#succession fanfiction

[richeeduvie]

Roman could and would want to give Baby an extra over the top ‘push present’

Imagine him so obsessed with he’s new born baby girl once the madness of her birth calms down, like he’s just holding her completely mesmerized and telling Baby he’s gonna get her an island.

Maybe, he’s not joking.

Island Time

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Roman's holding her like she's the world. But maybe that's the wrong reference. Roman doesn't think that highly of the world. He's holding her like she's the most beautiful thing the both of you have ever seen.

"If you do anything like what you did here - like claw your way out of Mommy, I'll get someone to chuck you. I wouldn't be able to do it myself."

And he stares. And stares. You smile, you don't think he ever takes his eyes off of her.

"M' gonna get you an island. Thrashy. Trashy."

"...What?"

"You did have a tiny, tiny...very small baby claw her way out of you and she's kinda perfect. So...you'll get an island. I'll figure it out later."

It's silence for a bit, just until his brows raise when your daughter makes a little noise before a yawn.

"You're so cute, you have Daddy speaking nonsense."

You mm when you kiss her tiny little head. Roman doesn't move or make a quip - it's this stupid sort of seriousness on his face when looking at her, but there's no focus in your joking, just her. His baby.

The baby you gave him, the perfect, chaotic baby he gave you. You don't think you need an island, even though Roman hasn't given way to that. It almost scares you as much as it humors you.

"It won't be a tomorrow thing, I don't know how isle real estate works but it'll be beachy."

"Most ones are."

He's tired and mesmerized, the humor comes differently in Roman's voice. You run your hand in his hair and he keeps his eyes on your blanket-wrapped girl.

How else am I gonna fucking repay her?

Roman presses his thumb on a little baby cheek. He didn't know a cheek could be so fucking perfect.

How? For this, how but a beachy island?

If he looks at you and you're smiling...he can't barely handled the way she yawns. So, Roman will just take to watching her.

You try not to laugh at a small choke from Roman when she wiggles and coos.

He can take to watching her for the rest of time because fuck anything else that could be "important". Roman can do that.

#inbox #hc's #drabble #roman roy x reader #succession fanfiction #roman roy fanfic

[ichorai]

hell, yeah ; series masterlist.

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

main masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

chapter seven coming soon!

#roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfiction #roman roy fluff #roman roy series #roman roy ff #roman roy smut #roman roy angst #roman roy x you #roman roy fanfic #succession roman x reader #succession roman #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession x reader #roman roy imagine

[dorims]

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

gif creds @/cassandrahoward

pairing. roman roy x reader

wc. ~700

genre. fluff

just a morning before work with roman roy

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

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

“I have a what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy fluff #roman roy #succession #succession fanfiction #roman roy imagine #succession imagine

[springtyme]

𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐫 ♡

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

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

Chapter 1 Chemtrails Over The Country Club coming soon

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

More chapters to come

#roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy x f!reader #roman roy fanfiction #roman roy fic #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession fic #roman roy fluff #roman roy angst #succession fandom #roman roy x y/n #succession x reader #springtyme writes #a heart is a heavy burden to bear

[chaithetics]

Can you please do something like youngest Roy is secretly dating Stewy and he sees Lucas Mattson hitting on her. And he gets jealous and wants to go public with their relationship thank you!!!!

Jealous Disclosures

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) Reader

Word count: 4.6K

Author's note: Thank you so much for this request Nonnie! I'm sorry for the delay in getting it out to you! It's been busy and I take a bit longer with jealousy/find it harder to write. I really hope you enjoy this, please do let me know! Also, this is obviously not proofread lol. I hope you all enjoy it and would love feedback :)

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established/secret relationship, some smut, jealous Stewy, icky Lukas Matsson, and douchey, douchey Roman! (Sorry about that).

*****************************************

It was Kendall’s 40th birthday party. You knew that this event was going to be something else, Kendall Roy always went above and beyond for a party, especially when he was in these kinds of states. Your more timid nature in comparison to your siblings' abrasive one meant that you naturally weren’t the biggest fan of big events but you could and would be able to suck that up for a night for your older brother. 

You and Connor were the only ones of your siblings to have been officially invited. It was especially tense amongst Roy siblings at the moment, which was saying a lot because frankly, when wasn’t it? Fortunately not being involved at Waystar meant that you didn’t have to bite the bullet and deal with the tension like the middle three Roy children did. But you certainly still felt its effects. 

You were in a corner chatting away with Rava, you’d gladly clutched to her company as soon as she had arrived despite the fact that she initially wasn’t intending to stay for long. She was the nicest and most genuine of any of the partners that the Roys had ever brought back to the family. Well other than Willa you quickly thought, you liked Willa and had from the get-go, she was down to earth and easy to get along with. She also made an impressively good balance to the often well-intending but very chaotic nature of your eldest sibling. 

“Wow wee, Little Bo Peep!” A voice blurted, grabbing your attention and forcing you to turn. You found that Roman had awkwardly jumped onto the seat next to you with a poor landing that he brushed off as he completely ignored Rava, solely focusing his attention on you. 

“Wait what? Is that a nickname? What kind of nickname is that? And  Rava was talking-” 

“The kind that losers like you get.” He instantly quipped back. 

“How charming.” You sighed as you took a sip of your drink. 

“You didn’t bring a date?” Roman questioned. 

“Rava and I were having a conversation, Ro.” Roman just looked at you blankly. “Remember Rava? Kendall’s wife for over a decade, the mother of your niece and neph-” 

“Hey Rava,” Roman says turning to face her for a brief second before turning his attention back to you, Rava just scoffs, already exposed and more than used to these antics. “So, did you bring a date?” 

“No, did you?” 

“Not tonight didn’t really feel like it.” He says dryly and then looks back up at you. 

“Fair enough.” You respond. Anxiously waiting. 

There’s bound to be more. There’s always a biting and inappropriate comment seconds away from leaving Roman’s mouth. 

“But so, are you like seeing anyone?” 

“What the fuck Roman?!” You spoke and Rava had an expression of disbelief over the audacity of Roy men but not in shock, she was well acquainted with it. 

“Well, I’m not asking because I’m interested. Because trust me, I’m not.” He says with that proud, troublemaking smirk. 

“Oh, my god.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Perfect! I’ll take that as a no!” Roman practically leapt out of his chair in the most chaotic way possible. He pinched your arm once he was out of his chair as he grabbed your arm to pull you along. 

“Ow!” 

“Come on, I barely touched you. I want you to meet someone.” Roman said as he held your arm in his grip leaving to navigate the crowd. “You have treehouse access right?” 

“I was talking to Rava, Rome!” You said trying to squirm your way out of his grip. 

“She’ll still be there and if not, you can get brunch and get drunk off mimosas and cry over those really mean but rich Roy men.” He teased as he said the last half of that sentence in a mock crying voice. 

“Jesus, Rome!” You sighed. “Who are you introducing me to?” 

“Lukas Matsson.” 

“Wait what?” You halted in your tracks making Roman stop his walk, he turned to face you looking irritated that you’d delayed his plans. You weren’t too familiar with the name but you recognised it, certain that Kendall had mentioned it earlier in the week. 

“Kendall won’t give me fucking  treehouse access!” Roman practically shouted, loud enough to be heard over the party, and then his voice quietened down to a more reasonable volume. “And Matsson’s like a weird, bored giant apparently so I’m introducing you two. I don’t know, maybe money once removed from the family business is new money’s type?” 

“Before we even get into what you just said, did you only come to Kendall’s party because of that guy?” You sighed and asked looking at Roman. He scoffed and looked down for a moment, kicking at nothing.

“It’s in our name isn’t it?” He looked back up, with a smirk on his face.

“Oh my god Rome.” 

“What, come on. You’re my little sister, not my mom so maybe quit that tone, yeah? And maybe Matsson will be a philanthropist and you can get off your moral high horse and you two can fuck it out and I’ll be namedropped in your wedding speeches. Doesn’t sound too shabby for a Roy does it?” Rome quipped, in his cartoony, douche voice, signalling that talking to him was a losing battle. “Just get me in, maintain a conversation for a couple of minutes and I won’t tell everyone about that summer with mom.” 

“You’re such a tool.” You huffed out and started walking towards the treehouse.  

“You adore me.” Roman teased as he held your arm less tightly than before as you made your way over. 

“So, as the adored older brother you are, you’re trying to pimp me out for a business deal?” 

Roman just laughed at that and didn’t answer. But that verbal silence minus the laugh was more than enough of an answer. You entered the treehouse with surprisingly little fuss. You looked around and raised an eye at Roman.

“The Swedish giant over there. Come on, get that award-winning therapist smile out. If you diagnose him with something in five minutes, I might say happy birthday to Ken-doll.” 

“You’re literally the biggest jerk of my brothers right now, you know that right? And I have three, so that kind of says a lot.” You said quietly, as Roman and you made your way over to the tall blonde man that looked bored out of his brains. “Full disclosure, I’m telling Ken about this.” 

“Ugh, you’re such a bitch. Do you really need to be a narc?” Roman said as you both continued to walk over. 

You rolled your eyes at your brother, as you got closer you were able to fully see the tall blond man. Personally, you thought it was almost rude, the way he was sitting and playing some crappy game on his phone, looking the most bored you’d ever seen someone. He was like a child dragged along on errands with their parent but wanting to be anywhere but there. Roman started the conversation with him, he said your name as a means of introduction and the Swede visibly perked up slightly. 

“The youngest Roy finally comes out to play!” Lukas said with the look of an overexcited child. 

“I suppose so.” You pause for a second. “It’s nice to meet you, Lukas.” 

“Romey, I think you should get your sister a drink, she looks thirsty…” 

You shudder at that, he hadn’t given you good vibes and this was uncomfortable, you looked at Roman to beg him not to leave you alone with Matsson but he completely ignored you and went off. 

“So you’re not in the family business essentially at all, right?” Lukas asked as he quirked his brow as he looked you up and down. 

“Nope, my involvement is pretty non-existent.” You paused for a moment watching him. Rome would owe you big time for whatever the fuck this is you thought. You hated it. “But based on my brother’s eagerness over you, I’m assuming that you’re looking at an in?”  

“To the business or the family?” He has a large smirk on his face as if he’s said the wittiest thing ever. Lukas leans forward in his chair watching you intently. 

“I was meaning business but I guess there’s not much separation in family or business matters there.” Lukas raises an eyebrow briefly at that, he’s not surprised at that observation but he is a little taken aback at your air of candour. 

But that’s how you are with everyone. You tell yourself that if Roman didn’t want you to say such things, he wouldn’t have left you alone, he knows you. He was practically asking for it by bringing you into this awkward mess of an interaction. 

“The business potentially, I suppose the family is a bit more complicated…” He teases. 

“Buy into Waystar, you’re in the Roy’s den somewhere.” You respond somewhat cynically and absentmindedly as you look away trying to find Roman or well any familiar face. 

“Well, Miss Roy-” The way he says it makes you shudder and you immediately correct him. 

“Dr. Roy.” His eyebrows raise again, he looks borderline amused and laughs a little. He has the nature of a spoiled child in a tall, 40-something-year-old’s body you think. 

“Dr. Roy. Sorry, you’re not quite what I was expecting.” 

“Why, did you meet my sister first? Then Rome?” You quip back with a dry chuckle. 

It wasn’t the first time and you knew it wouldn’t be the last time that somebody had said something to that effect, often because of what they’d assumed based on either their interactions with your family members or the general reputation of your family. 

“I haven’t met her yet. But no, you’re just different- which I’d heard of course, but still. It’s different seeing different in the flesh you know?” “I guess so.” “Not a bad thing though.”

“Well thanks, I really needed that ego boost.” You sigh. 

He licks his lips and leans even closer, “Did you maybe want to head out? I’d love to pick your delightful brain amongst other things-” 

“How the fuck did Ken get you here Matsson?” Stewy’s voice cuts in, more serious than usual. 

Lukas doesn’t seem to notice and they must be acquainted you think, it doesn’t surprise you though. If Ken knows him, Stewy’s bound to, and regardless of Ken, Stewy magically knows everyone. You look up at Stewy, feeling slightly more relaxed as he stands near your chair. He doesn’t look at you, not even for a second which is unusual for him, even at public events. There’s always some acknowledgement in his eyes at the very bare minimum. 

You knew that Stewy was coming tonight but you didn’t expect to see him so soon. Like every event you both attended, your entrances and exits were perfectly timed. Coordinated flawless, unsuspicious executions. You’d come 3 hours earlier than Stewy to this and you’d leave with at least an hour gap between you both. That had been the plan but you didn’t think it had quite been the 3 hours yet, just over 2 hours you thought. It made more sense optics-wise for you to be here longer and Stewy to just pop through.  

“Oh, Hosseini- what a sight for bored eyes you are man,” Matsson says as Roman appears.

“There, slurp up.” Roman’s eyes hesitantly shift to Stewy as he hands you the mysterious alcoholic drink for your ‘thirst’. 

“I’m not drinking that.” You quickly respond, giving the drink back to Roman and he rolls his eyes, nonchalantly taking a generous sip from the glass as if to prove a point. 

“Shouldn’t you be in a bathroom with Kendall somewhere?” Roman directs at Stewy. 

“No, unfortunately, we’re waiting. They’re all occupied.” His eyes meet Roman’s but before they do he finally makes eye contact with you, his gaze is firm and he doesn’t look impressed. 

The whole energy of this interaction is making you severely uncomfortable. You’d seen and heard of Stewy giving others non-impressed glances and quips but you’d never seen him make eye contact with you before with an expression like that. That paired with Roman and Matsson playing some weird business game of chicken at Kendall’s birthday was not how you wanted to spend the night. You wished you were still talking to Rava or chatting to Willa wherever she and Connor were. Or that you were home. That was the ideal situation here. There’s a tense air between everyone and despite it being earlier than being agreed upon, you’re ready to head off now. You’d already talked to Ken and given him a present, seeing him and showing face for a bit for his sake was the priority of the evening.

“I need to go-” You start to say before you’re cut off. 

“Don’t abandon us, Dr Roy!” Lukas exclaims playfully like a spoilt child. 

“Sorry but I need to hit the powder room, I’m on my period.” You lie in a manner as if you’re just bluntly stating a fact as you stand up. Stewy chuckles softly, it's the softest you’ve seen his eyes look all night, well for all of the duration of your awkward interaction with Matsson. While Stewy sees through the lie and you’re sure that Roman does as well, the false candour, unfortunately, intrigues Lukas more. 

“Regular? Super? Wait, just bring me back your tampon please?” Roman asks looking up at you. 

“I don’t use tampons.” You sigh as you start to walk off. Immediately regretting your genuine candour this time. 

“Right, sorry.” Roman then looks at Lukas and Stewy. “Well you’ve seen my mum’s vagina tonight but here’s a secret about my sister’s, it’s that tight she can’t use tampons.” 

You glare at Roman who looks absolutely chuffed with himself, he starts to giggle like the child he still is inside and you roll your eyes. Stewy looks at you with a very tight lip smile, struggling not to laugh, even with jealousy coursing through his veins. 

“Maybe stop talking about your family’s vaginas Rome?” Stewy raises an eyebrow at Rome. 

“I don’t know how I always forget about your condition, always snapping dicks. Serial pad user this one.” Rome says to you, directing it at Matsson and completely ignoring Stewy. 

“I don’t have vaginismus which is a very real and not a birthday tech/finance bro over drinks discussion, so stop implying that please and go back to your weird networking.” You say as you walk off, not looking back at the trio of the men. 

“Moderna vagina dentata!” Roman calls out after you. 

“She’s like a diplomatic firecracker right?!” Lukas laughs looking at Roman who smirks and shrugs. 

************** 

You finish washing your hands and unlock the door, getting ready to leave. You’ve gone toilet and you know Roman will be busy sucking up to Matsson and you can make a quick, silent, unnoticed exit. You’ve stepped out and are leaving the bathroom but as soon as you do you feel hands immediately pounce on you, it’s a blur at first and you initially flinch but quickly see it’s Stewy. 

“Get in.” He says as he holds your hips firmly, guiding you back into the bathroom. 

Stewy’s hands leave your body for a moment as he locks the door behind him once you’re both in but they quickly return to where they previously were. 

“Somebody might’ve seen-”

“I don’t fucking care.” He says as he presses his lips against your neck, pinning you to the wall. “Everyone can know baby.” You scoff slightly at that. 

“Well, that’s interesting and surprising, considering you wouldn’t look at me two minutes ago.” He stops kissing your neck and sighs, he tilts his head against your shoulder. “What was going on Stewy? We’re always amicable in public…” You gently probe. 

He nods as his head is still pressed against your shoulder, he sighs again and tilts his head. You can feel his breath on your collarbone and his fastidiously trimmed beard brushes against you, it’s a brief little burn. In another moment it would probably feel more ticklish than it does right now, you’d probably giggle at it like you have in the past. 

“What if we weren’t?” Stewy implores. You pause for a moment, deciphering his meaning. 

“And be what…hostile?” You question somewhat incredulously. 

A change in the method of the public side of your relationship now would surely draw more attention, it certainly would raise eyebrows and questions from those closest and it would become ridiculously complicated. Even with you not being involved at Waystar. 

“No, no. Just open. No more running around, hiding, game of fucking cat and mouse. We don’t even need to say anything, we can just do it. It’s so simple.” He’s moved his handsome head so he’s now looking at you with those wide brown orbs. You exhale slightly and move your hands so that they’re now combing through his hair. It’s handsomely styled but you like it when it has less product and his natural curls are freer. 

“What’s prompting this?”

“And that’s relevant?” 

“I’m just surprised, can you please talk to me?” You ask softly, pleading with him as you continue to gently run your hands through his hair. His hand is rubbing a burning circle on your waist. His eyes are wide and there’s something there that you don’t think you’ve seen before, he almost seems manic. 

“I didn’t like that discussion out there baby.” He says, his tone becoming a bit more serious. 

“This might come as a surprise to you honey but I also am not a fan of when Rome talks about Shiv’s and I’s reproductive systems.” You reply, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“No, I-I didn’t like that but I was meaning with Matsson.” 

“Oh, he’s a creep.” You immediately respond. 

“You’re telling me.” He kisses your lips softly but quickly deepens it, his hands firmly grip onto your hips. You lightly tug on his hair as you moan into his mouth. “He was eye-fucking you like his goonie life depended on it.” 

You chuckle at how he describes it but his face is serious, similar to how it was when he came over during that awful interaction. You don’t know why it took you so long to pinpoint it, it’s jealousy. Stewy Hosseini was jealous. 

Stewy Hosseini was jealous of that interaction, even though you’d both immediately agreed Lukas Matsson was a creep. You kiss him softly and move one of your hands to his shoulder. He eagerly returns the kiss back, filled with hunger. 

“Stewy?” You ask quietly. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you jealous…?” 

His brow noticeably furrows at that question, it’s quite a sight. His hair was now tousled and curlier from your tugging and raking through them, his eyes wide with lust and the aforementioned jealousy and his lips kiss-swollen. He was painfully handsome and you wished that you two weren’t in a bathroom at a party. 

“Did you only just put that together baby?” He asks after watching you for a moment, a cocky smirk on his face. You sigh with a small nod and roll your eyes, which just makes his smirk grow even more. “I don’t want anybody to ever look at you like that again and nobody ever gets to touch you but me.”

He immediately presses his face against yours for another passionate and extremely hungry kiss, you open up your mouth for him and he immediately accepts the invitation. It’s a fiery clashing of teeth and lips, you quickly get lost in it, one hand gripping onto his shoulder as the other one tugs on his hair not so gently this time. 

He groans out against your mouth as you tug on his locks. His hand pinches your hip before he moves it down and then pushes up your dress, his hand then dances along your thigh while the other bruisingly pinches your hip. 

You moan out against his lips as his fingers press against your underwear, you can feel him pressing his fingers against you and dancing along the clothed area. You writhe slightly against him at the pressure. 

His lips leave yours and he kisses along your jaw, trailing the kisses down your neck. He sucks and licks softly around your pulse, then as his mouth gets closer to your collarbone he nips you teasingly. You whine out at the sensation as your fingers dig deeper into his hair and he immediately kisses over where he’d bit you. 

As he does this, he pushes your underwear to the side so that his fingers can slip through. Your arousal had already started to quickly build between your legs and now he was able to take advantage of that. You moan out as his fingers now run through your folds without the barrier of your underwear, he slips a finger inside of you as his thumb gingerly traces over your bundle of nerves. He kisses your shoulder as he hears your breathing quickly change. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, you know that right?” Stewy asks. His voice was slightly more gentle. “Nobody else ever gets this.” He says more firmly. 

“Only you Stewy.” You breathe out as calmly as you can manage as he inserts a second finger into you. He continues on with his ministrations as he kisses along your neck, reaching that spot he knows you cannot ever get enough of. 

“That’s my girl.” He chuckles as he leaves your neck to kiss your lips again. You're desperate to feel him, it can’t have been more than 2 minutes since his lips left yours but you need to feel him there again. Especially when he’s having his way like this with you. You need Stewy in every sense of the meaning. 

His kiss to your mouth is firm and hungry, you get lost in the feeling of his plump lips as he continues to overwhelm you and provide the most delectable of sensory overwhelms that you could ever imagine. But it is of course, unfortunately not long enough. The world’s longest kiss wouldn’t be long enough with Stewy though, which you of course know but it never stops you from wanting, needing longer, needing and craving more. 

When he breaks the kiss, Stewy slides down to his knees on the floor of the bathroom. In your right mind, you’d probably be too focused on the unhygienic nature of this environment but you don’t even think of that. You are just desperate for Stewy, aching for him in any and every way in which you can have him. You don’t think anyone has ever felt as desperate for someone as you do for Stewy.  

He expertly but gently spreads your legs out, putting one over his shoulder as he softly kisses along your thighs. The kisses are soft and hot and as you feel his breath against your sensitive thighs, you feel your core clench and every nerve ending of yours tingle in desire and anticipation for him. 

Stewy continues to pump his fingers in and out of you as his kisses get closer to your core, you squirm slightly as he does. He gives a few gentle kisses to your vulva, your arousal is covering his fingers and running down his hands and he licks through your folds. Softly groaning at that as you let out a whimper at the contact, the noise coming from you is so beautiful, melodic to Stewy. 

The noise spurs him on and his tongue gingerly circles around your bundle of nerves, the pressure is so perfect and the build-up from his teasing and the making out just adds to the feeling. Your hands tangle in his dark hair, gripping it for leverage and as a way to communicate just how he makes you feel. He continues to lick and kiss at your clitoris and you know it won’t be long till you reach your peak at this rate. 

Stewy’s fingers continue at their work, getting deeper and reaching that spongy spot that makes you sharply gasp. Stewy smirks against you as he hears that, he hums against your bundle of nerves and the vibrations make you shudder, bringing you so much closer. 

“Oh my god, Stewy!” You moan out as you roughly tug at his hair. 

“Come on, come for me, baby. I want to taste you and feel it all over my face.” He says in between kisses to your bundle of nerves and around it. You nod and he continues to finger you and to give your clitoris attention, it isn’t much longer until you feel your climax coming on. 

“I’m going to- oh baby!” You whimper out, and he continues at the same pace as you shake against him as your peak arrives and you ride it out. He smirks against you as he tastes you. 

After your orgasm, he stays there, looking up at you in awe for a moment, supporting your body as it’s still somewhat weakened from that orgasm. He then stands back up, he pulls your dress back down and smirks.  Stewy holds your hip gently and his free hand comes up to gently stroke your cheek. The pad of his thumb feels so soft against your cheek. You can’t help but smile at him, so absolutely in love with him and he returns the grin. 

“You might want to clean that up, honey.” You say with a smirk as you lean against the wall, enjoying the feeling of him pressed against you so intimately. 

“Nope.” He immediately firmly says. 

“Nope?” 

“I don’t care who knows, honestly I want everyone to know. Everyone should know about us and that I’m the only one who gets this baby. Fuck Matsson, fuck anyone else.”

“I think a decision like this should have a proper conversation, one that isn’t just jealously induced sweetie.” You respond as softly as you can, as you close your eyes for a moment. You hear a small scoff.

“Such a tease.” He says and you can’t help but smile when seeing the devilish expression on his face. He’s simultaneously charming, and handsome but also arrogant and you love it so much. 

“I don’t want you to regret it.” You genuinely mean it. “I never would.” He immediately responds. 

“I love you.” 

It’s not a conversation you can have right now, the bathroom at your brother’s 40th birthday party is not the right environment for this. It needs to be one at home that isn’t post-sex acts either.

“I love you too.” He says as he rubs his forehead and sighs briefly. “Go home, I’ll leave fifteen minutes after you. I know- small risk but it’s worth it.” You chuckle and kiss him on the cheek. “I expect you to be in bed waiting when I get there though.” He says earnestly but still playfully. That’s your Stewy, always playful and blunt. 

“Sure thing Mr. Hosseini, maybe write me a love poem on the way home?” You tease with a small giggle. 

“Oh baby, you didn’t get my love poem?” He has that loveable but chaotic, cocky smirk on his face. 

“What?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“That was my love poem.” As he delivers that line his smirk somehow grows by ten times. You roll your eyes at him as you kiss him on the lips softly. “Wait, do I need to better emphasise next time?” He teases with a wicked grin and laughs. 

“Get better material, Hosseini.” You immediately quip back with a smirk as you leave the bathroom stall to make an Irish Goodbye from Kendall’s birthday to go home, our home you think. 

#succession #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini x roy reader #stewy hosseini x f reader #stewy hosseini imagine #stewy hosseini x roy!reader #stewy hosseini x you #stewy hosseini smut #stewy hosseini fluff #arian moayed #arian moayed fanfic #arian moayed fanfiction #arian moayed characters #stewy hosseini fanfic #stewy hosseini x fanfiction #succession hbo #succession fanfic #succession fanfiction #succession smut #hbo succession #lukas matsson #roman roy #succession s3

[bowieandqueen11]

Kissing Roman Roy Would Include...

Request: oh my god! your kendall roy kissing headcanons were adorable! would it be possible to get some for roman as well? i just know that man is touch starved and definitely had an awkward time kissing the reader early on in their relationship. obviously, you can choose to ignore but thank you!

Awww yes of course you can get some my love this man is 100% touch starved you’re so right <3

LADS OKAY I’M COMING BACK TO SAY THIS IS NEARLY 7K AND MY LONGEST FIC BY FAR LMAOO BABYGIRL CODED anyway comments are much appreciated because I am so tired lol ty ty ily all! :)

Warning: mentions of injuries/ blood, childhood abuse, and some swearing! Also MAJOR spoilers for Season 4!!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @xihatiancai.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

We all really took one look at Roman Roy and went wet pathetic disgusting meow meow man I love you, and I really love and appreciate that for all of us. Because like... if not babygirl, why babygirl coded?

The first time you guys ‘kissed’, you were both around seven years old: on the tennis court, Shiv had sent a ball flying at Roman that had bent his hand backwards, and left quite a nasty gash of blood running down his arm. Instead of comforting the brother she had just bruised for the umpteenth time, the set of Roman crawling down to sit on the grass while cradling his arm just made her furious, and she went storming off towards the kitchen for some chocolate milk to cool down. You had been watching from the doubles side line, dropping your own racket as soon as Roman began to snivel, squeezing his skin back together and wincing as warm blood gushed out onto the grass. You run over to kneel in front of him, the harsh rays of light blushing across your head like a halo as you grab onto his elbow. You press the back of your shirt against it, hoping it will do until a nurse or one of the waiters comes running out with a first aid kit; as you glance up, the furious face of his father comes pacing past the balcony doors, and so you turn Roman’s head to look at you instead, praying that he won’t spot him. It will only make him whine more. It surprises you when he curses curtly instead at the feel of your fingers pressing down hard against his wound, but when you mumble an apology he finally stops scowling down at the ground and looks up: it’s as if he’s seeing you properly for the first time. His eyes light up as you gently lean down and press a kiss against the bloodstains; just the slightest hint of pressure, and tingling warmth of your your lips is enough to send a flourish through his body and make Roman Roy feel nourished. No longer withered, no longer left to rot. Roman gazes up at you: past the dappled sunlight, past the dotted clouds, past the earth and skies and heavens, and past it all he sees you. 

You’re the first and last person he’s ever wanted to kiss. Like craving poison, he knows it will pass through and destroy him if he allows himself to indulge. But by god, if it wouldn’t taste so sweet as it pours down his throat and overwhelms every dilapidated part of his body.

The first time he works up the nerves to kiss you back, is in one of the pool storage huts just past the outer boundaries of his father’s estate. Shiv had finally convinced her father to allow her out into the city to go shopping for some new suits, and Ken had been chained into a business meeting to take notes for Logan, so Roman had been left all alone to wander around the ostentatious shadows and lonely halls of the house he hated to call home. Feeling trapped, like he couldn’t breathe, he wanders towards the ‘safe space’ the two of you had created a couple of years ago: a small nook you and Roman had spent the day nestling out (and nearly breaking his arm shoving unused surfboards and pool cleaning chemical boxes) in the dim, and slightly damp room. Finally feeling at home as he stepped into the mildew-steeped scent cloud that enveloped the square box stuffed full of things his father had wanted out of his sight, his heart is allieved to spot you already there. You don’t even have to look up from your book as he comes dawdling towards you like a puppy afraid it’s about to be kicked. When you open your arm up to him willingly, the true him comes leaping forth: like a darting hummingbird, he comes flying  into your side, nestling his chin on the hard part of your shoulder so he can scan the words lazily past your head. After about half an hour of him gripping onto your shirt, as sweet and softly as infant spring, he glances up towards your face and an overwhelming urge overtakes him. Before he can stop himself, before he can make sense of his decision, before he can chide himself for his weakness, he lifts his head up and presses his lips firmly, if a little harshly, against the side of your cheek. Your book crashes to the floor with a thunderous slap, lifting a small cloud of dust as you raise your fingers to the wet spot in surprise. He immediately shuffles backwards at the noise, before making an awkward, fumbling excuse and running out the door.

He never brings it up again, but whenever you’re round at the Roy residence after that you can feel the intensity of his eyes land on you far more often. He blinks away and scratches the back of his neck nonchalantly whenever you catch him, or sometimes scrunches his nose up and starts biting the edges of his fingernails if he’s really nervous. But the love is there. He just can’t say it yet.

Once, when you were the only person in the house besides Connor and Logan, you were asked by the second-born eldest son to help him find Romie. With a concerned sigh, Connor wanders off to check behind the bathroom door off the living room, his lips forming a tight line as he disappears off down the corridor. Turns out, Logan had found out that Roman had been the one to spill his ice cream cone in the car on the way back from his fencing lesson, and Roman had run off cursing and crying when he heard the roar reverberate out from his father’s office at the news. You know where he is, instinctively. Of course you do: you don’t even need to think as your feet guide you towards his bedroom, and your body shrinks down to scoot under the bed and lie on the pristinely clean floorboards. He’s hiding behind the tendril weeds of his fear, making himself as small a target as possible as he balls himself up, trembling like heavy branches when lanced with frost. From behind his raised elbows that protect his face, he’s sniffling, his feet leaving the ground every few seconds from how harshly they shake. You lie down carefully on your side beside him, so hyperaware of any part of yourself brushing against him, in case the wounded creature decides to bolt. Thankfully, he comes sliding towards you, only stopping when your chest does the job for him; being as physically close as he can get to you, he huddles into your embrace while you stroke back the few curls by his ear. Once you’ve finally managed to choke back your own tears, your lips latch onto the spot of skin by the lobe of his ear, eyes closing and ticking his skin. He warbles against you, shivering, and the kiss just makes him whine more harrowingly against your chest.

Romie’s always around you. Always. He finds it difficult to actually be physically intimate, so it says quite plainly (even if you can’t understand it yet) that you’re the love of his life when he comes barrelling down the front stairs of the veranda and straight into your hug whenever your first foot falls onto the estate. It also means that during family dinners, when he’s finally mastering the skill of slouching back in his wishbone chair and tuning out all the horrible and spiteful things wrapped up in faux sincerity his family are saying about each other, he turns instead to kick your feet under the table. The brush of his ankle against your shoe is soon followed by the heavy pressure of his fingers reaching over onto your lap and entangling with your own. When the two of you are finally excused, you decide not to go back inside straight away. Instead, the two of you go for a dander around some of the verdant fields around the edges of the property: a few green patches here there that are filled with the scent of honeysuckle and freshly blooming rainbows splattered amongst the dirt. You decide to stop and sit for a while on the edge of a cobbled stone wall, laughing as Roman nearly falls off the uneven patch as he settles down beside you. He shrugs you off with a wave of his hand, but he’s smiling as you pluck a daisy from between the blades and tuck it behind his ear. For a while, the two of you just exist: watching the sunset brew violet and lilac gleams across your eyeline, talking shite and poking fun at each other, until Roman shyly takes a break from his rapid talking to blink slowly. He leans his torso forward, and after a bashful burn flickers over his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut and plants a wet kiss against your cheek, just like he had done all those years before.

He climbs into your room later that night, and you nearly hit him with a baseball bat when you come strolling out of your bathroom to see a teenager laying splayed out in a heap on your rug, a few pages of your homework flying over your desk from where he had banged his knee and tripped. With a lopsided grin, he decides to just stay lying there (once you had convinced him that you weren’t going to actually hit him). Sometimes Roman just likes to watch what you’re doing: to observe as an outsider what normality, what contentment should and could feel like. As you sit by your lamp and finish off your english essay for the next morning, you notice with furrowed eyebrows that Roman is moochier than normal tonight: he keeps squirming, rolling about and whining as if he’s debating something in his mind. That’s why when he’s gripping onto the ivy and finally climbing back down into the darkness later that night, you grab onto the collar of his sherpa jacket and heave him up through the air like a flustered bird towards you. After his initial surprise at the feeling of you pounding your lips against his own, he melts into you: clumsily, messily, desperately, but with one hand gripping so hard onto your window frame that he splinters the wood. His top lip refuses to let you go: capturing onto your bottom lip over and over and over again, the sweet taste of cherry flooding your senses as you bite down on the lip forcing its way into your mouth. When he pulls away, he looks so uncharacteristically serious for a moment as he hovers a few inches away from your face. His eyes never break from your lips, as if he he looks away the miracle he’s been graced with might fly away and he’ll be left with the hellish nightmare of his normal reality. But it doesn’t, and so you let him go.

He burns a crimson red and starts muttering incoherently as his feet work their way back down the garden lattice, but he’s got this giddy smile and a spring in his swishing walk the whole way home.

I mean, like, of course Connor invited you on the camping trip. And man, I mean the tension that had been expanding between you and Roman over the last few years was becoming more and more obvious to his brothers, and it pierced Roman’s heart with a stroke of fear when he realised it was to him as well. Connor’s little fishing expedition by the river turned out a little differently than he expected: instead of a placid moment between family, learning and teaching new skills together and bonding over one activity they could all share in, it was more of a ‘watch little gremlin Roman flirt obnoxiously with Y/n and, once again, ignore everyone else’ fest. Kendall sat on the shore, itchy against the reeds of grass and sighing every time he looked down at his watch. Connor was still having fun, though, from where he was wading his brand new, and never worn again wellies into the shallow end of the creek. It was just that every now and then he would have to trip over his fishing line and scoot to the right to avoid large splashes of weedy water landing on him; Roman had decided a much better use of his time was to try and pull up handful of mud and chase you around the river side with it. Your squeals, as you ran around the tamarack trees and peered around the sides like a meerkat, could be heard from the campsite. So, too, could Roman’s hyena laugh as he went laughing around the bend after you, and Connor had to spend half the night ignoring your shared snickers as he apologies to camper after camper. 

I don’t even know how, but somehow the two of you managed to convince Connor that it was a great idea for you and Roman to share a tent. Thanks to Kendall’s pointed warning for the two of you to behave and ‘not embarrass the family name anymore’, you were both surprisingly well behaved during the night. Mainly due to the fact that before you fell asleep, you leant over and left a chaste kiss against Roman’s cold forehead, before turning onto your side facing him and wishing him a goodnight. He wiggled down into his sleeping bag like a little worm as the electricity from your touch spread down like firebolts through his body. That man did not sleep one wink that night. Not one. Instead he rolled onto his left side, and chose to spend his time contemplating you: taking you in. The milky buzz of twilight flooded through the loose zip, the chirp of bouncing crickets on the darkened rocks outside match the intense thudding of his heart. Fumbling his fingers up so they rested underneath the side of his jaw, he made himself comfortable as he observed the way your chest rose and fall: the way your nose crinkled up in disgust when you were in the throes of a weird dream, the way your mouth mushed as you turned more into the stony ground. How much he loved you. How happy he could be if he could just summon the bravery to tell you. How fucked he was. How, if he did, his father would immediately utilise it, weaponize his love against him.

Roman wasn’t stupid, but he was. He didn’t know if he could find a way to escape this cage. Deep in his heart, he knew there was no key to this dog kennel, to this bird cage, to this leash. But he lay there, still, dreaming of freedom.

You get invited along on their family holidays a lot, mainly because Logan spends his whole time on phone calls and not mentally being present so he doesn’t really notice you’re there. If you and Roman aren’t spending the afternoons sitting together on a sun lounger, reading aloud softly to him by the pool side, it’s spent actually in the pool. A freshly seventeen year old Roman had seemed nervous, besides the usual annoyance at having to wear nothing but swimming shorts: shaken all day; when you touch his pinkie finger and grip onto it, silently asking him with your stern expression if you were okay, only the most miniscule of grins could cross his face in response. He still seemed unsettled in the water, besides the fact that Shiv’s foot nearly thwacked him up the face as she and Kendall wrestled each other under the water, both unrelenting in their accusation that the other had lost their splashing match. While you watched on in horrified curiosity, you nearly jumped when you felt Roman softly touch your elbow and lead you away from the affray. You think he’s trying to guide you towards the Jacuzzis as you bob across the water, or perhaps back to his room to escape the antics of his family. Instead, Roman leads you further into the deep end for a moment; after a sharp turn right, you’re surrounded by a small well, a shallow area just out of sight of the main swimming area. The imposing walls loom over your head as you take a perched seat on the brick bench that runs around the semi-circle, and Roman’s breath trembles as he follows suit, sitting maddingly close to you. You open your mouth to ask him what’s going on, but before you can get a squeak out he’s lunged at you, fervently enough to make you nearly bite your tongue. It’s not super romantic, and it’s incredibly clumsy as an inexperienced Roman Roy mashes his lips against your bottom one until he can feel his teeth clash against yours. You can taste a touch of pineapple from the inside of his mouth as he sloppily raises his cupid’s bow, and soon after the tang of chlorine as he falls too far forward and sends you both tumbling backwards into the water. But when you come back up for air, heaving him up by his underarms and staring dumbstruck at him as he pants heavily and tries to look anywhere else, you burst out giggling. Roman’s smile grows brightly enough to blight the sun as he looks incredulously at you, the laughter only stopping short on his lips when he catches the squinting look of his sister watching the two of you from the boundary edge.

