Roman Roy X Reader - Blog Posts

subby romey getting overstimmed,,? in a nice way? 🫠

of course nice. we’re all nice here, right? looks around the room

Roman is a crybaby. Hey, to an extent, he deserves to be, and it kind of validates you, because he’s not uninterested in making you cry about half of the time. But he’s also mean, so mean, and he takes your kindness like a snippy dog at first.

It’d start off with him burying his face in your hair. You’re jerking him off on the couch as Truly, Madly, Deeply plays. What? It’s romcom night! He’s not really watching anyways, he’s got his eyes closed and his pants pulled down to his mid-thigh, still dressed in his work clothes aside from the shoes he’d kicked off as soon as he walked through the door. He’d make little whines and mumble stuff and slowly stutter his hips up to fuck your hand in return. he tries to imagine it’s your hole — any of ‘em, really.

“Thank you, baby, good job, taking over like that,” you encourage when he slams his hips in a nice little rhythm that still stutters and falters, but it’s almost like he thinks he’s fucking you. He cums like he is, with a quick, “oh ff-fuck,” mere seconds before he creams your hand, pulling back to make sure your palm catches it as it spurts out the tip. It drips down his dick and onto his balls, but at least it didn’t hit your face or his shirt. He thanks god his instincts saved him some minor embarrassment.

But your hand doesn’t stop. you keep on keepin’ on, even as he softens. He squirms, and jolts when you lean to cup his balls.

“Fuck you, what am I, your joystick?” he whines as you massage his sack and jerk his cock.

“Just one more. I barely got to enjoy it the first time, you came so quick.” He moans at that, thighs clenching.

“Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, kissing down your neck to your collarbone. It’s more for him than you, really. He likes your taste, breathes deeply in shaky, sharp breaths. He sounds like he’s getting hurt, like someone just knocked the breath from his lungs. He softens, a little more than you like. You straddle him.

“What do you want,” you say it as a soft demand. It’s less of a question. “Speak, use your big boy words.” It’s like you’re talking to a dog — a very beloved dog, one you let sleep at the end of your bed.

“In the whole world, or—?”

“You know.”

“This’n,” he slips his hands under your skirt. Feels around, finds your pussy lips, pulls them apart at the front through your panties. His eyes can’t see through fabric, and he doesn’t lift the skirt, he’s just being sort of sweet, you think; innocent, almost. Which is surprising when you consider that he’s basically the devil any other time.

“What’s ‘this one’? Hm?” you ask sweetly, like coaxing his obedience, like making him say it out loud is comparable to making a dog do a trick.

“Your cunt? Pussy? The slip-n-slide in? Do you just like hearing dirty words?”

“You know what to say,” you say, kissing the arch of his nose and then the tip. God, you don’t ride his face enough, you gotta do that more often, utilize his assets.

He whines and bucks his hips, cock jostling and jumping. You’re so beautiful above him. Why does he think he can treat you like this? You’re not one to joke with. You’re a goddess. Your presence is so unique. Irreplaceable. You’re strong, tough in ways he’s not sure he can really replicate. He’d have to either kill himself or become the next unabomber if you left him. There’d be nothing left of him, no remnants, not a scrap.

“Your royal hotness, may you please stick my teenie-weenie in your peeeeeerrrfect puss-puss?” he has a giggle, a drunken one. Your feet curl under the backs of his knees. He likes their warmth, he likes that it makes him feel both big and strong while also being your fucking accessory. You can climb all over him if you want.

“Nope. Try again,” you allow him a second attempt, knowing that he’s still high off of having just came and still twitchy. You grind down on his soft cock.

“C-Caaaaann…I please, please use your pussy?” His hands grip your upper thighs.

“My what? My what pussy? Is it nice?” you decide to coax, tease him, playfully bully him even, into being sweet.

“No, it’s mean—,” he says, half-joking. “Yeah, yeah your pussy is nice. It’s…pretty. It’s warm. Your pretty pussy.” All the blood is rushing from his brain back to his oversensitive cock at the thought of it.

“Good. Nice boy,” you clumsily fumble on his lap to tug your panties down and off. “Real good job.” Your skirt is lifted, held in your hands.

He’s salivating. Literally feels his mouth water a little bit. His eyes are staring, just completely entranced by your pussy, gentle hands softer than you can imagine spreading your pussy lips and drooling over your clit.

He grabs his dick, lines it up with your hole. You’ll allow it, you’ll clench over his pulsing, leaking tip begging to be let in and grin as he lets out some breathy, sharp exhale. His brain is marshmallow fluff, a fluffernutter sandwich, and his hips twitch up to try at slipping the tip inside, just the tip, please.

“Uhn-uhn,” you angle your hips in a position where his tip is still pressed against your hole, but you know he can’t get in. “You can’t handle that right now.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbles, so immature. “Yes I can. I’m — do you think I’m some cuck, king of celibate town?”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence where he kind of cedes his case. Like yeah, okay, you might be just kidding, but you’re kind of right, so I give up. He’s all pouty and twitchy. You roll your hips, his tip slips from the home it’s made, edging at your pussy, and the girth of his cock spreads between the puffiness of your labia. It has you both a little surprised by how good it feels.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” he whines, hips twitching up and down in an almost embarrassing fashion, slightly out of control in his own body from having came mere minutes ago and now this. Yeah, maybe he can’t handle being inside, but he wants to be close to you. You’re ruining his whole ‘romance’ thing.

“Then it’s perfect for you,” you say, riding his cock — except, his cock between your pussy lips. He grips tight, whining, bucking his hips beneath you as you try to keep a steady pace. His eyes look watery.

