Horrible, repulsive, aching thoughts that feed off everything you are. They see the worst in you. When you’re done, that’s all there is left. The most repulsive parts of you. The bare, naked, scarred bones. You used to fear you were a bad person. A truly sinister, evil person. Now you don’t have to worry. Now you know. You are. Selfish, and evil, and a burden. Unlovable, unkind, undesirable. He doesn’t love you, not really, and he wouldn’t miss you. No one would. You’re sure of it. You’re so sure of it your bones ache. They long for the soil, muddy and rich. Your whole body wishes to be put to rest. To finally find peace. Being alive hurts. It hurts so bad sometimes. It takes everything out of you to roll from one side to the other. Things have taken up space in your bed. Books sleep soundly next to you, begging to be read. Notes, loose paper, begging to be written. You hope, in nestling with them, loving them even in rest, that they will save you from yourself. They will drag you out of this abyss you’ve found yourself falling in for a long time now. If there is a bottom, you haven’t found it yet. Every second of every minute you flinch, expecting your head to crack open, expecting your neck to snap on that solid ground. It never comes though. How much darker can things get? How much longer do you have before the light, the shrinking light, clouds over? You fear, when this is over, that everything will be gone. You will be gone. Forever. Your own mortality hangs in the balance. You claw at the rocky walls, your fingernails bloody, ripping apart. You scream so loud, for hours, but no one is near enough to hear you.

Is it my fault? Those are the first words from his mouth, the first thought behind those puppy dog eyes. You hold his face, his stubble scratchy in your palms. Did I do something wrong? You make sure your words are stern, but not scary, not angry. He bruises too easily, your peach. No. None of this is your fault. I just, I have to go away for a few days and figure things out. That’s all. 72 hours. Then I’ll be home. You muster a smile, the edges of your mouth heavy in their upturned state. He looks so small, so worried, shaking hands at his side. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Neither do you. It’s always been something in your life. An endgame. An option when you run out of options. You talked it over with your therapist, loved and trusted, and they too believe this could be beneficial. Your bag is packed for three days. Three days apart. Basically a weekend. You can do that, right? You can manage, he can, too. You don’t think you have any other choice. Standing there, your bag at your feet, you feel the heaviness. The weight. You want to finally collapse inward like a star, bright and burning and suicidal. He looks you over, your expression, your body, everything you are. You will understand him to understand, to get it, but you don’t need to. He already does. It wasn’t an easy decision to come to. None of this has been. But if you want the hurt to stop, if you want to stop falling, then you need to leave and get help. 

He picks your shirt from the laundry, holding it against his chest. He wanders around the apartment, massive, lonely without you by his side. It smells like you, the fabric. You hadn’t changed out of it in a week, week and a half. Sweaty, you’d argue, but he likes it. It’s familiar. Roaming like a ghost, restless, trapped. Mostly you sunk into the mattress, the sheets melding into your skin until you were one singular being. The tears, silent, hidden, but not quite. Coming home from work, finding your cheeks freshly wet, your eyes red and glazed over. The thoughts unsaid, but screaming. Screaming and wailing and willing you to step over that edge. Nothing about it is easy. Nothing about it is gentle. Nothing about this you could stand for much longer. Dinner, so sweetly prepared, goes uneaten. Everything sits like rocks in the pit of your stomach. Threatening to come back up again. Mostly, you push the food around your plate, managing a smile, managing interest in the conversation. You spend all day in bed, but you are unable to sleep. The bags under your eyes look like they hurt, aching, pulsing. The hollows of your eyes seem deeper, darker, haunted. Your body is so heavy. You never knew flesh and bone could feel like concrete. Every step, every movement, it is unthinkable. You curl into yourself, hoping tomorrow will be better, hoping this will go away. It won’t. It never does. 

Roman didn’t know things were this bad. Even as he watched you wave from the check-in desk, even as he watched the doors close behind you and an escorting nurse, even as he waited for you to come back, a voice in his head told him things weren’t this bad. They were. You’ve been sick for a long time. He thought if he was home more, if he cooked dinner, real dinner, and cracked jokes and held you so tight at night, then it wouldn’t get this bad. Cyclical. Things got like this. But it always went away. It got bad, yes, but then it got better. Why wasn’t it going away? You didn’t have the words to describe it. He’d find you laying in the tub, the water cold, shivering, crying, unable to get out. It took too much energy, too much determination, none of which you had. Unchanged from the pajamas you wore for days at a time. He blamed himself. He wasn’t doing enough. He wasn’t there for you enough. If, if, if. You told him it was just your brain, your mind, getting a little lost. When it got lost, it was hard to find its way back. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t anyone or anything, just your brain. It would be like this for the rest of your life. You couldn’t bargain or bribe your way out of this. It had to be done. He saw the scars along your skin from the times before, when things were bad, very bad. He didn’t want anything like that from happening again. 