It’s the first and last time Roman Roy kisses you for a while, terrified that one of his siblings will go squealing to daddy and he’ll take you away from him. And then, suddenly, the two of you have grown up. Roman’s still stuck to you like glue, but the repression festers away in his stomach until he feels as if some kind of scaly tooth monster is gnawing away at his insides. He feels the leather tighten around his neck whenever he’s standing like an affronted ostrich in that office with his father, his master, his demise, his ghost, him. 

So, Roman starts to try and avoid you whenever he’s at Waystar, worried that the grief that never seems to leave his mind will strangle you if he lets you in. Terrified that his father will die, but also that his father will never die. That this is just another cage. Eventually, after weeks of him turning on his heels with a manic jolt and running out of every board room he spots you in: after months of the child dressed up as a man putting his phone to his ear and having nonsensical phone calls every time he passes you in the corridors, you manage to nab him when he’s walking out of the break room. Even though a stuttering cousin Greg thinks you’re trying to kidnap him when you grab Roman by the collar and start dragging him to the elevator, you refuse to let go until Greg’s waving hand is firmly shut behind the metal sheets. You let go, and he fumbles backwards onto the hand-rail that runs around the small rectangle with a bemused ‘what the actual fuck’, but you just cross your arms and stare at him, refusing to talk first. 

Your austere façade quickly drops, and you’re quick to slam your first into the emergency button on the panel, gripping onto Roman’s sleeve as the elevator lurches to a stop between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors. A kind of acceptance has washed over Roman, some kind of known and familiar claustrophobia from having spent his whole life locked up, his whole life thrown about sets in. He picks at his fingernails as his eyes dart about, wild and brutal and crushing as he looks around for an escape route. It’s only when you put a hand on his shoulder and draw him in for a hug that he breaks down; he squats down so the two of you are resting a few inches off the floor, his face buried just atop of your heart as he shakes and he cries and he allows himself the security to just crumble. To melt down. To kick his feet and hope his father feels the wring of the shackles against his own ankles. He hopes for the first time in his life, as you stroke the back of his head and shush him comfortingly, that they hurt him. 

Something changes between the two of you that day. You’re kinder to each other, and slowly to yourselves. It’s not outspoken, or rushed, or ravenous, but it begins to grow and grow and grow until it’s not only confusion and anguish that lies at the pit of Roman’s rotting core.

It starts with him becoming more comfortable showing affection to you around his family. Like you sitting on Roman’s lap at Shiv’s wedding reception, not listening to the speeches but trying to hide your giggles in Roman’s palms as he’s busy trying to take roses out of the centre piece and pin them through your hair. Or his full weight against you during the professional photos out on the balcony, and not even Shiv flicking her brother or Tom waving his hand at Roman to try and get him to behave could stop him from leaning backwards and planting a kiss underneath your jawline once the man said he was taking the final photograph. The two of you go out into the gardens later that night, trying to escape the ear-hammering loud beats of the D.J., and to try and make an early escape from the growing fight that seemed to be coming between Tom and Shiv’s old work acquaintance. With two beers and slightly tipsy heads, you sit down and talk on the dew-ridden grass, shoulders swaying against the other’s in time with the falling pine leaves. You felt like children again, and against the smouldering clash of fireworks that brandished the sky in bursts of red and gold, you both felt undying as well. He kisses you then, his hand reaching up to brush against the side of your cheek, his bottom lip teasingly tugging at your bottom lip and making you swat him away with a laugh. As you take his hand in your own and press a promise filled kiss against his middle knuckle, he hopes that one day he’ll be able to kiss you at your own wedding.

When you know he’s having a rough day at work, you like to try and sneak into his office and wrap your arm around his stomach, peppering kisses up and down his spine. Although he tries to shake you off like a startled starling at first, when he realises that you also managed to close the blinds on your way in without him noticing, he quickly relinquishes himself onto your barrage of adoration. He becomes all whiny, and soft, and needy, and all the things he’ll never allow himself to be outside of the security blanket of this closed off room. Although he still isn’t comfortable with anything too sexual, you won’t find him complaining as he wrestles you to the sofa. Once you’ve had the wind knocked out of your lungs, and Roman’s satisfied with how fully you’re splayed out on your back before him, he’ll go scuttling over to the end of the sofa and kneel down beside it. With a mischievous glimmer in his eye, he’ll swish his hips from side to side and come crawling up the sides of his body like a wolf slinking towards its dinner. Then he attacks: his tongue heavy and slick as he draws a hickey out just under the pulse point on your neck, pressing him firmly against you if you try to squirm away, chiding you with a warning. When it becomes too much, he lets you grip him up by his tie and walk him backwards until his thighs hit his desk. He jumps up to perch on it, and you stand between his legs as they tighten around you. You’re slow and careful as you loosen the material between your fingers, opening the first button of his shirt, and only the first so he doesn’t become too uncomfortable, with a satisfying loud pop. He whimpers as you lean over to scrape your teeth against the exposed skin, working your way up until your lips are tantalisingly hovering over the stubble on his jaw. He can feel your breath, hot and unsteady as it pants against him, but he still can’t stop the shiver that racks through him as he takes your hand and guides them under his shirt. With your hands firmly planted against his abdomen, you look at him quizzically, worried, but he just keeps his fingers on top of your own and answers you by sweetly pressing his top lip over his own. Just once, he wanted to feel safe, to feel okay with the love of his life touching his body.

The two of you have this game where you try to steal kisses from each other during the most inappropriate and annoying times possible. Oh, Shiv’s trying to talk to you in her kitchen about how her trip to England went? Roman barges in between the two of you, nearly making Shiv chop her thumb off, just so he can interrupt his sister by smirking against your mouth. Kendall wants to run through a presentation the two of them have to give the next morning? You’re grabbing onto Roman’s head as you run through the office, nearly giving him a heart attack as he scrambles backwards and allows you to drop his head back onto the cushion. With a full plant landing on his already pliant lips, Kendall’s left with a fed-up ‘hey’, yet unsurprised look of disappointment on his face as you run off back to your own desk.

When his father called Romie a moron in Prague, the look of desolation that crossed through his teary eyes was enough to make an angel weep. But it broke you even more when he pattered out of the dining area, walking shoulder to shoulder with you, but not saying anything. He was just staring down at his hands as if they were blotted: stained with specks of blood, and he would have to spend another sleepless night scrubbing them out of his skin. It wasn’t the first time he heard it, but it was the first time you were there to hear it too, and you weren’t going to let him get comfortable wallowing in that fearful acceptance. You grip onto his shoulder and steer him away from the milling crowd of sheep, stuffing him into a bathroom stall of the east wing of the hotel. Crowded together, Roman’s hamstring bumps against the porcelain as the two of you scoot about until you’re standing facing each other as best as you could. He looks at you, bleary eyed, and you look at him, bleary eyed. He breaks. Choking, gasping, breathless sobs, drowning in his misery. He grabs onto your shirt, clawing into the meat of your shoulders as if he’ll sink if he lets go. He keeps babbling through bubbles of spit about how he just wants to make his father proud, how he wants to be just like him, how he wants to prove that he can rule all this too. How he can never replace him. But he can. He wants it all to burn, but he wants to stand on the ruins and be the one to plant the foundations again. To make a better world, in honour of his father: in honour of the god of war that rages within his head. You press quick kisses on his sweaty forehead whenever you can, doing your best to dodge the quick turns of his head and wiping away the trails of tears with your thumb. All you can do in that moment, as you press your lips against the side of his ear and whisper it to the most intimate, lost parts of himself, is to let him know that you’re proud of him, no matter what happens next. You always have been, and even the ghost of Logan that possess Roman can’t stop that.

The sloppy kisses he gives you the next morning omg. When the two of you are sitting on your bedroom steps, and you’re biting your bottom lip in concentration as you try to do up the buttons of his dress shirt and make him look presentable in front of his family. Like a feral dog, he uses all of his leftover energy trying to nip and bite your fingertips, catching them on his tongue and pursing them against the roof of his mouth whenever he can.

You cannot convince me that Roman isn’t a jealous bitch. Like at Kendall’s fortieth birthday party, when he finally gives up trying to get up into his special little secret treehouse club, and Shiv has left him to go ham on the dance floor instead. You finally manage to convince him into relaxing for a fricking minute, making him join you at the bar. If someone tries to grab your waist, though, or butt into your conversation while the two of you are hyena giggling and seeing who can spurt more beer into the other’s face, Roman will full on goad them into fighting him. I mean, chest puffed out, crazed look in his face, hands up by his side until they send a weak shove in their general direction. It only ends when Roman either: near topples you to press a bracing kiss against your lips, or you dragging him off and having to hold him through the brackets of his arms. In the corner of the room, over by the sheets of warbling fire that seems to be coming from a central room, you stand behind his feet and wrap your arms up his chest. You can feel the fury roll off him, allowing him a moment to blow off the steam, until his head finally falls like putty and begins to synchronise his breathing to yours again after you hold your lips against the nape of his neck.

The kisses when he comes back after being held hostage (I am doing this so out of order apologies) omg??? He clambers sombrely to sit beside you on the deck of the boat, looking so out of place and serious as he leans back against the cushions. His siblings make fun of him, and tease him, and although he realises it’s harmless and he’ll see it as a key bonding moment a couple of years down the line, in the inside the typical Roy storm is brewing. He can’t say anything: just hides behind the jokes and snide comments so the words don’t choke him. You just feel his weight fall against yours little by little, until his hand reaches out and takes your own so tightly you know it’s going to bruise. The muscle in his jaw tightens and he squeezes his eye shut in an enduring pain at the sight of his father’s helicopter coming in to land. So, for that kind second before his life comes crashing back down around him again and he has to revert back, to hide behind the brick wall again, you take him over to the railings. It’s just the two of you, the warm sea salt stinging against your grimacing faces, and the ungodly sight of a near-naked Cousin Greg lying stretched out beside the slide below you. After a few goes, you manage to unlatch his claws from the white metal and replace them with your soothing palm, rubbing semi-circles against the back of his hand. You’re here. You’re here, with him. You’re not going to let him go it alone again, if he wants.

And he does. He could cry, he so desperately does. Some of the tension falls from his shoulders as he raises your joint hands to his lips and kisses them, gracing over every inch of skin his mouth can latch onto. 

You both know, in that moment, that it’s enough. It’s a promise. You’ll stick together, no matter what. You’ll love each other through everything, no matter what. You’ll stay around, no matter what or who he becomes.

Which brings me to... kissing him when you find out about the passing of his father. Standing on that boat, on the most joyous of occasions, feeling as if the whole world is shattering around you. Feeling miserable at the knowledge that deep down, some part of you is overjoyed by the news. Feeling even more downtrodden to realise, as the streaky eyes and thousand-stare faces of the Roy siblings flash back and forth in your line of sight as they pass the phone to each other, that Logan will never really be gone. They’re talking to his lifeless, empty shell through the speakers, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s here in this room. He’s staring through their eyes. Talking in their quivering, harsh voices. Pounding through their feet. Tearing them apart as they try to cling onto each other. In their accusations that burst through their mouths innately. In the ordered instructions hurled out to keep business running smoothly. Hidden between the cracks of their voices as they sharpen their words and seethe them out between clenched teeth when the slightest chance of Logan even being dead is raised. He’s here, right now, as you let go of the death grip Kendall and Shiv have on both of your hands and catch sight of Roman rocking backwards and forth on the floor.

Giving a final squeeze of apology to Connor’s arm, you take Roman out of the room before he combusts. The whole air seems to be chilled: still, like something’s lurking unspoken between the threads of air. Like you’re leading Roman through the cold remains of a morgue. He wanders around for a minute, not even hearing the click of the door as you close it behind you. Not even crying. Not even speaking. For the first time in his life, he looks so much like his father. Too much. It scares you. Until eventually he just closes his eyes and trods over to the wall, thumping his forehead down on the cool metal until it burns. He holds his hand out to you, cufflinks gleaming like the edge of a knife past the ceiling lights, as if he’s offering a contract out to you. Apprehensively, your tentative hand creeps out and places itself gingerly on top of his own. He takes it, his dry lips latching onto you until the bridge of his nose is resting now upon your hand. The deal is done.

When you get back to your apartment though, and Romie finds out that Matsson wants him to fly out and meet him in Norway... that’s when Roman gets weird. Devastated. Freaks out. Grieves. You come out from your shower, wearing one of his suit shirts as your pyjama top, and he doesn’t even give a whistle of appreciation. Instead he’s crumpled on the floor by the canopy of your bed, cradling his knees to his chest, swearing into his kneecaps furiously. But you - you, oh god, you’re the only thing that can stop him from being swallowed up by Logan’s fury. You tilt his chin up during a tangled rush of expletives I don’t dare to copy down here, a scowl setting itself into his face like stone. It begins to soften when he realises you’re touching him, when he can feel the scrape of your nail around his jugular. You do your best to warble an unconvincing smile as you turn his head to the side, so you can better wipe your bottom lip against the edge of his throbbing mouth. You mould yourself to him, working at his pace as he winces at first, before slowly falling more and more easily into your grip. His hands loosen from his arms and fall onto your triceps as he deliriously tries to come back to himself through searching through the velvety warmness of your mouth: by swiping against your tongue and choking back his grievances as you pant into his open, waiting mouth.

You wake him up the next day with a fond kiss against the tip of his nose, and for the first time in a long while he smiles before he wakes fully up. The morning light cradles his bleary face as he sleepily runs a few fingers over the edge of your cheek, before cradling himself into your side again. He feels safe, weary, anguished, loved enough to fall asleep again, after pressing a few gentle licks behind your earlobes to try and hear you laugh again. Even through it all, his main concern is you. 

You trace his features while he restlessly dreams, although he squirms from time to time and alludes you to the fact that he’s secretly awake. A kiss here, between the junctions of wrinkles on his furrowed forehead. A kiss there, on the patchy stubble just underneath his left ear. A few there on the dark circles underneath his eyes, until you’re balancing over him and holding yourself up by the hands splayed over his pillow. He just needs to be reminded he’s beautiful from time to time. That he’s perfect. That he doesn’t need to try and be someone else. To encapsulate his father. 

But also like, Roman fucking hates Matsson. The way he looks at you during the whole field trip, like a hunter about to swallow its prey whole. Although the continuous comments about his family, and the two new Co-Ceo’s, and the legacy of his father make him burn down to the pit of his stomach with a white hot fury, he can deal with them if he would just leave you the fuck alone. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone but him looking at his soulmate with such adoration and lust in their eyes, so if that overgrown yeti gives you the up and down check out one more time he might actually just deck him in the middle of the retreat. He bites down on his tongue so harshly that his taste buds begin to bubble and prickle with blood, deciding it best to storm off and collect his thoughts before he lashes out and does something he can’t take back. You finally manage to track him down a little way off the beaten track, winding your way over some cobbled steps to find a branched alcove with nothing but a bench and a breath taking view of the gushing river down below. He’s hunched over with his fingers knotted over his knees, his lips so tightly drawn together that at first you don’t even spot the droplets of blood until he turns with a raised eye to look at you.

He knows it’s not your fault, so there’s no convincing or apologies when you join him. Just Roman finally getting all of that pent up sorrow and distress out. After an awkward moment of bouncing your foot up and down, you decide your best course of action is to just open your arm up to him again, like you used to do when you were children. At first he raises a confused eyebrow, before the realisation dawns over his face, and his features crumble. His lips purse, his throat bobbing as he heaves the tears back down, but he can’t stop his lips from trembling as he falls into your side. That kiss was the sweetest, as he leans his chin familiarly against your shoulder and bumps noses with your own. He frowns, sobbing at the knowledge that he can kiss you, finally, in the way he’s been yearning for all his life, and yet it all feels so wrong. So upside down. So far away from what he had dreaming. The freedom feels like a tether, and yet he juts his chin out and latches placidly onto your bottom lip anyway, the tears trickling down and falling between your mouths. 

It’s an act of defiance. A key sliding into the lock. He still can’t say it, but he won’t allow himself to smother the feeling anymore. The first sip of poison gliding down his throat, and Roman prays as he presses his forehead tearfully against your own, that it would kill the Logan part of him first.

#succession #succession imagine #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #kendall roy #shiv roy #roman roy headcanons #logan roy #roman succession #roman succession imagine #succession season 4 #greg hirsch #connor roy #tom wambsgans #succession spoilers #kieran culkin #succession fanfic #succession fanfiction #x reader

[augustghosts]

Stewy Hosseini x female reader

A classic tale of fucking your ex at your friends wedding. We’ve all been there, I think.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: 18+ pls, minors will be blocked! Not proofread which is defo a warning, lmk if you spot anything ive missed. Smut. Oral f!recieving and protected pinv. Alcohol and drugs are mentioned slightly.

Little authors note sorry: Hey everyone i am actually alive lol. 5 months later i return writing for someone new… not out of character for me. I watched succession for the first time recently (late asf to the party i know) and i read some amazing stewy fics so i thought i’d add my piece because i’m obsessed with him. Sorry to all my tommy miller babes on here, i swear i tried writing for him again but my inspiration for tommy fics seems to have gotten lost. I really struggled when i tried finishing my half way done tommy series lol. But when i started writing this one it just floooowed and i finished it in like a few hours. Maybe my tommy love will come back someday but for now…. This. Hope someone out there enjoys lol <3

You’ve felt eyes on you all night. Everywhere you go you end up meeting his eyes across the room. Eveytime you look over at him, he’s already looking. He should be the one that's embarrassed, you’ve caught him looking at you multiple times, but you’re always the one who ends up looking away first and feeling your skin heat with the embarrassment of being caught. While he shamelessly stares at you over the rim of his glass, that awful fucking smirk gracing his lips and he watches you squirm. Honestly, it’s kinda creepy. And you almost hope he approaches you so you can tell him that.

Towards the end of the night he starts to close in, starts inching closer to you. He starts making conversation with the people around you, people at the bar next to you, and eventually your friends. Asking them how they are, how it’s been such a long time. Then, he finally gets to you. He takes his time looking you over before he speaks and you’re determined not to be the first one to talk, so you let him stare. Both of you standing in silence for a few seconds before he finally speaks.

“You look great.”

”Thanks.” Keeping it simple seems safe. You want to tell him he looks good too because fuck, he does. He always does. He notices your eyes drifting over his suit and tie and he chuckles.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Uhm,” He trails off - pretends to think. “I’m at a fucking wedding, and i’m enjoying myself.”

”Yeah?” You ask, he nods in agreement. The way his eyebrows raise tells you he’s still being sarcastic, still mocking you. “Watching my every move all night is how you enjoy yourself?”

“Actually, yes.” He confirms. “Watching you squirm all night was pretty fun.”

”I wasn’t.” You attempt to defend yourself, downing your drink. “I was just-“

“I’ll get you another.” He cuts you off, snatching your glass out of your hand - not even bothering to ask. You almost try to protest, but you don’t see the point. You know him too well, you know how stubborn he is, once he gets an idea it’s hard for him to let it go. If the idea he’s got tonight is paying for your drinks, then so be it - who were you to complain. You sit down on the stool next to you, watching as Stewy makes the bartender laugh as he orders your drinks. You're kind of pissed that you still can’t figure him out sometimes, you know him better than most people - maybe better than anyone, but he still confuses you. It has been a while since you last saw him, but you conclude that he hasn’t changed much.

When he comes back with your drinks he puts yours down in front of you and asks: “Still your favorite?”

You nod, kind of pissed that he got it right. You try to convince yourself that he didn’t actually remember that small detail. That he’s just been watching you order them all night during your staring competition.

“So, how’s your family?” You ask, cringing at how lame you sound. You just don’t want to let him start a conversation you don’t want to have.

He smiles, because he knows what you're doing. “They’re fine. I still don’t see them much, but they’re good.”

”You’re still too busy to see your family?” You joke.

“Mhm,” His smile almost looks genuine as you joke with each other. “I’m always busy.”

“Busy stealing people's money?”

He laughs then, a genuine laugh that makes you laugh as well. God, you don’t want to admit that you missed him. But everyone else just seems so boring after him, you’ve never found the same thing you’d had with him with anyone else.

“You never really understood business did you?” He laughs.

“I understand perfectly.”

“Sure,” He agrees. “I explained it to you enough times.”

“Yeah, and bored me to death.”

”Is that why you broke up with me?”

His question completely catches you off guard and you almost choke on your drink. You almost want to ask him if he purposefully said that while you were taking a sip, but you’re too busy trying to supress your coughing.

“Jesus, it was just a question.” Stewy laughs at you again, his warm hand coming to rest on your back as he watches you almost choke.

“Fuck you.” You say pointedly, after getting yourself back under control. ”You know why we broke up. Also, I broke up with you?”

”You did.”

“Stewy, it was amicable.”

“Was it?” His face goes serious again and you instantly miss the sound of his laugh. You just sigh, taking another sip of your drink. This was exactly the conversation you didn’t want to have.

“I thought you said you were enjoying yourself,” You say after a few moments of silence. “Don’t ruin it now.”

”I lied.” He says. “I always hated those two, I can't believe they actually got married.”

”Match made in hell.” You agree, both of you laugh softly again.

“You know I also lied earlier when I said you looked great.” He says, surprising you. You brace yourself for whatever joke he’s going to make about you, you shouldn't have pissed him off, he can get mean when he’s pissed off. It’s not his fault, it’s just his defense mechanism - but nevertheless you brace yourself for his comment - and he surprises you again by saying: “You look fucking incredible.”

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. You opt for another sip of your drink instead and he watches you in amusement.

“I only came because I hoped you would be here,” He continued. You still can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, that damned smirk on his face makes you think he’s making fun of you, but those big brown eyes look so sincere.

“Stewy, stop.” You sigh.

“Come on, baby.” He murmurs, he leans forward in his chair and places his hand on your knee. The nickname makes you tense up. Makes a familiar heat spread through you. “Let me get you another drink and take you up to my room.”

Fuck. He’s fucking good at this, and he knows it. He knows exactly how to get you. You’re trying to think, but the alcohol and the way his thumb is rubbing your knee is clouding your mind. He waits patiently, watching as you look down at his hand and back up to his face. Your eyes stop at his lips before meeting his gaze.

“Alright,” You say, you swear you can actually see his eyes light up. “Go get me another drink and show me your room. Then I'll decide.”

“You got it.” He grins and practically jumps out of his seat. When he returns he holds out his hand to help you off your stool, the heels you decided to wear and the drinks weren’t a good match. He hands you your drink, although you don’t really want it now. His hand finds its place on the small of your back and a fire lights up somewhere inside of you. His touch feels so familiar - comforting. He leads you out of the bar and to the elevators. Punching in the right number before the doors close, leaving you both alone in the small space. It suddenly feels too quiet.

You want to touch him, but once again you don’t want to be the one to make the first move. You don't want him to know how desperate you are for him, although you think he already knows. He’s watching you in silence, his eyes dark and wanting. A look you’ve seen a million times before - a look that makes you excited. The elevator ride is short, Stewy isn’t the type to kiss you in an elevator, and you know that, so you’re not disappointed when the doors open and he hasn’t touched you or said a word.

He gestures for you to leave first, putting his hand on the door so they don’t close on you, or him. Some people would find this strange, the silence, but it’s a game you’ve both played with each other before. A game you both enjoy. He guides you to his room with a hand on your back, just like before. When he unlocks the door and opens it for you, you suppress a gasp. As usual, Stewy needs to have the best of the best. The bride and groom's room probably isn’t even this nice. They probably couldn’t afford it - Stewy can.

“Well?” His voice sounds from behind you.

“Hm?”

”What do you think? You said you would decide when you saw the room. Is it good enough for you?”

”Uhm,” You pretend to think as you set your drink down on the dresser, turning around to dramatically inspect the room. It earns a playful eye roll from Stewy. He knows what impresses you and he knows he already has you. He already had you down at the bar.

“I think it’s okay.” You conclude, turning to face him. He hums in sarcastic agreement, looking you up and down. He’s playing the game again, who is going to end it first. Who is going to lose. You don’t like losing, and neither does he. But honestly, haven’t you already lost? He has you in his room for christ sake. He has you standing in front of him, already dripping and all he’s done is touch your leg a little and look at you the right way. So you put aside your pride and step towards him, you bring your hands up to his cheeks and roughly bring his face down to your, finally connecting your lips.

His hands immediately find their home at your hips, pulling you tightly against him. The kiss immediately turns from an innocent kiss to a hungry and passionate one, his tongue dominating your mouth. You both know each other's bodies so well, there's no need for taking it slow or asking questions.

“Fuck, Stewy.” You sigh as he backs you towards the bed, gently setting you down and climbing over you. Kissing every inch of your skin.

“God, I missed that.” He groans, marveling over the way you sigh his name. “I missed you, baby. I can admit it. I want you so badly.”

You moan softly at his words, at the way his lips feel on your neck - at how right this feels. You had missed him too. He catches you off guard when he pulls away to ask, ”Have you been fucking other people?”

“Sorry?” You giggle, “Why are you asking me that now?”

”Have you?” He presses.

“I ju- maybe.” You stutter, already missing his lips.

”Maybe?”

”I know you’ve been fucking as well.” You accuse, suddenly defensive. You push yourself up onto your elbows, despite still being trapped underneath him.

“Yeah, I have.” He says coolly.

“So?” You ask, irritated. Why was he doing this?

“So, none of them were as good as you.” His words earn an eye roll from you. “Nothing can compare to this pussy.” He adds, his hand sliding down to roughly grip your thigh and bring it over his waist. Oh, shit. His half hard cock is pressing perfectly against your pussy in this new position, the material of your dress and his suit pants keeping you apart. “And, i bet none of those guys fucked you the way i do.” One of his hands comes up to grip your chin, his other keeping him above you. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he asks, “Did they?”

“No.” You practically squeak. “None of them were like you. No one is like you, Stewy.”

You’re not even lying, after having sex with Stewy for so long nothing compared. You had gotten accustomed to a man who knew what he was doing, to a man who was generous in bed. You had gotten used to a man who could make you cum. No one had achieved that after him. Your answer obviously pleases him, he grins and leans down to kiss you again.

He ends the kiss and stands up leaving you spread out on the bed, you whine underneath him, chasing for more. He ignores you and slips off his suit jacket. He makes a show of undoing the top button of his shirt and loosening his sleeves in order to push them up to his elbows. Fuck, he looks so good. You almost want to tell him, but you don;t need to. He can see the way you're watching him, that look in your eye. He knows what you look like when you’re turned on - and this is it. He grabs your thighs and pushes your dress up to your waist, getting a good look before sliding your panties down your legs, throwing them over his shoulder somewhere.

“I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve, baby. I know what you need. I can’t wait to taste you.” He rambles as you whimper in anticipation, he presses a kiss to your ankle as he watches you buck your hips.

He has his mouth on you before you can respond. Just as you remember, he is painfully and infuriatingly good at it. He still eats pussy like it's his second nature. He still looks up at you through his gorgeous lashes as he traces your clit with his tongue. He has to hold back from grinning against you as you writhe and whimper. He groans as you sigh his name and run your hand through his hair. You remember how much you love it when he’s like this, when he's animalistic and loses his composure.

Your legs tighten around his head as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. It’s fucking embarassing how quickly you barrel towards your climax, but it has been a while. And no one else devours you like this, no one else is this good. You should have expected it. He recognizes it immediately, breaking away from you for a second to speak.

“Are you gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes! Please, Stew.” You moan, your hands grabbing at his hair attempting to push him back down. He smiles wickedly, licking his lips as he watches you.

“God, I love it when you beg for me.” He mumbles before diving back in, allowing you to push his head down and maneuver him.

"Please make me come," you groan, arching your back. “I'm so close, don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t stop, he continues to lap at you and work you though your orgasm as you come against his mouth. His beard delightfully scratches your sensitive skin, leaving behind a delicious burning feeling. He’s painfully hard now, after watching you come and hearing you moan his name. You begin to push at his head when you come down, usually he would tease you a little now, knowing how sensitive you are and make the most of it. But he’s so fucking desprate for you, he has been all night. He’s been dreaming about being inside of you for hours now.

He’s instantly on his feet, undoing his belt and undressing. You follow suit, weakly sitting up - doing the best your legs can do when they feel like jelly, you lift your dress over your head and throw it on the floor with his clothes. He’s climbing back on top of you, kissing you hungrily. His lips and chin are still wet with your juices and you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his lips.

“How do you want me?” You ask breathlessly, fully prepared to submit to him- to do whatever he asks.

“Fuck,” He groans at your words, having to pause for a second. “Can you turn over for me?”

You smile, leaning up to kiss him one more time before turning over and crawling to the middle of the bed, pushing yourself up onto your knees and holding yourself up on your elbows, so your back is deliciously arched the way you know he likes. You grin as you hear him groan behind you, his hand petting your ass before he delivers a light slap to it. He steps away from you and you hear the rustling of a condom wrapper, did he have that in his fucking pocket? His words from earlier repeat in your head, ‘I only came because I hoped you would be here.’

“Plese fuck me, Stewy.” You moan softly, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I need you.”

”How bad?” He teases. The head of his cock is ever so slightly pressing against your entrance, he’s hardly holding back as he waits for your answer, pushing in slightly.

“So bad,” You sigh, pushing back on him so he slips easily inside of you. You both moan loudly, you love that he’s so loud and shameless in bed. He stays still once he’s bottomed out.

“Yeah?” He says through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Please move. I need to be fucked properly, only you can do it.”

The sound he makes behind you is heavenly, you knew that would work. He pulls out of you before pushing back in slowly. He always does this, he starts slow and then builds up to a bruising pace. All you can do is whimper beneath him and beg for him to fuck you faster. Your pussy sucks him in greedily, his cock pushing against that spongy spot inside of you with every thrust.

“You take me so fucking well. Like you were fucking made for me.” His voice is deep and raw.

”I think I am,” You moan. “You feel so fucking good!”

“Are you gonna come for me again, sweetheart? Gonna soak my cock?”

All you can do is furiously nod your head and moan beneath him, the sounds of your pussy squelching as he fucks you is almost embarassing. You don’t have time to think about it because he’s pulling out of you and gently flipping you over onto your back. He lifts your legs and rests his knees on the bed, throwing your feet over his shoulders and he leans over you. He guides his cock back into you and dives down to kiss you, his tongue pushing past your lips in a messy kiss. You’re both moaning into each other's mouths, not minding when your teeth momentarily clack together.

“Come on gorgeous,” He groans, he’s breathless - pressing kisses to your face between his words. You can tell he’s close too. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Let me fucking have it.”

He feels you tighten around him as you come, his name leaving your lips like a fucking prayer. Your hands tightening around his neck, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck, that’s it. You look so beautiful, baby.” He talks you through it, still fucking you as you come around him.

“Oh my god,” You moan. “Come inside of me, Stewy.”

You know he’s wearing a condom, but the dirty talk is hot. He thinks so too, because that's all it takes for him to come. His head is buried in your neck, his teeth biting into the soft skin under your ear. No doubt leaving a mark, but you’ll worry about that tomorrow. Right now all you can think about is how hot he sounds when he comes, you love that he isn’t quiet, that he isn’t afraid to groan your name into your neck.

He stays still for a second, lifting his head and kissing you - gently this time, before he pulls out. You rest for a minute while he discards the condom. You hear rustling and sniffing while he’s in the bathroom and you almost want to yell out to him - this is why we broke up. But you ignore it, getting up from the bed and breezing past him as he leaves the bathroom. You close the door behind you, taking the hotel robe off the back of the door and cleaning yourself up, doing what you need to do. You wonder if you should shower, but decide you should probably go back to your own room to do that.

When you leave the bathroom he’s sitting in the bed under the covers, the tv remote in his hand. Your dress and underwear have been picked up and folded on the chair beside the bed. It makes you smile, how can someone be so thoughtful but so selfish at the same time. That’s why you broke up, you need to keep reminding yourself.

“So, I guess I'm gonna go back to my own room.” You say as you gather your things. You’re on your way back to the bathroom with your clothes when he speaks up.

“Okay,” He says, respecting your decision. “Why?”

”Why?” You repeat, stopping your tracks. “Don’t you want me to go?”

”No. I want you to watch tv with me.”

”Seriously?” You laugh before you realize he’s being serious.

“Yeah, seriously.” His face is impassive, and hard to read. But you can’t resist those big brown eyes and you drop your clothes back onto the floor and slip into bed with him.

“Hey,” He whines as he looks at your dress. “I picked that up and folded it for you and you just threw it on the floor again.”

“Sorry, how rude of me.” You laugh at the mock pout on his face. You’ve sat pretty far away from him and he eyes the space between you.

“Come here.” He says lifting up his arm so you can cuddle into his side. God, you shouldn’t be doing this, you should have left. But he smells good and this bed is so comfortable.

“Will you stay the night here?” He asks quietly

”I shouldn’t.” You sigh.

“I know.” He agrees.

Of course you end up staying the night, Stewy is very convincing. With his promise of round two and a warm shower in the morning, it’s hard to resist. He also promises an expensive breakfast after the shower, but he says, ‘only if you behave yourself.’ You spend the whole night talking and laughing with him. Not only is he the best fuck you’ve ever had, he’s also the funniest person on earth. He’s got the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen but he’s also the biggest assole you’ve ever met. He’s so confusing, but that night you decide that maybe taking a little more time to try and figure him out won’t be so bad - only time will tell.

#i couldnt think of a title btw so…. yea #im RUUSSTTYY i havent written in months lmao #apologies in advance i guess #if anyone even reads this lmao #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini x fem reader #stewy hosseini fan fiction #stewy hosseini smut #succession #succession fanfiction #fanfiction #smut #female reader #x reader

[wildlunar]

Red Bird

Roman Roy x Reader

word count: 1800

synopsis: nervous for his mother’s wedding, Roman’s lover takes him away for a breather

warnings: mentions of abuse

-

The Tuscan sun fortifies the solstice season—paints the landscape in the most vivid of colours and bleaches their skin in brown-speckled kisses. The trees flourish, all green and incandescent, and Roman can’t quite recall it ever being quite so magnificent when he was a child, though, back then, he never found the beauty in many things.

Nerves taint his palms in gummy sweat, forcing his knees to buckle under its burden, and as the black Lincoln Navigator pulls into the driveway of the Italian villa, Roman does his best to quieten his haring heat. It is not so much the place at hand but, rather, the people within it that he dreads to encounter, the false courtesies and watchful eyes of those who searched his words for his undoing. And then there was Peter, the faux husband, who he is yet to encounter and holds no interest in ever calling father. He doesn’t have to imagine how bad that encounter will be.

The car stops, respite over, and, once again, he is thrust into a game he has no desire to play. But this is for love, he swallows, and to love is to perform at being loved. He is smiling at his reflection in the window, poised with mirthful agony, preparing himself for the rendition when he is quickly goaded away from it by a hand on his knee. He doesn’t need to look at her to know she has watched him through the entirety of the journey. Worried, just as he, at the prospect of fucking something up and being torn prematurely from her mask. Simpering at her, he squeezes her hand, once, twice, to reassure her before kicking his feet out of the car and beginning again.

He holds the door open for her, holding out his palm for her to take and crows out the words, m’lord, as she does so. She returns his sentence with a relieved snicker, indulging in him, replying to his sentiment with a simple ‘milady’, as she straightens the hem of her dress.

He’s not used to her wearing summer dresses; at tracing flowers and pastels and subtle frills as delicate and ethereal as tissue paper. Fragility is a concept not meant for office spheres, and in their youth, she had been prone to parading in saturnine, comforted by boy’s shorts and oversized tees to ever consider dressing ‘elegantly’. But here, under the reckoning eyes of his extended family and the esteemed guests of his mother, she turns in sunlight and he, ever the gentle watcher, basks in her excellence.

The rest of the family trudges the path ahead of them though Roman cares little about the distance as he takes in the familiar scenery with her, hands entwined like a lifeline. He’s enraptured by it all and for a while he has escaped madness for serenity. “When did we stop coming here?” He asks her, pushing up his sunglasses.

“I don’t know.” She squeezes his hand. “For me, it was when we were fifteen.”

“I never came back after military school,” he says. “Too many randos and tom-fuckery for my liking.”

“Ah, yes, the post divorce blues of Caroline Collingwood. You could almost write a novel.”

“Hmm, very nice. Revolving door policies and sexual manipulation. Very salacious. Definitely one for the kids.”

“Sicko.” She nudges him with her shoulder and in return he pays her back, harder, a game, one they’ve played many times before. In the crossfire of their impelling bones, she lets go of his hand and the weight of its loss causes a cleave to break through.

Surrendering to the inevitable is a concept he’s never been very accepting of yet has had to conform to anyhow and for the third time in his silent, reclusive life, he finds himself faced with defiance. They stroll further to the songs of the chaffinches and all he can think about is how close they are: her hands, his hands, hands that touch, skin that’s drawn to each other, perpetually longing for the warmth of another body—it is all a mystery to him until now. Without thought, he reaches for her, dancing with her fingers till they come together once more, undoubtedly where they belonged. 

But there's a certain vulnerability in seeking her affections and doubt settles in and clogs his throat when the image of his father pushes him further and further down. Sweat exudes from his hands and it takes every part of him not to wipe his palms and shove her away. 

He stutters. “Me holding your hand doesn’t, like, mean anything, by the way. Not in that way, at least. Just to fucking clarify. Unless, you know, you, erm, want it to mean something. I don’t mind. That’s cool.”