“Mean. You are mean tonight, bitch,” his voice wobbles. It’s so, so silly, because you know he’s exactly where he wants to be right now, and it puts you in a nice position. He’s all yours right now, and you like, kind of can do whatever the fuck, and he’ll just nod his little head and pucker his lips for a kiss.

His hips twitch and twitch as you rub back and forth on his cock, and fuck — the tip prods your hole again, just a little. Your hole flutters, because he’s just leaking, and his cock is so hot and throbbing against you. You give some small mercy, your hands caressing his face, thumbing over his eyes and eyebrows down to his scruffy cheeks, kissing him sweetly and chastely. He follows you, tugs you back down, and you allow it. Perfect moment to let his tip push in, right?

He gasps into the kiss but doesn’t — can’t stop kissing you. You think you feel him trying to mumble your name through his lips mashing against yours sloppily and desperately, you think you feel wetness around your mouth and a little dribble of drool as his tongue puppy-dog kisses you.

“Told you, you couldn’t handle it right now.”

“Huh?”

You just snicker. He’s out of it, and even just the tip has his balls drawing up, fucking ready to blow his load.

“Nothing, Romeyrome,” you kiss a speckled mark on his cheek near his nose. “Go ahead, get it over with,” you encourage.

“Get it — ffuck, fuck, over with? You’re so romantic, I’m buying you a Nicholas Sparks novel to compare notes with.”

He whines as you laugh, partly because of your laugh, because he made you laugh. You reach down to rest your warm palms on the throbbing base and oh fuck, he can’t take it. He jerks his hips, grabbing your free hand to kiss the inside of and mumble your name into. He playfully gnaws at it until his head falls back. His eyes still look up at you, even when you look away.

You run your hand down from the base of his cock, your hips still wiggling with just the tip in, and you cup his ballsack, rolling them with your thumb and squeezing them gently.

“Let me in, let me just cum inside, I can’t hold back anymore,” he pleads, breathless.

“No,” you grin, “you can’t take it, honey. Just the tip.”

But he’s a tricky boy, tricky — the minute he gasps, clearly cumming, he lifts his hips off the bed, holding your hips down, pushing all the way in, nice and deep. You decide, okay, that’s his choice, next is mine, right?

You ride him as he cums and long after, and fuck, he’s making almost pained noises. He’s crying, actually, haphazardly gripping your thighs.

“Please, please, can’t you just, fuck, you’re milking my load out of me, fuck you, you — you fuckin’—,” he can’t finish his sentence without an awful, heartfelt little whine, loud as can be, like a pitiful puppy. “Incubus,” he finally finds the word, his thighs twitching beneath yours, hips stuttering up.

“Cum for me, too, what — what do you, can’t you just tell me what to do,” he’s so desperate in his pathetic babbling that it’s sweet.

“Just enjoy it, Roro,” you soothe. He’s so sweet. You can’t resist planting little kisses across his face. He leans into them all.

“Can’t stop, Jesus, can’t fucking stop—,”

“Then don’t stop, get it all out.” You kiss away a few stray tears, and he’s already came once outside of you and once inside, but from how he grips your hips and tries slamming up into you from beneath, you’re pretty sure he came a third time.

There’s a pause. You stop only for a moment, and he’s practically wheezing trying to catch his breath. It’s been a while, you get it; cumming three times in a row, not having to hold back for some fucking fulfillment of a role or whatever, it exhausts you both.

“You gotta let me eat your incubus pussy now.”

“Nooo,” you say, the way one would scold a puppy. “You need to go to bed, honeybunch. That’s that. Doctor’s orders.”

“The doctor’s a quack, let me at it. You drained me dry with your cum-sucking vampire-pussy, so can’t you just let me…sate you?”

You kiss him on the lips.

“I’ll use my face washcloth to clean you up if you drop it.”

He shuts up real quick. Makes a motion of zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

I heart natural dialogue😍

okay so what if a kieran culkin character wore as many hand accessories like the bracelets but also rings as kieran and then fingered you rougly? what if?

girl ya smart let’s get into it

i’m gonna go with roman the love of my life light of my day fire of my loins because we see him wearing bracelets a couple times, especially when he’s in barbados and in the gym. and…im gonna go with post-s4. like, future rome and you. because i’m a softie and i like imagining him happy in the future. so SPOILERS for s4 of succession, beware.

You’ve come with Roman to a vacation home—a villa, really, in Rome. His dad gave it to him, it’s his now. That’s weird, right? Your dad dies and you get a villa in Italy, specifically for you, that’s weird to him. Maybe he’s just sensitive, you keep giving him those puppy-dog eyes like he could crumble at any minute, especially in the jet on the way over. You almost yank his arm off trying to stop him from carrying your luggage.

But now you’re settled in, it’s warm outside (maybe too warm) and you’ve gone to a market nearby to buy some meats and cheeses for snacks, and a peach wine despite having real (expensive) wine in the cellar. You’d tease him in a couple weeks of staying here, bully him for getting ‘fat’ all the while sucking his dick by the pool. But that’s later, in the future, and for now, you’re in the room he always stayed at when they vacationed here, ‘his room.’

“It’s very…red,” you’re shocked, not that you don’t like it, just surprised by how red it is. His room in Barbados was a teal and beige, all blue paired with the natural stone. Here, it’s a deep red, very fitting for Italy and the whole ‘Rome’ aesthetic, but weird, with a similar stone texture surrounding, the same as outside, almost stuccoed.

“Yep. Red. Very emo eye my father had, maybe he was trying to get me in with Gerard Way,” he teases his past self, and you can almost implicitly tell that Logan picked it out. You can’t imagine Logan redesigning a house without making it a part of some psychological training routine.