He called you as soon as he could. Roman’s voice was shaky, unsure. You were the one easing his fears, his worries. If you didn't, no one would. He didn’t ask how it was going, he wasn't sure if he should. You sensed the curiosity, telling him your new routine. You’ve been sleeping better, easier. The food is terrible. There are doctors and therapists who are going to help you, make your brain better. He breathes a sigh of relief. Not because of what you say, but how you sound. Your tone was so scary. Scared of your thoughts, scared of what you might do. You sounded lighter. You talked as long as you could. When you hung up he went to bed with your shirt, one arm reaching out to your side of the bed. Wanting you. Needing you. Knowing this is what had to happen. Everything his father had taught him, you had he retaught. This wasn’t taboo. It wasn’t evil or wrong or anything to be embarrassed of. It’s just something that is. He counts down the hours. 48. 47. 46. . .

Soon you will be home. You will have medications, different pills, pills that will work. You will be in your own bed again right next to him. You will get better. You will feel happiness again. You will laugh and smile and it will be so genuine it hurts. And when this comes back, when everything gets dark again, because it always does, he will be there like he is now, like he has been. He will be there. Because when he made a promise to you, he made it to all of you. The good parts, but the bad parts too. The scary, mean, lying parts. The parts that tell you you aren’t worth it, that you won’t be missed. He’ll spend every day proving them wrong.

#writing #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #roman roy drabble #roman roy oneshot #succession #succession imagine #succession drabble #succession oneshot #succession x reader #tw mental hospital #tw mental illness #tw mental health #tw bipolar #tw bipolar disorder

[sebastianfantastic]

Sometimes you write mpreg Greg/Tom banter. To cope.

"I like, didn't think we needed to use a condom cause, like, this doesn't normally happen to guys."

"This doesn't normally happen to guys, Greg? Oh, yeah, you forgot all about trans guys, didn't you. Old progressive Greg over here too busy practicing unsafe sex to actually care about the transmascs in his life."

"I think you've kind of lost the point here, Tom. l've called like, five podiatrists and none of them know what I'm talking about."

"You called a podiatrist, Greg? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph you have got to get it together."

#succession #gregory hirsch #tom wambsgans #look I thought it was funny and then my roommate said it was funnier than I thought #drabble #idk should I write this?

[motions1ckness]

“Letting it linger”

Summary: Roman invited you to a family dinner where you two find a way to enjoy yourselves.

Contents: smut, established relationship, f!reader, dom/sub interactions, exhibitionism, choking, semi public, roman being needy, mention of sexual turmoil

(i’m so sorry if you saw this before i realized i added the same paragraph twice anyways)

This had to be one of the longest nights you have tolerated. You regret accepting Roman’s offer to be his plus one at this dinner. It wasn’t his fault. If it was up to him, he wouldn't have came.

The night was driving you insane. The dinner consisted of the Roy and Pierce families. Roman warned you about the pretentious comments and shitty conversation; you were not prepared for how fucking boring it was gonna be. During the first course, Roman rested his hand on your thigh, normal. It quickly turned into his hand resting close to your heat. You shot Roman a look, but he didn’t meet your eyes. It was a game now.

One of the Pierce's wives made conversation with you. Roman was picking at his food, not paying attention. “Well, I’ve never seen that one. What is it about?” You asked. She started talking and you decided to take action. As she was gabbing about the plot, you brought your hand to Roman’s pants and squeezed. The action made him yelp and practically jerk in his seat, “Rome are you okay?” You asked innocently. He sat at the end, only you could see what happened. He became flushed, his gaze surrendering to you as he sat dumbfounded.

It was risky. He needed a response, “Y-yeah, I'm, fuckin' fine,” he shook his head, removing the attention set on him, and the woman resumed her spiel. Roman’s pleading expression shifted to you, hand in the same place. He didn’t interrupt her; instead letting your hand linger. He adjusted his hips to gain more friction. He was rock-hard. His action surprised you, but it was all the confirmation you needed.

You started palming him through his pants, and he gave a slight huff as you wrapped up your conversation. You began moving quicker. You studied the room to make sure you both were above suspicion. Roman became pale from his arduous efforts to remain silent. You leaned over to his ear, “Stop looking like this is happening, you don't want everyone to see how pathetic you are? Especially your father,” you whispered.