“You don’t have to hold my hand if you don’t want to, Rome.”

“Did I say that? I don’t remember saying that. I was just being, you know, fucking, nice and making sure you—where are we going?” 

They slip away from the group without being noticed and she leads him, hand in hand, into a secluded garden. Even after eighteen years, she treads the grounds as though she’s lived there all her life. 

“You’re not gonna kill me are you? Take me into the bushes and hang me on the vines or—”

She makes a swift turn into a gap in the hedgerow and after ensuring it’s absence of people, slows her pace back down so that she’s walking beside him. “I thought it’d be nice to go somewhere quieter.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that? To murder me or to jump me? You know, if you wanted to fuck that bad we could’ve just done it back in the car. Would’ve given the driver a straight up boner to see you get your tits out.”

Rolling her eyes, she diverts her attention to one of the flower beds, crouching down to the earthskin. Picking at the cluster of lavender which scatter the ground beneath their feet, she brings its head under her nose to smell and he watches, enchanted, as he catches tiny glimpses of her mellow skin. Her knees, like roseate pebbles, rest just beneath her chin and she closes her eyes languidly as she takes it in. An existent vision bathed in blossom.

There is a part of him that can fathom the fact she’s, most likely, done it all for him though like many things, it’s a gruelling pill to swallow and not follow the urge to choke on it. Even after all these years, Roman can hardly believe she’s with him, standing by him, accepting him despite the trauma that macerates him into nothingness without so much as warning. She is the best of both of them, always has been, at almost everything really, though he can find no bone in his body that loathes her for it. He loves her, oh he loves her, but gnarled hands and welted skin acquire the words before he can ever speak them.

“You know,” she begins and he is startled out of his thought spiral. “The last time we came here you had this massive blow up argument with Logan. One of the worst ones, so bad I could hear him through the walls. And Caroline came up to my room, all jittery like a, fucking, baby bird and practically begged me to go out and find you. I mean, I had no idea you’d even gone out but when I came out to find you, you were just lying here in the garden, tangled up in a lavender bed and staring up at the sky. 

You were so fucking out of it, you wouldn’t talk to me for ages but when I laid down beside you you reached out for my hand and squeezed it until you felt like talking again. You smelt like absolute shit, looked like shit too, but you were so warm and some of the petals had gotten lodged in your hair. And you kinda reminded me of this bloodied up version of that ‘Spring’ painting by Botticelli.”

Raising from the floor, she turns to face him, finally, finally, and smiles, unabashedly. She stares at him, right in the face, as though she were studying his very being, the lavender twirling back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. Slowly, bit by bit, the gap between them closes and he searches her eyes for the reason of her unnatural silence. 

“What?” Roman’s voice is the most sincere it’s been all day, small and unsure, and he thinks his heart may stop if she doesn’t say something to him. 

Instead, she brings the lavender flower up to his face, its bittersweet aroma a pleasant intrusion on his senses, and tucks it behind his ear. Her touch is a delicate thing, as though he were a present and this flower was the final bow on his pristine wrapping, and she has moulded him into something worth having, something beautiful. She strokes his gelled hair behind his ear, careful of her handiwork, and follows the lines of his face with her eyes, with her hands, tracing patterns over his neck then his cheeks then his lower lip. 

“You’re so pretty,” she says. And he believes her to be joking until she kisses him and they mould together sweetly under the shade of the bushes like twining roots.

This is her devotion, he realises, swept up between sad eyes and fleeting touches and messages found beneath stumbled words. And he drinks it in, a man starved, eyes closed, worries to the wind, everything her. She presses into him, wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him in closer and he lets her take him apart with her mouth, stamping, burning, caging her name inside him. 

They part and Roman chases her lips, perception glazed with bewilderment. “You’re doing great,” she says, returning her fingers to the sides of his face. The touch makes his whole body shiver. “The best out of all of them.”

Ah, he thinks, half-dazed. This is her face after love. And he wonders what his looks like under her own desirous haze.

“We’ll get through this together, okay. You and me, like always.” 

Finally, he finds his voice though it comes out all clumsy and jarred. “Oh, wow, yeah, okay, we got this. Go team us.” 

She snorts, patting him on the back. “Try not to buffer too much, R2-D2.”

He can feel himself blushing and he stutters out mumbled idioms in an attempt to regain himself. It is futile. There will never be a time where she doesn’t steal his breath for herself.

“Can we, erm, ha—” he lets out a noise, somewhere between a whine and a laugh “—maybe, do that again, sometime?”

Chuckling, she returns her hand into his own and tugs him back to place another kiss on his cheek. “We can do that as many times as you’d like, Rome.”

#succession #succession fic #succession fanfiction #roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy imagine #roman roy fic #roman roy fanfiction

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Turmoil; Chapter 8

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: I need him biblically

let me know your thoughts x

Word Count: 3.289k

You got one lazy day. That was it before you had to throw yourself back into work. You and Roman both stand at your bathroom sink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck. You press a light kiss to his forehead, and surprisingly, he doesn’t run off after the fact. He winces, but he stays.

“Connor’s bank statements should be handed to you when you walk in today,” he murmurs.

“You’re a godsend.”

“I know, right?” He takes you by the chin and presses an obnoxiously sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Kendall and I are looking into that politician thing today. Maybe we can go out to dinner today?”

“You’d better show up today,” you warn. He playfully pinches your hip.

“I promise.” He moves away, pulling his shirt off and disappearing into the closet. “If I don’t, put a bullet through my head.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Rome?”

“Mm.”

“What’re you gonna do with that… thing with Marcia?”

“We wait until we can use it,” he calls back. “Thank god it’s on your phone and not mine.” You sigh. You both manage to get dressed and feed yourselves breakfast, and Roman hails you a cab and sees you off with a hesitant kiss to your lips.

You steel yourself as you stare up at the building containing your firm. You love your job- just not what you were doing with it now.

Before entering your office, you subtly slip a jewelry box onto your assistant’s desk. You’d gotten her a necklace and set of earrings while abroad as a thank-you for fighting Connor off with a stick. Roman was right, too. You give her the box and she slides you a manila file with a grin on her face, mouthing ‘thank you’.

You settle into your desk chair, leafing through the papers. It’s normal the first ten years, but starting another ten, his spending became erratic, and lo and behold, he stopped paying his taxes. You wonder how Connor has made it this far in life without getting killed by someone.

You can piece together the puzzle pretty easily. Connor thinks he’s too high and mighty to be taxed, he stopped paying them, the interest racked up an outrageous amount, and now he’s committing fraud to get money to pay everything off.

You take a moment to think.

If Logan bailed Connor out before, would he do it again?

You think you want to find out.

You could catch Logan with his pants down. You were closer to a solution to get him out of your- and Roman, and Kendall, and Shiv’s -life. You were lucky that he was the vote that would’ve won him the vote of no confidence- if he’d legally won, he would’ve dropped the guillotine on you and ousted the fact that you’d kept Connor innocent from fraud. Since he hadn’t, and he’d stayed, if he’d tried ruining your image, he’d look like a child throwing a tantrum.

Satisfied with your mental acrobatics, you toss the file into a lockable compartment of your desk. While you wanted nothing more than to serve Connor right that second, you knew taking him and Logan down at the same time would be much more satisfying. So you decide you’ll wait.

You make a small list on a post-it note of what you have so far. Kendall and Roman had begun to investigate Logan’s suspicious activity around the failed politician, Greg and Roman had gotten you the finances, you’d found more than one hard piece of evidence that Connor was lying on the suit. You also have the issue with Marcia, which you don’t really want to think about. Ever.

If you wait long enough, you think you’ll be able to find your way out of this mess.

Having gotten yourself into a good mood, you decide to pick up some pro-bono cases from junior associates in the bullpen to lighten their load. You spend the rest of your day doing paperwork, but you don’t mind.

You’re in your office for so long you eventually need to flick on your desk lamp. You’re not feeling as tired as you usually would at this point, and you’re thankful for it. When your phone rings, and you find Roman on the other end, you pick it up with a smile.

“Asshole. Why do you work so late?”

“Aw, I miss you too, Roman.” You jot something down in the margins of one of your documents. “Besides, it’s only dark out because it’s winter.”

“Are you almost done? I made a reservation for six.”

You glance over at your watch, sitting on the inside of your wrist. Five-thirty.

“Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, we have stuff to talk about. Involving my big, happy, functional family.”

“We do,” you muse. “I thought this was a date.”

“It is, swear. I just have to tell you because I’m a good fiance.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say. Call when you’re here.”

“I’m already outside, bitch.”

“You’re so romantic.”

You clean up in your office, bid your assistant goodbye(even though you’d given her permission to leave ages ago), and find him parked in front of the complex.

“You drive? How many people have you hit?” you ask, climbing into the passenger seat. He rolls his eyes at you, waiting until you buckle your seat belt to pull away.

“Only two old ladies and their dog that looked like Kendall.”

You snort. “How was work?”

“Glorious. Felt like a superhero fucking shitting on my dad like that.”

“Go on.”

”We did some digging, found a few paper trails. I didn’t know the old man was stupid. Kendall thinks we’re on track to find people that have the ability to testimony.”

“If you even have an inkling that someone could, send them to me. Like immediately. We can’t have them blab to the wrong people. I can legally keep them safe from Logan if they disclose to the firm.”

“You’re the boss.” He honks at the car that missed the green light in front of you. “Fucking dick.”

“Of course you have road rage.”

“I don’t have road rage.”

You sit in comfortable silence the rest of the way, interrupted by the occasional expletive from Roman at bad drivers. He’s surprisingly level-headed behind the wheel, keeping calm regardless of the ‘idiots around him’.

At the restaurant, you take the inside of his elbow as you walk. He flexes his arm, trying to suppress a grin, setting his hand on his stomach. You can tell, despite his slowly dissipating disdain for your physical affection towards him, he fucking loved showing you off in public.

He’d warm up to you eventually. You didn’t want to force him into anything you didn’t want, so most of the time, you let him initiate physical contact. And even though neither of you ever spoke about it, you got the feeling that he appreciated it immensely.

You both sit in a secluded corner of the restaurant, and his legs press up against yours from his seat across from you.

“You should tell me more about yourself,” you begin, setting your head in your hands, balancing your elbows on the table.

“What is there to say?” Roman mirrors your pose.

“I dunno. What’s your favorite color, Romulus?”

“Green. The color of money. Next.”

“Oh, that’s so bullshit.” You lean back, laughing. He pushes off his elbows, instead crossing his arms over his chest. “Your favorite show?”

“I don’t watch television, Miss Attorney-at-Law. Eat, sleep, corporate fucking, repeat.”

“That’s kind of vile.” You take a sip of the water at your hand. “We should watch garbage reality TV together. You’d enjoy it.”

“Why watch on a screen when it’s my real life?”

“You boring piece of shit.”

Roman takes your hand from across the table, hooking your fingers together. “That I am.”

“What about movies? Or are you allergic to rainbows, fun, and joy?”

“Oh no, my throat’s itching,” he says sarcastically, pouting. “I don’t have time for any of that. And when I do, it feels… weird. I never was into movies or TV shows or video games when I was younger. I was always on eggshells with Dad, so…”

You give his hand an encouraging squeeze. “So… we can do all of that stuff together after we give ourselves a week off of work.”

“We just got back from Norway…”

“Roman. You’re really saying you’re not going to give yourself a week off for shits and gigs?”

He has trouble pushing down his smile. “Of course I will. You know me so well already.”

“We should do it after we serve your dad the papers. So he has to wait even longer to go to court.”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re evil. So perfect for me.”

You both laugh.

You both begin your meals, Roman surprisingly attentive the entire time. You both ask questions, answer them, and giggle like schoolchildren.

By the end of it, his chair is pulled all the way around the table, sitting next to yours as he tries to explain a business venture.

“So if pervs won’t disappear completely,” he says, gesturing with his hands, dead serious, “we appeal to the ones who like feet. Because who’s going to fucking know they’re your feet if they one, haven’t bought them, and two, inspect your toes in real life?”

You can’t help the ugly laugh that rips from your stomach. “Why have you thought about this in so much depth?”

“It’s infallible.”

”I didn’t know you knew what that word meant.”

He taps the side of his temple. “I’m learning. From you, specifically. Kendall’s fucking dumb.”

Back at home, Roman’s reclined into you, his head set lopsidedly on your shoulder. He scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, glancing up at you every so often, as if making sure you’re still there. You catch his eyes, and you both smile at each other.

Without thinking, you give him a peck on the lips. He lets you.

“It was hard,” he says quietly. “But it’s getting easier.”

“And so goes life.” You let your head rest on top of his. “I think you’re doing great.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Thanks.”

He hums, satisfied, when your nails begin raking through his hair. You stay like that, for a long while. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing regulating as time passes. You think he’s asleep when his phone rings, loud and obnoxious.

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill whoever’s calling,” he mutters, shifting so that his head is in your lap. You see Connor’s name. “I’m putting him on speaker.”

He does, and starts the conversation with, “What is it, asshole?”

“Hey, Rome. I know it’s a little late, but your fiance hasn’t been returning my calls. Or texts.”

“She thinks you’re ugly. Not interested. Stop trying.”

“Roman.”

“Just being honest.”

“Well, be serious. We need to hurry things along. I’m starting to go into the red.”

“What the fuck are you buying? Oh, wait, your gir-”

“Shut the fuck up. That douchebag of an accountant. He’s doing some shady shit, I know it.”

“Or, shocker, you need to stop spending money. Batshit crazy idea, man.”

“You’re giving me financial advice? Remember when you spend twenty grand on a watch in high school and then lost it the day of?”

“At least I had the twenty thousand to spend.”

You have to suppress a laugh.

“This isn’t what I called for. Just forward the word, okay? I don’t want Willa to have to miss anything important at the theater.”

”What’s that have to do with my girl?”

“She can speed up proceedings.”

Roman looks up at you, and you shrug. You could, but you definitely wouldn’t. Not for Connor. “Yeah, come back later.”

“Nice talking to you, too.”

☾𖤓

The next time you’re at Waystar, it’s a ‘family’ meeting in Kendall’s office. You sit on the couch, Shiv sunken into the seat next to you.

“I say you take that nasty-ass video straight to Marcia and get the good shit from her,” Shiv says. “No beating around the bush. Surely she’ll spill.”

“You’re certainly free to do that. I can’t keep it on my phone anymore- I’m prone to vomiting,” you respond.

“Anyone know about that prick from the party? The one balding in all the weird spots?” Roman asks, leaning against the wall.

“What, Peirce? That’s the dick that was sucking the life out of Dad’s bank account. He was taking money pretending to be paying taxes.”

You turn and glance at Roman. “He’s actually not that stupid, is he?” you ask incredulously.

“I feel like we’re saying that a lot,” he mutters back. “You know that that guy is Con’s accountant now? And he has literally no money left?”

“He’s never been the brightest,” Shiv says without hesitation. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“How can he miss that, though?” Kendall asks, dragging a hand over his face.

“Desperate times,” Roman supplies.

“His firm name’s Thompson & Thompson, right?” you ask.

“Fucking banger name,” Shiv says. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“They have a consultation with me tomorrow. I don’t think it’s anything good, given Connor’s recent history.”

“Lock them out,” is all Roman says.

“This is all such a headache,” Kendall mutters. “Has anyone heard from Dad recently?”

“Surprisingly, no. He’s been suspiciously quiet,” Shiv replies. “You think he’s in the hospital again?"

“Wouldn’t he say something?” you ask.

“I guess not,” Shiv says. “Makes him look weak. Someone will notice, anyway. We’re in the States, we’ll know where he is soon enough.”

“He’s scheming,” Kendall states. “He’s trying to find a loophole back into the company.”

“He wishes,” you retort. “Vote of no confidence. Can’t come back on without making a big deal about it.”

“What if he wants that? He could use it to distract us,” Shiv suggests.

“But from what?” Kendall asks, staring at his feet, boring a hole through the floor.

“You’re overthinking it,” Roman clarifies. “What does he have that he can do right now?”

“God, I don’t even want to know.” You push yourself to your feet. “I’d better head out.”

Kendall grunts a goodbye, Shiv gives you a hug. Roman walks you, and as soon as you turn the corner and nobody’s around, he takes your hand in his.

“Is this what having a crush feels like?” he asks as you wait for the elevator.

“What do you mean?”

“I never stop thinking about you. I get all giddy talking to you- just looking at you. I’m always trying to make you laugh, smile. And look at your fucking face. I don’t need to keep telling you how fucking pretty you are.”

“Hm, maybe you do,” you say, grinning.

“But really.” He lets go of your hand in the elevator, instead winding an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Is this how normal people feel? All… sappy and shit?”

“I guess. I don’t think I can be considered normal, either.”

“Why not?”

“I’m into you, aren’t I?”

“Asshole. I take back what I said. You’re repulsive,” he says, lips on your jaw. When you’re in the lobby, he tells you, “Call me when you’re done,” and leaves you with a squeeze of your shoulder.

At your firm, you give your assistant a wave, gather some files, and head to a conference room. Peirce is there, waiting for you.

“Mr. Thompson,” you say politely, ignoring his outstretched hand. You wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. “Please tell me tax fraud isn’t why you asked to see me and refused to disclose why over the phone.” You both take your seats.

“I’m afraid it is. Rather, not that I committed it, because I wouldn’t be here if I did.” He takes his handkerchief and wipes away a bit of sweat from his chin. He’s a horrible liar. “Rather, some accusations that are being made. I was wondering if anything could be done. And since you’re already handling my client…”

You have to refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “If you can prove it, we can sue for defamation. That’s really it.”

Peirce straightens. “I can prove it, actually. Tax returns, receipts.”

While you don’t take cases you don’t want to(Peirce makes you want to vomit), you know that this could lead to something useful. So you tell him, “Have them faxed by tomorrow,” and he’s on his feet, thanking you profusely as you push past him.

To your surprise, however, he follows you to your office. “Can I help you?” you ask, miffed.

“I just, ah, thought that since I was here, I’d check on how my client’s suit was going.”

“It’s going,” is all you say back. “Last time I checked, I’m the J.D. between the two of us. I can handle my business like a big girl, while it disappoints me to say that you can’t do the same.” You gesture in the direction of the exit. “If you would.”

“Are you sure I can’t just-”

“Quite sure.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Take no for an answer and go before I have you removed.”

Dismayed, Peirce shuffles off.

“And tell Connor to get off my fucking ass,” you say under your breath, heading into your office. You drop your notepad, pickingup your cell and dialing Roman.

He picks up on the first ring. “What’d the weasel do?”

“Was creepy. He said he’s being accused of tax fraud and that he can prove it.”

He scoffs. “He’s going to send you a ‘get out of jail free’ card from a Monopoly game. Does he really expect anybody to buy it?”

“If he’s still in business, people have before.”

He sighs on the other end. “Come home.”

“I have some paperwork to do. Then I’ll hail a cab or something.”

“Boo fucking hoo. I want to see you.”

“You saw me an hour ago.”

“I want to see you again.” Roman pauses. “Pretty please?”

“You can wait another hour. I believe in you.”

“Aw, come on. I’m warming up to you and everything.”

You laugh. “I appreciate that, Rome,” you say sincerely. “But-”

“I’ll do your laundry for a month if you just bring the paperwork home.”

You take a moment to consider it. “You know how to work a laundry machine?”

“I’m going to murder you. Come home so I can stab you.”

☾𖤓

The minute you’re home, he pulls you into bed with him and curls up against you.

“You okay?” you murmur.

“Peachy,” he says into your shoulder. “Shiv talked to Marcia. It worked.”

“At least that bullshit was worth something.” You shudder. “Why are you going to bed so early?” He’s dressed entirely in pajamas, his shirt a soft cotton that clings to every muscle in just the right way.

“Early day. Stockholder drama.”

“I thought Kendall did that.”

“He does. I’m going because I know they’re going to fight.” You feel him smile into your skin. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“Never mind. I’m not so good with words.”

Roman’s hand finds your chin, bringing your mouth to his. When your lips meet, his hand slips up your jaw and buries in your hair. You kiss back fervently, and he matches your vigor. He kisses you like he needs your taste to breathe.

Your hand finds the fabric of his shirt and glides across the panels of his chest, and he groans into your mouth. You feel the soft, oddly satisfying scrape of his stubble against your face. He pulls away only to dot kisses on the corners of your mouth, then unevenly again on your lips.

“I think what I meant was good night,” he says cheekily.

“Jackass,” you murmur giddily into his lips. “Fuck you, Roman.”

#succession x reader #succession #roman roy x you #roman roy x reader #roman roy fic #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession hbo #succession hbo fic #wambsgansshoelaces #turmoil #succession fic

[richeeduvie]

Big sister shiv and baby jr bonding!!

“How did that outfit win? That’a not even on fucking theme.”

“She said she had to-had no time. People are so nice.”

“They shouldn’t be. They gave her a hand out? She’s got her Roblox avatar in rags.”

Shiv’s genuinely pissed with the IPad in her hand. Baby Jr blinks.

“We’ll win next time.”

“I’m not voting for anyone next time.”

Baby Jr tilts her head and smiles.

“Shiv. That’s silly - you have to!”

“We don’t have to if we want to win. Have some willpower in you, kid. Oh, a sea theme - do you see that one grabbing wings? Where are there wings in the sea? Are these people purposely stupid?”

Baby Jr tried not to giggle as she picks out the outfit for her avatar. Her big sister is focused.

Fashion Famous can bring out the worst in people. It’s okay, she just rests her cheek on Shiv’s bicep.

#inbox #hc's #drabble #dog and bone!au #succession fanfiction #LoganWins!Au

[ichorai]

hell, yeah ; roman roy ; part two (m).

pairing ; roman roy x f!reader

synopsis ; pain was an old friend for the both of you.

words ; 32.0k

themes ; fluff, angst, drama, slowburn, smut, childhood friends to lovers

warnings / includes ; depictions of mental and physical abuse, talks of sexual misconduct (cruises incidents), mentions of death, a lot of sexual/suicidal jokes and general foul language, a lot of business talk, phone sex & a handjob, degradation, roman’s implied demisexuality, reader's got a tooth motif bcs all the other roy sibs have their own motifs, a lot of morally grey shit

series masterlist. main masterlist.

The Roy’s summer home in the Hamptons was nothing short of grand. That was always the bare minimum for the family, after all. Though you had been preoccupied with work, having a lot piled up because of your time off for Shiv’s wedding—you had dropped quite a few important meetings to come at Logan’s behest. He called for you, and for all his children, to come to the Hamptons and discuss his plans to sell the company.

You stepped into the home, hands buried within your pockets. Immediately, you were hit by an overwhelmingly foul stench. It smelled an awful lot like rotten meat and, strangely, the piss-sodden alleyways in New York. Your face twisted into a grimace as you strode in, finding Kendall wandering aimlessly downstairs.

“Hey, uh, hi,” he said, awkwardly reaching for a hug when you stuck your arm out for a handshake. The both of you gingerly stepped away from each other.

“What’s that smell?” you asked, knowing full and well that Roman and Shiv were still quite angry with him for basically stabbing them in the back.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. I think they’re trying to figure that out,” he replied, waving his hands around to gesture to the milling workers. “You, uhm, you’ll get used to it. Listen, Y/N, I know you and Rome are close, so I just wanted to ask if you could… talk to him. For me.”

Arching a brow, you tilted your head. “You can’t talk to him yourself?”

“He’s not… he’s being difficult right now.”

“Understandably so.”

There was a melancholic look to his eyes. “I know. Can you just tell him I’m sorry? I want… I want us to be okay.”

Pursing your lips, you gave him a firm nod. “Okay, yeah, sure. No promises that it’d change anything, though. You know where he is?”

“By the beach. With Shiv.”

With a hum of farewell, you started backing off, making your way to the sandy shores not too far from the house. You spotted their figures in the distance, bundled in dark coats and long scarves. When they spotted you approaching, the both of them waved.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted, smiling brightly.

“Hey, fuck-face,” said Roman, giving you a quick hug, before stepping back to allow Shiv to do the same. “We were all waiting for you.”

“Sorry I’m late—work has been kicking my ass lately.” 

Snorting, Roman quipped, “You know you can take a couple days to relax, right? I’m literally your boss.”

“I’m a general manager, Rome. If I stop, that’s a large chunk of Waystar down. I’m trying to keep the company from sinking further into the depths of hell,” you said lightly, crossing your arms. “But it seems like Logan wants to sell it away. What’s our viewpoint?”

The both of them struggled for words.

“If the selling isn’t actually real… like some kind of fucked-up loyalty test, we were just talking about how dad’s going to kill Kendall,” said Shiv, looking none too upset about the prospect. “How that would mean it could be Rome who takes up the mantle.”

That made sense. Connor was not an option, not in Logan’s eyes. He was barely a son to the man, much less the heir to his legacy.

“It could,” you said, careful. “It could also mean you, though.”

 Both you and Roman stared Shiv down. 

Finally, she caved and shook her head with a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Yes, it could be me.”

Sensing that the two of them were on the verge of another catfight, you quickly intercepted, “I bumped into Kendall in the house just now. He wanted me to, uhm, tell you that he’s sorry.”

Roman’s features twisted. “Well, tell him he can stick his apologies up his ass.”

“I’m not a fucking messenger! Tell him that yourself.”

Rolling her eyes, Shiv jerked her head back to the house. “We should probably get back inside. Dad’s gonna be here any minute by now.”

It was on your trek back that the three of you bumped into Kendall, who was wearing sunglasses even though the sky wasn’t all that visible through the gloomy clouds. Both Shiv and Roman didn’t hesitate to duke out their frustrations on him, asking why he changed his mind on the takeover so quickly. 

“You do realize how fucked you’re going to be once you’re no longer of any use to him, right?” asked Roman to his older brother. “He’s got you eating fuckin’ humiliation gumbo on TV, and then what? Nothing.”

Snickering, Shiv added in, “Dad’s gonna play a merry tune on you and then throw you out the fucking window. You know that, right?”

“He’s like a sex robot for dad to fuck,” said Rome.

“He’s like a beaten dog.”

“He’s both of those things—and also a piece of shit.”

To your surprise, Kendall stood by and took all the insults his siblings lobbied at him, expression permanently fixed into one of unadulterated misery. A part of you felt bad for him, but another part of you knew he’d brought this upon himself.

Shiv stepped closer to him, each one of her words saturated in venom. “He’s a fucking narcissist who repeatedly puts his self-interest above everything else, and then tries to justify it with half-assed appeals of the rigors of the fucking market.”

“You’re a fucking prick,” Roman finally tacked on after Shiv’s mini-monologue. He glanced over at you. “Y/N, you wanna throw a punch?”

“What were you thinking, Kendall?” you quietly asked. “In what world did you see yourself winning against your father? And even if you did win, it’d be at the cost of your siblings. Would you kill them for your own personal gain? And not to mention that you relapsed and you’re not getting the help you need. You didn’t even thank Roman and I for picking you up from that addict’s shithole. We got you out of there because we were worried for you. We care about you. And you threw that right back in his face.”

Your words lingered heavily between the four of you. 

When Kendall remained as silent as a statue, Roman let out a loud groan, rolling his eyes to the side. “Come on! Fight back, you fuck-bag.”

“Guys, I just… I…” Kendall paused to look off into the waters. “I can’t get into it.”

“Oh, you can’t get into it? Shucks,” Roman mocked. “Fuck you. Come on, man. Treat us! Why did you actually back out?”

Shame flooded his features. He completely disregarded Roman’s question by telling his little sister, “I’m sorry, Shiv. About the wedding.”

There were tears in her eyes. Her father had made her cry after ruining family therapy, and now her older brother was making her cry after ruining her wedding. 

“How dare you apologize to me?” she asked, a sharp edge to her tone. With that, she rotated on her heel and strode off. 

You and Roman followed after her, your arm linked with his.

“You look like shit, by the way,” Roman murmured to his brother as he brushed past him.

By the time you got back to the house, you caught sight of the cooks dumping the expensive food they’d been preparing and laboring over for hours straight into the trash. When you wondered aloud what was going on, one of them quietly answered that they’d found the source of the smell—a dead raccoon covered in maggots, rotting in the chimney. Logan demanded all the food be removed because it’d been sitting around in the stench, calling for pizza to be ordered instead. 

When lunch rolled around, you sat between Roman and Kendall, feeling incredibly tense. The atmosphere between the siblings had yet to clear, and you weren’t quite sure if it ever would. The chatter died away when Logan cleared his throat sharply to quell the commotion and greet the family.

He began with a blunt address of the bear hug situation, which you noticed made Kendall’s foot tap against the floor in agitation.

“I guess the question is… do we really want this fight?” he asked. “Or is now the moment to cash in and fuck off out of the casino?”

Silence. He was met with dead silence.

“If we do fight, I need to tell the board who I want to take over,” said Logan. “So, please—I want you to speak freely.”

His words made Shiv tip her head back and scoff-laugh. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law?”

“Come on! We’re pals here. Let’s fuckin’ have it out!” gruffed Logan as he surveyed the table.

As if to purposefully push her father’s buttons, Shiv crossed her arms and pointedly kept her mouth shut. 

Tentative, Kendall spoke, “I think you should fight, but, uh… you’re the one who built it all. The man, the myth, the legend.”

In a condescending tone, Roman crooned, “Aw. That’s adorable. You’re always lookin’ out for Pops, aren’t you?”

“But is he saying Dad should stay on because that’s what Sandy and Stewy would want?” asked Connor with a frown, ever the conspiracist. “How do we know he’s not a double agent?”

“Nice to see you, too, Con,” mumbled Kendall.

Shaking his head, the older brother said, “Hey, Ken, I’m just saying what others are thinking.”

“It’s possible,” Shiv added, narrowing her eyes.

“Should we frisk him for a wire? Burn him? See if he’s a witch?” joked Roman, scratching at the back of his head.

Interrupting the banter, Logan said, “He’s taken his medicine.”

“Taken his medicine?” Shiv parroted in an affronted manner. “Is that it? Dad—you beat Roman with a fucking slipper in Gustav until he cried for ordering lobster, remember? And Kendall tries to kill you and he’s only five minutes out in the cold?”

You remembered that day. When you’d casually told Roman that you preferred lobster over crab. How he tried to order it for you instead of what was already on the table, and how an already ticked-off Logan was tipped over the edge and lost his shit, taking his frustrations out on Roman. The memory of the actual beating itself was hazy—all you could recall were thuds and muffled whimpers, fearful tears on your cheeks. The purple bruises on his face didn’t fade away for a long while. He would try to joke about it, but you never found it funny. You had apologized over and over again, until Roman told you to shut up and forget about it, nonchalantly adding that he wanted the lobster, too. That it wasn’t just for you.

But it was. It was all yours, had Roman been successful in acquiring the crustacean for you. You didn’t need to know that, though.

Trying his best to shrug off Shiv’s words, Roman tilted his head to the side and quipped, “Well, it’s not polite to order the most expensive item on the menu when you’re not paying, Siobhan.”

Logan could dump a billion dollars into an incinerator and that would barely even make a dent on how much wealth he was hoarding, you wanted to say. You kept your mouth firmly shut, biting down on your tongue.

As per typical Logan fashion, he brushed off the call-out of his abuse to his son. “We’re not doing memory lane here. Come on, spit it out. What do you all think? Stick or sell?”

“Well, I think you’re in the prime of your life,” chimed Tom. “I think another decade is just what the doctor ordered.”

From beside you, Roman’s knee nudged into yours as he began miming choking on a dick. You smiled, almost laughing out loud, but caught yourself before you did. 

“I, uhm, I think selling seems cool…” began Willa.

“Hey, Dad, Willa thinks selling seems cool!” snorted Roman, which made Willa fall uncomfortably silent.

With a disapproving stare, Connor bit out, “Asshole.”

“You,” said Logan. It took you a moment to realize that he was staring directly at you. Heat prickled at the back of your neck. “What do you think?”

You sat up straighter in your chair. “You’ll be rich enough to live a thousand lives if you sell. You’ll still be rich enough to do so if you stay in the game. The only difference is, you lose your legacy if you go with the former.”

Scrutinizing you, Logan dipped his head and took a sip of champagne. “Mmh, wise words, sure. Not your opinion, though. Not what I asked for. Those are just facts we all fuckin’ know. Bah—don’t waste my time. Fucking useless. Leeching off of me while your parents are parading in a nameless exotic country, drinking their brains into toxic liquid that leaks out of their ears.”

Shame curled within your stomach, and a blistering flush spidered through your skin. You could feel all eyes on you, including Roman’s. You were no stranger to Logan’s verbal abuse, but it’d been a long time since he brought up your parents' and their neglectful nature. The wounds were reopened, and stung much worse than you remembered.

Drumming her fingers against the table, Shiv said, “Dad, I think it’s possible that you’ve somewhat chilled the atmosphere of free-flowing debate here.”

“You know, Kodak was trading at about a hundred dollars a share back in ‘97. Yesterday, you could pick it up for about three bucks. That could be us. If we cash out, we could walk away with ten billion.” Logan glanced at his youngest son, noticing how he’d shuffled his chair closer to you. “Roman. What do you think?”

Swallowing, Roman shrugged. “I dunno, Dad. I fuckin’ love money, but I’m really scared of you, so…” He made a high-pitched noise, barely passable as a laugh. “Yeah, uhm, honestly—I’m not sure I’m willing to give my strategic advice in a public forum when I could just be a, uh, a player in any future moves.”

There was obvious exasperation in Logan’s eyes. Disappointments, the lot of you were in his eyes. Without another word, Logan stood up and began to hobble out of the dining room, pizza left untouched. 

“Uhm, Dad?” Roman called out after him, confused. 

He didn’t respond.

Roman patted your back twice before getting up as well, following after his father. Shiv was hot on his heels.

One by one, Logan had told them through the door he had closed behind him. He wanted his kids to come in one by one, alone, so that he could have their unfiltered opinion.

Roman went in first, but not before squeezing your hand, and slipping through. When he emerged only ten minutes later, his face was despondent. But his lips were twitching upwards, and you could immediately tell that he was just faking it.

“He’s dying,” he joked with faux anguish. “Riddled with cancer.”

The way Shiv’s brows kinked told him that she didn’t find it all that funny. “Rome.”

“What? It’s a joke. It’s funny. Dad’s got cancer. What’s not funny about that?” You patted his back and nudged him over to the couches, where Connor and Willa were sitting.

The eldest son rolled his eyes. “Sick puppy,” he called Roman.

“No, but seriously, he asked me to run the company.” Dead silence. “I’m kidding. Or am I?”

It was then that Logan called for Shiv to go in. You took Roman’s arm, leading him off into another room, where it was quieter.

“Hope you’re not planning on molesting me back here,” Roman languidly commented, but didn’t fight off your grip. “Nobody would believe me after what I said about Dad—I’d be like the boy who cried wolf.”

“Rome,” you said, partially exasperated, partially somber. “What did he say back there?”

The man across from you scratched at the back of his head. “Honestly? Nothing.”

“Hm?”

“I mean—I explained to him that it’d be smart to sell some shit, keep some shit. Financialize the company. I don’t know. Couldn’t really gauge his reaction—then he just said okay and told me I could go.” Your friend rested his hands on his hips. “Do you think that was smart? Do you, uhm, think he thinks that was stupid?”

It took you another moment to shake your head tentatively. “I think you did the best you could, given the ultimatum. Besides—you wouldn’t really want to run this shitshow, would you?”

He stepped back in an affronted manner. “What do you mean? You don’t think I can do it?”

“It’s not a matter of whether or not you can do it, Ro. It’s about if you want to or not. And I know you wouldn’t. It’s not… it’s not you. You’ve always said the company was like a cage for you.”

The way Roman squared his shoulders told you that he was growing defensive. “Yeah, well, it’s like a fuckin’—a good fuckin’ golden cage. An amazing cage. A cage where I can roll around and throw shit at people. I’d like to stay here for the rest of my life.”

“Do you? Really?”

“What, is this some kind of reverse psychology bullshit Dad put you up to? Just—” He stepped back when you reached out for him. “Fuck off.”

With a huff, you shook your head. “Roman, you need to pull your head out of your fucking ass and realize that I’m the only friend you have. If you can’t trust me, you’re fucked.”

There was a tense beat of silence between you.

Then, he narrowed his eyes on you. “If you stab my back, I’m going to kill you, then throw myself off the highest building I can find. It’ll be like a Shakespearean tragedy.”

“Okay, Rome.”

“I’ll put your head on a spike. Keep it as decoration.”

Slowly, he let you wrap your arms around him. “Okay, Romeo.”

“I’ll pluck your teeth out and wear them around my neck like a string of pearls.”

“Love you, too, Ro,” you said, hugging him tight.

“Yeah, whatever, fuck-face.” He buried his nose into your neck, inhaling sharply. “I knew you were going to molest me.”

The family reconvened later that night, where Logan announced that he decided he was going to keep the company, claiming his ambitions to be the last man standing. Then, he pronounced Roman and Kendall as co-chief operating officers, much to everyone’s dismay.

“We need to stick tight—tighter than ever now,” Logan defended when Roman began to protest. 

“But he—no. No, I’m sorry. Excuse me? He… he tried to help your oldest enemy to take over and now he’s getting a fucking promotion? Is that what’s happening?” Rome asked from beside you, arms crossed over his chest. 

The old man nodded. “That’s my decision.”

“Well, it’s bullshit,” Roman declared.

Quiet settled over the group. 

Like a dog being kicked, Roman withered away beneath his father’s contemptuous stare. You put a hand on his shoulder. 

“And you’re going to name a successor?” Connor asked.

“After some consideration, I think we just need a name to flag privately to big investors for now. I mean, it could be anyone. I’m not going anywhere. Could be a stuffed fuckin’ shirt. Could be Y/N, for all I know.”

Did he just compare you to a stuffed shirt—?

“Gerri,” said Logan. “It could be Gerri. We might as well say it’s Gerri.”

With a quirked brow, Shiv said, “Congratulations.”

Her godmother tilted her head and shifted in her seat. “Wow. Okay. Thank you.”

“It won’t be Gerri,” Logan rudely clarified. “But Gerri’s fine. Just so we’re clear.”