“I’d think you were a Frank Iero, personally,” you quip with a grin.

“Oh thank you, thanks. For that. I uh, I’ll try to ignore your emo mumbo jumbo and act like I’ve never heard those names before,” he says, trying to active ‘above’ the emo scene. He opens a little drawer in his dresser and like muscle memory finds a shitty little box against the front panel, the cheapest thing in this whole house you’re sure.

The top is lifted and placed onto the dresser with a familiar movement, a limp wrist and body twisting to face you as he rolls a single bracelet down his arm, past his wrist. He holds his arm up for you to see, the plastic bracelet covered with teal and dark blue beads with a few large notches of white stone.

“Nice. Never knew you liked accessories so much,” you comment, not sure if this is a joke, or?

“Didn’t really, I guess? Just kept ‘em. Mom hated it, Dad hated it. Look, Shiv,” he says, holding up a bracelet with orange, pink, and beige beads, with ‘S-H-I-V’ in white letter blocks, not quite centered. He drops it back down in the box and rummages around.

“Aww. Big bro was such a sweetie,” you say despite Roman being barely older than Shiv. You hold yourself back from asking invasive questions, like how old she was when she made him that, and how old she was when she stopped. Maybe she sent him bracelets in military school, maybe her friends had a crush on him—you doubt it, he was a little too lanky and annoying to be the typical rich girl’s pre-teen crush.

“Yeah yeah, sure, sure I was. Ooh, pretty,” he holds up a ring and gives you the box, using both hands to put the gold band on, a lapis lazuli in the center. It still fits his forefinger perfectly on his right hand.

You peek through the box like a treasure chest as you hold it in your hands. There’s so much of him in here you’ve heard about but will never have been there to see. It makes you wish you were born at the same time, same place, and spent every second together. It might’ve been worth him bullying you through your many awkward phases to see him in all his breakout teenage glory watching Fight Club and Tetsuo the Iron Man with ten or twenty bracelets down his arm.

“Want one?”

“Oh—uhhh, no, thank you,” you squeak out, lost in your thoughts, not sure how to politely respond.

“Uh-huh. I think I’m supposed to give you fuckin’…Tiffany and Cartier before I make you wear my sweaty rope cord bracelets,” he says before putting one on. I mean, he’s given you plenty of expensive jewelry before, he just kind of feels like he should give you more before you have to wear this junk, even for play. The rope cord bracelet he stretched over his hand is a dark green color, it looks good with the tan he has from Barbados. The strings that tighten it hand down against the beaded bracelet, and you don’t think about Roman in this way, in Italy, as a teen on summer break. You’re sure there’s a copy of Sex, Lies, and Videotape bound to be in this room.

“Oooh,” he sounds in awe of a three-bracelet band of dark green, light green, and white crystalline beads, rolling them down his arm. He holds up a pear-shaped ruby ring—which looks like a real ruby, which is shocking because why the fuck would that be in there? “Here, for you, m’lady.”

“Thank…you,” you say, not sure how to respond. Is he giving you this? Maybe just telling you to wear it? You put it on your middle finger, hesitating, almost putting it on the finger beside it, which could lead to a big insinuation that you’d prefer to avoid.

“You’re welcome, wow, how excited you sound,” he sarcastically quips, putting a stack of silver rings on his ring finger, one from Miansai, with a flat onyx at the top. The other looks sort of like a screw-fastener, like a dirty, used up attachment to some screw or bolt, with a hole big enough to fit around his ring finger. There’s another similar to it that he puts on his thumb, with what you think is black spray paint on it.

“You wanna look s’more in my little box of horrors?” he asks, rolling a couple thick red rubber bracelets, four or five down his arm, and a black leather cuff. He seems punk. He’s not, he’s a fucking born-and-raised billionaire who pissed the bed at fourteen, but he seems…like a guy, a regular guy from your high school or home town or something, someone who wears AC/DC shirts from Spencer’s.

“Uhn-uhn, I’m good,” you say, twisting off the ruby ring.

“No—what? Keep it on. You keep that, ‘s yours now, unless you hate it?” he seems confused and genuinely offended. You thought it was time to put it away but he’s giving it to you? You make a quick noise that sounds like an ‘oops’, like ‘oh fuck, I thought wrong.’

“You’re sure? I mean, is this—?”

“Real? Yeeesss, duh, would I put a fake vending machine ring on you? Jesus. C’mere, let’s bang on my childhood bed,” he jokes, urging you to sit down with him. He plops down and he’s weirdly solid, the bed bounces from the force of his weight suddenly falling almost limp on it, feet barely on the ground. His hand gently pats against the comforter.

“Didn’t you say your dad bought this after he divorced Caroline?” you ask incredulously, questioning his idea of ‘childhood’.

“Yeah, okay, ‘childhood’ is relative, Freud,” he rolls his eyes and grabs you by your waist, slamming you down into the bed face-first. “There we go, see? See what happens when you don’t listen? Ya get slammed. Face first into my dusty old mattress.”

“Mmfhm,” you mumble, tucking your forearms under your chest.

“Is it nice down there?” he asks with a half-grin, still sitting up, twisted around to peer over his shoulder at you still lying face-down.

“Mmyup,” you reply, raising your head up to look up at him.

“Looks comfy. Watch out, comin’ in hot,” he says, plopping on top of you as you squeal. His arms wrap around you, laying himself on you like dead weight and squeezing you tight.

“Roman! Rome, you’re like, a thousand pounds, oh my god—,” you say, a little breathless from beneath him.