You stayed close to his face as he turned to you. His eyes pleaded with you. Your mind explored the 'what if's?' in this situation. But it was the Pierce family, the dinner was crucial. “P-please, let’s go to the bathroom,” he breathed out. You stopped your action, causing him to repress a whine. Were you really about to do this? No one would suspect anything.

You moved your hand to his shoulder and whispered, “Then let’s go.”

With that, Roman wasted no time, excusing you both from the table. He had to follow close behind you to cover his strained pants. Once you two found the bathroom, you wasted no time kissing him against the door. It was sloppy and needy; one of your hands rested on his neck, the other stroking him.

You sped up your movement. Roman threw his head back, parting his mouth slightly. Provoking you to attack his neck and run your free hand through his hair, tugging at it slightly.

“Let’s fucking do it,” he says, panting. This wasn’t the first time you two had sex, just not as a casual affair. Your eyes lit up as you drew away from him, causing his hips to buck from the lack of sensation.

“Yeah, are you sure? Like actually do it?” You questioned. You weren't going to do anything he wasn’t okay with.

He looked at you, his face red and sweaty, and his eyes insisting. “Y-yes, I want this. Please.” He ensures, focusing his attention on tracing figures into your hip, waiting for a response. You studied his face just for additional assurance before kissing him again. Roman cupped your face as he stumbled, pushing you against the sink. His hands moved down and eventually made their way to your breasts. He kneaded them as you did your best to repress the noises, remembering the dinner outside. As you adjusted against the sink, you heard him undoing his belt. Roman glanced back at you while stroking himself. His eyes fluttered as you heard him spurt profanities.

You grab the back of his neck, “You still sure?” You also took this second to prepare yourself. You were about to hook up with your boyfriend in a bathroom. While his family was 50 feet away.

Roman rolled his eyes while forcing your underwear aside and pushing himself into you. You moan instinctively from the new sensation and dig your nails into Roman's neck. He quickly covers your mouth so you two don’t get caught.

He thrusts himself deeper, pressing his forehead against yours,” F-fuck, just keep quiet for me,” as he cut himself off with a low moan. You looked up at him, retaining eye contact. Roman’s eyes stayed on you, his small whimpers made you want him more. He let you both adjust to the feeling as he adjusted his other arm to keep you against the sink. He began a steady pace.

The room filled with sporadic moans as Roman’s eyebrows furrowed, you could tell he was close. He bucked you closer to him, resulting in him throwing his head back and moaning loudly. Roman moved his hand from your mouth to your throat, causing your eyes to widen from the feeling as a gasp escaped your throat from his noisy reaction. He froze for a moment after he realized how loud he was.

His face turned a deeper tint of red. His demeanor altered slightly, “D-do you think t-they heard me?” he asked. He felt worry trickle down his back. His frightened expression became apparent.

You moved your hand to his cheek reassuringly. “N-no, I think we’re all good,” you answered out of breath. You two waited a couple of seconds to make sure you were in the clear.

Roman looked down at where his hand sat, “Fuck,” he began removing his hand from your neck, but you kept it there.

“No, I like it. You wanted me to stay quiet right?” You said with a lustful grin. Roman’s eyes filled with hunger as he kissed you, returning to the previous pace and now applying pressure to your neck.

Roman’s thrusts started becoming more brutal. He was biting your shoulder to help conceal his whines. It wasn’t long until you felt a knotting sensation in your core. You knew he was close behind from the slight shuddering from his hips with every thrust. “Rome-”

He already knew what you were gonna say, “Do it.” he quickly responded, muffled from your shoulder. To suppress your climax, he tightened the grip on your neck, pushing you over the edge. You felt him bite harder, the mix of moans heating against your skin. Roman wasn’t far behind you. His hips started stuttering as he met his climax. You couldn't make out any of the words he was saying. It was a mixture of praises, swears, and moans.

After you both came down, he pulled out of you and put himself away. He didn’t talk to you immediately after, which made you believe he regretted it. You sat on the sink with your legs slightly trembling, thinking Roman was going to ignore you the rest of the evening.

“I think you'll fuckin' need this.” You look up and see a towel being handed to you. You met Roman’s eyes before getting up and started using the mirror, him directly behind you. You quickly cleaned up and adjusted your dress. “You better hope no one heard,” he said, pulling you closer to his hips.

The tension in your face eases, “It’d be your funeral.”