She was an expert at hiding her disdain, clearing her throat slightly. “No, yeah, I think we’re very clear.”

With that, Logan dismissed himself, calling for Kendall to follow after him. His number one boy.

It was clear that Roman was still upset. He pulled away from you to go sulk about to his sister.

That night, when the moon shone brighter in the Roy’s summer home than it ever did in the city, and you were buried under a thick blanket, you felt the mattress dip beneath another person’s weight. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was Roman.

“Shut up,” he gruffed when you smiled ever so slightly, even though you hadn’t said anything.

You hummed pleasantly when he curled his arms around your form like a koala would a tree. The two of you fell asleep that way, breathing each other in and dreaming of necklaces made of teeth.

The acquisition to take on PGM was a bad fucking idea. One of the worst you’ve heard, in fact. When Logan brought it up to you and a few other managers during a meeting, you didn’t hesitate to go bee-lining for Roman’s office, demanding him to tell you every single detail.

“So, you think this is, like, not good?” he asked, voice high-pitched and unstable. Just earlier today, he’d been telling his dad and Shiv what a great idea this was.

“No, Roman. It’s not fucking good. I’m sorry, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the most trustworthy news source in America right now to be adopted into a fuckin’... fascist, right-wing, conservative dick jerking fest!” You drummed your fingers against his table. “Ro, this can’t happen. It could very well tank Waystar, and news media outlets in general. Reliability goes down, money goes down, our rivals go up. The political climate couldn’t handle such a change like this—”

Pulling at his face, Roman shook his head. “Fuckin’ political climate. Everything’s about the political climate these days. Fuck!”

“Roman, I’m being serious,” you said, brows furrowing. 

He sucked in a deep breath. “Fuck. Ugh—fuck! You are… you’re so…” He made an unintelligible noise while shaking his fists at you, nose wrinkling. “You’re right. God. I hate saying that. Feels like I just took a bite out of a rock. But even if you are, I can’t just stab dad in the back like that.”

Shoulders loosening, you nodded in understanding. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Tabitha is friends with Naomi Pierce. I’ll ask her to get me in touch,” Roman said, lips pursed to the side. It didn’t go past your notice that his stance on the Pierce situation was still left ambiguous. 

Your eyebrows raised a fraction. “Tabitha? You guys still going steady?”

“Uh-huh. Yup. Never better,” he replied, a tad too quickly.

“Really?” you asked. To none of his surprise, you read him like an open book. “You must really like her.”

“Mhm.”

“But not like-like her?”

Roman clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth in distaste. “What are you, nine?”

“You didn’t say yes,” you said in a sing-song voice. Then, you sobered up to seriously tell him, “Oh, Ro, she’s a great catch, sure, but if you don’t have romantic feelings for her, then don’t string her along like that.”

Rolling his eyes to the side, Roman tried his best to sidestep the topic. “It’s none of your beeswax, you prick. Anyways—you’re coming to Hungary, right? Corporate retreat and all that jazz.”

You didn’t feel like the conversation about Tabitha was quite over, but you let it slide for now. “Yes, Roman. Not really looking forward to it, now that I have to deal with an entire acquisition worth billions hovering over me.”

“Just relax for now—it’s not concrete, even if dad says it is.” Roman stood up from his desk to go pour himself a drink. “I’ll save you a spot on the plane. Next to me, if I’m feeling nice. Next to Greg if I want to be entertained by watching you kill yourself in front of him.”

“Thanks, Romeo,” you dryly said.

“You’re welcome. Okay, you can go away now. I wanna jerk off in front of the window without you watching this time. If you stay, I’ll fuck you against it, and that’d be my one-way ticket to a stern finger-wagging by HR.”

With a snort, you got up from your chair, heading for the door. You couldn’t help the way your cheeks burst aflame at his words, even though you knew it was just light-hearted banter. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, you fuckin’ slut.”

“Bitch,” he shot back, just as you stepped foot out of his office. 

“Whore!” you yelled over your shoulder, loud enough to have a few employees turn their head curiously. 

Roman watched you go through the glass windows, shaking his head with fond amusement.

The estate in Hungary was surrounded by forests and clean air—a stark contrast to New York. You were walking alongside Roman down to the hunting grounds, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket. The rifle slung across his shoulder kept bumping into you, and you would push him away with a mild grin each time it did. He wasn’t very good at walking straight, eventually colliding into you mere minutes later.

The amicable atmosphere was effectively killed when Kendall approached the two of you, solemn-faced as ever. 

“Hey, guys,” he greeted in a monotone voice. “Listen, I have a question.”

Both of you stared at him, waiting for him to go on.

After an awfully lengthy pause he continued, “So, uh, did you guys get a call from that biographer?”

Right. You’d been in the middle of discussing with Tom how he’d landed a top position at ATN when your phone began to ring. You politely excused yourself to take the call, surprised to hear a woman claiming to write an unauthorized biography on your godfather—and she wanted you as a source. Though you had many opinions on a man, you knew that voicing them would be nothing but trouble for you.

Roman rolled his eyes. “I mean, yeah, obviously. I’m the interesting one, after all.”

When you laughed, Roman grinned along with you. 

“I got a call, too,” you admitted. “Did you?”

Tilting his head into a nod, Kendall mumbled, “Yeah. I did.”

“Well? Are you thinking of talking to her?” asked Roman.

“I don’t know,” Kendall said. “Maybe. You guys?”

“No… but if you’re going to talk to her, then I guess I have to talk to her, too. Just to correct your bullshit,” Roman responded.

Two seconds of silence before you huffed out a sigh. “It's a messy business that I don’t want to involve myself in. If Logan finds out, which I’m sure he will, I’m not going to let myself be killed because of it.”

The two started talking about Pierce. Both of them sounded so awfully fake about the entire ordeal that you wanted to bash their heads together and force them not to speak through a brown nosing filter. Their conversation came to a halt when Roman’s phone began to ring, and he stepped away to answer privately, much to Kendall’s chagrin.

“Hey, Kendall,” you broached, rocking your weight back and forth on your heels. “If you talk to that writer, Logan won’t be as forgiving to you this time. He’ll slit your throat in front of everyone to see.”

The man who you onced looked up to as an older brother stared at you with a dead expression. “I know,” was all he said. 

Once Roman came ambling back, Kendall began to interrogate him about the call. Defensive, Roman lied—you knew he was. He had an obvious tell: the way his nose would twitch and his left eye went all squinty. The older brother told him he was full of shit.

Before they could break out in another argument, a Hungarian hunter came up to the three of you, claiming that the truck was ready to take them out into the wilderness. 

“Let’s go murder a terrified mammal,” quipped Roman, taking your hand and leading you away from Kendall.

The hunting party returned to the estate with four boars. You took no part in the killings, having stayed in the truck to speak to Gerri on the phone. Apparently, she had very strong doubts about adopting PGM, and wanted to know if you felt the same. You were Logan’s family, she had said, and he listened to family more than his own general counsel. 

You told her you would if you could, but Logan was adamant on taking on PGM. No amount of needless peddling would sway his mind. 

Hours later, when the sky was dark and the table was laid out with all sorts of fruits and glasses of spiced wines, everybody was seated for dinner. You sat between Roman and Gerri, speaking to both of them in hushed whispers about nothing quite important.

The amicable atmosphere was shattered when Logan stood up to address everybody. 

“Someone has spoken to Michelle Pantsil.” The biographer. 

Both you and Roman glanced at each other, knowing that it was neither of you. Was it possibly Kendall? Had he been lying to the both of you again? Or had it been someone else? Tom? Greg? Gerri? Frank?

“We’ve got rats on this ship,” continued your godfather, rounding behind people’s chairs in a menacing, domineering manner. “And Pierce—who’s got my back, hm? Who’s really behind me? Anyone wanna own up? Hm? Anyone want to rat out a rat?”

Ah. So it seemed Pierce knew of Logan’s moves now. You didn’t dare chance a glance at Roman, knowing it was him who had told Naomi.

Logan began to sharply question a few people at the table, demanding to know if they had anything they wanted to say to him. It shocked you even further when he barked out an order for everyone to put their phones on the table—both company and private.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Gerri. “I’m not even sure if that’s legal to demand people to—”

“Yeah, well, we’re getting down to brass fucking tacks,” spat Logan, eyeing everybody darkly. You did as he said, placing both of your devices onto the table—you had nothing to hide. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Roman slipping his phone beneath his leg.

When he caught your gaze, his head dipped forward a bit and his eyebrows pulled together. Shut up, his eyes seemed to tell you. Even without verbalizing it, he still somehow managed to be rude to you.

You narrowed them back at him, wordlessly telling him not to worry.

“Karl, do you like the Pierce deal?” Logan queried.

“I do. Yes, I do. Yes, yeah.”

With a dry chuckle, Logan shook his head. “Bullshit. Boar on the floor.”

The two men began their back and forth—Logan commanding Karl to stand in the corner whilst the former sputtered out indignant protests. It was embarrassing and humiliating, and he was going to do it all anyway.

“Tom.”

“Me? Uh, Pierce?”

“Yes,” said an exasperated Logan.

Clearing his throat, Tom hesitantly said, “Well, there’s a lot of factors, but uhm, yes. Personally, I like it. I do.”

“Boar on the fucking floor, over there,” gruffed your godfather, pointing over to where Karl stood. 

With no protest, Tom pushed away from the table and slunk off. 

“Gerri! Stand up! Tell me about Pierce.” 

Her gaze stayed on her untouched plate as she got onto her feet. “Well, to be perfectly honest with you… I’ve, uhm, I’ve had a few doubts.”

“Honesty,” Logan finally said. “You see, everybody? Do you see? Honesty. Greg, stand up! Did you get any orders from my brother? The fucking Conscience of the Prairies?”

Everybody watched as Greg stammered out a near incoherent response. He was sent off to stand next to Tom and Karl, as well. This seemed to be Roman’s breaking point, because he burst into a fit of giggles.

“Roman!” barked his father. 

This brought him back to sobriety. “I like it, Dad, for real—”

“Stand the fuck up!”

With a bitter murmur beneath his breath, Roman got up to his feet. With discreet motions, you silently swiped the phone from his chair and placed it beneath your leg so it wouldn’t be seen by his father. 

Desperate to divert the attention away from him, Roman said, “Kendall took a call from the biographer.”

Logan rested his hands upon Kendall’s shoulders, which made Roman bristle even harder. His older brother droned out, “We all got a call, Rome. Y/N, too.”

“Okay, yes, but you—you seemed like you actually wanted to talk to her.”

“To smoke you out for Dad.”

Roman’s nose wrinkled. “What? Fuck you! Why’d you get to smoke me out? I was smokin’ you out!”

As you watched Logan’s fingers curl into Kendall’s shirt, you couldn’t help but think of him as a meat puppet of sorts. So damaged and broken and directionless, ready to heed every single one of his father’s words. 

“Why don’t you tell us about your mystery call?” 

“Oh, the phone call?” Roman propped a hand on his hip, risking a glance at you. Then, he violently began to scratch at the back of his head. “Yeah, sure, it was Frank. He meant to call you, he wants to know if the plan to overthrow Dad is still happening. ”

Finally pulling away from Kendall, Logan’s voice rang out across the room like a slap to the face. “Someone spiked Pierce. Which one of you boars did it?”

He yelled for the three men in the corner to get down on their knees, claiming it was a game. Your godfather, now more of a monster than a man, called for everyone to get up and cheer, “Boar on the floor!” as Tom, Greg, and Karl scrambled about to eat a sausage that was tossed to them in order to prove their loyalty. He demanded they oink and squeal like real piggies would.

It was cruel and animalistic. And Roman was filming with his personal phone, a sadistic smile on his face. 

You would’ve berated him for it, if not for Kendall cornering you against the wall when everybody else was distracted by the Boar on the Floor spectacle. 

“I know you took Roman’s phone. I saw you,” he said, eyes flickering down to your pockets, where you had hidden away the mobile.

“Fuck off, Kendall,” you responded with a daggered edge. “You touch me, and I’ll bite your fucking head off.”

“I thought you were smarter than this,” he told you. “Defending my brother—do you know how many times he’s fucked you over? How many times he’ll keep fucking you over?”

Curling your upper lip in contempt, you spat out, “Get the fuck away from me, Kendall. What’s wrong with you?”

Suddenly, his hand shot out to grab Roman’s company phone from your pocket, prompting you to shove at him, trying to grab the phone back. The commotion caught the attention of everyone else, Roman included. 

He was quick to step forward, pulling you away from his brother so he could try to yank the device away himself. 

“What the fuck? Give me my fucking phone back, asshole!”

“What are you hiding? What’s the code?”

“Are you fucking serious? My code is, uhm, fuck you—”

The two of them began to tussle, arguing indistinctly as they pulled at each other’s hair and limbs. You stepped back, burying your face in your hands in utter exhaustion. 

When Kendall locked Roman in a chokehold, Roman finally keyed in his PIN, shoving his older brother away with a labored breath. 

“Okay, you got it! You fuckin’ happy? There’s nothing in there. Now give it back—give me my fucking phone!” When he began advancing on his brother again, Colin stepped in to keep him at bay. “What, are you going to touch me, too? Grab my fucking balls—I will drop you, you cocksucker!”

Finally, Kendall opened up Roman’s call history, not at all to see Naomi Pierce at the very top. He didn’t hesitate to tell his father.

“Dad, it was Roman. Roman talked to Pierce.”

Panic weaving through his tone, Roman shook his head. “Dad—I didn’t… I didn’t betray you.”

“Then what’s this call from today?” asked Kendall, holding up the phone. “Why are you talking to her?”

For a moment, Roman’s eyes flickered over to you. “Come on, man. I wasn’t trying to fuck the deal. I was trying to land the deal. I was trying to help—I thought it would be a… a nice surprise.”

His words struck you across the face like a slap. Roman had told you that you were right—that acquiring PGM was a terrible idea. You’d thought he was on your side. And now—it seemed like he was doing it all for his father’s favor. The best of both worlds, blew right up in his face.

“Roman,” began Logan, “you’re a moron.”

Crackling silence.

Kendall cleared his throat. “Boar on the floor?”

Having enough of him, you snapped, “Shut the fuck up, Kendall.”

“Y/N was helping him,” said Kendall. “Tried hiding his phone from the table.”

Logan swung his heated, intense gaze onto you. It took all you had within you not to flinch away. 

“I didn’t know what Roman was doing. I just didn’t want to get him in trouble.”

Your godfather shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “How sweet,” he spat. “The two of you are perfect for each other. Fucking morons!”

“Dad,” said Roman, voice warbling. “I am not a moron. She isn’t, either. Y/N, tell him—tell him why you thought PGM was a bad idea.”

Everybody’s eyes were on you. Suddenly, your throat went dry, and all words flew out of your vocabulary. You shook your head, a defeated sigh falling from your lips. Roman’s shoulders drooped with the weight of shame and loss.

“How much is a gallon of milk?” Logan suddenly asked his youngest son, advancing on him until he withered beneath his father’s glare. 

“What?”

“How much is a gallon of fucking milk?”

Confused beyond his mind, Roman said, “I don’t know. I mean, who the fuck knows, Dad? Literally nobody knows! Who gives a shit?”

“Greg! How much is a gallon of milk?”

The lanky man stammered out, “Uh, I mean, like, regular milk, or—?”

Burying his face into his hands, not unlike you had done earlier, Logan sighed out, “I am surrounded by snakes and fucking morons! You’re a bunch of silk-stocking fucks! Who backs me on Pierce, huh? Who?”

When he was met by silence, Kendall answered in everyone’s stead.

“None of them do, Dad. They’re all against it. Karl’s lying, Tom’s lying, Gerri’s playing both sides, Y/N is very clearly against what you’re doing.”

Hot shame curled within your gut. Though you were steadfast in your beliefs against taking PGM, disappointing your father figure was never a pleasant sensation, no matter how terrible he was.

“Uncle Logan, I’m sorry—” you began, but he was quick to shut you down.

“Don’t go sucking my dick now, girl. It’s too fucking late. You’re lucky your brainless parents are major shareholders, or I would’ve fired you a dozen times by now. Do you know that? How fucking worthless you are?”

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, training your gaze onto the ground. 

“Here’s the news,” Logan said, addressing the entire group now. “We are going after it. And what’s more… I will win.”

With that, he stormed off, disappearing somewhere in the vast house. 

“Hey,” Roman tried to speak to you, but you maneuvered away, disappearing up some stairs, where your room was waiting for you.

It took a lot of indecisive thought, but you left the door unlocked.

To none of your surprise, Roman came crawling into your room when everybody was asleep. He slipped into the empty spot beside you, slurring out a litany of nonsensical apologies mixed in with how much of an asshole Kendall was.

“You’re drunk,” you whispered, pushing his face away. You hadn’t the heart to be angry at him. Not this late at night. Not when he was just as upset as you were about what had transpired during dinner. “Go to sleep, Rome.”

“Give me a kiss g’night. And tell me you forgive me.”

“Ro—”

“Just—just fucking do it! Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

Shifting in the bed, you leaned forward to press light kisses to both his fluttering eyelids. “We’re good, Romeo. I don’t know. I’m mad at you, but not as much as I’m mad at Kendall and your dad. I’m your only friend, remember? I love you, asshole.”

“Yeah. Shut up.” His hands curled over your waist and pulled you close. “Say that again.”

There was a laugh in your voice. “What? That I’m your only friend?”

He prodded your side with a stiff finger. “The fuckin’... the love thing.”

A part of you contemplated telling him to fuck off. But the wide, warbling brown of his irises told you that he was desperate to hear it. Desperate for any crumb of affection he was offered. “Mhm. I love you, Ro. I do. Now go to sleep.”

He lazily blinked at you, as if he was a cat. “Don’t be mad if I puke all over you.”

“I won’t be mad.”

“I’d be mad if you puked all over me. Why wouldn’t you be mad at me?”

“Go to sleep, Rome.”

“Night. You smell good, you know? Like if a unicorn had sex with a bouquet of flowers.” Without warning, he sank his teeth into your neck, and you had to physically pry his teeth from your skin to keep him from using you like a chew toy.

Muffling a yawn, you murmured, “Go to sleep before I euthanize you.”

It took him another hour to finally drift off, but when he did, the two of you slept better than you had in months.

Roman was terribly hungover the next morning. Headaches and droopy lids, barely registering your voice telling him to get up. When he finally rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he noticed that you were already dressed for the day, having gotten ready while he was passed out. 

“Everyone’s waiting for you, Ro,” you gently told him, brushing his hair out of his face and then taking his hands to tug him off the bed. “Go wash up. Come on, stinker.”

He let you push him around, handing him the toothbrush and a cup of water to drink once he was done washing up. You turned to give him some privacy to change, but his fingers just couldn’t seem to button his buttons right.

“These fuckin’ things—like they’re made of soap or something—”

With a light sigh, you rotated back around. “Come here, you big baby.” You straightened out his collar before slipping the buttons through their respective holes with ease. 

“Dad’s killing me. He’s cutting my fucking balls off.”

You watched him with a sympathetic gaze. “He won’t do that. He doesn’t see you as a threat.”

“That’s not the compliment you think it is.”

“I wasn’t trying to compliment you.”

Roman watched as you fastened together the last button for him, but you didn’t step away, staying close by him.

“If I was capable of any sudden movement, I would totally pounce on you right now. I like your shirt—is that a new shirt?”

“I’ve had it for four years,” you deadpanned.

“Hm. Old shirt. You should throw it out.” To his relief, you smiled at him.

Patting his cheek once, you asked, “Are you okay? How are you holding up?”

“I don’t know. I’m fucking terrible. But I should be asking you the same. Dad took a beating on the both of us.”

Memories of last night made your nose wrinkle in distaste. 

“I think everyone was just… caught up in the heat of the moment. I don’t think your dad meant everything he said.” He did, you knew he did.

Shaking his head, Roman slunk away to go put on his shoes. “He thinks I’m a moron. The worst of his seed, or whatever the fuck. How am I supposed to get him to take me seriously? Grow a mustache and read the Journal? I’ll fucking do it.”

“Don’t grow a mustache. You’ll look like you came straight out of a shitty European porno.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Ignoring him, you sat down beside the disorderly man, pulling on your own dress shoes and knotting together the laces, before helping him tie his, because his fingers suddenly decided not to work this morning. “Gerri told me I should convince you to go to management training. Because, you know—tada. Your only friend is one of the company’s head managers. Lucky you.”

“What, she and Dad want you to be my teacher? Sounds like a sexual fantasy to me.”

“It probably won’t be me. Might be a lower-level manager. But I’d come to visit! Get you in the spirit of things.”

Roman snorted. “Ugh. I don’t want to go back to classes. I’ll kill myself.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Let’s at least have some breakfast first.”

A week later, Roman was enrolled into the management training program, much to Gerri’s relief. She’d thanked you for convincing him, and you told her that it barely took any effort at all. Really, he just wanted to become better in his Dad’s eyes.

You were swamped with work as usual, occasionally checking your phone to see a long strings of texts from Roman, complaining and whining about the torture they were putting him through (they made him watch a video about ethical conduct in a workplace). 

When Roman called you the first time, you declined because you were in a meeting. You declined the second time as well, because you really had to concentrate on filling out important documents. By the time your phone rang again, you were in between tasks, and picked up with a grouchy, “What, Roman?”

“Yowza, who put that stick up your ass?” his voice came through. His high pitched laughter followed. “It’s fucking hell here. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Sorry,” you replied, pinching your brows. “It’s been terrible up here, too. I’ve got a lot of shit on my plate. This acquisition really isn’t helping.”

“Are you coming?” he asked.

Blinking, you shifted the phone in your palm. “Coming where? To your training?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Mmh, I’m sorry, Ro. I really would, but I’m just up to my head with work. But I’m proud of you! Really, I am.”

“Oh, you are? Fuck you,” he snapped.

You took no offense to his bitterness. “Fuck you back. This is good, what you’re doing, Romeo.”

“Yeah, I know—I’m gonna grow up to be a real little boy and learn the price of an egg, and do… phone sex with my girlfriend like a normo.”

Laughing, you knocked your head back with a grin. “Y’know, phone sex is more kinky than anything. If you wanna be normal, you look her in the eyes during missionary sex and tell her you love her.”

“Pfft. Yeah, right. Do people actually do that? That sounds disgusting.”

“Yes, people actually do that. Have you ever considered that you’re the disgusting one?”

“Don’t be mean, this is my first day of training, you bitch.”

From his tone, you could tell he was smiling, too.

“Seems like you’ve been complaining to me more than actually paying attention.”

“I can’t help it. The videos are too fucking long. It’s like trying to teach Beethoven how to play hot cross buns on the piano.”

You laughed, and Roman felt a certain warmth pool in his chest.

“You can do it, Ro. I believe in you.”

“Thanks, mommy,” he teasingly replied. 

Your phone began to buzz with another call. “Ah—sorry, Rome, I gotta go. See you later, okay?”

Before he could say his grumpy goodbyes, you’d already hung up. To your surprise, your screen displayed the called ID of your godfather. Your palms suddenly grew clammy.

When you answered, his voice was soft and amicable—a stark contrast to what it was like in Hungary.

“Hello, dear. Hope you’re well.”

The rest of the call went surprisingly fine. Logan wanted you to go over to his office to run through some analytics and, apparently, he wanted to apologize to you in person. Mend the broken bridges, he had said. You weren’t entirely sure if there was another game he was playing at, but you couldn’t say no to him. He was your top boss, after all.

Just as you slipped through the glass doors with a hesitant smile, a loud bang sounded from somewhere on the floor. You flinched, eyes widening. 

A gunshot.

Terror wrapped its dark hands around you when security guards quickly took you by the arm, guiding you around bends and corners, before finally leading you into a panic room. Logan came in behind you, looking mildly distraught.

“Are you okay?” you asked, helping him sit down and giving him a loose hug. 

“Fine, fine. Where’s Siobhan? Kendall?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

When you felt down your pants for your phone, you let out a frustrated sigh when you couldn’t find it anywhere on you. You must’ve dropped it during all the commotion to get to the safe room. You settled into a seat across from Logan, watching the news on the television, your leg bouncing up and down with agitation. 

A few minutes later, Shiv showed up, embracing her dad with a chaste kiss. She gave you a hug as well, cheek pressing against yours. 

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“No, I don’t. Where’s Tom?”

She pulled away to call her husband, and you slumped back into your chair. 

Down on ground level, Roman was still in his training class, watching his partner begin to present his idea for a new ride, when a man burst through the doors, calling out Mr. Roy!

Well, there goes his chance to pretend to be a normo.

“Just in case you get a news alert on your phone, there’s been an incident at ATN.”

Roman’s brows quirked downwards. “Is my dad okay?”

“It’s been suggested that it could be a concerted attack against the family. Do you want us to take you to a more secure location?”

“Yeah, of course I want that—get me the fuck out of here!” The guard began ushering him out of the class, down the hall to a more ‘secure’ space, which was clearly just an inventory room. “So, uh, does an attack against the family include, like, godchildren, too? Or just, uh, direct blood-related shit?”

“I don’t know yet, sir. All we know so far is that there was a gunshot in the building.”

Panic began to settle in Roman’s chest. He fished out his phone from his pants and called you. No answer.

He texted you, over and over again.

Hey Fuckface You heard about this shooting bullshit? I thought they only went for schools nowadays. Answer me Bitch Right fucking now Can you pick up? Hello  Helloooooooooo 🖕 Hahaha funny joke! Now fucking pick up

It didn’t quite occur to Roman that he should probably call his siblings just yet. He was far too caught up with the idea of you lying on the ground somewhere, bleeding out to death. Certainly not a pleasant thought.

He called you again, and nearly threw his phone across the inventory—safe room when you didn’t pick up.

What the fuck Please answer me it’s not funny anymore If you’re dead I’ll kill you I’m being serious Hello? Please answer You can’t be dead it’s literally not possible

He called a third time, and there was no response. Growing increasingly worried, Roman finally called his twin sister, who responded after the second ring.

“Hey, Rome. You okay?”

“Yeah, whatever. Is Y/N okay?” he hurriedly asked, itching at the back of his neck.

“She’s fine. Here with me in the safe room. I’m fine too, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

“Fuck off, just put me on the phone with her!” 

A second later, your voice came through, and Roman nearly melted onto the floor in relief.

“Hello? Rome? Are you okay?”

“You fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought you were fucking dead! Why didn’t you answer any of my texts?”

If not for the situation at hand, you would’ve laughed at how worked up he sounded. “I lost my phone when the gunshot sounded out. Sorry, Ro. It happened so quickly. They’re saying it was a suicide. But I’m not really sure—Gerri’s filling me in.”

“So you’re, like, okay? Actually okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Ugh, fuck you. Go to hell!” he barked into the phone, right before hanging up. 

You stood, still stunned, handing Shiv’s phone back to her with a quiet word of thanks. 

Curled up in the corner of the inventory room, Roman found out that he and Brian had won for best pitch for a ride in the class. He smiled a little, then followed out after his partner to make sure that he wasn’t fibbing.

“I slaughtered them, you know? Everyone in that fucking training class grovels at my feet now,” Roman told Tabitha on the phone. “They’re jealous! And that’s all there is to it. Anyways, um, how are you?”

“Good!” she told him. “I’m about to get in the bath.”

“Oh, yeah?” Roman took a long pause. “Uh, y’know, Y/N told me that phone sex is kinda… kinky. You wanna…?”

On the other side of the line, Tabitha smiled, putting her phone on speaker. “Mmh, alright. I’m making the bath real sudsy.”

“Is that because you’re dirty?”

“I am. I’m a dirty, dirty girl.”

“Yeah, you are. And I would love to fuck you.”

She laughed, light and airy. “I’m so wet for you right now.”

A long pause. Roman winced. “Uh, that’s not… well, you don’t have to be so specific.”

“I’m… being sexy?”

“Yeah, it’s just—could you not do that thing? With your voice? It’s, like, breathy and unnatural.”

Sucking in a frustrated lungful of air, Tabitha shook her head. “That’s what I sound like when I’m turned on, Roman.”

“I know, I just… I don’t like it, so—” He made his way to the bed and laid down. “Let’s just be normal. Let’s be normal. Casual.”

“Normal? Okay, I was just trying to get into it but…”

“No, I’m sorry, yeah, you’re right.” He cleared his throat, trying to lower his voice. “Um, I’m fucking you in the pussy. I’m fucking you hard.”

Tabitha pursed her lips. “Amazing. What are you gonna do next, change your water filter cartridge?”

Rolling his eyes, Roman sighed out, exasperated, “Jesus fucking Christ—oh, look at that, I’m coming! I’m coming! Ah, wow, I came! Thank you! Hooray! Bye.”

Abruptly, he hung up, not unsimilar to what he did to you earlier to you in the day. Guilt suddenly flushed through him—he probably should give you a call. Say he’s sorry.

It only took one ring for you to pick up, and he could tell that you were smiling on the other end. “Hey, Romeo. Didn’t think you had the emotional capacity to talk to me after thinking I was dead.”

Roman rubbed his left eye. “Fuck you. So are you, uh, okay?”

“You already asked me that, Rome.”

“No, like—mentally or whatever. Must’ve been scary. Ooh.” He made a ghost-esque noise, but cringed upon realizing that that probably wasn’t appropriate.

Nonetheless, you scoffed through the phone. “It was jarring, but I’ll be okay. How’d training go?”

“I mean, it’s fuckin’ bullshit but I won the stupid ride pitch thing. They should have it built.”

There was some rustling of sheets. Roman wondered if you were clambering into bed. He wondered what you were wearing. 

“You really think they’ll build you the ride after your first day in management training? Don’t be stupid.”

“I’ve got money. They’ll build whatever I want them to fuckin’ build.”

“You know who you sound like? Like Joffrey Baratheon, from that show I made you watch. The one you never paid attention to unless there was a pair of tits on screen. Spoiled little shits, the both of you.” 

With an affronted gasp, he said, “You can’t talk to me like that. I’m technically your boss.”

You giggled. “Don’t pull the boss card on me, Roman. You’ve slept in my bed more times than in your own. That’s fucking… that’s like power play, right there.”

“Yeah?” Roman could feel a rush of blood go straight to his dick, which began to strain against his pants. “D’you think we’d get in trouble if we ever…”

There was a long moment of silence. Static filled in Roman’s ears.

“If we what, Roman?” you asked, voice quiet. 

Clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Roman blurted out, “I tried the fuckin’ normie phone sex with Tabitha.”

“And?”

“She got turned on.”

“Uh, congratulations?”

“I didn’t like it.”

“Oh. Why not? You like your sex dirtier? Wrong?” You began to chuckle, but it tapered away when Roman went silent on the other end of the phone. More rustling blankets. “Oh, fuck, Roman. You’re an idiot, you know that?”

You could hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. 

“What else am I?” His voice was breathy. Whiny, almost.

“This is wrong, Romeo. I can’t… you’re dating Tabitha, remember?”

“Just keep—keep talking.” When his hand wrapped around his hard dick, weeping with pearly precum, Roman wondered if he’d bust his nut right then and there.

After a few seconds of silence, you tentatively continued, “You’re disgusting, Rome. What’s wrong with you? Touching yourself to my voice when your girlfriend was left high and dry for you.”

He began to stroke himself, eyes fluttering shut. A strained moan fell from his lips. Neither of you had ever ventured this into this territory in your relationship before. Sure, sexual jokes were always passed back and forth between the two of you but this was—this was real. Wasn’t it?

“Mmh, I don’t want you to cum yet, Ro.” You clutched the phone close to your ear. 

A choked noise emitted from his throat. “I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

“Hold it.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to cum with you.” More rustling on the other end as you kicked your pants and underwear down, dragging your finger around your clit. 

This seemed to send Roman into another fit of whines—the thought of you fucking yourself on your own fingers to him made his mind go all hazy. 

“Romey, tell me,” you whispered. “Out of all those times we slept in the same bed together—did you ever imagine fucking me while I was asleep? Like a sick little pervert?”

A groan climbed up the back of Roman’s throat. His pace slowed down, trying his best not to cum prematurely. “Yes, all the fucking time. Yes—” His words died on his tongue as he moaned again, and again, and again—

“God, Ro.” You stifled a gasp when you plunged two fingers into your throbbing cunt. It’d been a long while since you’d had the time to touch yourself—it was no surprise that you were already on the brink of an orgasm. “Have you touched yourself to me before? I’m sure you have. You sick fuck.”

The vein in Roman’s forehead popped as he bucked his hips into his fist. “Fuck, yes! Yes, please, Y/N, please—”

“Please, what?” You moaned yourself, grinding into your palm. “You wanna cum, baby? I wanna hear you make a mess of yourself. Like the dirty fucking pervert you are.”

With those words, Roman toppled off the edge, spurts of warm cum dribbling from his throbbing cock, soaking his fist with its sticky mess. He fucked himself through his high, whining with overstimulation at the sound of your own choked sighs.

Breathily, he whimpered, “What else? Please, what else? What would you do if you were here with me?”

“Mmh, if I was there, I’d make you lick your cum off of me. I’d ride your face until you pass out—oh!”

A creak of the bed as you arched your back, crying out his name, cresting over the peak yourself. 

More silence. Labored breaths.

You swallowed heavily, skin glowing with a faint sheen of sweat. The haze of your orgasm was beginning to dissipate, and you were coming back to your own senses. “Fuck—I’m sorry, Ro. I don’t... I don’t think we should’ve done that.”

He blew out a shuddering breath. “Yeah, we shouldn’t have.” His chest rose and fell unevenly. “But it was fucking amazing.”

“It was.” You ran your tongue along your teeth in thought. “I’m gonna go, uhm, clean myself up, Ro. G’night.”

“Mmh. Night.”

“This doesn’t change anything, right? We’re still best friends?”

Roman screwed his lips up to the side. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Totally. BFFs for liferz, or whatever cheesy fucking bullshit you need to hear.”

You scoffed. Things would be okay with the two of you. They always worked out in the end. “See you soon, slut.”

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Romeo.”

“Mmkay, bye, fuck-face.” 

With that, the call ended.

Weeks later, the Roy family was to spend the weekend with the Pierces at their family estate. You figured the reason why Logan had called you to his office right before the suicide was because he wanted you to come along and play mediator—the Pierces were a rather articulate and fanciful family. According to your godfather, they aligned much more with your and Shiv’s politics than his. It reminded you how you were nothing but a pawn on the chessboard for him to maneuver. 

Regardless, you knew you couldn’t say no. Even though he knew you didn’t support the Pierce acquisition, you were a valuable asset and that could potentially be beneficial for both parties. Besides, the Pierces were a powerful family. Having them as allies would be good for you.

You were lounging on the couch beside Shiv and Tabitha when Roman strode into his father’s house, bowing down dramatically.

“How was summer camp?” she teased her twin. 

“Hm? What’s that? Didn’t catch what you said. I’ve been down in the salt mines for so long with my fellow Johnny Lunchpails, I no longer speak One-Percent,” he said when he bent down to kiss Tab’s cheek.

Snorting, Shiv retorted, “You were slinging candy apples, Rome, not digging the Panama Canal.”

“I’ve seen the world for how it really is, Siobhan, and it has changed me! I’m a kettle corn shoveler, here to show you frilly clit-flickers the truth. Hullo, Y/N. You look lovely.” He patted your cheek thrice, and you swatted his hand away before the fourth. A part of you had been worrying for the past few days about your relationship with Roman. Would things change after what had happened over the phone? Or was it all just… no big deal?

To your relief, the two of you seemed to be just the same as before. 

“Hey, Rome. Nice to see you’ve been so… humbled. Tell me, if I were to ask you to do my laundry, would you know how?”

Tabitha cracked up at your words and she nudged at your knee humorously. 

Roman rolled his eyes, muttering something about how he wouldn’t want to touch your tighty whities anyway, and scuttled off to greet Marcia and Connor. Only then did Logan come in, Kendall in tow. His little meat puppet.

“Alright. Cars are waiting—but first, some announcements. Frank, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Logan’s right-hand man stepped forward to address the group. “As you all know, the good news is that the Pierces are entertaining our offer, but bad news—they’re inquiring about your moral character, hence this weekend.”

“They want to look us in the teeth,” gruffed Logan.

Frank nodded. “Right. They want our 24 billion, but they also want to be able to ensure the integrity of their news outlets into the future.”

“Mmh, to ensure everything goes smoothly, we’ve prepared a few do’s and don’ts for the weekend,” said Gerri, pointedly staring at Roman. “Topics to stay clear of: Ravenhead, ATN, Israel, Brightstar, and the Cruise’s rumor mill. Steer onto: gossip, investments, art, movies, literature… tittle-tattle. Wider cultural interests.”

“Oh, and two drinks maximum,” Frank added. “They’re not big drinkers.”

Tilting his head, Roman drawled, “That’s okay. Nobody here has any glaring substance abuse issues that almost brought down the company, right?” He lolled his head over to Kendall, shooting him a wink.

Logan went through a few more details about Tom and ATN and Rhea, which certainly raised a few apprehensions. 

“Thanks for all your help,” said Logan. For a moment, his eyes landed on you. You wondered if he had considered that you’d purposefully sabotage this weekend to stop the deal from going through. Or maybe he knew you were his loyal lapdog, no matter how far he kicked you. Or maybe he simply wanted you there for diversity points. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. “We need this. Bagging Pierce is the key to our proxy defense. And the defense is life itself. See you at Plymouth Rock.”

Once the helicopters landed onto Pierce's land and everyone was filed out into the vast green fields, Logan turned to his group and gestured for them to smile. He’d even gone out of his way to brush a stray piece of lint off of your coat for you whilst passing by. 

“I am smiling!” Roman haughtily protested when his father gave him a pointed glare.

“Yeah, not like a pervert,” said Shiv.

You grinned, laughing out, “That’s just how he looks, Shiv.”

“Hardee-har-har,” Roman spat out. Then, he watched as Logan linked arms with both Marcia and Shiv. “Wow, Jesus. Look at Papa Smurf. Should I be doing that with you guys?”

Both you and Tabitha glanced at each other, before walking onwards, flat out ignoring Roman. 

The Pierce family was waiting not too far from the helicopters, greeting everyone with apprehensive yet kind smiles. 