“I can’t believe you’re calling me fat when you’re the one who fed me a metric ton of brie,” he mumbles into your hair, sniffing it deeply. You smell good. He lays there for a few moments until you speak up.

“Speaking of, we gotta fix dinner, fatty, now get up,” you say, kicking your legs at the back of his thighs, occasionally hitting his ass. He could stay here forever.

“Fuck you? Come on, lemme jump your bones and hump you right here. Just the tip,” he giggles and scoots back, practically crawling off the bed and reaching his hand down to help you up. “Fiocchetti again?”

“Penne instead?” you barter. He makes a little ‘mm’ noise in agreement.

Heading downstairs, fixing some simple penne with a tomato, basil, and garlic sauce, it’s all pretty simple with Roman. Without a chef doing everything for you like in the penthouse back in New York, it’s a lot more—normal, relaxed. Almost domestic. The pear-shaped ruby on your middle finger seems, in quick glances, like it belongs on your ring finger. It seems only natural, almost like you’re living in a sitcom as the ‘cringe married couple next door’ stereotype. Everything has been weirdly easy after the death of his father, almost like he’s happier—which oversimplifies so much, but he seems so open now. He’s even began rewriting some of his old screenplays. He dubs you his ‘editor.’

You ate in the kitchen together, him sitting on the countertop and you standing between his legs. You both finished the pasta off together, nice and full and bloated, putting the dishes in the sink before heading upstairs to sleep in his room, at his request.

You’re in a tank and shorts when he comes up behind you, leaning against you with a pitiful whine, arms wrapped around you. He nuzzles into the nape of your neck, bites your back gently with a growl. “C’mere, wifey-poo,” he says, walking backwards, guiding you both with the occasional misstep and stagger.

“Heeeere we go,” he says, pulling you back on the bed, your back landing on his front. “Mm. You comfy?” he asks, and it’s comical, because he wants to know the minute the two of you fucking land if you’re already cozy. He sure is. He smells toothpaste and your skincare. You used the same toothpaste but he still wants to know if you taste the same.

“Yeah, sure, okay now, release me,” you say, trying to crawl out of his clinging.

“No! Nooo, no-no-no, bad girl, stay down with me,” he demands, one leg wrapping around you, then the other. His face nuzzles into the side of your neck and his hand lays flat against your lower navel. You groan but stay still, freezing up when his right hand slips between the band of your shorts and where your tank top hangs over it. He’s still wearing the two rings on his ring finger, one on his pointer, and one on his thumb, all of his bracelets still on his arm.

“You ‘kay if we…?” he asks. He so rarely asks. It’s weird here, it’s like he’s so different but still obviously your Roman. You can’t help but sputter out a laugh, because Roman’s already awkward enough without asking-but-not-asking for sex. “Fuck you, I’m taking that as a ‘yes.’”

He unentangles his legs from around you and moves them to between your thighs, keeping them open. “You gonna shut the fuck up now?” he asks, but he’s just not intimidating when you’re mid-laugh, so you just respond, “Oh my god, yeah, sure Rome, I’m so scared. Shaking in my boots, really.”

“You should be,” he says, suddenly serious but still not unfunny. His jaw clenches and his eyes are dark. His hand moves your face to his, your cheek smushing under his forceful touch in a way he thinks is so cute (but certainly can’t say now). It looks like he’s about to kiss you—you’re even ready for him to, lips halfway puckered when you hear a noise that can’t be what you think it is, and the wet feeling splattered on your face registers a moment after it happens.

“What the fuck,” you say, eyes wide and confused, a little pissed.

“Told you. Be fucking scared, I’m serious,” he says a moment before he licks his own spit, both hands on your head keeping you from moving away as his tongue trails the top of your nose, under your eye, the apple of your cheek, a little lick to your eyelid when your eyes flutter shut, and your lips. It turns into a kiss, slowly, his tongue forcing its way in your mouth, one hand encouraging your jaw to stay down, tugging your mouth open. Your face is covered in his spit by the time he’s done.

“Here. Help me out a little,” he shoves his fingers in your mouth, his pointed and middle, down to the base where you feel his gold ring on his pointer. “Gooood, that’s good. What a beauty. You make it so fuckin’ easy.”

You gurgle around them as they trigger your gag reflex. “Shhh-sh-sh-sh,” he shushes you, feeling around your mouth for a little longer before slipping them out.

His wet fingers leave snail trails grabbing the inside of your thigh from behind. He knows you. He knows you don’t wear panties under these shorts. He knows you’ll jolt a little and get all squirmy if he doesn’t keep you against him, your back to his chest, your ass to his dick. Roman knows you so well, he knows the color of your childhood bedroom, he knows where you keep the hair ties on your arm when you take them off, he knows your weak spots and how to make your brain get fuzzy.

“Shut the fuck up, I got you,” he mumbles into your hair, huffing the smell of your shampoo and conditioner, trying to get every note of you. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your sleep shorts, and you’re not usually one for keeping them on—too uncomfortable usually—but they’re nice and soft and loose. Not gonna inhibit his ability to feel around and fuck around, so no reason to do more work than necessary, right?

Roman’s pointer and middle fingers play with your clit, not roughly and not with much of an intention to get you off, just playing, for his own enjoyment. You twitch and whine, but he only presses a couple kisses to your head through your hair and your neck. You feel his bracelets against your lower navel leading down to your cunt.

“Give it, come on. Give it to me,” he demands brattishly, thumb rubbing your swollen clit then trailing down to massage your labia. You open up, and he’s right after all, you do make it easy for him. He slips his pointer in your pussy and rubs your clit sweetly, nice and hard so that your hips can twitch as his legs prevent you from grinding up into his touch. You feel the gold ring at the base of his index, and after a few moments he slips in his middle finger. He can’t help but comment on it with a shocked, giggly little noise, “Tight fit, huh? Yeaaah, that’s alright. Just little ole me stretching you out. Never fear, Romey’s here.”