#roman roy #roman roy fanfic #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #succession #succession fanfic #roman roy drabble #roman roy smut #roman roy fluff #succession smut #roman roy succession

[richeeduvie]

Im deathly curious to know what baby and roman’s personal wedding vows were to eachotherrr 🥺 roman with his messy chicken scratch index cards dying of embarrassment as theyre sat facing eachother after the reception stumbling across his words 🥺 how would baby tell hers?? A bit more composed than him? I wanna knoowww

The Wedding Vows

Roman Roy x Reader HC's

Now I can actually look at my own masterlist for reference. Thank you, Tumblr, for releasing me.

Here's Baby Reading Roman's Vows

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

We've decided Roman did not have the strength to do their most vulnerable vows. He would've been a little bitch at his wedding. He wouldn't have been able to handle you and everyone else listen to him trying to put the way he loves you in actual words.

Like, good ones. Not calling you a whore or a slut whenever you get needy or pffting when you get mad at him for cutting off your hair to keep it in his bedside dresser.

He still teared up at the ceremony, though. That's his fault.

It was chicken scratch vows. Childish writing he stayed up in the night for.

"What are you doing?"

"Fuck off!"

"I haven't seen index cards since we had to that presentation in-"

"Go away, you burden baby. You don't deserve these."

After the funeral, it's best for him not to make speeches in front of anyone.

With your vows, Roman still managed to be a bumbling mess listening to them. He thought he'd be just fucking peachy. All alright - but people don't deserve to hear the way you love him. And it's just weird. Like all the...the feelings. In his chest and stomach and arms when you are so easily able to tell him everything.

"And I do not love you in spite of anything, Roman. I love just you. I think you pretend to know that, but I also think you'll hate the way I will try to remind you of it every day."

Tom wows softly, like a sappy idiot.

You're composed, maybe a bit teary with it, but your smile drops in watching Roman's face get increasingly more twisted. Eyes blinking fast and he's not able to look at you.

"...Roman?"

"Just...just keep fucking going. Don't stop in the middle of your vows, that's un-"

He giggles high and softly, head twitching.

There's tears. You want to coo.

"That's unromantic."

He cries fully. His siblings stare, but Connor thinks it's sweet. Roman wipes his eyes with the crook of his elbow.

"Um, I think I'm finished with my vows now."

"...Is Mr. Roy able to do his vows?"

"I can fucking do them. Do I look like a corpse? Just read the traditional ones to me."

"Roman, do you want to-"

"You'll be my wife, calm down. Don't look at me, I'm weepy. But not that - I'm not even that weepy. This is your fault, by the way."

He takes a deep breath before he has to say his vows.

Roman almost eats your mouth when he's able to kiss the bride. It's a hungry, weepy kiss.

He just wants to keep himself with you during the reception. People should not be talking to him. He needs to prepare for when he has to read his actual fucking vows to you. Roman guesses it's what you deserve, you are his wife.

#inbox #hc's #drabble #dog and bone!au #roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfic #succession fic #succession fanfiction #succession x reader #roman roy imagine

[angeart]

I want to write but there's too many things spinning in my head. help.

[disclaimer: there's no guarantee that the result of this poll will influence anything, but it might! come tell me what you want!]

#i have so many aus #thinking about sleep demon grian but idk if i have any drabble ideas for him rn #hmmm #anyway yeah! come tell me what you'd like to see! #healthy desert duo in some of the life series could also be interesting #look guys there's so many possibilities #i start my new job tomorrow #so i'll be busier then #and i have stuff i need to deal with today #but i also want to write if possible #i just can't figure out WHAT to try writing first jkxcbnk #come talk to me about this :3 #(honestly if this poll gets even one vote i'll consider it to be a success)

[good-beanswrites]

A Fuuta + Tears drabble for @erimnar, featuring Mahiru :D Thank you for the request!! It was really fun to write out some thoughts I've been having about the irony in Fuuta's crime... It takes place sometime after Haruka's T2 verdict but before Fuuta's.

Mahiru always prided herself in her friendly disposition, even if it was what had landed her here in the first place. She would never turn away someone in need. It would break her heart to ignore someone when she could help, even if they had never gotten along with her to this point. Even if they were the type to shun her help, anyway. Even if they were a total asshole who drove her up the wall most days. 

She steeled herself before entering Fuuta’s cell.

The two had never gotten along during the first trial. (Then again, Mahiru was learning that getting along with someone meant little once she was labeled with a verdict.) She’d managed to hold a few more conversations with Fuuta than usual, but he still proved poor company. In all honesty, she would have continued leaving him to his self-isolation if it weren’t for the sniffling she could hear through the bars.