The woman who spoke had soft eyes and a round face. Not at all intimidating in stature, but you knew better than to judge a book by its cover. “Welcome to Ternhaven! Our city on the hill. I’m Nan Pierce—it’s nice to meet all of you. I think we’re going to have fun getting a look at all of you, won’t we?”

Both families drew nearer as everybody exchanged polite greetings. You shook hands with about half a dozen people, trying your best to keep up with names and faces. Once at the estate, someone had taken off your coat and offered you a glass of water before you’d even taken three steps inside. 

It was certainly a beautiful home. It felt more lived-in than Logan’s houses, with its abundance of paintings and framed pictures on the walls. The furniture was warmer and cozier—a stark contrast to Logan’s preference for sharp edges and monochrome colors.

Roman came up to your side and pointed at a Latin phrase inscribed into the archway. 

“In veritate triumpho,” he read aloud. “This wine is triumphant? No—your vagina trumpets!”

Passing by, Gerri sharply hushed him just as your shoulders began to shake with mirth.

“I triumph in the truth,” you told him. 

“Honesty is the best policy around here,” said a dark-haired man, appearing from seemingly nowhere. You heard Roman mutter Jesus H. Christ, beneath his breath, but you discreetly pinched his side before he could say anything else. You faintly recognized the man as Peter Pierce—a cousin of Nan. He’d been overly enthusiastic with his handshake, watching you with gleaming curiosity, complimenting you on your outfit. 

You weren’t blind. You knew attraction when you saw it—and Peter wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding it.

“So… where’d you learn Latin?”

“Self taught,” you told him, smiling politely. “I’m not fluent. I just know a few bits and bobs here and there. Tried to learn during my college years.”

Before Peter could respond, Roman motioned gagging. “Barf. I’m gonna go see who Tabs is flirting with. See you nerds later.”

He slipped away, leaving you alone with Peter, much to your chagrin. 

The man was nice enough, sure, but he was being very obvious with the way his gaze lingered a tad too long on your chest. And when it wasn’t there, he was ogling your lips. It was a bit unnerving. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, you know,” said Peter, arms crossed. 

“And I know next to nothing about you,” you airily responded, trying your best to keep your smile natural, though it proved increasingly difficult with each passing second.

“Well, that can be remedied, no?” he asked. 

You internally cursed at his forwardness. “Sure, yeah. Sounds great.”

And off he chattered, prattling on about his time with his company and what he studied during university, occasionally asking for your experiences as well. You only paid him half a mind, keeping the other occupied with observations of everybody else in the room. How Shiv had somehow managed to insult someone already, how Connor was talking about his presidential campaign with someone who so clearly didn’t agree with his views, and how Roman was guffawing at something Naomi and Tabitha were discussing.

“And what about the tabloids on you?”

“I’m sorry?” you asked, snapping your attention back onto Peter. 

“The tabloids about you and Roman. A lot of them discuss the two of you as a pair.”

Shrugging one of your shoulders, you shook your head. “Those are just baseless rumors.” You thought back to how you and Roman jerked off to each other through the phone. Not baseless at all, it seemed. “Roman and I are friends.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

Peter smiled. A part of you felt bad for stringing him along in such a way. He seemed like a nice enough guy, if you didn’t count all the uncomfortable ogling. “I just feel like we have a connection, you know? Do you feel it, too?”

“Mmh. Yeah, I’m feeling it.” You chanced a glance to Roman, who was staring straight at you with an impish grin. He saw right through your little facade—he knew you were miserable, and he was enjoying the shit out of it.

“That’s so good to hear. I knew you were different the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Wow. You really do have a way with words. Edgar Allen Poe up in here,” you joked loosely, trying your best not to sound deadpan. 

“You like Edgar Allen Poe, too? God, you’re like—fricking perfect for me. Excuse my French.” To your horror, Peter reached out to clasp your shoulder, steering you to a more quiet part of the room. “Tell me more about yourself. Things I don’t already know from the tabloids. What was it like growing up around the Roys?”

They were more of your family than your actual parents. They were the bane of your existence. They were everything to you. 

Before you could vocalize any of your thoughts (or, some poor, watered-down rendition of them), Logan shepherded the Waystar side of the group into another room for a short, private talk. You let out a long sigh as soon as you were far away enough from Peter, feeling your muscles loosen up. God, that man really did make you stiff in all the worst ways. 

“I think it’s going pretty well,” Roman said once everyone began filing through the door. “I mean, nobody’s fucked Nan or killed her cat by accident, so I think we’re doing pretty good.”

It seemed Logan didn’t quite agree, because he stormed up to his daughter, angrily demanding, “What the fuck did you say to Mark? Making cracks about his PhD?”

“It was a joke! He laughed.”

Frowning, Logan continued on, “He’s a yes, Shiv. He’s solid. Why are you even bothering him?”

The group began to then argue about Maxim, who Connor was supposed to persuade into the yes territory of the acquisition—which he was clearly failing.

“Cut the horseshit, know your roles!” barked your godfather. “Shiv, I want you on Nan.”

“Okay, Dad, we don’t have to be so schematic,” she protested, but her words went largely ignored.

Logan rounded on Roman, standing beside you. “Romulus. When you laugh, please do it at the same volume as everyone else. We didn’t get you from a hyena farm.”

“Thanks, Pop,” said Roman. You frowned, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

“The good news is that Nan seems to be spending money in her head—but she could still be swayed by her family, so every cousin counts,” Gerri added.

“Everybody, stay in your lanes. Who’s on Peter?” asked Logan.

“I got it, Dad,” said Kendall.

Quirking a brow, Frank said, “Actually, Peter seems to be rather taken by Y/N. I think it’s a good idea for her to keep him entertained. He’s worried the rest of us are barbarians.”

You crossed your arms uncomfortably, but nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, uh, sure.”

“Pimp her out, why don’t you,” scoffed Roman. 

“Good. Everyone got their person? Let’s go, people. Stay focused, stay sharp!” barked Logan, and everyone began to pour out of the room at his dismissal. 

Roman clapped a hand on your forearm. “Hey, uh, if Prickly Pete there does anything—” He made an unintelligible noise while pulling a sour face. “You know the drill. Stop, drop, and roll.”

“That’s for a fire, Ro.”

“Yeah, but it’ll freak him out enough to leave you alone.”

You spared him a sarcastic smile, shaking your head. “Great advice. Thanks.”

“No, but seriously—just say you have to go to the bathroom or something. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“Okay, Sauron,” you chuckled, shoving him away. “Go. Go and use your wily charms to seduce Naomi into making a terrible decision.”

It was his turn to offer you a lopsided grin. “That’s what I’m best at. Influencing women into years of regret.” With a click of his tongue and a wink, he was off.

 When you turned around, Peter was already waiting for you with an expectant expression. Ugh.

This was going to be a long weekend.

The Pierces were a strange family. Who the fuck recited poetry as grace before dinner? Nonetheless, you clapped with a polite smile once Naomi was done with her little poem. Roman rolled his eyes none too discreetly and you kicked at his leg beneath the table. 

On your other side, Peter didn’t hesitate to dive into yet another lengthy conversation once everybody began eating. 

“I like to have three novels and a memoir going at once,” said the man with a flirtatious smile. “It’s like natural selection.”

You forced a laugh—one that sounded genuine to everyone but the Roys, who knew you well enough by now to know that you weren’t amused at all. 

“Hm. I think it’s rather redundant to pit literature against each other in such a competitive fashion. Art is art is art, no?” you responded, quirking a brow as you forked a portion of salad onto your plate. 

You’d hoped that your comment would deter Peter from talking more, but your challenge seemed to only invigorate him. 

“A bit of healthy competition in a given field never hurt anyone. Pushes people to create better things,” he said, leaning closer to you.

“Mm, well, respectfully, I disagree. I think art—literature, especially—can blossom organically, just for the sake of it. The idea that creativity flourishes under competition is, frankly, just capitalist propaganda,” you said. 

To your dismay, Peter tilted his head and quipped, “Isn’t that a bit ironic, coming from you? Goddaughter of one of the richest men in the world?”

Your eye twitched. Beneath the table, Roman nudged your foot. 

“It doesn’t matter who I am. My point still stands, no?”

“I suppose we can just agree to disagree. I still enjoy reading several pieces at once… maximum efficiency, right?”

Another fake laugh.

To your surprise, Roman swooped into the conversation, “Yeah, I hear you, brother!” he chirped, trying his best to sound like an intellectual normie—he wasn’t doing a very good job, so far.

Peter spared him a glance, which made him lean even closer to you. “Are you a big reader?”

“Me? Oh. Yeah, big time.” No, he wasn’t. Roman couldn’t even remember the last time he picked up a book and read past the first page. 

“Can you recommend anything Oprah isn’t pushing? Any new fiction?”

For a moment, Roman’s panicked eyes met your goading ones. He began to laugh, but cleared his throat when he realized that Peter was genuinely asking. 

“Oh, right, yeah, sure I can… I, uh, rather enjoyed The Electric Circus.” 

“The Electric Circus?” echoed Peter in a rather pretentious manner. “Who’s the author?”

“Oh, uh, shit! Who was it… it was uh, Timothy Lipton. Yup. That’s him.” Roman was a terrible liar. You were getting second-hand embarrassment just listening to him. 

Catching wind of her brother fumbling, Shiv asked, “Yeah? What’s it about, Rome?”

“Uh, it is… about a young man making his way through the world. Except in two different time periods, so it kinda switches back and forth between—uh, yup! And—and the circus part is like, you know, a metaphor.”

Shiv narrowed her eyes. “For what?”

“Ugh. For the anxiety of modern life, Siobhan.” Roman only ever called his sister that when he tried to provoke her, or when he was exasperated with her antics. “Ask Y/N. She read the book. Ask her.”

Incredulous, you swung your gaze from your food to him, brows pulling together.

“You’ve read The Electric Circus?” asked Peter. His phone was in his palms. “I’m not seeing it on Google… Are you sure that’s what it was called?”

You began to fumble with your words, internally cursing Roman for throwing you under the bus, as well. God, he was going to owe you a million favors from now on. 

“See, uhm, it was a private little thing, uh—it hasn’t been published yet, exactly. Roman and I were just, you know, we were given the pages because we, uh, we were thinking of funding the novel ourselves! So, yeah… I don’t know why Roman would go and recommend that to you when it isn’t even available to the public yet.” You spared Peter a sweet smile whilst simultaneously stomping on Roman’s toes beneath the table. He retaliated by pinching your thigh.

“Oh. I see. Maybe when it comes out we can talk about it over a cup of coffee, then.”

Roman snorted. You sent him a half-hearted glare.

“Sure. That’d be great,” you told him before the man-child on your other side could come up with a rude retort.

Thankfully, Peter was quick to move on to another topic. Something about how mediocre the movies have been getting as of late. What an asshole. 

The conversation was cut off not too soon later by the white nationalist elephant in the room, as Rhea had so eloquently put it—ATN. Logan had vehemently denied sharing their fascistic beliefs, though the Pierces were clearly still skeptical of your godfather. Hell, even you were. 

There was more tense silence when Logan was questioned on whether or not Tom would stay on as head of ATN. The matter was never resolved, as he excused himself with a lame excuse of his sick dog having arthritis, pulling Shiv out of the room with him. 

You and Roman exchanged confused looks. 

By the time they came back, Tabitha was telling one of the Pierces about her willingness to help out her friend. “I’m thinking, like, if they can’t have a baby in six months, I’m just going to offer them my womb. Why not, you know? I’m young, I’m hardy.”

“Wow, Tabs, that’s really nice of you,” you told her genuinely, sipping on some water.

“Good for you,” agreed Marnie Pierce. “I had a friend who did that, it was so great—”

And then there Peter went, butting his fat head into the conversation where it was clearly not needed. “Uh, but if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, what about you two?” He gestured to Roman and Tabitha.

The blonde woman chuckled. “Oh, you mean us planning to have a baby? No, we’re not planning for a baby, because that would require us having sex!”

“Woah!” exclaimed Roman. “Hey, now.”

Peter grimaced. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Yes, you did,” said Marnie, and Peter only shrugged sheepishly.

“No, no, no, it’s totally fine, it’s just not our thing,” Tabitha replied. “We’re kinda like eunuch besties. It works for us.”

Scratching the back of his head, Roman cleared his throat. “She’s joking. Obviously. She’s kidding. We’re actually quite relentless in that regard. Just… fuck city out here.” 

You almost choked on the water you’d been sipping, the memories of a certain call you had with Roman resurfacing to the forefront of your mind. 

“You okay, Y/N?” Peter asked, lightly patting your back. 

“Fine. Just down the wrong pipe,” you winced. “And, you know, the idea of Roman and Tabs going to pound town doesn’t exactly whet my appetite.”

“Oh, don’t be jealous,” said Roman. “It’s unbecoming.”

Before you could snip back, the table fell quiet when Nan Pierce asked who would be taking on the company after Logan. Your godfather purposefully skirted around the topic, evading a solid name entirely.

Then, Shiv made the terrible mistake of announcing herself as the next CEO.

“Wait, uh, what’s happening?” Peter queried.

“Mmh. I think my life just ended,” Roman responded, looking every bit as shocked as you.

More flubbering from both Logan and Shiv. They were fucking themselves over, you could just feel it.

“You know what, maybe this dinner was a little bit premature. Seems like you guys are still working some things out,” said Peter. 

“No, uh, this is just some family hijinks,” Kendall tried to protest.

Marcia leaned in closer to Logan to ask, “Is this true?”

That seemed to be the last straw for him, because he yelled out, “Will you stop?”

More tense silence. Your foot rested over Roman’s, which was bouncing up and down rapidly beneath your heel. His hand rested on your knee, gripping a tad too tight.

“Well. I was just thinking that it’s such a beautiful, clear night out. Mark—would you like to guide us on a little after-dinner stargaze?” Nan asked.

And with that, came the end of the dinner.

“Did you guys know?” Tabitha asked both you and Roman as the three of you pushed away from the table to head outside. 

“No. No, I didn’t,” said Roman, still in shock.

You had a feeling, sure—there was no way it’d be Connor. Not Kendall, because of his recent endeavors with trying to take over the company, along with his substance abuse. It was between Roman and Shiv, and it didn’t take a genius to see that Logan didn’t think his youngest son was all that competent. That left only Shiv, after all.

“I didn’t know,” you simply said. 

The three of you strode out, leaving only Shiv and Logan left in the dining room.

“Those stars were really nice,” Tabitha said, lounging on the bed as Roman aggressively rummaged through the luggage in search of his toothbrush.

He was growing increasingly agitated about the idea of Shiv taking over the company, channeling his frustrations out on the poor suitcase for not presenting him his toothbrush on a golden pedestal. With a groan and a hand carding through his hair, Roman kicked at its side, sending the bag skidding against the wall.

“Ro,” Tabitha called. “I have a meeting on Monday, and I’d really love to deal with your neuroses and talk about it and everything but, uh, if you’re gonna lose your mind in here, I might just see if Naomi would let me crash in her bed.”

The man pulled on his face. He hummed once, then twice, as if he was deliberating over something.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s fuck.”

A disbelieving smile danced across her face. She thought he was full of shit. “Yeah, totally. We do the sex so well, so that’s a brilliant idea.”

Clenching his jaw, Roman clambered onto the bed. “Alright. Come on. Come here, you hot fucking piece of shit.”

He tried kissing her, but his nose knocked into hers the wrong way, his hand gripped at her shoulder at an awkward angle, and his lips fell onto only the upper corner of her mouth, barely even counting as a kiss. 

“Woah, easy there, wolfman!” She burst into a fit of laughter, and Roman pulled away with a string of insecure apologies, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, which throbbed from the impact. 

“That was awesome,” he bit out, lying face-down on the bed next to her. “I’m so fucking good at this. Sorry.”

“Yeah, you were, like, squeezing my shoulder really fucking hard—”

“Wasn’t that sexy? How I just took you? Bet you orgasmed like five times in a row.” Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to, though? Like actually?”

She smiled. “Mmkay. Do I want to…? Make love?”

He frowned. “Nope. Wow. I just—” A groan and a sigh.

Features softening, Tabitha reached out to rub at Roman’s back. “Hey. I’m not… uninterested in solving you.”

Roman turned to face her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think we can make it, like… I don’t know… wrong?”

Tabitha was supposed to be dead. Which—and Roman thought this was quite obvious—meant that she wasn’t supposed to be wet. Now, there were a million and one ways for them to have sex and have it be wrong (like how it felt with you, maybe), but he’d suggested for her to play dead because… well, because he didn’t want it to feel like he was having sex with her. 

The very thought of fucking Tabitha didn’t sit quite right with him. He liked her a lot, and she was fucking hot as shit, but Roman just… couldn’t. He just couldn’t! Maybe she was right. Maybe they were better off as eunuch besties.

And so it came as no shock to both parties when the dead woman sex didn’t end up working out. Tabitha murmured that the morgue was closing for the night—and that she’d go wank off in the bathroom with her electric toothbrush as a makeshift vibrator. Roman apologized to her again, and curled up in the middle of the bed.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have sex with his girlfriend, like any other fucking person would?

After five minutes of wallowing in his own shame, Roman dragged himself off the bed and did what he knew how to do best: he ran straight to you.

When there was a knock at your door, you were ninety percent sure it was Roman. The other, more terrified, ten percent anxiously wondered if it was Sleazy Pete coming to talk your ear off some more about the latest developments in artificial intelligence. 

To your relief, it was Roman, clad in a loose white shirt and soft, dark pants. 

“Hey, Romeo,” you greeted, pulling him in and glancing out the hallway, making sure nobody was around to see. “Man, am I glad to see you. I was really scared you were somebody else.”

He made a high-pitched, humorous noise, crossing his arms as you softly shut the door closed. “Peter? Oh, no. He’s too high and mighty to come chasing after you so early. He’s the kind to date the same person for ten years, accidentally cum inside one time and knock them up, which then keeps them chained to his side for the rest of his life. You’re good for now.”

“For now?” You were ready to make another quippy retort, when you noticed the way Roman scuffed his bare feet into the carpet, hand scratching at the back of his head. Something was bugging him. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“Huh? Nothing happened. Fuck off.”

Biting at the inside of your cheek, you reached out to him, holding both his hands within yours. “Rome.”

He parroted your name in an equally emphatic manner. 

You sat down on the bed, steering him to sit beside you. “Is this about Shiv?”

Oh. Right. He’d been so caught up with his guilt and shame over Tabitha that he’d momentarily forgotten about that other part of his life that was just majorly fucked over. 

Roman shrugged. “She fucked up bad, huh?”

You laid down, which prompted him to follow you, his head leaning on your shoulder. The two of you stared up at the ceiling together. 

“We all make mistakes. I think your dad probably led her on with a carrot painted with faux gold. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your long-time friend made a noise of agreement. 

Comfortable silence stretched thinly between the two of you. Roman faintly noticed that your hair was damp—you’d probably taken a shower after the walk. After inhaling sharply, he caught a whiff of your body spray: sweeter than fucking cotton candy and it almost made him want to puke. Key word being almost—Roman rather liked the smell. Especially on you.

“You smell good.”

“Mmh. Thanks.”

You arched your back, bones popping with your movement as you mumbled under your breath sleepily. Something within Roman stirred. 

“I tried to have sex with Tabitha.”

Suddenly, you weren’t all that sleepy anymore. “Oh? How’d it go?”

“I…” Roman winced. Saying it out loud made it sound so much worse, for some reason. “I pretended she was dead.”

“What?” There was a mildly shocked laugh to your tone.

“Consensually!” he vehemently tacked on. “But, you know, she was fuckin’ dripping for me, so… took the experience away, I guess. I don’t know. I like her a lot. I just don’t… I don’t…”

“You don’t want to have sex with her?”

Another shrug. Roman blew out a drawn-out exhale. “Yeah. I dunno.”

“That’s okay, Rome. You don’t need to have sex if you don’t want to, and you shouldn’t feel bad about not wanting it. That’s literally the definition of consent.”

A part of Roman seemed to melt with your words. Your affirmation that there wasn’t something wrong with him (or, at least that one trait of his, he knew there were several other parts of him that you’d consider highly immoral) relieved him more than he’d care to admit.

“Well… I do want it. I just don’t want it with her, maybe?” His voice went all soft yet high-pitched at the end of the question.

Suddenly, you turned your head to him, your nose only a hair’s breadth away from his. 

“Well, Ro,” you began, husky and low, “who would you want it with?”

He didn’t need to say it. You knew already.

“Who do you want to touch you?” you murmured, hand reaching out to skim over his chest, his stomach, grazing over the very top of his pants and toying with the band of his boxers. “Who do you want to make you feel good, Romeo?”

A low whine caught within his throat when you leaned forward to kiss up the column of his throat, nipping at the skin lightly. All of his sanity seemed to fly straight out the window when your hand dipped within his boxer, tugging out his semi-hard cock, languidly stroking along the length. He moaned, chest rumbling with the sound.

Your eyelids hung low as you nosed along his jaw, which strained with how hard he was clenching his teeth. “Mmh, you’re a dirty little pervert, aren’t you? Sneaking away from your girlfriend to rut your pretty cock against me. You’re a mess and I’ve barely even touched you, Rome.”

It’d been so long. So fucking long since someone touched him this way. Since he’d let someone touch him like this. Since he wanted someone to touch him like this. It was all you. Just you, and only you.

And so, it was no wonder that he was nearing his orgasm already, twitching within your grasp as he whined louder. He murmured unintelligibly, pleading for something he didn’t yet know. 

“Can you be a good boy and cum for me?” you susurrated, planting kisses over his jaw, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. You didn’t dare kiss him on the lips—you weren’t quite sure if that would be too far for your peculiar relationship. 

When he came, a loud groan erupted from his throat, which was quickly muffled when you clapped a palm over his mouth, his eyes flew open to meet yours, pupils fully blown, almost eclipsing the molten brown of his irises. You stroked him through his orgasm, murmuring a mixture of degradations and praises all the way.

You pulled back when he began to jerk his hips away with overstimulation, panting against your palm. The sticky spend on your hand glistened beneath the lamp’s warm-hued light, and you brought it up to your face to kitten-lick his cum off his fingers, humming in satisfaction. The sight nearly made Roman pass out. He swallowed hard, propping himself up on the bed on an elbow.

Voice hoarse, he croaked out, “Thanks. Do you, uh… do you need…”

Yes. You wanted it so badly—you wanted him. 

But you knew Roman wasn’t really in the right mindspace to reciprocate anything at the moment. And the guilt that weighed heavy in your stomach would’ve only been worsened if you’d pressured him into anything that he might’ve been uncomfortable with. 

Baby steps. The two of you had been taking baby steps in your relationship ever since you were, well… babies.

“I’m fine, Rome,” you told him, ignoring the drenched throbbing between your thighs and crawling up next to him to lay down. “You can repay me in the future.”

The haze from his orgasm was beginning to clear away. Roman’s nose buried into your sweet-smelling hair. “With, like, a fuckin’ Baskin Robbins coupon or my tongue up your vagina?”

A soft laugh and a shake of your head. “Both sound wonderful,” you told him, curling up into his warmth. A wave of sleepiness overtook you. It’d been a really long day. “Night, Rome.”

“Night, fuck-face.” 

You might’ve simply hallucinated it in your sleep-addled mind, but you could feel a faint brush of lips on your forehead, along with a whisper of thanks. You fell asleep with a smile on your face that night. Roman had taken a picture (with the flash on, which made for quite unflattering lighting) and sent it to you the next morning, giggling his amusing hyena-giggle while the two of you were in the bathroom—with you brushing your teeth and him perched up on the toilet seat lid. It was a tender moment of picturesque domesticism—a life that didn’t quite seem right for the two of you, unless it was with each other.

The rest of the weekend at the Pierce’s estate was uneventful. Everybody had gone home thinking the deal wasn’t going to go through—Shiv had told you her dad fucked everything by refusing to name her as the next CEO.

But, to everyone’s surprise except Logan’s, Nan Pierce ended up calling only a few hours later that she’d sell. You weren’t quite happy with the turn of events, but you supposed that’s just how it was with Logan. 

He always won.

Argestes, a business conference for important folk all over the world, was just under a month later. It was a rather prestigious event, the itinerary always decked with the most ludicrously rich and fanciful activities, with only limited invites handed out. 

This was to be your sixth annual year attending. 

You arrived with Roman practically draped over you, much to the press’ delight. After he made a snide comment about how manipulative you could be when it came to business, you bid him adieu, off to fraternize and mingle with potential allies you might need in your pocket. You were just grateful not to bump into Peter Pierce—the last thing you wanted to do was have him glued to your side for the rest of the weekend. 

The next day, when you’d just barely stepped out of your room, you got a frantic text from Roman. It was a link to a journal article about the cruise incidents, followed by a series of question marks and an indiscernible mash of emojis. The last text gave you the room he and his family were in. 

You rushed off to meet them there, checking your constantly buzzing phone along the way to see texts fly from dozens of people: Shiv, Gerri, your colleagues, your friends, your coworkers alike. This wasn’t a good look for the company, that was for sure. 

When you finally got there, Roman quirked a brow at you. “Have you read this? Tell me this isn’t the greyest shit you’ve ever read.”

“Give me a second, I’ve barely even woken up, much less had time to read the article.” You settled in beside him, opening up the link to begin reading. From across the room, Logan was skimming through a physical copy, glasses on the very tip of his nose as he mumbled under his breath. Shiv was on the other end, waiting for everyone to finish reading. 

Finally, you reached the end of the article, slumping back with furrowed brows. “This is, uhm, serious stuff but it’s also really unclear what’s actually being thrown at the wall here.”

“Maybe this, maybe that bullshit,” Roman uttered.

“Rome, careful,” said Kendall.

“Is this one of those things I need a woman to explain to me why it’s bad?” His head knocked into yours. “You tell me—is it bad?”

Offering him a shrug, you huffed out a sigh and scrolled all the way back up to read it again. “It’s bad, it’s fucking awful someone had to go through this—but in all honesty, I expected far worse for a journal article to blow up this much.”

Growing frustrated, Logan ripped his glasses off. “What’s the protein?”

A man you only faintly recalled as Hugo Baker, part of the Parks and Cruises sector, replied, “They found a woman, Keerson. She was working the cruises back in the mid nineties, and name-checked Lester McClintock.”

Gerri nodded. “She says Uncle Mo asked for sex with her and the other dancers to get their contracts renewed.”

“So they fucked?” Logan asked.

“It says sexual exploitation,” clarified Shiv.

“Said subject of the article is dead,” you chimed in. “So the blame on Mo will effectively be shifted onto Waystar. Negligence of ethical conduct, cruise malpractice, so on and so forth.”

A moment of silence filled the room.

“Well, what can we do about it?” Roman queried. 

Gerri said, “There’s not a lot of specifics. It’s not detailed. Cold hard facts: it’s one woman in the nineties, not twenty women four years ago.”

This made Kendall’s face sour, as he pulled the bill of his cap down lower over his face. “Great. I’m glad we’re so good at doing victim math.”

“Yeah, well, Gerri’s just saying it doesn’t necessarily punch through,” Shiv defended.

The older brother gestured to his phone. “Sure, but… this is not okay.”

“We know it’s not okay, that’s why we’re preparing a corporate response,” the redhead bit back. 

The conversation moved on to PR, which Gerri claimed to be Preston. This was met with Shiv’s vehement disapproval—they were three disgusting, old white dudes who, in her words, would just claim the women to be money-grabbing sluts.

“Call me sociopathic but isn’t this a tiny bit quaint in comparison to the past few years?” asked Roman. 

You bit down on the inside of your cheek in thought. “I think they’re hyperfixating on this right now because they see it as a gap in the chainmail. Mo is dead. He’s not around to bear the weight of blame on his shoulders.”

“We’re being punished for the sins of others,” claimed Logan. “No one real gives a fuck.”

You narrowed your eyes at the hot take. 

For once, you seemed to agree with Kendall when he shook his head. “No, no, we can’t be seen to minimize. I think we need to loudly and quickly say that this is not okay.”

“The question is, what would make it go away the fastest? Do we say it’s something and fix it, or say that it’s nothing and fuck off?” Gerri asked.

“Something,” pushed Kendall. “There has to be consequences.”

To your frustration, Shiv shook her head. “Nope. Condemn and move on. It’s just good advice.”

“Not to be the only frilly-pink feminist in the room, but this isn’t something to sweep under the rug. It may not seem that serious at first glance because of the vagueness but a few dozen women’s lives were ruined, and that’s just barely what we know because of the NDAs. If we ignore it now, it’ll come back to bite the company in the ass later down the line. The least we can do is compensate them, no?” you said, crossing your arms.

Sinking into a wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight, Logan threw his hands up. “This is bullshit. It’s all about me! It’s not real, it’s not honest. They don’t give a flying fuck for these poor bitches. They hate me! And I won’t be giving them the satisfaction of giving in. So no—condemn and move on.” 

You wanted to bury your face in your hands and scream. But you didn’t. You stood still and expressionless. 

They started discussing the panel for later that day. The original plan was for it to be Kendall and Roman up there, but having a woman up there would be much more… fitting given the well-timed article’s release. Shiv haughtily refused, but softened upon her dad asking her if she would. 

She’d think about it. 

And with that, the group began to file out. 

The hours trickled on by and before you knew it, there was only ten minutes until Roman and Kendall were supposed to go up for the panel. You were helping Rome rehearse through what he was supposed to say, even though you didn’t agree with the direction they were taking with simply condemning—it was better than not addressing it at all. 

It was all going smoothly until Shiv burst through the doors, declaring that she wanted to be up there for the panel, much to both Kendall and Roman’s dismay.

“Come on, man. It’s panicky as fuck,” said the eldest of the three. “It looks… kind of fucking cheesy, to be honest. Like we’re throwing our token woman at it? The woman who’s not even in our company?”

“Well, it can’t be two men up there right now. It just—it can’t. Right?” Shiv rounded her gaze to you, and you shrugged half-heartedly. 

“I don’t know, Shiv.”

Standing up, Hugo suggested, “Well, the audience is just expecting Roys, so—maybe we stick at two and someone relaxes.”

Logan’s gaze fell on his youngest son. “Romulus.”

“What? You want to pull me? That—that looks like a humiliation,” your friend heatedly defended. 

“We could just say you got sick,” Hugo said.

Both you and Roman made eye contact and you nodded at him to defend himself.

“No. No, you can’t just fuckin’ bump me ten minutes before the panel. That’s bullshit! Fuck that. Respectfully, dad, why is Shiv even here?” he hissed.

“I was invited,” Shiv replied in a serrated tone.

Roman crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, no, I need to be out there. We need to hang together. You know, like, family.”

Rolling her eyes, Shiv drew herself to her full height. “Oh, so you wanna get Connor on the line, get him to come down here, too? Let him dog-pile on so no one’s nose gets put out of joint?”

“I’ll put your nose out of joint!”

“Oh, yeah, you should say that on the panel—!” Shiv pursed her lips. “If you wanna know what I really think—I think you should drop both of them and I’ll do it solo.”

This time, you were quick to say, “Shiv, I love you, but you’re not part of the company yet. To shove you up there alone would look like fucking… empty wokeness. Like we’re smothering the problem with estrogen and calling it a day.”

Roman nodded. “Pretty desperate, Shiv—exploiting the situation for personal gain, hm?”

The three siblings bickered some more until it grew quite cumbersome and repetitive. 

Two minutes until the panel.

Logan held up three fingers, and that was the end of that.

The panel was… certainly a panel.

It was a lot of dancing around the subject between Kendall and Shiv. You were pretty sure Roman had only said a grand total of two short sentences. 

“We’ll do whatever it takes, you know? We’ll do whatever anyone wants,” he had said. 

From where you were watching on a screen backstage, you face-palmed with a sigh.

By the end, Shiv had made the fatal mistake of implying that Logan should step down from his position, going so far as to call him an old dinosaur. 

It was a shitshow, painted over with glitter and rainbows. In all honesty, it was an embarrassment to even associate yourself with the company at this point. There went all your business schmoozing and fraternizing for the past two days—right down the drain.

“Nice. Bring your daughter to the slaughter. Did you tell the old dinosaur what you were going to do?” Roman asked his twin once the three siblings returned to the room you were in. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, ‘We will do whatever anyone wants?’ What the hell was that?” Kendall asked.

Shrugging, Roman clapped both his hands on your shoulders from behind, squeezing your tensed muscles. “Fuck it, right? It’s just words. There’s no press, anyway. Who gives a shit?”

It was then that Logan walked in, Marcia and Gerri in tow. Roman’s hands slipped away from you to go pour himself a drink and stand by his father.

“It was too much, Siobhan,” said their stepmother. “Dinosaurs?”

Ducking his head, Kendall nodded. “It was over the line. Shiv was over the line.”

Brows cinching, Shiv protested, “Oh, I think it was pretty clear that I was talking about—”

Roman interrupted after taking a long sip of champagne. “No, it was clear, yeah. You tortured the old dinosaur. Barbecued him alive—!”

In a blink of an eye, Logan swung around and back-handed his son straight across the jaw, bellowing out, “Don’t fuck with me!”

The hit rang loud and true across the room. Flesh on flesh, skin on skin, father to son, boot to dog.

Roman fell back with a muffled noise, and you were immediately shooting out of your seat to curl a protective arm around him, placing yourself between him and his aggrieved father. Commotion sprung out—Kendall vehemently yelling at Logan not to touch his brother as if he were a valiant hero, Gerri trying her best to quell the situation with reassuring words.

But all the noise was drowned out in your ears. It was just you and Roman.

It was like you were children all over again, watching with watery eyes as young Roman tried his best to pick himself up after Logan’s frequent beatings. You hadn’t even noticed that your eyes had welled up with a warbling film of stinging tears, heart slamming against your ribcage with staggering, uneven jolts. 

He hunched over, working his jaw and spitting into his palm a second later. 

A tooth fell past his lips, flecked with blood and spit. You could feel your lips twitch downwards as you tried your hardest not to cry.

Kendall flanked to his left, his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and Shiv stood in front of him.

“Rome—you alright?” they both asked. “You okay?”

He worked his jaw again, then shrugged off Kendall’s hand. He was in no mood to be coddled by anyone but you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fucking fine! Just fucking—leave me alone. I’m fine.” As you began to lead him away, he called over his shoulder. “It’s just a tooth. I’ll get another one.”

Once it was just the two of you in the hallway, Roman dropped the act. It hurt like hell, and he felt safe enough around you not to have to put up a front.

You tugged him into your room with a mildly haunted expression, fingers gripping far too tightly into Roman’s arm. He walked into the bathroom to rinse his mouth out. The water ran a dark shade of pink. 

As he gingerly began brushing his teeth with a spare toothbrush you handed him, you studied his reflection. He stared back, hating how worried you looked for him. 

“You want me to call a medic?” you asked, voice small. “There’s a few on site.”

Roman squinted at nothing in particular, humming. His tongue ran along the part of his gums that throbbed the most. It tasted like copper. A familiar taste. Nostalgic, even.

“No.”

“Do you need to be alone?”

“Fuck, no.”

You rolled a tissue into a tightly-packed bundle, telling him to bite down on it to stop the bleeding. He did as you told, but not without complaining about it tasting like ass. It actually tasted like nothing, but Roman wanted to make you smile. He hated seeing you so worked up.

With that, the two of you made your way out of the bathroom. You made him sit down on your bed and wrapped your arms around him, clinging onto him like a koala to a tree trunk. The both of you slowly kicked off layers of your clothes, trying your best not to break hold of each other in the process. Shoes first, then jackets, then pants, then button-ups.

You were left in a dark short sleeve and your underwear, and he’d tossed off all his clothes except his boxers. 

“The Argie awards are in an hour,” said Roman. His lips brushed against your collarbone as he rested his forehead onto the slope of your shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have stripped down to nearly nothing if I was planning on going.”

“You’re gonna miss dinner. You’ll starve to death—and you won’t be allowed to blame me for it.”

“I have a banana somewhere in here. Plus—room service is only a call away.”

“Mmh. Mmkay.”

The tooth was still curled inside his clenched fist. 

“Wait,” you murmured against him, crawling off his lap to grapple for your wallet that you’d left on the nightstand. Roman murmured unhappily at the loss of warm contact, rubbing his palms up and down your legs. “I don’t really carry cash around these days but… I always keep a few spare coins in here.”

He watched as you fished through the slits, brandishing first a dime, then a nickel. Another dime.

Then you pulled out a quarter, grinning widely.

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

The cool metal of the quarter fell into his free hand. Then, he unfurled his fist. You stared down at the bloody tooth with unsure eyes.

“You have pretty teeth,” you told him after snapping out of your initial frozen state, pressing your nose into his uninjured cheek. “Even when we were kids, you had the prettiest pearly whites.”

Roman smiled, even though it ached to. “I remember you chased me around for my tooth once. Like a fucking freak.”

“Hm. You loved it, Romey.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” he said, trying his best to be dismissive. Then, he craned his arm to place the tooth on the nightstand. 

You yawned, and he followed closely after you.

“It’s only eight at night. We’re falling asleep at fuckin’... fucking granny hour,” he grumbled.

A giggle, cut off by another yawn. “I don’t blame us. It’s been a long day. Sweet dreams, Romeo.”

“Night, fuck-face.”

“You know I love you, right?” you whispered. A light kiss to his throat as he swallowed.

“Obviously. You’re infatuated with me. Obsessed, even.”

If one was infatuated-slash-obsessed with the other, it’d most certainly be Roman.

You hummed and grinned into him. You didn’t deny his words, merely huffing with amusement. “I’m going to take your tooth and sell it on EBay for a hundred bucks.”

I’m fucking in love you, he wanted to scream.

“Fuck off,” he said. “It’s worth a million bucks at least. Shut up—stop fucking smiling, you freak. Go to sleep.”

You settled against him some more, and drifted off a few minutes later, listening to his heart beat from his throat.

You weren’t entirely sure what had transpired during the last few hours of Argestes, but there was one thing made clear: Nan Pierce had called off the acquisition entirely. You had no idea what to think of the entire situation anymore. You were just… tired of it all.