You moan when he wiggles his fingers against that one spot, and fuck, his fingers are thick, and what he lacks in experience (and dexterity) he makes up for in excitement. It’s almost sadistic, his legs wrapped around you and keeping you down from behind, his left hand popping your tits out of your tank top and grabbing them. But it’s reverent all the same, how he never grabs too hard, how he massages your tits from base to the tip of your nipple instead of pinching your nips, how his free hand grabs yours and kisses the finger where the ruby ring is adorned.

“R-Roman,” you breathe. “Fuck me, fuck, please.”

“Uhn-uh, don’t wanna. Saw you looking at my hands earlier, so you’re gonna give ‘em a nice fuck-and-suck,” he says, grinding his dick against your lower back in time with his fingers, slowly sliding in a third and hearing you wince. “Oh, you’re fine. They’ll fit.”

It’s disgusting, the wet noises are fucking embarrassingly loud. It all feels like a book, the cliche of getting fingered in one of his childhood bedrooms. Three fingers deep and the two silver rings at the base of his ring finger against your hole, holding you down against him and keeping you still, it’s straight out of a porno.

“Shit, are you — are you, fucking—?” he’s shocked when your pussy gushes with that telltale flutter. “You’re cumming on my hand like a bitch in heat from a whole lotta nothing. Didn’t even have to try.”

You whine, laying your head back on his shoulder, nose nudging at his ear, breath huffing at his neck. His dick is twitchy and he can’t resist humping it into your ass through the back of your shorts, he can’t help but shudder visibly, breath audibly stuttering against the crook of your neck. The two of you are so intertwined, your head leaned back with him leaned over to bury his face in the crook of your neck where it meets your shoulder. It’s intimate, a weird comfort, like how he always stares at your tits with that weird look, and how he takes deep breaths every time you hug him.

“I can’t take it, I can’t Rome, ‘s—,”

“Yeah, but you can though. You can, actually, you just squeeze reeeeal tight and milk my fuckin’ fingers like a bitch. You’re actually a pro, if I remember correctly,” he quips, and it would often be followed by a sadistic giggle, but his dick has drained all the blood in his fucking brain and he’s too close to worry about appearances right now.

And you do take it. You squeeze his fingers and he fucks you through it, three thick fingers fucking you through it, one thumb against your vulva and the heel of his palm moved to slap and grind against your clit. His other thumb brushes against the back of your hand, held in his free hand. You would be a little embarrassed of how noisy you are if not for how brain dead you are from how good it feels. You don’t even hear him moaning behind you, it hardly registers that he’s grinding his dick against your ass and lower back, hips stuttering.

When it’s all over, it seems a little ridiculous. His fingers kept inside, your tits still out, him breathing hard on your neck — the fact you’re in a villa that he now owns, in Italy, the fact that his dad died and he just kinda whisked you away to process at his own pace, away from a cold, dark, and worn Manhattan that his past still seems to haunt. You sputter out a little giggle. This isn’t really something you anticipate in your five year plan.

“What? I make you cum your brains out and you still think it’s funny to bully me?” he snarks, burying his face in your hair from behind, nuzzling into the side of your neck like a puppy ready to nap.

“No, just — what the fuck is this. Like, I’m in Italy, with you, and…it’s just different. A lot’s changed since I met you.” It’s true. A lot of shit has become a whole lot better, and a few things have become a whole lot worse at times. You have new stressors, new insecurities, new challenges; but you have Roman. Someone who takes you to Italy and makes jokes about knocking you up about of wedlock and then forcing you to elope with him. And has the chef make you your favorite breakfasts, better than anyone ever could. Sometimes he goes to markets with you and picks around at stuff, or goes to thrift shops and makes gross jokes about how everything is contaminated, inappropriate jokes about poverty, showing his pretentious socioeconomic class — but he still goes. He brushes your hair and has nicely trimmed (or rather, bitten) nails. He knows your favorite flowers and has them imported when they’re out of season. Everything is pretty weirdly domestic.

“Mmh,” he makes a little noise, wiggling his fingers in your cunt to feel you squeeze in oversensitivity. “Yeah. You’re,” he pauses, makes you think he’s gonna say something profound. His response doesn’t have to be said, it’s pretty fucking obvious from his everything that he loves you more than life itself. Change is whatever, nice, but his life technically only started when you came into it, and is on pause when you aren’t watching him. It’s horrible and codependent, but yeah, so is he. “Gonna drip on the bed. God, you hear that? Creamy, creamy girl. You creamed on my fingers so hard it got your fuckin’…neurons firing shit up in there, thinking these philosophical thoughts.”

He takes his fingers out, wiggling them around more as he extracts them, and your cunt squelches. His fingers are soaked, a thick ring of cream around the base before his rings. He turns your head to the side with his left hand and cranes his to face you, keeping eye contact as he licks his fingers one by one. It isn’t sexual. It’s more of an ‘I own you, your pussy is so fucking owned’ move, in his own playful manner, that little glint in his eye as he cleans them, savoring the taste. He kinda regrets not eating you out.

“Gonna be good?” he asks.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I want a kiss but I don’t kiss bad girls. Kiss-kiss?” he puckers his lips. You peck them with a quick ‘mwwwwah’. “Good,” he lightly smacks his left hand against your face, his right hand rubbing against the front of it to gross you out, the spit-slick fingers making you gasp in shock and mock offense, making him giggle in return.