“Hello?” Following a gentle knock on the door, she wheeled herself inside.

She figured things must be really bad if he didn’t even yell as she let herself in. He simply lifted his head from where he was hunched in the corner. Then he dropped it again, red hair falling over his face. Tears fell into his lap from his left eye. His breath hitched now and then.

He looked… defeated.

Mahiru tried to hide her surprise. The last thing he needed was someone gaping at his pain. “I can go get Shidou. I’m sure he has --”

“No.” 

He returned to sniffling without elaborating. Mahiru folded her hands in her lap. If he was hurting that much, she didn’t think curling in on himself like that was doing any favors to his bruised and fractured chest. But maybe the real issue was his eye. She couldn’t imagine what that must feel like. She was about to make another offer for help when he spoke. It was so soft she almost missed it.

“What… have I done…?”

She blinked. “Fuuta?”

He looked up at her. He was difficult to read. It wasn’t as defeated as she’d originally thought. He appeared angry, like usual, but it was layered with a new desperation. Horror. Confusion.

“How could I do this? Me? I never thought... I never meant to... Fuck!”

His fists clutched at the restraints on his uniform. In an instant, Mahiru realized his tears weren’t from any physical agony.

His voice broke. “I was supposed to be a hero, you know? All my life, that’s all I wanted to be. I was supposed to help people. I wanted to… this wasn’t supposed to…” He made a strangled sound. “What have I done?”

Mahiru instinctively reached down to touch his arm. He flinched.

“I don’t-” he hiccuped “-don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.” She had to stifle the tears that had sprung to her own eyes -- she was the type to cry easily when others did. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, either.”

“It’s more than that!” His body shuddered. “I wanted to be the one that people looked to for help. I wanted to clean up all those scumbags, one at a time. Make the world better. I knew I wasn’t cut out for anything else -- I’d never make it as anything in this society. But I thought, online… I really thought… I could still be a hero…”

He sank his head into his hands. Mahiru got the sense he wasn’t actually expecting any response. He probably could care less if it were her beside him, or anyone else, or no one at all. But she would help. That's what she did. 

“Fuuta… you haven’t given up, have you?” 

He stayed silent.

“You stood up from Yuno, after her interrogation,” she said. “You reprimanded me and Kazui for taking the situation too lightly, and not leading the other prisoners. You’ve spoken a lot about escape plans.” She didn’t mention that they had yet to sound possible. “Your conversations with Amane have kept her spirits up. At least, I think so… You’ve kept an eye on Haruka to make sure he’s safe. And I heard you yelling at Es about what happened to me, even if it wasn’t their fault.” 

She smiled gently. She knew his explosive rant in the corridor the other day had been more out of anger than love. Still, thinking of it always made her heart flutter a bit. Fuuta would’ve made a horrendous love interest from the romance novels she’d been reading, but at least he knew how to stand up for a woman like one.

“So what? Get the point, I don't give a shit.” 

Horrendous, see?

Mahiru sighed, keeping her expression kind. “We all have done horrible things. I’m not saying it’s okay. But in here, you have been a hero. So please, you can’t stop now.”

He let out a single bitter sound -- something caught between a laugh and a choke -- before he resumed his crying. Shaking, sobbing breaths filled the cell. 

Mahiru’s face fell.

"Ah... I'm sorry."

With that, she wheeled herself outside. Fuuta had given up. And once again, she’d said too much. She only wanted to show him kindness. To tell him how much she cared. To remind him of the good that was still going on. She should know by now that her love only made things worse. It was best that she left so quickly. No need to endanger him, as she’d endangered others before. She shouldn’t put anyone else at risk.

“Hey -- !”

She whipped her head around. Fuuta was standing outside. His cheeks still shone with tears, but he clenched his fists in determination.

“I’m not giving up, you hear? I’m not that weak!” His expression was wild. He looked ready to fight. Mahiru knew he was, right now. “I’m not fucking giving up on us!”

#milgram #fuuta kajiyama #mahiru shiina #ahh the fucked up irony of these two wanting something so incredibly badly and then they accidentally do the opposite... #(be in love -> destroy their love) (be a hero -> be the villain) #but! i love the idea of them being able to recognize the others' successes because of how theyve helped each other #fuuta would never admit it but mahirus unending kindness has really comforted him #and mahiru may not approve of his aggression but shes really affected by him fighting for whats right #Woo i enjoyed this one a lot!! i hope its as good to read and not just my silly indulgence of faves interacting😂 #thank you :D #drabbles