Not long after, a team had called you in to record a video message for Logan’s big fiftieth anniversary at Waystar. You were given very little time to figure out what to say, and so your message was short and sweet:

“Hey, Uncle Logan. I think we all owe you a bit of gratitude for giving half a century of your life to the large, ever-expanding field we call media. You’ve always been a constant figure in my life—heh, more constant than my own parents. I couldn’t imagine where I’d be without you. Congratulations, and I look forward to the next fifty years working by your side.”

It wasn’t over the top, and only slightly sugar-coated with falsities. 

Once you stepped out of the recording booth, Roman shot you a grin. “Cocksucker,” he teased. “There you go—something you and Rhea can bond over.”

You prodded his chest with stiff fingers. “Shut up,” you fondly told him.

“How’d you even get all that in one fucking take? They had me say ‘I love you, Dad’, like, ten times in a row.”

Before you could retort back, the two of you bumped into Shiv, who was typing away furiously at her phone. 

“What do you guys reckon—you think Dad is boning Rhea?” she asked.

With a snort, Roman strode away to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Can’t wrap my head around that. Too steamy. Too hot.”

“You are a walking Freudian complex, you know that, Ro?” you asked him, bumping his hips with yours so he’d move over as you fixed your own drink. “I don’t wanna think about it, honestly. Who my godfather fucks is really none of my business.”

“You’re just jealous. You want daddykins all to yourself!” said Roman in a sing-song voice, which made you purposefully step onto his toes. “OW!”

The hot coffee jostled over the rim of his cup and some of it sloshed onto his chest. He sent you a glare and you kissed his cheek with a sweet smile before moving off to sit next to Connor.

“Yeah, yeah, but we should, like, talk about what this means. We’re… we’re all sensing the shift, right?” asked Shiv.

“Gerri says she’s the new thing,” said Roman as he took a seat beside you, obnoxiously leaning back to drape both his legs over your thighs.

Connor lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Well, it just so happens that Gerri was the new thing a while back.”

“Mmh—Logan made it clear that she was more or less there as a placeholder,” you said, sipping on your cup, watching the siblings over the rim. “Come on—there’s no way Logan is handing the company over to a woman, much less a woman older than fifty. It’s a shame, because Gerri really could’ve been a great CEO had she been given an actual chance.”

It didn’t go past your notice to see Shiv’s face contort with dismay at your words. Not too long ago, she’d been under the impression that Logan was handing the company over to a woman—her. 

“I just think we need to be careful,” she said.

“Awh, what’s wrong? You all wedgied up because Rhea stood on your back and worked your arms like an elliptical?” asked Roman, which made both you and Connor snort with amusement.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, we should probably have a plan. You know, in case Dad does something rash.”

It was then that Connor was called away to record his message, and Kendall sauntered in just a minute later. His jacket and pants were noticeably rumpled and a pair of sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose. Only assholes like Kendall would wear sunglasses indoors.

“Hey, what’s up?” he greeted everyone.

“You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday—you want us to think you got laid. Nice try.” Both you and Roman giggled like schoolgirls, which only had the older man rolling his eyes. 

“Well, have fun discussing killing Rhea—” you began.

“There wasn’t anything about killing—” protested Shiv.

“I’m gonna head out. Gotta get some work done before the flight to Dundee. Which, is so fucking over the top, by the way. Even my parents are going for this. They weren’t there for any of my birthdays in the past twenty years, but sure, let’s go to Uncle Logan’s celebration for his fiftieth year working at Waystar.” You nudged Roman’s legs off of yours so you could stand up. 

Rome’s eyes widened. “Your parents are coming? Damn. Rhea really went all out, didn’t she?”

You frowned. “Feels more like a personal affront to me than anything. Not looking forward to seeing them, but whatever. See you guys later.”

They all murmured their farewells and you patted Roman’s knee softly before heading out.

Dundee was cold. So cold that you had to wear two layers of thermal socks, and your toes were still cold. Roman made fun of you the entire way into the hotel room, joking about icicles forming beneath your chin. 

Once you were finally inside, you cranked your heater up as high as it could go, shedding all your layers off with a grateful moan. It’d been a long flight, and you were exhausted.

Roman laid down on your bed, lazily turning his head to follow your movements as you flitted to and fro around your room, unpacking your essentials.

“There’s better ways to warm up than hanging your wrinkled button-ups,” he quipped. One of his brows quirked upwards in an almost seductive manner.

You laughed at that, fishing out articles of clothing from your luggage. “You’re all bark and no bite, Roman. Besides—you literally brought Tabitha to this event. Where even is she, anyway?”

With a shrug, he remarked absentmindedly, “Oh, she’s off exploring all the joys of Scotland.”

“So… grass and sheep?”

He laughed his hyena-laugh. “Yeah, grass and sheep.” Then, he propped himself up on an elbow to face you properly. “Did you bring a date?”

“Ugh. Didn’t want to bring one. Not with my parents coming. It’ll be a nightmare.”

Something in Roman’s eyes softened. “I would’ve been your date if, uh, if I hadn’t already asked Tabs. To be fair, I asked her before I knew about your parents. I can kick her back to America right now if you ask.”

You paused in your ministrations. “Stop it. I like Tabs. She’s nice. And I wouldn’t have wanted you to be my date out of pity, anyway.”

Roman lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug, lips pursed. “It wouldn’t be pity if I wanted to.”

A beat of silence. 

You blew out a sigh. “I’m really here for the image. I’ll say hi to my parents, and then avoid them for the rest of the night.”

“I can help you with avoiding them.”

“Hm?”

“Gerri wants me to secure funding for Waystar to go private. As a… back up plan, in case everything combusts into fuckin’ flames. She wants me to target Eduard. Seduce him, or whatever. You can come with—butter him up with all your oozy corporate rank and that—that pretty face on your face. He wouldn’t be able to resist if we double-combo him.” Roman shot you a lopsided smile that only lifted one corner of his lips. You pushed away the urge to coo at the fact that he called your face pretty. “Or… you can flit around with all of Dad’s cocksuckers and awkwardly bump into your parents two hundred times before the waterworks break out and you make an embarrassment of yourself in the middle of the celebration.”

Done with putting away your clothes, you made your way to the bed and sat down beside him, your shoulder pressed up flush over his. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Rome. Yeah, of course I’ll come.”

“Yeah, yeah. You can repay me with a blowjob.”

You laughed, but a small part of you wondered if he was serious.

“Any other ways I can repay you? None that could, uhm, potentially warrant a lawsuit?”

Roman scratched at his chin in thought. “Yeah, actually—what if we got, like, married?” His voice went all soft and high-pitched. Lilting. Tentative. 

Your eyes widened at first, then narrowed thinly. “What?” you asked, partially incredulous. He was joking, right?

Right?

“Not like—” He gestured aimlessly. “Not like that. Not actual marriage. Like something equivalent to that—like me chaining you down in the basement, or something. Like me kidnapping you and keeping you hostage.”

“Romeo, what the hell are you talking about?” You sat forward, your face all the closer to his. “In what world is that equivalent to marriage?”

Nervous anxiety clawed within his stomach. “Jesus Christ, I’m not talking about marriage. Just something on that fucking level of us being tied together. I don’t know, you chop off my dick, I chop off your tongue, whatever the fuck. You know, like, you eat me, I eat you—like they do in Germany.”

You were pretty sure that’s not what they did in Germany.

“You know what I mean.” His eyes were pleading, asking you for something you weren’t quite sure of.

“I… I don’t think I do?” You took one of his hands. “Rome, what’s going on? You’re being… weirder than normal. Did something happen with Tabitha?”

Because he was in love with you and he had no idea how to say it. 

The answer to Roman was simple: he just wouldn’t.

Hastily, Roman pulled away from your touch. He rolled off the bed in one single motion, almost tumbling over his own feet as he scrambled to the door. He tried to ignore your crestfallen expression watching him put more distance between the two of you.

“No, nothing happened with Tabitha. Just, uh—just think about it. I’ll text you the details to meet Eduard. Bye!” He was already halfway out the door with his last word.

You screwed your lips to the side in puzzled exasperation, and blew out a heavy sigh.

The pub was nearly empty, save for a snogging couple near the back, and a few scattered about the seats casually sipping their ale as they watched the soccer match on the mounted television above the bar. Amongst them was Eduard, standing out like a sore thumb with his crisp suit and his dark, slicked-back hair. Just the sight of him seemed to cost money.

“My God, you smell like cotton candy—I almost want to lick your neck. Don’t you want to lick his neck, Y/N?” Roman asked instead of greeting him like any regular person would.

You shot him a half-hearted glare before sticking your hand out. Roman had always been one to overstep boundaries. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Asgarov.”

“Oh, please, Eduard is fine. And the pleasure is all mine,” he languidly drawled, eyes darting up and down your form as a pleased smile curled the corner of your lips. He firmly clasped your palm in a handshake. “I’ve heard much about you—general manager… the glue of the company, some people say. But Roman never mentioned that you were so beautiful.”

A large part of Roman’s insides bristled with hostility, an emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he plastered on a strained smile anyway. “Yup, yeah, forgot to mention. But, uh, yeah, thanks for coming, man. My dad’s going to be very pleased when he sees old friends and whatnot…” He waved the bartender over to order himself a pint, and added on a non-alcoholic beverage for you—he knew you didn’t like to drink during the day. Then, he caught sight of the television. “What’s this? Who’s playing?”

“Scottish,” replied Eduard, taking a sip of his own beer. “I’m thinking of getting in.”

 Your eyebrows raised a notch. “Mmh, smart choice. Lots of buried money in European soccer leagues.”

Eduard spared you a warm smile.

A frown crossed Roman’s features—he was starting to regret inviting you, even though he’d been the one to suggest you flirt him up. 

“Scottish kicky-ball,” he remarked. “Looks like two eunuchs trying to fuck a letterbox.”

His foul comment went largely ignored by the two of you. 

Eduard was certainly an attractive man, you thought once you watched his tongue draw out to run along his lips in thought. “I’m liking the look of Hibs,” he said, eyes trained on the television, flitting down to glance at you for a second. “Or Hearts. I’m undecided.”

“Hearts?” asked Roman. “That’s my dad’s team. The only childhood relic he can stomach.”

Hazy memories of seven-year-old you peeking over the expensive leather couches to see what your godfather was watching on screen came across your mind. It always cycled through the same three channels: ATN, soccer, and old black-and-white English films from the fifties. You never stayed for long, always darting out of the room in fear of him turning to see you there, watching along with him. But from the little that you did catch a glimpse of—you could only barely recall the green insignias and jerseys of the Hibs on the screen.

“I think he was a Hibs fan, no?” you asked, thanking the bartender when he slid your drink over. 

Roman scoffed. “Pfft—I think I’d know which team dad likes.” You didn’t bother trying to argue with him. After all, your childhood memories weren’t exactly the most reliable source.

With a half-minded hum, Eduard said, “I’ve got an agent in Spain. I buy the club, he loans me nine shit-hot players. Climb the ladder, take the second Champion’s League space, UEFA goes full European super-league, flip it, walk away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds fucking slick, dude,” Roman replied, sipping on the frothy part of his drink. “Slicker than cum on a dolphin’s back.”

“You want in?” asked Eduard.

“Mmh, maybe. But before all that—can we talk about what we talked about before? You know, a major injection, or even taking us private. Have you talked to your dad?” asked Roman. 

A smile and a nod. “It’s a conversation we can have—I have total, three-sixty latitude to work on my father’s behalf.”

“Great. Yeah, cool. No, me too. Yup.”

He didn’t, but you wisely kept your mouth shut. 

“Weird, how much we’re the same,” said Roman, playfully punching Eduard’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you guys are practically twins,” you quipped, smiling over the rim of your glass. “Couldn’t tell the two of you apart.”

The dark-haired man tilted his head. “Buy them with me. We’ll split it fifty-fifty.”

“I, uh…” Roman spared you a look, silently asking you if he was being stupid with his rashness. “I don’t really see a downside, other than zero knowledge or interest in Scottish football. But, yeah! Hearts. Sounds fun.”

“Hibs,” you said.

Roman wrinkled his nose. “Hearts.”

“Hearts, it is,” said Eduard.

It wasn’t Hearts. 

After Kendall’s laughable rap song about—what was it—stanning his dad and calling him the OG, Roman had broken the news that he’d bought the Hearts club as a present for Logan on such a special day.

Logan fixed the three of you with a blank stare. 

“The Hearts?” he echoed.

Roman spread his arms, wiggling the tips of his finger in a sad rendition of jazz hands. “Mhm.”

“Hearts Football Club?”

Roman nodded.

Shiftily, Logan looked towards you. He always looked to you for clarification when he couldn’t understand his son—which was quite often.

“Uhm, Roman bought the Hearts for you,” you said, voice small.

“It’s your team, right?” Rome asked.

A beat of silence.

“I’m Hibs,” said your godfather.

You fucking knew it.

“You’re Hibs,” parroted Roman, his shoulders beginning to droop. “Really? Are you sure? I thought you were Hearts—I’m pretty sure you were Hearts, dad.”

Scratching at his chin, Logan softly said, “You know what, maybe you’re right. Hm. How would I know what team I’ve supported all my fucking life? Who knows—maybe I supported Kilmarnock. Or Fucklechester Rangers? I mean, how could I possibly know?”

Roman recoiled as if he’d been kicked. Eduard patted his shoulder, and brushed his hand along your lower back as he slipped away, chest burning with secondhand embarrassment. 

“Sorry, Uncle Logan, there’s just been a, uh, a miscommunication—” you said, hastily tugging Roman away. The two of you wove through the crowd until you got out of the large room, into one of the quieter halls. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, watching Roman frustratedly pace back and forth in front of you. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, he snapped out, “I thought he was fucking Hearts, dude!”

“... I told you, Ro.”

He scowled. “Ugh. Shut up.”

Before you could ask if he could maybe switch somehow, two figures pushed through the doors, coming to stand in front of you. You tore your gaze away from the flustered man, fixing your eyes on—

Fuck.

“It’s lovely to see you, Y/N,” said your mother. In her hand was a glass of wine, half empty. “You’ve grown quite a bit. Have you gained weight?”

She reached out, but you immediately stepped back, closer to Roman. 

After getting over your initial shock, you cleared your throat and tentatively responded, “Hi, mom. Dad.”

The couple gave you an awkward onceover. It’d been years since you last saw them, with maybe one or two texts exchanged every year for the holidays. Though, even that wasn’t a guarantee.

“We, uhm, we saw you rush out with Roman here and thought we’d say hello,” said your father, sparing you a terse smile.

“Wow.” Roman, unsurprisingly, inserted himself into the conversation. “And the parents of the year award goes to…”

“You thought you’d say hello. Jesus—I haven’t seen either of you in fucking forever and the first thing you do is nitpick at my appearance?” you growled, fists clenching by your side. “Listen, if you want to be in my life, then be in my life. But you can’t pretend that everything is okay when you see me and then promptly waltz off and disappear for another decade or two.”

Your mother sipped at her wine, at a loss for words. They glanced at each other, both wearing a mildly guilty expression, but had really nothing to defend themself with.

With an angry scoff, you stormed back into the room where Logan was about to give his closing speech, shoulder roughly knocking into your father’s as you brushed past him. 

Roman scratched the back of his head, left alone with your parents. 

“For the record, Y/N is doing fucking great without either of you. You know—crunching those numbers, being a goddamn messiah for the lower-level employees, fucking the boss. All that jazz.” He grinned and hum-laughed when their eyes widened in shock, and sauntered in after you. It wasn’t exactly that white of a lie. You’d given him a handjob and the two of you technically had phone sex—would those two activities put together constitute as one whole traditional, in-person fuck?

He’d come in to stand beside you and Tabitha just in time to hear his father make the announcement.

“... And I shall be appointing Rhea Jarrell as my Chief Executive Operator.”

The crowd burst into applause. Roman clapped with a faux-surprised expression. When he glanced at you, you were wiping the corner of your eyes with the back of your palm and hastily clapped along.

Once the cheers began to mellow away, Roman stopped clapping to lace his fingers through the gaps of yours, squeezing tight. Your eyes watered even more at the contact, but you squeezed back in gratitude.

There was an interview of  James Weissel on the television: a whistleblowing interview tossing Gerri, Kendall, and Tom into the stinking shitpot that was the cruise incidents, accusing the three of covering up McClintock’s actions. Logan had shut it off before anybody could finish watching.

Whilst everyone was busy prattling off about how bad of a situation this was, Gerri seemed to be the one lighthouse amidst the storm.

“I say we tell the truth,” she calmly said, adjusting her glasses to sit higher up her nose. “The family knew nothing of this. We throw Mo overboard. Mo, bad apple. Jim Weasel, bad apple. Spies a book deal—sotto voce, backed by Sandy and Stewy. All corporate fuckery, no real concern. In terms of historic shit? I say we give up Bill. He should’ve let us know what he discovered rather than cleaning up without telling us the details.”

Bill had been the old Tom before Tom was, well, Tom.

And so there was the strategy: letting Bill take the fall, and kill him off. It wasn’t… a decision you necessarily felt good about, but it was the least messy the situation could be.

Things felt like they’d be smoothed over, just for a little bit.

But then Siobhan came in, phone clutched tightly in her hand. “Gil is going to call for hearings.”

This stirred up quite a murmur in the room. Both Kendall and Frank sat up in their seats with incredulous questions on the tip of their tongues.

“Yeah, Senate Commerce. Probably House, too.” 

Gerri was on her phone in an instant. “Buckle up folks,” she said while scrolling through the news. “We’re going to get an invite to the national latrine. See who’s going to take a public dump.”

“Mr. Fuck is going to Washington,” Shiv sighed.

It was then that Logan let out an ear-splitting bellow of rage. It shocked both you and Roman into flinching. 

“NO! I CAN’T HAVE THIS NOW!” he screamed in distress.

There was a long moment of silence. 

In a leveled tone, you asked Shiv, “Who’s testifying?”

“Uh, well… well, they’d want Dad.”

Kendall quickly protested, “No, we can’t—we won’t let that happen—”

“Protect the egg chamber!” said Roman. Nobody could quite tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 

It was then that Hugo suggested Gerri and Tom to testify. The group went back and forth for a little while longer on what the play would be, but it was quite clear that everybody was already settled with Gerri and Tom going up there. 

To your surprise, Logan called for you and Roman out of the room. 

A part of you wondered if he’d beat Roman over the head with his fancy business shoe for buying the wrong soccer team. You certainly wouldn’t put it past him, especially in his already-agitated state. 

“I need both of your help,” he told the two of you once you were out of the room, lingering by the foot of the pristine staircase. 

“Need someone to run to the store for smokes?” Roman asked, his hands propped on his hips.

“This’ll go on all night… and it might not be okay,” your godfather said.

This made you tilt your head. “Will this really sway the shareholders into folding? It happened under our noses three decades ago, and the perpetrator is dead.”

“The very fact that we’re being called to testify will spook the shareholders. I’m on a knife’s edge.” He grunted softly as he lowered himself to sit on one of the lower steps of the cold staircase. “Ten bad minutes on camera, and that could be it. The end.”

Roman’s brows raised. “The end? Come on, Dad.”

“I need the two of you to chase down the sovereign wealth money,” said Logan.

You and Roman glanced at one another. Was he being serious? 

“Right. Uhm… I mean—that’s… it’s a cool idea, but it’d be a stretch, no?” Roman tentatively brought up. 

Logan leaned forward, shifting his weight onto his elbows, which were resting upon his knees. Though he had made himself physically smaller, he’d always be the biggest presence in the room. “We need that central Asian money. It’s a time out from the responsibilities of being a public company. That’s a fucking lifeline, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“They’d be taking on a massive amount of debt. That’s a… huge responsibility, Uncle Logan.” 

The older man snorted. “Which is why I’m making you go with him. Make sure he doesn’t fuck up. Keep it under wraps. And bring Karl and Laird with you, as well, for the financial matters.” There was a pause as he studied the two of you. “Can you do it?”

Roman scratched anxiously at the back of his head. “Fuck, Dad, I want to say I can. But, I’ll be honest—if it’s, like, really important… I mean, I can say I can do it—like one of those firefighters in the movies. But I don’t know if—”

“You act the fuckleknuckle, but you know… people like you.” 

There it was. A narrow slant of light. It wasn’t real—at least, you didn’t think it was—but it was warmth regardless.

Roman’s features twisted. “It’s a really big fucking deal.”

“Nah. It’s getting the right number from the right suit. Getting your dick in there is easy. Getting into bed—that’s the hard part,” said his father. “You can do it. Both of you can.”

You scuffed your shoe against the floor just as Roman’s nose twitched. 

“Yeah. Sure, dad, I got it.”

Logan pushed himself off the staircase, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. The light was warm, and far too addicting. He smiled softly. 

It wasn’t real, you had to remind yourself. It’s never real. But did that really matter? Did it?

“You’re brilliant, my dear. A real force to reckon with. I trust you to hammer the nail right on its head,” he said. 

You swallowed harshly. “I hope we won’t disappoint, Uncle.”

When he pulled away, he began to make his way towards the doors once more. “Keep me close,” he said. 

And with that, he was gone.

Roman let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. 

“Why does it feel like we just dug our own graves? I feel like I’ve got fuckin’ dirt in my eyes,” he lamented just as you leaned your head onto his shoulder. “You know, if the company ever kills you off, I’ll quit. I don’t know how I’d do it around here without you.”

“All bark, still no bite,” you quietly told him. “You wouldn’t leave the company. Not on your own free will.”

Like a caged dog: it was only able to escape if their owner opened the door for them.

“I’ll kill myself if they kill you. I mean it—I’ll eat a fucking silver bullet.”

“How romantic.”

“Mhm—we’re like fuckin’... Romeo and Juliet.”

He smiled, and so did you.

“C’mon. Let’s go watch the grown-ass men I bought kick around balls for a bit,” said Roman.

Eduard greeted you at the soccer team’s practice field with a kiss on the cheek, Roman with a firm handshake. 

“It’s good to see you,” you told him with a genuine smile. 

“Good to see you guys, too,” he replied. His expression was well-guarded behind a pair of dark shades. “With everything I’ve heard going down at Waystar, I was surprised you even showed up.”

With a shrug, Roman said, “I have nothing better to do, I promise. I’m gonna cut right to the chase here—do you think there’s any chance you guys have the muscle to take us private? Is that something that’s interesting to you and your dad?”

With nearly no hesitation, Eduard bobbed his head in an affirmative.

Shocked, Karl asked, “Really? That’s…”

Eduard spared the older man half of a grin. “Yes, we’re interested. It’ll look good as part of our portfolio, and we like the news expertise you can share.” Just as Laird began spewing off details to tell Logan, Eduard cut him off by saying, “Actually, Roman, Y/N—can you guys do it? The two of you make quite a team. You and your… bum-boys here can come to Turkey tomorrow? Pitch to me and my Dad?”

You and Roman exchanged earnest glances, as if speaking to each other telepathically. You were sure you could push back your work at Waystar for a few days to settle the privatizing deal. 

“Absolutely. I think we can definitely do that,” said Rome, with a pleased hum. Then, he turned back to fix his gaze on Laird and Karl. “Ain’t that right, bum-boys?”

 “Why Turkey?” you asked, brows raising. “I mean, I can pitch to you anywhere, but why, you know, all the way across the ocean?”

“There’s an investing conference in Bursa. Everyone will be there—we can get into it. Unless you have any objections…?”

Hastily, you shook your head. “No, no. This is great. Thanks for the opportunity.”

“No problem,” said Eduard, watching the ball fly across the field, landing into the goal. “I like you guys. Really.”

The coach called for the team to huddle up, allowing for the owners to say a few words. A part of you wondered if Rome even remembered the name of the FC he had bought.

“Great session, guys. And listen, for Saturday, you have the ability, you have the mentality. Watch that press doesn’t leave you exposed on the turnover, and you fucking got this. Rome?” Eduard turned to your friend, who hadn’t really prepared anything to say.

Roman fixed you with a panicked look, but you nudged him forward with a purse of you lips.

Scratching the back of his head, he awkwardly started, “Uh, yeah, hey guys! Really proud to be associated with all of you. Uh, well, what the fuck can I tell you that you don’t already know? You, uh, you got all this guys, don’t worry about it. ‘Cause you guys are a team, and, uh, when a team… is a team… it can’t actually physically be beaten. It’s impossible. So, go hard, go fast—uh, go you… lovely bastards.” The team glanced at each other and began to awkwardly clap, before Rome looked to you and said, “Anything else you want to add?”

“Me?” you hissed under your breath. “Rome, I’m not an owner—”

“Just say something—!” he whispered back, yanking you forward by the arm.

Stiff, you waved at the litter of sweaty, jerseyed men in front of you. “Hi. Yeah, I’m sure you guys know I’m not one of the team’s owners, but I was there during the business negotiations as Roman’s, uh… co-partner. All I can do now is wish you all the best of luck for your next match—get some rest, eat some good food, keep your eyes on the prize. And if any of you want to get in touch with Waystar Royco for any sort of PR pitches to get your face out there… Coach will have me and Roman’s contact details.” With a smile, you stepped back, shoulder brushing against Roman’s.

“Fuck you,” he muttered bitterly. “Did you rehearse that in your head or something? How’d you manage to perfectly squeeze business into a fucking pep talk?”

You grinned and pinched his cheek lightly. “Go hard and go fast, you lovely bastard,” you mocked, voice rife with fondness, chortling when he swatted your hand away.

Before you knew it, you and Roman (and the bum-boys) were in Turkey, pitching to Eduard and his team. You had tried practicing a little the night before, but Roman had tossed all the flashcards away out of part-frustration and part-cockiness, assuring you that things would be fine. 

Now, as he was speaking, he seemed pretty confident in his own words. The two of you made a good team, after all.

“Look at the cash flow,” said Roman. “We are undervalued. I think tech just had everybody shitting their pants about legacy media, but really, the wheel turns.”

You nodded with an emphatic smile. “It’s true. No matter how much content moves to streaming sites, people will always want to look for something physical. Something you can feel and experience outside of home—hence Waystar’s adventure parks, and films to experience in theaters.” You made great effort to skirt around the touchy subject of cruises at the moment. 

“Most tech is overvalued. We’re profitable. We’re real money,” Roman added, growing more assured of himself with your support. 

“Tech is always changing. Invest in one thing, and it’ll be outdated in a blink of an eye. Invest in things people will always need: news, broadcasting, life experiences… now that’s reliable.” Eduard flashed you a smile, as if he was already sold.

“This is a tremendous opportunity,” said Rome. “This is once in a lifetime. You get to buy into the US media landscape at the very top. The very top.”

Two of the men leaned forward to whisper indistinctly to one another. 

“It’s a lot of debt,” one of them said once he finally pulled away. “You sure you can pull it together?”

“Absolutely sure,” Roman said with a mild laugh, knowing things with money and debt were quite rocky at the moment, before pointing back at Laird. “Jaime here is the fucking master of leverage. He has structured some of the biggest LBOs in history.”

“Guilty as charged,” said the older man.

Before anyone could say anything else, the doors to the room opened, and a few men filed in, murmuring indistinctly to the security. Your brows pulled together upon seeing guns strapped to their forms.

Roman exchanged a worried look with you.

“Are they, uh… are they with you?” he asked Eduard, who got up off his seat to speak to them in hushed tones.

“Rome, they have guns,” you murmured as you placed a hand on his forearm, glancing back at Karl and Laird. “What’s going on?”

The atmosphere seemed to chill when Eduard turned back to the four of you.

“Hey, look, we’re good. We’re good. But, uh… we’re all gonna go with these gentlemen now, okay?” He raised his hands in an almost placating manner, as if trying to tame a nervous mare. 

 Roman pointed at the armed men. “We’re going with them?” He laughed nervously, wondering if this was one big, elaborate joke. “Uh, no… I don’t think we—uh, who are these guys, exactly?”

Genuine fear began to curdle in your stomach when you watched the security walk out. “Dave just walked out. Hey, Eduard? I just—I need you to be honest with me. Are we in danger right now?”

Eduard worked his jaw in thought. “We’re just going to go with them now. Okay? It’ll be fine.”

“No, uh, I just—Can I just ask what this is in regards to?” Roman stepped in, high-strung. “Is this about the meeting? Is this a business thing?” 

Did I fuck it up and put a loaded gun to my own head? he wanted to say, but bit his tongue before he could.

With a sharp tone, you asked, “Our security guy, Dave, he just walked out with them. Where’d he go? Is he coming back?”

“Dave’s not coming,” said Eduard with pursed lips.

“He’s not coming?” Roman parroted. “Uhm… I would actually really like for Dave to come?”

“Dave is downstairs, we’ll go without him,” Eduard said in a calm tone. “Dave is a security risk. It’s better with these guys, okay?”

“Well, I know Dave, and I sure as hell don’t know these guys so… I think I’d prefer Dave—” you began to say, but was quickly cut off when Eduard put a hand on your shoulder and began leading your tense form out the room, Roman hot on your heels.

“It’s all good. It’s all under control,” Eduard murmured, though you highly doubted it. “There could be a situation, but we’re being looked after.”

A frown crossed Roman’s expression. “Oh, great. We’re being looked after. Fucking great. Laird—can you call Dave?”

They pulled out their phones, but the vested men with guns took the devices away just as quickly as it was pulled out. One stood in front of you with an expectant expression, and you complied with no resistance, handing him your phone, though not without a scowl.

“Great. They took my phone, and now I can’t contact my security, and now we’re going to die,” Roman said. When you looked at him, you could see genuine, restless fear dance over his irises. You didn’t quite know what to say, so you simply squeezed his arm as the two of you walked along.

The armed men led all of you to a crowded hotel lobby, where there seemed to be more hostages, more armed folk in similar attire. 

“Fuck,” Roman mumbled under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t business, is it?”

“Doesn’t look very business-y,” replied Karl.

When someone passed by and their gun brushed against your arm, you flinched back into Roman, your lips pulling back in a snarl. “Eduard. Fuck—Eduard, where the fuck are you taking us?”

“Just relax. This is normal,” he said, shiftily.

Roman scoffed. “Oh, yeah. This feels really fucking normal. Is this—are these guys terrorists? Where’s my fucking security guy? Where’s Dave?”

For a moment, Eduard seemed at a loss for words. You could feel dread pile up in your stomach. “It’s just… it’s an administrative action function,” he reluctantly said.

“Mm, yeah, great, and what exactly is that—?” Roman began to ask, before halting his own question when he trained his gaze on a struggle across the lobby. “Oh, wow, look at that. Guy not being allowed to leave the hotel at gunpoint. That’s—uh, yeah. So what’s… what’s this administrative action function?”

Pursing his lips, Eduard finally fessed up, “There’s just a gathering here now, of us and some other investors, and—”

“Men with guns?” Roman impatiently chirped.

“Yeah, yeah, that, and their guys are some kind of… anti-corruption kind of guys and this is like—it’s like their conference. Or, uh, a party of some sort. And we’re all invited.”

Your eye twitched. “That’s really lovely, but uh, what if I don’t want to go?”

A scream from somewhere over the crowd echoed through the lobby. Glass shattering followed soon after. Karl paled and he anxiously picked at a hangnail.

Eduard sighed. “It’s the kind of party where you have to go. It would be… rude.”

Roman stared at the ground, at nothing in particular. “Well, uh, I guess I wouldn’t mind being just a tiny bit rude.”

It was becoming more and more clear that no amount of protests or questions would get you out of this situation—not with every exit manned by armed personnel. The hostages in the hotel were soon herded into a large hall, empty save for bare white chairs for people to sit on. Eduard was led into a different room, and you briefly wondered if that’d be the last time you ever saw him.

You blew out a breath as you took a seat. Roman was quick to snare Laird into playing a multitude of games, like rock, paper, scissors, eye spy, and fuck, marry, kill. You didn’t pay much attention to them, instead trying to figure out what you’d do with yourself once you got out of this situation. One thing was for sure: your therapist was going to have a field day hearing this. 

“Where do you think they’re taking them?” you asked the men beside you when they began grabbing hostages and shoving them out the doors. 

“Doesn’t look like they’re gonna be taking a tour of the spa,” said Laird.

“My advice,” Karl huffed, looking awfully sweaty, “just don’t look at anything. If you don’t look, you’re not a witness.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Wonderful. Brilliant advice, Karl. At least you didn’t tell me to just take it if they decided to shove their dicks into my mouth.”

“Woah!” exclaimed Roman, eyes widening. “That’s not going to happen. Right? That can’t happen.”

You spared him a shrug, slumping back against the chair. Though, you were quick to sit up straight again when Eduard emerged from the doors, making a bee-line for you and Roman.

“Hey, guys. It’s all good. Things are good. So, uh, my president’s daughter’s husband has asked him to take closer control of some key assets. It’s anti-corruption, but it’s a bit of a power-grab. Some Turkish acquiescence, but it’s all in play.”

If you had to be honest, you understood very little of what he was saying. Whether it was because of your panic-hazed mind, or because he was merely being ambiguous, you couldn’t quite tell.

“Not to, uh, make this all about us…” began Roman, tentative, “but are they going to shoot us at any point?”

“No one is getting shot,” assured the bearded man. “Look, it’s complicated, but with the Zeynal here—there’s some interest about the deal.”

Deal? 

Both you and Roman glanced at each other. 

“Uh, fuck. Okay. The deal, sure,” said Rome.

“One thing they wanted clarity on was—how could they be sure the deal wouldn’t be blocked by your government?” Eduard asked.

You stuck your tongue against your cheek when Roman shook his head, “Well, it wouldn’t. My father has a lot of sway. I mean, he can’t lock up his opponents in a hotel, but, well, he kinda could.”

“And you’re the target of another bid? Won’t that be a problem?”

Sandy and Stewy. “Not a problem,” you quickly said. “They’re all bark, very little bite. If the price is right, we can easily reach a settlement before the shareholder meeting.”

With a nod, Eduard patted your knee, and he got up to leave—talk to his associates once more. 

“That went well,” said Laird, mildly surprised. 

“Yeah… a little too well,” Roman mused.

Hours later, Eduard returned, calling for the four of you to follow him.

It was a pitch. A messy pitch—one you clearly weren’t in the right mindspace for. One where the audience had clear smudges of coke lining their nostrils, dusting their tables. One that had a lot of money thrown into the empty promises, accompanied by high smiles and wandering eyes. It made you feel sick, and Roman clearly wasn’t a fan of it, either. Laird seemed to be satisfied with the mutual agreements, though. He heard money, and he immediately thought he was safe.

But the agreements didn’t feel quite real. None of it felt real. It was all bullshit, you wanted to yell at their face. Being held at gunpoint to play business in front of the coked out billionaires was not your preferred method of saving the company, especially when none of the settlements felt cemented. This wasn’t safe money to bet the entire company on—it might’ve not been money at all, in fact.

By the end of everything, the ambassador had arranged for a plane to finally get you out of the country. You fell asleep as soon as you sat down in your seat, the long hours going without sleep finally catching up to you. Roman curled up in the seat beside you, his head on your shoulder. He stayed awake the entire flight, listening to your steady breaths.

The Mediterranean. The Roys were on a fancy yacht in the Mediterranean.

It would’ve sounded like a pleasant getaway, if you weren’t dead-tired, having just returned from being held hostage at gunpoint. You just wanted to go home. Logan, however, wanted you and Rome by his side—and who were you to say no to the top dog?

As the speedboat skidded to a stop by the yacht, cheers erupted from siblings, along with Gerri and Frank, Greg and Tom. Roman slid his sunglasses on as he clambered onto the larger boat’s deck. 

“Here they are! The heroes of Asia!” exclaimed Shiv, a flute of champagne in hand. She was the first to greet you, taking your hand and helping you out of the speedboat. After a kiss to your cheek, you spared her an exhausted smile.

“The lions of Turkey! Welcome back, guys!” chimed Greg. He leaned down to embrace his cousin, but Roman was quick to push his face away. Greg didn’t dare try to hug you after that, merely waving from afar.

Frank clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Back like Odysseus. Did you guys ride out on sheep?”

Snorting, Shiv added, “Yeah, I heard you took down an entire army alone, bro.”

“That would’ve been really traumatizing if you weren’t already so fucked up,” Gerri told Roman, who simply frowned.

“Yeah, who’d you suck off to get out?” Kendall inserted.

Tom smiled widely from behind Shiv. “You were staying at Four Seasons, right? How did you guys escape? Did you—did you build a glider out of a caesar salad?”

Roman squinted at nothing in particular from behind the dark lens of his sunglasses. “Uh, you know what? It was actually fucking scary and we thought they might kill us, but yeah…” The tips of his fingers wiggled in a poor rendition of jazz hands. “Hardee-har-har, caesar salads, har-har. So funny.”

An awkward silence ensued between the small group. You scritched at your neck with a wince, wanting nothing more than a shower and a nap.

“Sorry, dude. Seriously,” said Kendall.

Roman snorted. “Yeah, no. They just raped me a little, but I’m no hero. They stuck their cocks down Y/N’s throat, too. Tell them.”

He nudged you and you shook your head tiredly. “They didn’t do that.”

“See? It got so bad that she trauma-blocked the memories. Shame on all of you,” he said, propping his fists on his hips. 

Feeling mildly guilty, Shiv had the gall to rub her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Sorry, Rome.”

“It’s fine. I’m just tired, or whatever. It was funny, actually. Karl almost shat in a bucket and I have it on my phone, so we can fully humiliate him in our daily jerkfest later,” said Rome, tugging you to sit down with him on a large white seat.

“So how’d it all go, business-wise?” Connor asked, eyeing the both of you curiously. “Or was that forgotten?”

Before either of you could say anything, Laird stepped in, shaking his head with a wide smile. “Oh, we can’t say anything about that. Confidential stuff. But they—they did good.”

“Oh! Okay. Promising!” Connor exclaimed, shooting the both of you a grin. “Congrats, you guys.”

Unease crackled between the two of you. When you locked gazes with Roman, he merely lifted one of his shoulders in a shrug, lips pursed. The deal probably wouldn’t go through. It was all empty promises, powdered with a layer of cocaine. 

The two of you failed. And maybe that was okay.

Your hand found his, and his head knocked against yours. He drank the beer Shiv handed him, and you drank in the salty air of the sea.