He gets up out of bed with a groan of, “Hoooooly shit, ow.”

“You’re old as fuck, Jesus,” you giggle at him before noticing the large stain on the front of his pants. “Holy shit, did you—?”

“No. No, I pissed myself, the fuck do I look like, a bed-wetter?” he defensively quips, his load visibly staining the front of his pants.

“Yes,” you reply quickly. I mean, he did wet the bed for like, a long time, and then started wetting the bed again as a trauma response as an early teen, not to mention the adult ‘accidents’ he fails to keep hidden.

“Okay, fuck you, say ‘thank you, Daddy’ or something, I just made you cum,” he retorts, walking to the dresser to change, removing his bracelets and rings with heavy clinks and thuds onto the top of the dresser.

“Maybe you should thank me for making you cum,” you surrebut, the sharp look he gives you in return being nothing but play, like two puppies tugging on each other’s ears. “Thaaaaank you, Daddy,” you mock, half-genuine but you’d never let it show.

“You’re welcome, shithead,” he complains, changing into some soft briefs and a tee that he stole from you years ago, climbing into bed with you. Tonight, he chooses to do the ol’ reliable, sleeping facing you, noses nuzzling and breaths intermingling until one of you nudges downwards and sleeps on the other’s chest, an unspoken routine.

“Thanks. By the way,” he mumbles, not even fully said. “Even though you didn’t even try. Just born with a really nice pussy and perfected your moans at whatever pornstar school you attended. You lucked up, you’re the load-blow queen. Princess,” he corrects himself, thinking the title ‘princess’ seemed a better fit.

“You’re welcome, prince Romulus,” you let out one more tease, letting him nuzzle your hair as he has been all night, kissing the top of your head.

omg what happens with the roman roy girlies????? I miss him so much and all the smuts please bring him back to us

Random Headcanons About Baby Roy:

Warning/s: addiction, addiction mention, drugs, alcohol mention

A/N: I think about Baby Roy all the time, lol. I just love them. I thought some fun headcanons would be nice :) Based on these headcanons and this fic series!

Baby loves screamo. Anything and everything screamo. Also any alternative artist! The more raunchy, the better. Any car or room they're in, they're listening to it or humming it or playing it in their headphones. Everyone's come to expect it and ignore it as best they can. Especially Karl and Frank, they hate it. Gerri just shrugs. it's not hurting you or anyone else, leave it be

It absolutely drives Connor insane, especially when you and Roman gang up on him and recite verses. Roman doesn't love your music, but it's so worth it to watch your other siblings cringe and get all uncomfortable

"That d*ick tastes like yankee candl-" I love Ashnikko lol

"Y/n, please."

"You wanna hear a so-"

"No."

Baby unironically plays Where's My Juul?? by Lil Mariko in front of Connor who has no idea what a juul actually is lol

Baby has a wicked sweet tooth. Kendall's been sneaking them candy since they were little, but it seems like you always have something sweet. A lollipop, gumballs, gummy bears, etc.

"You'll get a cavity."

"This is my one vice, let me be."

Shiv is always holding out her hand for whatever you've got. She doesn't ask, she just expects it. You never mind, it's nice to share with her. Besides, it makes her feel like a little kid, too

Baby loves gory movies. Growing up, when all the kids were together, they'd have movie night. When it was your turn, you always chose the goriest thing you could find. Rome would sit with his hands over his eyes and Connor would hold a pillow, But you, Ken, and Shiv would be totally into it

"Just wait! His head gets ripped off!"

"This can't be appropriate."

Baby is actually very smart. Despite all the partying, their grades were perfect. Logan had no need to worry. Maybe you weren't showing up to class, but you were there for tests and that's all that mattered. You throw your intelligence in your brothers faces

"Can you even spell egotistical?"

You make endless jokes about your sobriety that none of them like except for Roman. The others shoot daggers at you with a look that says "not funny" You think it's funny though, and that's all that matters

"I'll be at the bar, you guys chat. Kidding! I was kidding, jeez."

"Does anyone else need a strong drink right about now?"

"They say the food is like crack, but I know crack and this isn't that."

"I used to take handfuls of pills to this song. Now look at me, I've become a monster."

Connor is horrified. Every time you say anything, he's speechless. Shiv gets very serious and Kendall spirals, but Rome likes it. If you can't joke about it, what good is it?

Baby has lots of tattoos and piercings. It's the only socially acceptable way to self harm that isn't drugs and alcohol. Logan hates them and Connor thinks they're unsightly, but you don't really care. Gerri always wants to see the new ones you got, though she prefers they be covered up in the office

"I like that one, that one's very cute."

"Thanks, Mommy."

She hates when you call her that. For you, your and Gerri's relationship, it's not at all sexual like it is with Roman. She is genuinely your mother figure. She is warm and caring and only wants the best from you. She can always tell when things are getting bad again

"Oh honey, you don't look so good."

"Mommy, I don't feel so good."

She really does love you. Someone has to. She knows your mother and Logan don't. Someone has to be there for you

Both Karl and Frank are afraid of you. Between the music, the addictions, the tattoos, the piercings, everything is intimidating to them. You're not competing like your siblings, that scares them the most. You want nothing to do with the company

"Think they're rabid?"

"Might be."

You love it, the way they always back away when you get too close, like you're demonic or infected

Baby, I think, would write a lot. Not just your feelings, which are so hard to put into words, but good things that happened, reasons to stay sober

You have a notebook or something that they use to write in. You've brought it to every rehab you've ever been to and constantly reread it over and over. No one knows about it, and if they notice, they don't bring it up. It's yours

Reasons To Stay Sober: Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv. . .