After you’d finally managed to pry yourself away from Roman (or, more accurately, Roman away from you), you had yourself a nice, hot shower, and a long-overdue nap. When you drowsily blinked back into consciousness, it was early afternoon, the sun still high up in the cloudless sky. A part of you wondered how you hadn’t just slept through the entire day.

You cleaned yourself up and changed into loose loungewear, heading down a story of the yacht, where you caught sight of the Roy siblings hanging by the pool (minus Connor, who was discussing matters of the play).

Roman waved at you limply. “Hey, sleeping beauty. You were knocked out for a while. I poked you in all your ticklish spots and you didn’t even stir.”

With a sigh, you curled yourself up into the cushioned spot beside him, Shiv on your other side. On her right was Tom, who had his gaze trained on Greg on the other side of the pool—the Roy’s cousin was… getting his toes looked at by the medic? You weren’t sure, and you didn’t quite want to know.

“You know, if you snuck into my room while I’m asleep and prodded me like a corpse, at least don’t fess up to it. You weirdo,” you said once you finally tore your gaze away from Greg, wrinkling your nose at Rome fondly.

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it,” Roman whistled, to which Shiv let out a loud groan of complaint. 

Sloshing water from the pool drew your attention to Kendall. “You good, Y/N? Sorry about—if I was, like, insensitive earlier—”

“It’s fine,” you quickly replied. “They were never going to shoot us, anyway. It was all just… theatrics.”

Theatrics. Puppets and strings.

Kendall smiled loosely. 

“So, uh, how was DC?” you asked the older man as he leaned against the rim of the pool. “They had it on the TV for a bit when we were waiting to give our pitch.”

He nodded, water dripping from his hair. “Yeah, it was—it was pretty fucking real.”

“You did good,” Roman chirped, adjusting the sunglasses on his nose. 

Scoffing, Kendall shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. And what? I did good for—for a crackhead? For a moron on crack?” His voice was lilting with incredulity.

“Nope. You did good, Ken,” he said.

Shiv nodded. “Yeah. You killed it.”

Kendall wasn’t used to genuine praise from his siblings. It was usually edged with an insult, laced with sarcasm or ire. 

“It was Tom that, uh… that didn’t really persuade everyone quite as well,” you said, sending an apologetic grimace to Shiv’s fiance.

“You’re being too nice. He shat his pants and puked all over the floor,” Roman huffed with an amused smile. 

Tom pulled a cross face. “I didn’t—!” He drew in a sharp breath. “You know, a lot of people are saying I was deadcatting. Yeah. So like—dead cat on the table. Everyone’s looking at this dead cat, and not… not talking about your dad.”

Shiv pursed her lips. “Right. Sure, yeah, you drew the fire. Yeah.”

Both you and Roman exchanged humored looks. 

“So, what’s going on with Rhea? She’s out, right?” Roman asked a beat later.

“Mhm. Melted. But she’s agreed not to say anything publicly until after the shareholder meeting,” said Shiv.

You briefly wondered why she backed away, but chalked it up to immense financial risk and potential ethical demise of her career. Good for her. 

“Instead of Rhea, whose big hairy foot is going to slip into the glass slipper?” Roman queried. “Washington Ken here?”

His older brother clambered out of the pool, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. “Me? Uh, no. Nope. I mean—Rome, you brought the golden goose home.”

The two of you frowned at the same time. Roman let out a loud sigh.

“Could be anyone,” you said. “We’re right back to square one.”

“Yeah. Could be. I mean, why is Greg here?” Kendall shot a look over his shoulder to glance at his cousin, peering between his own toes.

Roman snorted. “I always ask that question.” Then, he patted your thigh and leaned against you, enjoying the warmth of your skin against his. “I did think—you know, when I thought they were going to vacuum out my innards and fill me with concrete or something—like… if we come through this, is there a thing where we, like, talk to each other about stuff? Normally?”

In a strange alien-baby voice, Shiv mocked, “You wanna twalk to each other nwormally?”

Kendall snickered and tacked on, “You wanna twalk abwout the big shit?”

“Yeah, let’s twalk abwout the big shit!”

“We can talk about—our feewings!”

The siblings joking around for a rare moment reminded you of when you were all younger, with missing teeth and scraped knees. When Shiv’s hair would still be done up in a ponytail and yours would be twisted into pigtails. Simpler times—when things weren’t all that simple but you, in your blissful ignorance, had thought they were. 

Though you really didn’t want to laugh, you tried your best to smother down a chuckle, making Roman send you a betrayed glare. 

“Wow. Really? You, too?” He lightly shoved you away, and you and Shiv burst into a fit of giggles when you knocked into her. “How am I the most mature one here?”

“Sowwy, Wome,” you crooned in the same alien-baby voice. He kicked at your foot, then hooked his leg over yours.

The laughter dulled away when the whirring of helicopter blades descended over the yacht.

Logan was here.

“Emotional gunship incoming,” said Kendall.

“Yeah. Send out the distress signal,” Shiv added, the smile on her lips fading away as she looked up to see her father fly down. “We’re under attack.”

Logan was smiling. It wasn’t often that he smiled. 

He greeted you with a chaste kiss to the cheek, and Roman with a pat to the shoulder. It was warm in the light—brief, but warm nonetheless.

When he hoarded the two of you, along with bum-boys Laird and Karl into a separate room, he immediately asked, “Are you two alright? I heard it got a bit tasty.”

Tasty wasn’t exactly the right word for it, you thought. 

“Mmh, we’re fine. I’ve had worse experiences at hotels before,” Roman languidly commented, shrugging it off. 

Logan tilted his head. “Did they look after you? I spoke to the White House.”

“Someone came and told us there was a warship,” you said, pursing your lips. “Felt a bit extreme.”

“Knowing us gun-handy Americans, I bet it was already there,” Roman snorted, pouring himself a drink. “The ambassador took us for a shitty lunch—you know, sorry that you were held at gunpoint, have a cheese sandwich.”

Logan gestured for all of you to take a seat. “So… on the money. What’s the situation?”

“The kids did great,” said Laird, which made Roman audibly gag. “I think, Mr. Roy, you’ll be able to go private. Eduard and his father have titular responsibility for the sovereign wealth but the president’s daughter’s husband, Zeynal, is the key guy now. The two of ‘em killed it with him.”

Shrugging, Roman said, “Well, it was clear Eduard was getting sidelined. Zeynal figured out who we were, and I thought we were gonna be taken to get a fucking chainsaw massage but… nope. We had an hour, we pitched hard, and they said they wanted in.”

“Too modest,” Laird emphasized, brows raising. “This is the perfect opportunity.”

It wasn’t. It never was.

Karl went on to talk about the numbers, and Logan seemed quite pleased. 

“That’s great. That’s fucking fantastic!” announced Roman’s father.

Rome bit down on the inside of his cheek. He winced, and scratched at his head.

“I just… I do have to say one thing, dad…”

Panic flashed across Laird’s eyes. “Roman, we’re good.”

Ignoring him, Roman said, “I mean, we had a good talk with Zeynal and he said, with his mouth, that he wanted in and that’s great and all… but if this is really serious for us, I think I actually do have to say that it feels like it’s… probably horseshit.”

A beat of silence.

Laird’s eyes twitched.

Clearing your throat, you said, “Yeah, I just wanna make it clear that they said they wanted in, but didn’t sign anything yet. I mean, it’s not like we had any documents on hand but… words mean nothing. Uncle Logan, I don’t know if it’s… really smart to bank the entire future of the company on words of drug-addled men taking a piss out of you.”

Logan’s brows raised.

“It was flaky,” Roman added. “There was a lot of shit going on.”

The head man glanced at Karl, who remained deathly quiet, and then back to you. 

“Roman, they want to rebalance their portfolio for, uh, for a variety of geopolitical reasons,” began Laird. “It’s very European-focused, and he wants to tilt Western Hemisphere. It’s all very logical! I know that it’s a lot of money, and that can be very scary, but it makes sense.”

“All due respect, Laird, but I really don’t think they give a shit about adding us to their portfolio,” you said, voice hesitant. “They know we’re in debt. They know we’re in hot water with a large sector of the company. Why would they want in at all, much less hand over a ten billion dollar investment like it’s nothing?”

Roman sucked in a sharp breath. “Sorry that we’re worrying our pretty little heads, Laird, but if they’re rebalancing their portfolio, it’d be fucking insane to do it over one ten-bil mega deal like it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, it’d be more sensible that they invest into several different markets around the globe,” you agreed. “None of this feels right.”

“It doesn’t matter what it feels like,” stressed Laird. “They said yes!”

With a frown, Roman retorted back, “Maybe, sure, they said yes! And there’s a ten or twenty percent chance that you’d make, like, a hundred million bucks with this deal. That’s so exciting! But if we miss, we could be fucked.”

Logan’s expression was hard to read. Anger? Disbelief? Disappointment? Acceptance? You couldn’t quite tell.

Swallowing hard, you said, “If we go through with this and none of it turns out to be real, we’d go straight over the edge. No votes, no political gain, no money.”

Finally, Logan murmured, “If it falls halfway through, it’d be terminal.”

A vein popped out on Laird’s head. “But if it works… just one step forward, and you’d be free.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Free from what? Just because we go private doesn’t mean we can do fuck all.”

Before Laird could argue back, Logan fixed his stare onto Roman. “Son?” he asked.

“Dad, I have to say, I’ve done a little bullshitting in my time—and Zenyal was a cokey, lying, 3 AM scotch and see-you-in-the-morning man. He won’t follow through.”

With a frustrated groan, Laird angrily got up from his seat.

Roman shook his head. “Dad, I wish it was real. I really fucking do. But it’s not—and we have to step away.”

When Logan turned his stare onto you, you nodded in agreement with Roman. 

“Karl?” your godfather asked.

The man buckled under the scrutiny. “You can’t lean on this,” he said. “Not now.”

His mind finally made, Logan got up onto his feet. “I’m sorry, Jaime. Keep exploring, keep talking. I cannot pile my chips on something that isn’t solid.”

“Excellent,” sighed Jaime. He looked at you, then at Roman. “You wanna talk solid? Maybe take a look at your kid there. Does he sound solid to you? And—thanks for the support, Karl. I hope you enjoy the king’s favors, because you know what you’re looking at if you don’t go private. Someone has to pay the price. Someone is going to go to jail, and I won’t be around to see it.”

With that, he dramatically took his leave. Roman tilted his head back and rolled his eyes.

“I wanna do the best thing. The most decent thing,” said Logan. His hand was on your shoulder for a moment, before he pulled away. “Tomorrow we’ll get into a discussion about our missteps and how we can indicate how sorry we are to the rest of the world. Get some rest, the both of you.”

As you clambered into bed, Roman unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it somewhere behind him. He’d followed you into the cabin, claiming that there were no available cabins left—and you knew he was lying, because you’d passed by several empty rooms on the way to yours, but you didn’t bother to protest.

“If you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just asked.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

“You know, I overheard Tom and Shiv speaking to each other,” you said as you fluffed up a pillow to lay on. 

“Ooh. Is Tom the one getting shitcanned? No surprise there,” Roman replied, crawling next to you and laid down on his stomach, head resting on his crossed arms. 

“No. I mean, I don’t actually know who it’ll be, but—” You paused to smile, near-childish laughter falling from your lips. “I heard Tom saying he was excited for a threesome.”

“Ew! What? Ew! Tell me more,” Roman exclaimed, swatting at your arms and you shoved him back, laughing at his tone. “Oh, that’s so gross. Never pegged Tom as the type.”

“I don’t think it was Tom’s idea.”

“Ew!”

The two of you giggled about it some more, before you lolled your head over to face him. 

“Do you think it could be me?” you quietly asked. “Would Logan throw me to the sharks?”

Roman hummed. “Sometimes it feels like he likes you better than any of his own fucking kids. You’re not getting canned. It won’t make sense.”

“Hm.”

He threw an arm over your stomach. “But… it won’t be me, right?”

“I don’t know, Rome,” you told him honestly. “After today… I just don’t know. But I’ve got your back.”

The two of you basked in the comfort of each other’s quiet for a brief moment. You scooched closer to him and shut your eyes.

“You’re a really good friend, Rome.”

Something akin to an amused snort fell from his lips. “Pfft. Friend. I don’t think friends jerk off to the sound of each other’s voices. You’ve had your hand on my dick. Is that what friends do these days?”

“Friends with benefits, then.”

He brushed his lips along your shoulder, light as a feather, barely there. There was a strange ache in his chest. An ache that you also felt. The two of you ached together, unknowingly. 

“Hm. I like the sound of that. It’s like you’re my personal whore.”

“It’s a two-way street.”

“Yeah. You fuck me, I fuck you. You kill me, I kill you. Like they do in Germany.”

There it was again. What was with Roman and Germany?

“Sure. Like they do in Germany.”

It was hard to stomach breakfast with your restless nerves shooting adrenaline through your veins. You anxiously plowed through two apples and started on your third just when Logan stepped onto the lower level. Everybody’s attention piqued, their heads turning, postures stiffening up against the chairs around the dining table. 

When Gerri tentatively asked him who he had in mind as the sacrificial lamb, Logan waved her away.

“Enough. We stick together, alright? Most things don’t exist. The Ford motor company hardly exists—it’s just a time-saving expression for a collection of financial interests. But this exists, because…”

Roman leaned in close to mockingly whisper, “Family.”

“Family,” Logan finished. “We are a family. And so that’s why I think… I think the obvious choice is me.”

A ripple of shock coursed through the small group. Your eyes narrowed, unsure of what game Logan was playing at now.

“No,” Shiv vehemently said. “What? Dad, you—you can’t.”

Logan tilted his head. It wasn’t often he was told that he couldn’t. “Well, I may not be responsible, but the buck has to stop somewhere.”

The rest of the group erupted in protests. Tom, Kendall, Frank. They were all bleating sheep. Roman rolled his eyes.

“It doesn’t work,” Kendall elaborated. “When people find out Rhea isn’t coming in, we’d need stability. From you.”

Logan raised a single finger. “I need one meaningful skull to wave.” Wave didn’t seem quite the appropriate term. Chop off, maybe. Sever was a good one. “If the shareholders’ meeting was tomorrow, we lose. I need to persuade a number of big figures. So… would anyone like to say anything?”

Crackling silence. Across the table, Greg popped a fat green grape into his mouth.

“I’ll take care of whoever it is,” said Logan. “No one will be forgotten.”

Clearing his throat, Kendall ventured out, “Well, I mean, if we’re doing this, I don’t wanna spread shit around. We’re all loyal servants here. But, uh, I say this without malice aforethought, presumably, uhm, general counsel is the center of the web. Sorry, Gerri. I like you, I do.”

Logan reached out to put his hand over the blonde woman’s. “There is no one more loyal than Gerri,” he said, effectively dismissing the idea.

But you saw right through him. It wasn’t about Gerri’s loyalty. She wasn’t a big enough cut. 

“What about Frank?” Roman offered. Everyone was well aware of his disdain for the older man. “How come Frank is even here today?”

Full of ire, Logan’s old friend nodded his head. “Thanks, Roman. I see it. I could take it. I mean, I make sense.”

“Yeah. And after what he did to you? The whole boardroom coup?” Roman lifted a shoulder, convinced that Frank was the most obvious choice.

“Water under the bridge.” Logan brushed away once more. Still not big enough.

After a long while of stammering, Frank finally coughed out, “I would say objectively, considering my, uh, my indiscretion against the family makes me a less compelling sacrifice. Unlike—uhm, for instance, a loyal servant like Karl.”

Instead of defending himself, Karl decided to turn the blade right back around to Gerri. “My thing is, I guess, if Rhea is no more, then sadly, we’re back to having Gerri as named successor. So that fattens her up for the kill, in my opinion.”

“Everyone knows I was just a name on a piece of paper,” defended the woman, laughing incredulously.

“Oh, don’t put yourself down. I think you were always more than that,” scoffed Karl. “And, you know, the old copy book is a bit blotty. Expense accounts… daughter’s first class on the company coin…”

“Karl sounds good!” Tom chimed in. “Sausage thief,” he bitterly muttered, in reference to the entire Boar on the Floor debacle in Hungary.

“Gerri is theoretically kind of perfect,” said Connor.

“No,” Roman was quick to protest. “Nope. That’s bullshit. I disagree.”

Propping his joined hands on the table, Logan asked, “Why?”

“Why? Because that’s my opinion,” Roman said in a defensive manner.

“Yeah… but your reasoning?”

With a hasty glance to you, Roman hastily spun out, “Seriously, Gerri? To pay for cruises? We, what, we take out our senior woman? Haven’t we, you know—kidding, here, but—killed enough women already?”

“It’d look orchestrated. Gerri is just too obvious,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Sexual misconduct cases three decades ago, and we’d be placing the blame on general counsel and simply wiping our hands clean? Not to mention it’d just make Waystar look more… anti-women if we went down that route.”

Roman nodded. “Listen, I think the obvious choice here is, and I hate to say it because he’s such a swell guy, but—” he made a whistling noise and pointed to the man sitting across from him, “Tom.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, you're the head of cruises, man.”

Kendall pursed his lips. “I gotta agree with Rome here. Tom, I fucking love you dude, but you shat the bed over Mo Lester.”

“But I was sent in there as the fucking beating man—I took the fucking beating!” 

Shiv shook the back of her head, making no effort to defend her husband.

“You got suckered in by Eavis,” said Kendall.

“I answered the questions!”

“You don’t answer the questions. Okay? That’s, like, rule one.” Kendall patted his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “I’m not beating up on you here, I’m just saying that he got a win off you and you’re kinda the face of this now.”

Lifting her head up high, Shiv said, “Tom looks logical. Cruises, document destruction. It’d be laid out for us.”

Tom’s gaze swiveled to his wife, expression utterly torn. “What?” he croaked out.

“I’m not saying you should be,” the red-head defended. “But I’m just saying you’re like family, but you’re not… actually family, which is also good. Tom, it’s the elephant in the room. We can say that!”

“No, we can’t! There’s absolutely no need to speak of the elephant in the room! There’s fifteen other fucking elephants in this room!” With an angry scoff, Tom threw both his hands up. “If you want someone who’s family but not family, what about Y/N?”

Immediately, Roman let out a high-pitched, “No! Why would it—why the fuck should it be her?”

Tom’s face contorted under the scrutiny. “I don’t know. General manager of Waystar, and goddaughter to Logan sounds like a good fucking steak to throw to the lions.” At your confused expression, Tom quickly backed down. “I’m not actually saying Y/N. I’m just saying things! It just—it shouldn’t be me. What about you, huh, Shiv?”

“Okay, fine. How do I work?” she hissed out. 

“I don’t know!” Tom exclaimed, his voice raising a few notches in volume.

Gerri pursed her lips to the side and mentioned, “I mean, if we’re saying Shiv, we could highlight witness tampering and, uh, that she was going to take over but—I don’t know, it probably wouldn’t work.”

Shiv reared back as if she’d been stung. “Uh, yeah. Too fucking right it wouldn’t work. I don’t make sense, I’ve never been inside.”

“What about both of them? Shiv and Tom? Beauty and the beast,” Roman said.

“Does Tom work?” Logan asked. “Alone?”

A long beat of silence. 

In all honesty, you thought he’d work. The missing documents were more than enough to go off of. 

But Kendall shook his head, and it flew right out the window. “Honestly, I don’t think he’s a big enough skull. No offense.”

“Then how about Tom with some fucking… Greg sprinkles?” Roman asked, gesturing to his cousin, who’d managed to polish off all the grapes on the tray. One of the workers floated by to take the tray away, no doubt to fill it back up again.

“Greg sprinkles?” parroted Greg.

Wincing, you apologetically added, “I mean, you did destroy those documents for Tom, no? It’s—it's an aided crime. It works.”

Connor laughed. “Elmo and Big Bird. I could start to see that, yeah. You could throw in a Karl or a Frank, and you’re golden.”

“What—what precisely are Greg sprinkles?” asked the Roy cousin.

“Greg sprinkles are basically a fantastic garnish for practically anyone seated at this table,” Roman replied with a faux warm smile. “Like a Tom sundae with a little Greg cherry on top.” He popped his lips and Greg frowned.

“No, I object. I do. I mean—I’m more than a sprinkle! What about you, huh? What about Roman?”

“Roman?” you asked, cocking a brow. “How would he be a good candidate?”

“Well, he’s widely known as a terrible person!”

Roman snorted. “Thanks, Toe Jam.”

“There’s another elephant in the room,” Connor interrupted. “What about I just throw myself over the side, huh?”

Shiv laughed quietly, hiding her smile behind her palm.

“Yeah, just—in return for a payout. I’m cash strapped, so just lock me into that sweet, sweet golden parachute and toss me in the volcano!” said the oldest Roy sibling. On he blathered, about how he should be the one to take the fall.

Logan glanced around. “That’s… that’s kind of you, Con. Thank you. We’ll bear it in mind.” He smiled, but it wasn’t quite authentic. It wasn’t real. Connor slumped back, going largely ignored once again.

With that, Logan stood up. “We have half an idea but… yeah. Let’s do this later.”

Off he went, through the glass doors, gone to God knows where.

You and Roman exchanged a look. His was one of relief and gratitude, yours was one of exasperation. Then, Roman leaned forward to snatch the tray of grapes away from Greg, and offered a branch of the plump green fruits to you. 

Dinner left a stale taste in your mouth. Maybe it was because you weren’t particularly fond of the served courses. Maybe it was because of the rocking motions of the boat upsetting your stomach. Or maybe—maybe it was because Logan had finally chosen his sacrificial lamb.

Kendall stood beside his father with pursed lips. Logan nodded to the sitting group. “I’ve decided,” he simply said.

Incredulity danced across Roman’s expression, brows raised. “Ken?” he asked. “Come on, really? Dad, you—no. There’s… what about the… one of the other shitfuckers?”

Your eyes darted from your godfather, to Kendall, who took a seat across from you. He met your eyes, if only for a brief moment. A part of you felt bad for him—after all, to you he was always going to be the eight-year-old boy draped in a suit far too large for him, practicing a speech in front of the mirror for a nameless award he was going to accept one day. He’d make you and Roman sit down and listen to him, four and five years of age, expectantly turning to the two of you after he was done and asking if it sounded okay. Desperate for approval, even if the assurance came from two young kids with missing teeth and bored eyes.

He was practically your brother. You averted your gaze with mild shame burning within your chest.

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Kendall. He looked around the table. “You’re all off the hook.”

Roman leaned forward and asked, uncharacteristically genuine, “You okay?”

Wordless, Kendall nodded. He was trying his best to stave away the frown tugging at the corners of his lips. There were tears warbling over his irises. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.” 

But he wasn’t. Roman knew, and you knew, too.

Karl cleared his throat. “Is it just… I don’t wanna be rude here—is it just him?”

Gerri tilted her head. “First—uh, second-born son—with his responsibilities, it wouldn’t be a hard sell.”

“Roman,” said Logan. “You’re taking over as full chief operating officer.”

An indignant noise fell from his throat. “Yeah? What with Captain Cautious back in the other room?” 

“No, no. Frank’s going to be responsible for the cruises clean up. You’re on your own. Solo.” Logan stared at his youngest son. “Can you handle it?”

Beneath the table, Roman’s jostling knee bumped into yours. “Yeah,” he unenthusiastically said. “That’s really exciting.”

Kendall spared his little brother a lopsided smile. “No, Rome. It’s great. For real.” Then, he raised a fork. “Eat up, guys. This one’s on me.”

Day three on the boat. You woke up to Roman’s arms wrapped around your midriff, his face buried in the fabric over your chest. He sleepily mumbled and whined when you dragged yourself (and, effectively, him as well, seeing as he refused to let go of you) out of bed. The two of you brushed your teeth together before you promptly kicked him out of your room so you could take a quick shower in peace.

By the time the both of you got down to have breakfast, Greg was the one to tell you that Kendall had left earlier in the morning. 

“Right to his slaughter,” you mumbled to Rome, who’s face twisted with guilt.

An hour later, you were watching Kendall on the television. Shiv and Logan were on the couches, and Roman had both his hands resting on your shoulders, kneading your muscles as if you were a stress ball.

“I have been asked to explain my role in the management of illegality at the firm and associated cover ups. And it has been suggested that I would be a suitable figure to absorb the anger and concern,” said screen Kendall. To your surprise, his words were followed by, “But…”

You and Roman exchanged glances. He stopped working at your shoulders and crossed his arms. 

“The truth is that my father is a malignant presence. He is a liar, a bully, and was fully aware of the events that had transpired on the cruise ships for many years, and made efforts to hide and cover up. He had a twisted sense of loyalty to bad actors like Lester McClintock, and a disregard for the safety of migrant workers, union and non-union workers, along with vulnerable performers and guests.”

“Fuck me,” Roman whispered. Logan silently lifted a finger to his lips to shush him.

The Kendall on screen was vastly different to the puppet Kendall you’d come to know for the past few months. He’d finally broken free of his strings.

“My father keeps a watchful eye over his entire empire, and the notion that he would have allowed millions of dollars of settlements and compensation to be paid without his explicit approval is utterly fanciful. I have with me today copies of records that show his personal sign-off. How much those of us who executed his wishes bear responsibility is for another day.” 

Shiv briefly twisted around to shoot you an utterly dumbfounded look, as if to ask you if you’d known he was going to do this. You sent her an equally befuddled expression.

“But I think…” said Kendall, “This is the day his reign ends.”

With that, Kendall got up and walked off to the side, out of the camera’s view. You couldn’t see it, for Logan was facing the screen, but there was a slight smile on your godfather’s face.

#roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfiction #roman roy smut #roman roy fluff #roman roy series #roman roy ff #roman roy angst #roman roy x you #roman roy fanfic #succession roman #succession roman x reader #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession x reader #roman roy imagine

[dorims]

make you fix me [ sneak peak ]

gif creds @/endiness

roman roy x therapist!reader

wc. ~550

genre. fluff, angst,

spiraling into a more than confusing dynamic, roman roy's relationships have always disrupted the balance between professionalism and an HR complaint. It wasn't his fault his authentic-roy-ways didn't follow the 'being a decent human being' guidebook. People fell in love with their therapists all the time anyway, and being a nepo-baby billionaire didn't save him of that fate.

tags. WORKING TITLE, NO BETA AS OF RN, prone to grammar mistakes !! the story is set some time after s4 as of rn, gif is not representative of the timeline this takes place in, allusions to abuse, being dismissive of therapy, roman uses the word looney as an insult once, tags will be added as the story progresses, these are mainly for the text below the cut

a/n. this is a little sneak peak of one my wips! the full document has 3.5k words ish but im aiming for at least 7k, maybe a little more. if anyone wants to join the tag list for this fic please send me an ask off anon or with your url

“Are you writing that down?” He frowned, “why are you writing that down? I literally just said I wasn’t.”

Yet again, another bold demonstration of your therapeutic ineptitude. You dared to look up at him for a couple of seconds too long, scanning him over until his eyes widened in confusion while he jostled his hands in the air, preparing to retaliate. But just when he started stringing words together, you decided to start what seemed like a new sentence.

“What are you even writing?!” He wanted to tear all his hair from the roots. “I haven't said anything!”

“Well, you have.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Groaning in protest, he scooted closer to the edge of the couch, almost like he wanted to stand up. “I said nothing that means anything.”

“Then,” you clicked your pen, and his gaze immediately zeroed in on your fingers toying with the shiny metal. He gulped, knowingly so, like waiting for the stationary to stab him in the neck. But nothing had happened, and instead, he missed the way you [had noticed] “There’s nothing you should worry about.”

His shoulders dropped with the heavy weight of being scrutinized. One would have thought he would’ve been used to it by now. But from experience, he had learned that the everlasting bitterness of getting examined under a microscope would always linger. No matter what he tried, the only way of coping with it was to wait for it to pass with his tail between his legs. 

“Can you just like stop? Writing?” With his elbows resting on his knees and his face burrowed against the nook of his hands, his voice came out pityingly muffled, much like the hint of the child he had been tasked to cast aside way too soon.

 “Why?”

“Because, it’s, fuckin’ weird?” He forced himself to stare straight at the spot right between his Oxfords, shaking his head in disbelief as he attempted a laugh. “I’m not paying you to scribble on your looney book.”

You had hummed once more, and he had wanted to tell you to stop. With his gaze still zeroed on the floor, he failed to notice how the plain Moleskin had been pushed to the side, neatly closed in a genuine display of concern. Or as genuine as a therapist would allow themselves to be during their first session. 

“Then what are you paying me for?”

“To like, you know,” he shrugged in disbelief. “Ask me to draw a stick figure under the rain and tell me how to fix this.”

“Fix this?”

“Yeah, this.” The words had left his tongue sitting, heavy in his mouth, and the rest that wanted to tumble out felt foreign in size and shape, though similar in weight to that of shame. The same one that had seeped from between his teeth and gums and skin countless times when the inconceivable consequences of his actions caught up to him growing up. Shame so thick it would put blood to shame, though they sure shared the same taste. And it had always been easier to spit it out in private, drown the aftertaste with fierce scrubbing and hide the searing imprints on his cheeks underneath the covers. But the walls surrounding him were no longer the ones in his childhood bedroom, and you were still waiting on an answer. “Fix, I don’t know…me?”

#roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy fluff #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession #roman roy imagine #succession imagine

[springtyme]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 ♡

Sydney Adamu

Carmen Berzatto

Michael Berzatto

Richie Jerimovich

Marcus Brooks

Luca (the bear)

Gary "Sweeps" Woods

Kyle Garrick

Simon Riley

John MacTavish

Jonathan Price

Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington

Felix Catton

Farleigh Start

Venetia Catton

Roman Roy

Shiv Roy

Kendall Roy

Tommy Shelby

Arthur Shelby

John Shelby

Alfie Solomons

Joel Miller (both hbo and game version)

Abby Anderson

Arthur Morgan

Spencer Reid

Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Emily Prentiss

Dana Scully

Fox Mulder

Dale Cooper

Wanda Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

Yelena Belova

Matt Murdock

Sam Wilson

James "Bucky" Barnes

Miguel O'hara

Steven Grant, Marc Spector & Jake Lockley

#carmen berzatto x reader #michael berzatto x reader #Richie jerimovich x reader #sydney adamu x reader #joel miller x reader #abby anderson x reader #roman roy x reader #shiv roy x reader #kendall roy x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #moon boys x reader #succession fic #succession fanfiction #succession fandom #miguel o'hara #carmen berzatto #michael berzatto #richie jerimovich #sydney adamu #joel miller #abby anderson #roman roy #shiv roy #kendall roy #marc spector x reader #arthur morgan x reader #steven grant x reader #cod x you

[chaithetics]

I was rewatching season 1(because of...reasons) and imagine if Stewy and Yn were hiding their relationship and her mom came to ask how long would Shiv and Toms wedding last and the reason he gave that answer was because everyone was making fun of her because she "didn't bring a date", also when they're taking pictures and they take one with the siblings and their dates she's alone and he's heart eyes for her the entire time and when they FINALLY have some time alone, in a very unStewy way she asks him what he's thinking and he says "por wedding will be so much better than this one" just as Sophie and Iverson are running and says "and our kids will be cuter. Obviously"😍what do you say?

Covert Conversations

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) Reader

Word count: 3.7K

Author's note: Thank you for this request Nonnie! When I saw it in my notes I was immediately inspired and so this one happened so quickly! I really hope you like it, please do let me know your thoughts Nonnie whether that's in the ask box or a PM! I hope you all enjoy this and this helps the void of Succession Sunday! Please let me know what you think, comments, reblogs are appreciated and I love hearing your thoughts (I live for validation also lol) and interacting with you. What a lovely community we have here! Was this proofread? No, of course not! You know how it is around here haha

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established/secret relationship, Caroline Collingwood being awful (there is a comment from Caroline about weight gain), Roy siblings not being the nicest (mainly Shiv), some fluff.

Others could and would easily point out the plethora of differences between you and your siblings but there was something important that you all had in common. You never enjoyed being in your mother’s motherland. 

You had a very low-contact relationship with Caroline, which was for the better. The climate here was painfully dreary and you couldn’t imagine ever wanting to get married here, let alone agreeing to it. You were glad that you were at least assertive and confident enough with strong enough boundaries to know that if you were in your elder sister’s position you wouldn’t have ended up people pleasing into this. 

The weather was miserable and the way that the coldness of the country and its inhabitants had oozed itself into every wall and surface as a constant reminder of the dynamic realities and the history locked into them. 

It was the day before Tom and Shiv’s wedding, you were heading over to the church for the rehearsal. You were already severely uncomfortable. There were so many people and it was overwhelming, especially when knowing your mother’s criticisms were just around the corner at all times. 

You also knew you’d be constantly having to swerve around questions about your personal life. You were used to questions and odd looks because of your lack of involvement and interest in Waystar and you usually easily dismissed questions about your romantic life if they ever came up. 

It was a bit more difficult to do the latter though when at your older sister’s wedding, being constantly asked and of course the fact that you stood out. You stood out like a sore thumb as you were the only Roy who hadn’t brought a date and didn’t have a public partner to show off or criticise. Technically Kendall hadn’t brought a date but he had Rava and everybody accepted that due to the complicated nature of their situation. 

Caroline Collingwood was standing outside of the church entrance with your brother and his date Tabitha. You couldn’t see the bride and groom or any of your other siblings. You were hoping that more of them would be there so that you could blend in more and not have as much of an interaction with your mother but it was too late now. 

“Oh hello, darling.” Caroline said as she saw you come over, she was clearly looking at you in the way she did to inspect any flaws, to find any and all chinks in your armour. 

“Hi, mom.” You softly say as you look at her face, she gives you a small hug and inspects your face as he does. 

“Where’s your date? Did you not bring a date…? Don’t tell me you didn’t?!” She asks, there’s a horrified tinge in her voice that’s very thinly veiled in her usual playfully passive-aggressive air. 

“Now, why would I bring someone here to the dreary English countryside and then to even more traumatisingly, meet Roman?” You quipped back. 

Roman scoffed at that and Caroline looked at you, visibly disappointed and sighed. 

“There’s no need to be like that darling, I was simply asking and your brother is lovely.”

“Hear that Rome? You’re lovely!” You say to your brother who quickly flips the bird at you and then goes back to giving his attention to Tabitha. 

You can hear Kendall, Shiv and Tom starting to come over and you make a silent prayer to whatever deity there is that brought them over. But your mother quickly brings you back to your surroundings as she places a hand on your shoulder and studies you more. 

“Have you…?” She questions, you know what she’s asking and roll your eyes sighing. 

“Yes, Mom, I think I’ve gained a few kilos since you last saw me.” You say it bluntly and start to move out of her grasp. 

“I was just asking… your face looks a bit fuller… Gosh, all that therapy has really made you quite defensive!” As she speaks in her native tongue of motherly dismiss and gaslight she finishes with a laugh looking at Roman and Tabitha. Providing them with the cue she hopes they’ll take to join her. 

“Is Connor inside?” You quickly ask, cutting off this discussion from going any further in your presence as you look at Roman. He was the softest and most patient of your siblings with your mother. Feeling uncomfortably antsy, you end up walking off before he has the chance to decide whether he’ll laugh at you with Caroline or if he’ll answer you. 

As you begin to walk off you hear your mother immediately say something about the fact that you’d showed up dateless, which seems to annoy Shiv. She had assumed you’d at least find someone to even numbers up and help balance out photos. 

You roll your eyes at the conversation as you continue to walk into the chapel, further away from it following Connor’s voice. 

“Jesus Christ, Connor.” You say as you see him, he completely and immediately understands. Of course, he does, you knew he would. 

“I don’t think you can say that in here?” He responds as he quickly gives you a hug which you return and then you move to hug Willa. 

“I know she’s my mom-” You start before he finishes it off for you. 

“But she’s the Wicked Witch of the West?” Connor responds as Willa’s eyes widen at that. Connor won’t call her a bitch and use that moniker like Shiv will but it’s still quite a statement coming from him. 

“Yes, exactly that!” You say as you stick to him. Accepting the reality that you’ll probably spend the next couple of days being an awkward third wheel to Connor and Willa. 

*********** 

“She didn’t bring a fucking date, Ken. It’ll throw off the photos and it raises eyebrows.” Shiv complains to her brother the night before the wedding at the rehearsal. 

“Yeah, I know.” Kendall replies. 

“It’s selfish!” 

He’s not as interested in this conversation in comparison to the rest of your family. He did find it a bit odd that you had shown up on your own. He was certain you had been seeing someone for a bit, he’d tried to ask a couple of times but got vague, younger sister “no comment” like responses. 

Kendall was sure as he knew you were rarely at your home and you weren’t a partier. Which pointed at you possibly staying at a partner’s place. That and when he’d noticed a slight behaviour change in you made him think it was a relationship of a more longer and serious nature. 

You’d always been private about your personal life though so he assumed it was that and the potential, quite possibly real reason that you didn’t want to introduce anyone to your family. Something he understood, especially as he’d gotten older, this didn’t seem to be a reason that anyone in your family could quite comprehend though. So he didn’t bother to raise it. 

“Kendall’s dateless.” Stewy says as he takes a sip of his drink looking at his friend. 

Kendall doesn’t think it’s quite the same and Shiv clearly doesn’t either. 

“Yeah, but that’s completely different, Rava’s here-” Shiv immediately responds. 

“In case you were lost in the to-be-blessed nuptials, congratulations of course, they’re separated, and have been for a bit of a gratuitously extended hot minute.” Stewy retorts. 

“Thanks for that reminder, Stew. Really thoughtful.” Kendall says as he looks away. Shiv rolls her eyes and walks off leaving the two men. 

Stewy was once again, not impressed with how your family treated you. He knew Kendall had a soft spot for you and that relationship was close but Kendall had too much on his mind to even consider taking on a defensive role and Stewy’s hands were tied to a point. 

If Shiv wasn’t so cruel to you about this and Kendall wasn’t so in his head he’s sure that they’d have found his comments suspicious. They probably did to an extent anyway Stewy knew, they were always paranoid individuals and even with your candid nature Shiv only had unwavering distrust in you. 

The rest of the evening seemed to go by too quickly, Stewy knew Kendall wasn’t doing well and whenever Stewy looked around for you, you were often hiding in corners with Rava and talking or with Connor and Willa. 

Stewy couldn’t even hide his smile whenever he saw you, you looked beautiful as ever albeit uncomfortable. There was an impressive, assertive grace whenever you manoeuvred yourself out of awkward and uncomfortable social interactions. 

He eventually had to go back to his room for business and he saw you and Rava leaving at the same time. 

He wanted to just go into your room and kiss you, taste the Wambsgans wine directly from your lips. A big part of him was tempted to kiss you there just to spite your family for you. He’d do it. Anything you asked him to he would. 

*************** 

You were with Rava, Sophie and Iverson. Rava was standing and talking to Sophie, they were playing a clapping game while you sat on the grass looking up at Iverson as you both talked about books. He was telling you about the one he’d read last night. 

You’d heard a comment from your mother about you sitting on the grass but it was comfier and far more pleasant than the chairs that had been used for the ceremony, so you ignored her. It shouldn’t take much longer for that to become a built-in mechanism you thought. Plus it made Sophie laugh and you’d do anything to bring a bit of joy to your niece and nephew. 

You looked over your shoulder for a moment and saw Stewy and Kendall standing at the back talking. Kendall’s gaze occasionally fell to where the four of you were but he was mainly just looking ahead or at Stewy. You saw Stewy was watching you, you couldn’t help but smile at him and you were able to see his smiling at you even with the distance, you were confident it was a smirk. 

You then heard the dreaded call, for photos with siblings and partners, you looked up at Rava who gave you a sympathetic look. She’d heard some of the comments and jokes about the fact that you didn’t have a date. You loudly sighed and sat there for a minute, it was possible that the English countryside might just swallow you up or explode and obliterate you all. It was worth a shot, you wouldn’t know if it was possible or not if you didn’t sit there and give it a go. 

Before you could indulge in that hypothesis of a fantasy you saw Kendall walking over to you, Stewy was trailing behind him but with a bit of a distance. Kendall looked down at you and chuckled. 

“Mom hasn’t killed you or died from embarrassment over this?” He asks with a smirk. 

“I wouldn’t know, I’m trying this thing out where I just ignore and avoid her as much as possible. You’ve probably thought of it before.” You quip back. 

Kendall nods and gives a small, dry chuckle. He had. He’d tried avoiding both of the parents you’d shared a multitude of times, he was never successful though. He extends a hand to help you stand up. You look up at him and give him a pout, it’s not quite like Shiv’s pout and eyes that he falls for. There’s more sadness in the expression you’re giving him compared to Shiv’s evident exasperation. 

“Come on.” Kendall says gently as his hand is still out. You sigh and take it, standing up as you brush the skirt of your dress with your hands and adjust it. Rava gives you a smile and says that your outfit looks fine. You nod, and Stewy and Rava start talking as you and Kendall walk off. 

You smile at Willa as you see that she’s going to be included in the photos, much to the annoyance of the rest of your family you’re sure. As you and Kendall walk over and Roman’s posing in Tabitha’s embrace he instantly yells. 

“Wait, stop! We need more room!” Everybody looks at him and he grins like a chuffed child. “We’ve gotta make space for your imaginary boyfriend!” 

Roman, Tabitha and Shiv laugh at that, Tom does that thing where he makes that odd-sounding laugh because the rest of the Roys are laughing at something. Kendall rolls his eyes and Connor gives Roman a pointed look. You feel bad for Willa, she looks uncomfortable. 

“Wait, I thought he was invisible? Is he invisible or imaginary? Because we made sure there was an extra chair set out for him?” Shiv questions smugly. 

You roll your eyes, feeling more uncomfortable than Willa even looks. Connor tells them to stop and they then move their attention over to getting Rava in the photos. It’s an uncomfortable couple of minutes as you stand between Connor and Tom. It’s to balance out the siblings Shiv says but you know that it’s because so if they want to you, Connor and Willa can easily be cropped out. 

*****************

You’re at the reception sitting at a quieter table at the back. Rava looks up from you and sees Stewy looking at you from across the room, she can tell that it’s aimed at you. The gaze has affection and adoration written all over it. He looks like a simp of a man she thinks. Something she’s never seen or thought of in association with Stewy in all the years that she’s known him. 

“So?” Rava asks, putting her gaze back on you. 

“So?” You ask giving her a smile curious as to what she’s segueing into. 

“Stewy?” Rava asks with an amused expression raising her eyebrows. 

You give her a briefly confused expression before responding. One you’ve now perfected.  

“Hosseini?” You ask, waiting for her to confirm, even though you already know the answer. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realise he was here.” 

“Yes!” She laughs. “He’s been making like heart eyes at you all night.” 

“Heart eyes?” You ask and laugh at that. She eagerly nods. 

“Yesterday as well I swear, he keeps looking over and it’s not at me.” 

“I seriously doubt it Rav-” 

“Seriously? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at anyone like that. He was watching you during the photos as well.” 

You want to melt at that, you adore Stewy and how soft he is for you. But you need to keep your composure, you know Rava is more likely to pick up on something than your siblings are. She’s your friend but she’s also more of the empathetic, loving older sister than Shiv ever was to you. You’re also sure that she wouldn’t tell anyone but it wasn’t worth putting her in that position. Especially when you weren’t sure how Kendall would react. 

“That’s an interesting joke Rava.” You say with a small laugh as you sip some more wine. She smiles at you and drops it except for when she occasionally looks away and sees Stewy. 

Rava and the kids eventually go off to look for Kendall and to have a dance, she asks you to join but you tell her that you’re more than fine and sitting for a bit and recharging your social battery wouldn’t hurt. You wouldn’t say it was easily drained but it definitely evaporated quicker around your family and at events like this. 

You were grateful for Rava’s existence and that of your niece and nephew, it certainly made this all significantly more bearable than what it would be without them. 

“You know, some would say that’s obnoxiously  rude.” 

“What is?” You ask, looking up with a smile at the comforting, familiar voice that was interrupting your thoughts. Stewy smirks at you as he then sits down on one of the empty seats by you. 

He has a hand on the back of your seat. It’s him, a sign of affection but something that could easily be written off to a curious eye. 

“To attend a wedding and then be hotter than the bride.” You laugh at that and his smirk grows. “It’s offensive honestly.” 

“Careful Hosseini, Shiv might stab you if she hears that.” 

“I have no doubt about it.” He has that handsome smirk plastered all over his and you look at him with a grin. 

“I heard you told mom that the marriage will last till whatever comes first, forever, or Shiv going away for a week?” You question, he has a smirk on his face, there’s something there you can’t decide if it’s a bit of guilt or pride. It’s smug either way. 

“Yeah. I was getting pissed off with all the commentary on you showing up ‘date-less’.” He answers honestly. 

You can’t help but find a little but funny as you drink in the sight that he is. Oh, it is so cruel that he’s here, so close to you, basically your unspoken date to your sister’s wedding. A clandestine promise that only the two of you know. He’s dressed in that devilishly handsome suit, his hair styled back, the perfect piece of arm candy you think. 

It’s so cruel that all of those factors exist and are right in your face, you’re breathing them in like oxygen. But you cannot just lean over to kiss his soft lips and run your hands through his styled hair and make a joke that he’s your arm candy or be really candid and say he’s the love of your life. It’s torture to sit here and ignore all of that for the sake of appearances while you get drunk off his smell and the way he smiles at you. 

You look into his beautiful brown eyes, you wouldn’t need a drop of the wine that Tom’s parents brought when you could just get drunk off those doe eyes of his. They’re so intoxicating. There’s a gleam in them, it says adoration but also a thoughtful playfulness. You want to know what he’s thinking. You know he has a wonderful mind. 

“Stewy?” You ask softly. He looks at you raising his eyebrows, the way you say his name so softly, makes his heart melt. It sounds so right in your voice, it doesn’t sound as right in anybody else’s. “What are you thinking about?” 

He looks at you, he then looks around the room as he swirls his drink in his hand for a moment before taking a sip. His smirk is still there but then it quickly shifts to something else, a different smile. One that’s gentle, not so smug, it’s intimate. 

“Our wedding.” He says it so casually but genuinely. 

“Oh?” You ask as you feel your cheeks heat up slightly at that. 

“Yeah. I mean, our wedding will be so much better than this one.” He says as he takes another sip from his drink. You laugh at that, a pure, deep laugh as you look at him. “I was saying to Kendall, hasn’t your sister ever heard of anywhere in fucking Italy? We’ll get married in Lake Como. Unless you have any objections to that, just not here, it’s so fucking dreary baby.”

You smile again, you’d talked about marriage before but it was heartwarming to hear Stewy talk about it like this and to know he really did think of these things. 

“I promise you, not here.” You say with a smirk but you mean it wholeheartedly and he knows. 

“That’s a pretty big, solid win for me, so thank you.” He teases. “It’ll be nice, not as many people as this. Big but intimate, with lots of wine, and a hot bride. The hottest of brides, I feel the need to clarify there. I won the future groom lottery there baby.”

You smile at that. You’re already feeling so much better in his company. He really is a salve on your soul. Before you can respond you see Sophie and Iverson running past, they’re so joyful and happy, it makes your heart swell. Stewy immediately thinks about seeing you throughout the day. 

“And our kids will be cuter, obviously.” Stewy immediately blurts out. 

Your head whips from watching your niece and nephew to then face Stewy. Your jaw drops at that, the comment towards Sophie and Iverson but also the open discussion of children. You both discussed that aspect of the future significantly less than marriage. Plus, Stewy specifically said kids, plural, not a singular kid. 

“Stewy! You can’t say that!” 

“What? It’s true though?!” He has that smug smirk you adore written all over his face. He loves the look of pure shock on yours as well, he finds it so adorable and endearing. Oh, he wants to kiss you right now. 

“You can’t say that about Soph and Iverson, plus they’re cute!” You respond. 

“I’m not saying they aren’t. They are. They’re great in fact. No offence to them baby.” He shrugs teasingly. “I just mean, think about ours. They’ll be the cutest kids in the world, and also the most intelligent. They’ll mansplain private equity to all the other babies while simultaneously blowing away all the developmental psychologists with their EQ and reading skills.” He laughs. 

“You’re such a dork for a grown man at times, Stewy. And they’re technically your future niece and nephew!” You respond as you laugh, trying to imagine Stewy talking to a child, reading to them child-friendly stock market bedtime stories. 

“Think about how cute they’ll be. My hair, eyes, your face shape, your cute mouth!” He says excitedly. He’s obviously thought about this all a lot more than you’d realised. 

“You’ve thought about this quite a bit haven’t you?” 

“Of course.” He says, in a mock offence that you’re even surprised at that. 

You smile at him as you take a sip from your drink while leaning back into your chair, plotting how you both can leave this wedding earlier and unnoticed. You’d do anything to kiss him right now and he’d do exactly the same for you.

#stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini imagine #stewy hosseini x roy!reader #stewy hosseini fluff #stewy hosseini x you #succession #succession hbo #succession s1 #succession roy reader #hbo succession #arian moayed #stewy hosseini fanfic #stewy hosseini fanfiction #succession fanfiction #arian moayed characters #arian moayed fanfiction #arian moayed fanfic #arian moayed you will always be famous #stewy hosseini is my number one boy #stewy hosseini x roy reader #stewy hosseini x f reader #roman roy #kendall roy #shiv roy #siobhan roy #connor roy

[bowieandqueen11]

Kissing Kendall Roy Would Include...

Request: idk if the Kendall Roy request is still open but like; i know it sounds silly but just kissing him. Just always kissing him whenever you can reach at the time. his hands while he hands you a glass of wine while youre sittin on the couch? sure. top of his head from behind? you got it. his eyelids when hes slowly waking up? amazing. under the jaw after straightening up his collar? lovely. on the chest after the shower? hot. cheeks so he doesnt cry? the cutest. just how can you stop when its HIM-

BABE I am YEARING god you are so real for this I want to cry I- Also ty ty for doing my job for me and giving me legit all the amazing headcanons inspo ily fr <3

NOT ME WRITING 4.1K OF KISSING KENDALL HEADCANONS LMAOO anyway I went a bit overboard and this took quite a while to write, so please please let me know if you enjoy! :) Thank you!

Warning: Kissing, racy kissing, some heavily implied NSFW, mentions of drinking and smoking and a little strong language! Although not explicit, I’m going to go with 18+ on this one please!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @technicolourtelevision.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Hngghhhh I want to kiss Kendall Roy so bad like?? His little dopey eyes and his sweet as seduction smile and his perfectly squidgy cheeks and those sad plump lips like frick Logan and the cycle of abuse Kendall Roy was invented for kissing pls-

Your first kiss happened when the two of you were sixteen: Shiv and Roman had been shipped off for the day to some yacht event their mother was hosting in England, and so the usually imposing mansion seemed all the more eerie when you slipped into its hall. Trawling through the rooms, you peered through ornate doorway after empty doorway to find nothing other than freshly beaten rugs and expensive looking vases crowding the place. Little did you know, as you snuck into one of the Roy’s ‘entertainment rooms’ in the west wing of the second floor, that Kendall was similarly as bored as you were; finally being given a break from listening in to his father’s conference calls, it wasn’t long until Ken decided to investigate the weird sound of talking coming from down a couple of corridors. He came trawling in to see you looking surprised, sitting hunched up on the floor and watching some kind of 00s looking rom-com on the flat screen television. He smiled fondly, not surprised to see you, and came dawdling over until he was perched politely down in front of the settee beside you. His freshly pressed brown trousers brushed against your own as his knee came to rest against your own, and he didn’t even hesitate to reach into your open backpack and pull out a couple of sweets you had smuggled into the Roy residence.

There had always been something between the two of you, ever since you had met as neighbouring children almost ten years ago now. A stolen glance. A kiss on the cheek when the two of you departed to plod sadly back home. A missed bite on the lip when the two of you waved and ran over to hug each other after only a few days apart. Kendall cradling himself and always beelining straight for your arms when his father had yelled at him again. Even so, while the two of you sat staring at the television screen without even really seeing it, it took Ken quite a lot of courage to try and make his feelings a little better known. Taking inspiration from the way the character flashing before his tired eyes had grasped onto the protagonist’s hand in some desperate plea of true love, Kendall tentatively spread his fingers out like a sprouting vine until they bumped against your own. He didn’t even turn his head when he planted them gingerly down on top of your own, but his fingertips shook nonetheless. It took you a great deal of bravery as well to rest your elbow back on the cushion as if you were going for a yawn, before letting your own fingers fall back down against the nape of his neck. Uncertainly, you hold your breath, and hear Kendall’s hitch as you play with a few strands of the hair poking out just above his cream cable-knit jumper. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his hand claw where it’s resting on his inner thigh.

Before you can even register your shock, Ken’s torso has turned and he’s leapt at you, clumsily knocking you backwards. Luckily his hands have already shot out to grasp behind your back, so you manage not to bruise yourself against his ferocity, but it doesn’t stop you from gasping as Kendall clambers over your body like a shoot reaching for the sunlight. The overwhelming rush of love gushed through him like the course of a river as he overtook you, his lips frantically latching and smothering and pulling against your own until you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel. All there was in that moment was Kendall, his legs sliding between your own and the throb of his plump lips as they graced over every inch of your mouth they could latch onto.

He only pulled away, most unfortunately in a state of fear driven panic when the door pounded open and the scowl of his father thundered across the doorway. It was the first time Logan had ever caught him in the act of showing true, unforced, fully felt love, and so for a while after that Kendall retreats back into himself. Feeling the lash, feeling the sting of his father’s disdain, he becomes more cautious about allowing himself to indulge in the one thing he’s ever truly wanted in his life.

He tries his best to pull himself away from you - but it’s like an invisible tide, slowly swallowing him whole again until he’s lost in the warm tides, the glimmers of you breaking through the blue bounds like shards of sunlight and free air. He tries his best to smother it, or to drink and smoke the hole in his chest away, but even then it doesn’t do the trick: he has to steal one more kiss from you before he goes away to college, and then he can release you from the hell scape that is his life. A few hours before he’s due to head off for his first term, you enter his bedroom to find Roman rummaging through the last few half-packed boxes, searching for technology he can steal from his brother. You ask him where Ken is, and he gives you a ‘I wouldn’t even fucking bother, I’ve already tried to talk to him’ raise of his eyebrow and shrugs, titling his head slightly towards the bedroom’s balcony. That’s all the invitation you need to slide open the gliding doors and step out into the cold breeze, shivering as a few drops of rain brush off from the drooping trees that dance over the railings.

Kendall’s sitting on one of the lounge chairs: his legs are pulled up to his chest, and his arms are tightly clasped around them. He has headphones on, and as you come to sit beside him, you realise that his chin is tucked into the gap between the legs and he’s crying quietly to himself. He startles when he feels your pressure against his side, but neither of you say a word. You just already know that his heart is broken. And he knows there’s nothing he can do, nothing he can say that will stop him from being the shadow latched onto his father’s shoe. He’s tired. Of his father. Of his life. Of being a Roy. Of not being able to be with you in the way he so desperately begs for at night. So, before he gets into the limo you can see rambling down the stone-spitting drive, Kendall Roy kisses you for the second time. And in his mind, he believes it to be the last. You can taste his salty tears as he tenderly leans his head over, the slight pressure against your mouth making the lines on your forehead deepen. For a moment, your mouth opens in a gasp and Ken takes the opportunity to brush the front of his tongue against your own. But then the limo pulls up outside the front door and honks its horn, and Ken pulls away with a sigh. Before he leaves, he sorrowfully lets his forehead fall against the top of your own, and he sniffles for a few seconds as he desperately tries not to choke on his tears. 

Then he just gets up and leaves. He can’t even bear to look backwards. It just hurts too much, even though he feels his heart being bruised and broken with each step away from you he takes. 

Thankfully for Kendall, you’re not going to give up on him. You’ll stay by his side through thick and thin, keeping as his best friend throughout his adult years. If he can’t allow himself to love fully, and freely at the moment, that’s fine. The time will come for the two of you. The time will come when he’s no longer scrambling for that knife in the mud. The time will come when he’s the victor, and he can bend and snap the rules at his own will and fancy.

Besides, soulmates always found their way back to each other in the end.

It takes quite a few years for Ken to finally admit you’re the love of life. Until his mother’s wedding in a beautiful, if slightly dusty, hamlet in Southern Tuscany. Like a flower blossoming out of the cracks of a dull grave, he breaks down in front of his siblings on that sun-dried street. How much he ‘fucking loves you’ and ‘fucking misses you’, and that he’s a ‘coward’, so it’s no surprise that when you come wandering past one of the orange backhouses trying to find Ken, Roman and Shiv give each other a look and decide to give the two of you a moment alone before calling for a car. When you spot him sitting alone, shivering, looking as if life had just stomped on him and left him a quivering mess by the bins, your heart just crumbles.

He barely moves when you come to settle down on the dirt beside him. He just stays flopped like a ragdoll, his hands shaking where they rest over his knees. After a moment or two of you just allowing him to settle into a safe silence, he begins to wrangle his hands together nervously: a sure sign that he’s about to start sobbing. So you do the only thing you can think of in that moment, without breaking him into a million pieces. You lean sideways, and press a gentle kiss against the top of his stubble line, the skin warm and scratchy under your touch. He finally musters the courage to take a glance at you then, and from the sheer emotion that wallows in the pained look he gives you, you just know. He can’t hide it anymore. It has to come out, whether he can admit to it or not. Ken opens his mouth, a gasp rushing in as if his whole lungs are about to tumble out, and you jump at the opportunity. Before he can drown you lunge forward and latch onto his lips, right where a stray beam of sunlight is resting. He’s quick to reach up and cup your face, turning his head sideways so he could better wipe his bottom lip against the edge of your mouth. He cinched you to him, a shiver rolling down his spine as a few stray tears rolled their way down the bridge of his nose. The heat of the sun starts to burn against the back of your head but you couldn’t care less, because Ken has started laughing breathlessly, hysterically against your open mouth. It’s almost as if strangled devotions are about to choking their way up his throat, but you quickly silence him once more, and he falls, for the first time in his life, easily against you.

Thankfully, kisses after that afternoon come much more freely - especially the languished ones on your wedding night. I mean, he’s waited far too many years for this moment, so Ken manages to sneak you away from the party and bridal carries you up the staircase and into the newlywed suite of the fancy estate. You bite the edge of his bottom lip as he places you down on the bed, his chest already heaving just from the slightest dance of your hands as they slide under his shoulders and shove the suit jacket off of his shoulders. Messily, hungrily, fervently, he crawls over the duvet and clinks his teeth desperately against your own. Once he’s above you, he uses a free hand to rustle underneath the rustled layers of your dress until he finds the square of bare skin where your upper thigh meets your buttocks. He scratches his fingernails teasingly underneath your panty line and squeezes firmly, making you groan into his awaiting mouth. He smiles, both fondly but with a hint of smugness, as takes your free hands and lifts them up towards his shirt buttons, guiding you to undo them with a heavenly pop after pop. He swears in that moment, as your hands glide out over his abdomen and massages the sides of his pecs, he would be content to die in your arms right there and then.

Kissing to wake him up every morning is literally what bliss must feel like. At six on the dot, you lean over on your side and gently kiss the top of his eyelids until they sleepily flutter awake. Bless his heart, the first thing he does every morning now is automatically smile; his arm reaches out onto your side of the bed before he’s even fully awake, seeking you out. It always makes you laugh, when his hand finally grips onto the side of your waist and tugs you further against him, because it was a little habit that had grown since your childhood years. When Kendall managed to sneak you in through his bedroom window, unable to sleep soundly by himself in his own bed, he would always start out feeling so self-conscious. Lying on his side, he faced out towards the open opaqueness and gilded shadows of his hollow room, his hands bunched up under his pillow. Even though he used to leave nearly a mile between the two of you on the silk sheets, he was so hyper-aware of making you uncomfortable: of scaring you off, if any part of him touched you. By the morning though, he always managed to kick and crawl and scrabble across the bed in his sleep. Although he was still to conscious to hold you fully, you would wake up to feel an intense pressure against the top of your back. Kendall’s head would be stoutly impressed upon your shoulder blade, his hands curled up and tucked against the small of your back and his legs raised against your hips as if he were a child curling up against his mother.

Now, though, Kendall’s finally content. He’s finally able to open up, to indulge himself in the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. He allows his cheeky side, his Roman-esque side to shine through by lulling you into a false sense of security. After a few minutes of you cradling his head against your bosoms and pressing kiss after kiss against the expanse of his head, he’ll jump up and pounce at you. You squeal as you scramble for an escape, trying to kick him off as you throw your hands to the floor and try to run your way towards the kitchen. He’s quicker though: not even a second passes before his arms tighten like a vice around your abdomen and he’s blowing wet raspberries against your throat. So infantile, so uninhibited, he drags you kicking and giggling back towards him so he can latch onto your bag and spoon you for a little while longer. You don’t complain when you feel him settle behind him, the heaviness of his leg as it reaches up and clambers against your own a welcome comfort. So is the feeling of his loving lips wiping a fond kiss against the nape of your neck.

Mhhh you bet those domestic kisses are godlike baby! The whole time you’re sliding around the kitchen trying to dump the takeout the two of you had decided to order on a tired whim onto plates, he’s holding you. His hands are thrumming against your waist as he presses against you from behind, singing into your ear a song the two of used to dance around to when you were younger. Every time you think he’s finally pulling away to maybe, you know, help by getting some cutlery or dumping the empty boxes in the recycling, he appears again to tickle you by licking gently behind your ear. You try to swat him off with a laugh, but that only seems to spur him on; the man is literally so deliriously happy he could cry. This. This domesticity. This fondness. This trust. You. It’s all he’s ever yearned for. Spent his younger years dreaming about. So you bet your ass he’s going to come sneaking up back behind you so he can tremble against your back as he pulls down the back of your shirt and leaves a few hickies proudly littered behind along your shoulder.

When the two of you finally settle at the dining room table to eat, to talk naturally like you’ve done a million times before over the years, you actually manage to surprise Kendall. Using your foot, you catch the edge of his sleek charcoal chair and pull him closer to you until he’s sitting by your side. It makes it far easier to grasp onto him when he shakily pours you a glace of wine and hands it to you, and definitely is a far more satisfying viewpoint to see how his tears well up when you take the wine glass from him and place it passively on the table. Unclenching his hand, you slowly kiss each knuckle one by one, raising them up to your mouth in the way someone may kiss royalty. He’s giddily smiling when you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, and he refuses to let go of you, even while he’s eating. As he turns back to try and cut up his noodles with the edge of his fork, you compassionately pretend you don’t notice him turn his head away from you for a moment, so he may sneakily try and wipe his eyes on the corner of his shirt.

On tougher days: when things haven’t been going well at Waystar, or his siblings have decided to barge in and try to stir up some new unwanted drama in his life, the sweetness and tentativeness of shower kisses are Kendall’s favourite. He will actually melt into a puddle of goo if you hold onto him, allowing him a moment to feel safe as the water cascades down and burns against his clenched eyes. He finds it difficult to be around water, so he may be a little panicky, but the feel of you wrapping yourself around his naked torso always manages to calm him straight down again. That is, until he gulps heavily at the feel of your lips kissing a trail up his inner chest to come tease with soft bites against his pulse point. He’ll wrap his arms around the curve of your spine, running them gingerly up and down as if he can’t believe this is still really happening. 

When you rinse out his hair, he finally comes back to himself and blinks in amusement when you try to wipe away a few of the leftover suds from the tip of his nose with a short kiss.

Bro I mean- it also helps him immensely when he finally just like... snaps. When he can no longer hold back the growing pounding against the dam of his heart, and the desire that’s been eating him alive ever since he was a teenager comes cascading out. In a split second, your hands have been removed from where they were running soapy circles against his oblique muscles, and he’s pinned them harshly above your head. Taking a step towards you, he traps you against the steaming glass of the shower while his tongue explores the inside of your mouth. He pulls away, panting, before lowering himself onto his knees and kissing the inside of your thighs as he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder.

Sometimes you make him jump with your kisses, no matter how well intentioned they are. Kendall hates having to work inside his dad’s old office: suffocated by the smells, the sights, the overwhelming life that still bursts forth from the space and haunts Kendall, even in death. To try and help him relax, you’ll come sneaking in to kiss the back of his head, making him jump a country mile. With a smirk, he drops his phone down onto the desk and leans backwards slowly, raising his arm up until it latches onto the back of your head. Langurous, he leans his head back against the headrest until you fall down and softly press your mouth against his. Even though he can see Gerri and Karl give each other an unimpressed side-eye glance, he honestly couldn’t care less. In the end, Kendall would give all this up: everything he’s worked his whole life to accomplish. In the end, he couldn’t give a fuck if he made his father proud, if he was competent enough to earn being a Roy, if he lived up to the mantle of being the second-born eldest son. Of being the favourite. Because in the end, all Kendall Roy actually wants is you.

Being CEO also comes with its perks, though, like you being able to straddle Kendall’s waist and sit on his lap, the two of you squeezed into Logan’s old chair. His groans can reverberate hoarsely throughout the empty floor after ‘lights out’, only the poor cleaners being left to see the blinds to his office shake as something hits against them. With an unceremonious thump, the tie you had loosened and thrown falls onto a shelf full of open binders, soon followed by Ken’s shirt. He fidgets underneath you, bucking his legs up when you begin sucking against the bottom of his jaw, and it fills you with great pleasure to feel his hands clutching desperately into the meat of your hips.

The sweetest kisses shared are up on the company’s roof. Sometimes Ken is just having an off day, mentally, and needs some time to decompress away from everyone else. No matter where you may be in the building: no matter if you may be in a meeting, or at your desk, or just hanging around the breakroom listening to Tom and Cousin Greg discussing something with heated whispers in the corner, Kendall comes lumbering in looking crestfallen and immediately dismisses everyone in the immediate vicinity. They all scramble off like cockroaches, and Ken reaches out to take your hand. You offer it willingly, knowing what’s going on when he starts fiddling with the edges of your fingers. He folds into you in the elevator, clasping onto you and tucking into your side as you hold him against you, stroking back his hair. When the two of you finally arrive on the wide stretch of beige concrete, and no one can see him be weak, Kendall allows you to guide him down until he’s sitting between your legs. He leans back against your chest, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping onto your legs as he simultaneously feels the sharp sting of the wind and the feel of your lips against his temples. 

Kisses at events are actually the best no joke like those married life vibes are off the chart. When Connor and Willa decide to have another, smaller vow ceremony in front of immediate family, everyone (even Shiv finally relents) thinks the two of you look so cute. Holding each other close at the edge of the country estate’s freshly manicured lawn, the fresh crunch of the dewy grass underneath your shoes is a welcome relief against the burn of Kendall’s hand as it caresses your own, holding it up by his side. The two of you can barely make each other’s eyes, falling into a fit of euphoric, infantile giggles that makes the other wedding guests stop and stare confusedly at the two of you. The kind glow of the varnished barn lanterns brushes over you and Kendall’s blushing cheeks, the lace-like wood work that winds up their edges illuminating over your bodies and making the two of you glow like you were sublime. Like a fool madly in love, he keeps snatching looks at you with that big, soppy smile of his, before pressing a kiss against your forehead. He leaves his chin there, sighing in contentment as he pulls your shared hand over till it’s resting against his heart, and continues swaying the two of you back and forth.

Ken has adopted this adorable little habit of letting you know when he wants kisses. He dips his head and looks at you like a forgotten puppy, taking your jaw in his hands and stroking his thumbs over your bottom lip and man does it just make you melt and indulge him straight away.

I mean my man has a literal lifetimes of kisses to make up for, and I’ll be damned if he isn’t going to grab onto every opportunity he can. Every touch, every caress feels like a fresh spring breeze, like sunlight caressing the curling corners of a brand new flower, like the cascading glimmers of light falling through the vastness of an unsurmountable ocean. It’s a renewal of life. Of hope. And in all honesty, it’s the main thing keeping the real Kendall Roy alive.

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[wildlunar]

Gold, Vermilion

Roman Roy x Reader

word count: 1900

synopsis: images of his childhood haunt him with every breath; nothing ever leaves, nothing ever stays—except one thing

warnings: mentions of abuse

-

“Colours melt away with age,” his mother once said to him as she grappled hotfoot with the wine-coloured tie that hung loose around his neck. “They deteriorate, lose beauty; and in their place lies only grey.”

These perennial moments in England, between the ages of eleven and thirteen, are the only fragments of his childhood where he recalls Caroline standing close enough for him to touch her, though even then he was too scared to reach out and openly ask for her affection. 

Roman’s eyebrows crease. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh darling, don’t frown like that you’ll give yourself premature wrinkles! And it’s just a little witticism. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over.” She smiles—her usual smile, all feline and wry, that doesn’t truly reach her eyes—and pats her handiwork in faux regard. “It’s just my way of saying you should enjoy your youth.”

Though Roman can’t remember any part of his adolescence that he enjoyed, through the dissociation and drug-fueled hazes, at least not like he presumed a normal kid would have had. His mother had only ever cared about appearances. How she and, as an extension, her children were perceived by onlookers and higher society and to be seen as anything other than spectacular was the ultimate crime. And his father, in all his wicked acclaim, has never been particularly great at acting the doting parent especially during times when it would trump his business advancement. 

Inevitably, it was narcissism which robbed him of normalcy and anything akin to parental love, not that he knew that then and still struggled to accept now as he still waited on his father’s open palm like a starved dog. 

England, to Roman, was a sanction to roam free. A momentary let off the leash. Caroline barely spoke to him, which he both loathed and took delight in, he could explore the streets of London without being harassed by photographers or being recognised in the street. Alone, he was, for the first time in his life, alone enough to call himself an only child to passing strangers. His siblings were gone, living with their father for a couple of years before him as everyone knew of Roman’s struggles with change. They also knew he needed a little time to cope with the idea of being torn away from his mother. 

In the meantime, he carried on with his studies for two years in London and then agreed to follow after the rest of his family to America when the time was right. For once, it felt good to be invisible, to blend into society, though with it came a deep loneliness which he struggled to shake off.  

(Y/n) was the only friend he ever had in his childhood. Sure, there had been a few fleeting exchanges with others here and there but none of them were meaningful enough to bring home or stick for more than a few months. Summer, 1993; they meet when London is merely a holiday, a supposed escape from the city hubbub, not that there was ever an escape for him, in a park not too far from their private home. They were six years old then, Roman’s tiny palms holding onto Connor like a lifeline as he watched her and her sister running after their father with a water pistol, laughing in tandem—a real family. 

An onlooker in his own personal film, he eyes her from the swings, languidly sipping apple juice as his brother, ever watchful, sits away from him on a bench, reading a book he can’t remember. Roman’s eyes follow her in a way he’s unused to. He’s never been fascinated by things, he’s never had the attention span for it, though there’s something about her androgynous style and her callousness that makes him undoubtedly absorbed. She’s wearing an outfit that matches many of the boys on the opposite side of the park: black shorts, an oversized faded yellow t-shirt and thickset trainers that from afar look to be the same size as her head. 

When she sat beside him on the swing, breathless yet nowhere near exhausted, he believes he’s concocted an hallucination. Blinking away the vision, he watches, entranced, as she swung her little legs until she was soaring above the clouds, her head scarcely missing the leaves of a nearby tree. She’s good, better than he could ever be.

“Why aren’t you swinging?” She asks, slowing down in order to talk to him.

He peers at her underneath his sunglasses, shrugs, and pretends the reason he isn’t trying isn’t because he doesn’t know how. “Not really feeling it.” 

“Do you want me to push you?”

“Pfft, no.”

The girl cocks her head to the side. “You don’t have to lie. I don’t mind.” The tone of her voice almost sounds like a song.

Roman’s gaze is fixed on the floor, embarrassment seeping into his cheeks and colouring him red. And despite not answering her, she kicks herself off the swing and comes up behind him anyway, placing her hands gently against his back. It’s the lightest touch that’s ever grazed his skin and he desperately fights the urge to flinch away from it.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ll push you and all you have to do is swing your legs at the same time. Alright?”

“Yeah,” he whispers and as soon as she hears his verbal confirmation, she is pushing him with all her might, placing her wings on his shoulder blades and willing him as high as she went. It takes practice but by the time the sun sets, he is able to wiggle his toes against the green leaves and laugh joyously at his achievement. And she is laughing with him, just as proud, as though she’s known him longer than those fleeting hours.

(Y/n) was always there, thenceforth; he would look to his side and there she’d be, picking up shells from the sodden sand or drawing a crude picture of one thing or another, and despite the clear distaste his mother held for the girl, there would always be an extra plate set out for her by the time dinner came around and after five years of fleeting summers together then finally attending the same secondary school and there still no being any sign of her departure, Caroline gave up on the idea of ever being rid of her.

There had actually been times when they got along. Although she was not from the family of an heiress nor held half as much money as the Roys nor his mother’s aristocratic pedigree, she came from the typical British middle class upbringing, never truly understanding either side when it came to the tribulations of money, and because of that Roman thought her lucky. Her father, Richard Keating, was a beloved psychology lecturer at King’s College, who everyone joked had become embedded in the very walls of the place and her mother, Joan, was an indie writer who wrote what he dubbed ‘pretentious whimsy’ set mostly in remote european towns, far away from the city buzz. And Laurie, her older and only sister, who was almost six years their senior and around the same age as his brother, Kendall, was an aspiring artist who everyone knew from the day she was born was going to end up being someone someday.

Coming from such a line of potential convinced her she was the runt of it, for she had no talent for paints or pens and preferred realism over the melody of pretty words. The blood running through her veins beat at a different tempo, much like his did, though he didn’t find this out until much later. All he could see was how bright she was: how her fingers traced the keys of a piano like a long lost lover, the way she walked, the way she kicked a ball, the tone in which she spoke or shouted or laughed at one of his crude remarks. Her light was the only beacon in a childhood where solely scars were birthed, not that he would ever reveal such a thing to her. It was too raw, too close to a confession, and he would rather spend his whole life playing ignorant than ever present his heart to her.

The most colourful piece of clothing he has ever worn consistently is the red and gold scarf that she got him on his twelfth birthday, the birthday before he officially turned his back on England and established himself in New York city as Logan Roy’s favourite washout. Just as they shared most things, the gift was a brother accessory to another scarf—her scarf—of green and dark blue that still smells like her despite him exhausting it from use. 

The paper it’s wrapped in is a parody of itself. They have already started getting each other ‘baby cards’ for every birthday—this one having an obnoxious ‘two today’ scrawled over a crude picture of Thomas the Tank Engine—and the wrapping paper has slowly began to join the theme, a baby blue background with various pictures of the train characters dotted around it. But the absurdity of the enclosure merely masks the gem inside. 

“You always want to wear my scarf so I got you one of your own,” she says in a mock annoyance. “Just so mine doesn’t go missing all the time.”

He held the cloth like others would gold. No one else needed to know they were conjoined this way, no one but themselves. It would be their most exposed secret.

As he grows older, he understands his mother’s words more than he’d like to admit. His face pales, his gaze fades and the patterns of his youth no longer suit his hollow form. He is hugged by monochrome though every winter the scarf remains, a mismatched contrast to his navy tailored coat and white shirts. Shiv calls it a fashion disaster but the memories of it remain a comfort when he reenters the offices at Waystar Royco. 

He catches Keats’ eyes through the glass wall. “Morning,” she mouths over the top of her computer.

Roman returns her gesture with a small wave, placing his coat and scarf over the hanger at the side of his desk. He notices her smile at the sight of it. 

On his desk is a coffee, much like every morning, with a pink post-it-note tapered to the lid. Roman likes to indulge in her idiosyncratic gestures—makes him think about their past with fondness instead of the ever ruling hand of the great emperor—and although most times he takes in the quotes with a scoff and a snarky comment, they are one of the only reasons he dares to get up in the morning. In bleeding black ink the note reads: to better days and almond croissants. 

Bewildered, he creases his brows, looking at her through the glass wall and gesturing to her his confusion. Almost immediately, as if already predicting his every move, she lifts up a brown paper bag, shaking it in his direction and raising her eyebrows cheekily. It was his favourite, she knew.

Rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, he picks up the coffee and treads to her office, returning to her, and as he enters the sanctity of its four walls, he spots her own green and blue scarf draped over the arm of the sofa.

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