You have a sobriety birthday and every month you bake a cake. It always turns out shitty, lopsided, and burned and runny at the same time, but decorating it makes you feel like a kid again

You're always wearing your siblings clothes. You're always stealing someone's jacket or socks or shirt or sweater. You like it. It makes you feel close to them

They've just come to expect it

"You look better in that shirt than I do, keep it."

"I was going to anyways."

You have those moments of deep regret and embarrassment and self-consciousness that always end up in tears, but your siblings are there to pick up the pieces

Connor especially will just hold you as long as you need and listen to everything you have to get out

You feel so deeply sorry for hurting them and scaring them so much. You just wanted it to stop. You wanted not to he angry anymore

They tell you they understand, but you know they don't. Not really. They can't unless they've felt the way you have

Baby falls asleep on all the siblings. Even Roman will let them get away with it, but no one else. You snuggle into them and have the best sleep of your life

"Quit moving."

"Don't use me as a pillow, then."

You get away with (mostly) everything because you're their baby and they love you so much. They love you so much it's gross

Connor still prides himself on the way he raised you. There were bumps in the road, but you ended up perfect. Absolutely perfect

They all pride themselves on how they raised you. It wasn't always good, they weren't always there, but they're making up for all that now. Logan is gone. Slowly they're breaking the cycle, for you and for them

Things will get better. You've hit rock bottom so many times and always found a way out. This is that. This is your out

Being Roman's Favorite Sibling Would Include:

Requested: I looooved the "being connor's favourite sibling" headcanons and I was wondering if you could do some for bwing roman's favourite sibling as well? :) xoxo - anon

A/N: He is so baby boy. He is so little man. How much I love little man. Lol anyways!!! I hope you like it my love!!! Thank you for requesting!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Being Connor's Favorite Sibling Would Include:

Roman didn't like that you were born. There were enough of you running around, he didn't need another sibling. Especially not one as young as you considering he was almost a teenager by the time you were born

Still, there's not much he could do. Like the rest of your siblings, he looks after you. He starts to like you when you're about six months old. That's when you start to look and act like a little person and not, in his words, some gross little flesh monster

You immediately love him from the start. Roman is your everything. He's the one you want when you cry. He's the one you want to sit next to. To play with. To follow around and copy. He secretly loves when you'd take his sunglasses and a pair of his shoes and walk around your little toddler walk pretending to be him

"I'm you, Romey."

"You're not as cool as me."

From a young age you call him Romey. Everything is Romey. Even when you're upset or fighting or anything, he will always be Romey

He likes you now that you can walk and talk and go to school. When your other siblings can't, he'll walk you home from school

"Guess what I learned today?"

"Brain surgery."

"Noooooo Romey, I learned how to multiply."

"That's helpful too, I guess."

All you wanna do is hang out with him, be his little shadow

You know that your father is not a good man. When you fall off your bike and get hurt you don't run to Logan, you never have, instead you go to Roman. He's not very sympathetic, but he'll sit you on the counter and clean you up

"I want the dinosaur bandaid."

"You can't always get what you want."

He gives it to you always, not wanting you to be upset

You're the only one who can go near him after Logan's hit him or berated him. He tends to self-isolate and pushes everyone away. Only you can open the door and come inside and wrap your arms around him. He doesn't push you off, he can't. That would be like acting like your father. He lets you stay as long as he needs and when he's done, he tells you he's okay. Somehow you always know when he's telling the truth and when he's lying

"I'm sorry about Daddy."

He makes it very clear if Logan ever touches you like that you go to him. Not Connor, not Kendall or Shiv, him. He has this terrible feeling that Logan can't differentiate between you two, that he sees you as an extension of Roman instead of your own little person

The older you get the closer you become. You pick up on his sarcasm, his wit, and annoy your siblings to no end when you gang up on them

"Kendall's gone crazy."

"He's been crazy for a while, you're just noticing?"

"Can you guys please stop talking about me?"

"You're forgetting I grew up with him."

As a joke, and maybe not as a joke, he has you in his phone as Mini Me. Mini for short. He'll call you on the phone and text you and you're always Mini

"Mini, where's Shiv?"

"How should I know?"

"Mini get out, the adults are talking."

"I'm an adult!"

"Not with that attitude."

You guys tend to stick together. Roman was right after all. Logan goes after you like he does with Rome. You're a teenager the first time you show him what's been going on since he left the house. Your eye is bruised and swollen shut. You try to put ice on it and get rid of the swelling, but it's too late. When he sees you, he loses his cool. You have to hold him back from going to your fathers study

"Please don't go after him."

"Y/n-"

"Please. It'll only make things worse. You lnow this."

"Fine. Fine, okay? Fine."

From then on you have more sleepovers at his apartment. He makes up a bed on the couch and you stay up and watch movies with snacks

"Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Do I look five years old?"

"Four and a half."

"Fuck off."

Your first word was a swear courtesy of Roman. It was most likely fuck, but he swears he can't remember. It was the best day of his life listening to you say fuck over and over again, giggling in that little baby voice. He tries to play it off like he doesn't care abut really, it'll be etched into his memory forever

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Romey. Dad does it all the time."

It makes him feel sick knowing you were going through all that and he wasn't there to protect you. You protected him and you're the baby sibling. It's his job to look after you, to protect you

You guys fight all the time. Not in a mean way or a serious way, more like calling ewchother stupid and dumb and pushing and shoving. You never go too far, you never do anything to hurt one another, just as a means of disagreement

"You're so fucking stupid."

"Me? Are you kidding?"

"See! Can't even tell when I'm being serious."

"You're never serious, Romey."

Whatever you accomplish, he's always quietly cheering you on. He's not going to be as outwardly affectionate as Connor is. It's just not in his nature. When you get your degrees and find your place at Waystar he visits your desk multiple times a day

"Look at you becoming a corporate pig."

"I learned from the best."

You and Roman actively make fun of Tom and Greg

"Did you see what Tom was wearing?"

"Fashion disaster, I know."

"Why is Shiv even with him?"

"Daddy issues. Mommy, too."

You stick up for Roman when your siblings make fun of his lack of dating/sex life. It's none of anyone's business

When you do start to date and bring people home and find that someone special, they know they have to get through Roman for things to be serious

"Where'd you find this one? A back alley?"

"Please be nice, I really like them."

"Are you paying them? Are they paying you?"

Say what he will, he's happy you're happy. It hurts watching you grow up. You were his Mini Me not so long ago. Now you're taking part in the company and finding love and you've got your own place. You showed everyone that despite being the baby of the family, you're a force to he reckon with

He loves you. He loves you more than he loves himself. He doesn't say it, and when he does it never comes put right, but you're his baby. You always be

Dependence Pt. 5 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Alternatively Titled: We Ain't Angry At You Love, You're The Greatest Thing We Lost I am getting this lyric tattooed on my body I'm dead serious

Characters: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Logan

Word Count: 1,879

Inspired By: We'll All Be Here Forever by Noah Kahan

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: All I have is the snippet to listen to and it makes me sob every time. I'm thinking of moving 1k miles away from my family, from my home, from everything, and every bone in my body wishes they felt the way this song feels. Every nerve in my body wants them to feel this way. I hope they'll miss me that much. Anyways, it reminded me of Baby Roy and the Succession finale. Yes I did cry while writing, what about it lol!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Dependence Pt. 1 / Dependence Pt. 2 / Dependence Pt. 3 / Dependence Pt. 4

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 1

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 2

You’re gonna go far, he says into you, his arms tight around you. You try to stop yourself from crying. Again. Sniffling into him, into his shoulder. Everything about this moment makes you want to turn around. To call the whole thing off. But then, how can you call off an entire lifetime? Your bags linger at your feet, everything you could fit into two suitcases. You didn’t start out like this, the day didn’t start out like this, but as it progressed, as things fell into place, you realized there was no place for you. In their lives, of course. Connor promised you your old room again, if you ever wanted to visit. But this place, this apartment, this city, it wasn’t yours anymore. It wasn’t home. You’re not sure it ever was to begin with. You remember to call me when you land, okay? An,whenever you need someone to talk to, I’m always here. He has this shake in his voice, the kind that tells you he’s doing his very best to keep himself together. Composed. You can’t say anything, the words getting caught in your throat. Instead you just nod, sobbing into his sweater. He holds you tighter, rubbing your back. When he stops, he cups your face, meeting your teary eyes, wiping your cheeks. Pops would be so proud of you. He wouldn’t. He never was. But at some point you have to stop chasing something that never existed, something you can never have. You smile for Connor’s sake. Maybe he really believes it. Maybe he’s just saying it. Either way, you’re glad you went to him. You’re glad you told him. You’re gonna so far, you have no idea. He sighs, as if the words have been sitting on his chest for a long time. As if this is the first time in your life he’s felt real, genuine relief. You want to be held a little longer. You want to be loved the only way a father, a father by choice rather than blood, could ever love their child. Without conditions, without restraints, without a ceiling or a floor. Infinite. Beautiful. You’ll have to let go eventually, part ways, but for now he holds you like he did when you were an infant. Never could he have imagined the life you’d live. It was a fantastic surprise. You were a fantastic surprise. 

You continue to awe him every single day. 

You catch him at the bar, nursing a martini. Your hands begin to shake, but you settle them at your side, sitting beside him. You can do this. He wasn’t expecting you, sliding his drink away from you. You’re okay, you’ll be okay. You can be around it, you have to in order to say goodbye. He notices the luggage before you have the chance to say anything. Going somewhere? You bite your inner cheek. Yes, actually. He turns to you. His stitches have opened, the wound bright and red. Angry. You try to read his expression. There’s a hint of fear. He saw you in that bed, screaming, crying, begging not to be alive anymore. You knew he meant it out of love, but you couldn’t face it anymore. You couldn’t be looked at like that anymore. If you wanted a fresh start, a real one, you had to get away. You had to find somewhere with people who saw you for you, not your mistakes, not your darkest moments. Somewhere inside him, he understood that. Somewhere inside him, he wanted the same thing. Leaving for him wasn’t an option, though. Is that so? What does Mummy think about that? He sips his drink. You don’t want to roll your eyes at him. You don’t want to be annoyed with him. You’re not sure how long it’ll be before you’ll see him again. I, I didn’t tell her. I’m not telling her. He lets your answer settle for a moment. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. You never have been sure. Roman could be so unreadable, so unpredictable. You keep talking, trying to fill the silence, a lump developing in your throat. You’re speaking so fast, almost hysterical. You have to explain yourself. You have to explain yourself or you’ll die. I have to get away. I’m not sure for how long, I just, I can’t be here anymore. I have to stay sober and I can’t do that here. It’s not because of you, because of any of you, I want you to know that. I’m, I’m sorry if that upsets you or makes you ang- But he interrupts you, leaning over, hugging you. Not as tight as Connor. It’s as if he’s afraid to touch you still, afraid to hurt you. Gentle. You feel his muscles tense then relax. Whatever you gotta do, you do. Just don’t scare me like that again. You promise him it will never happen again. 

It won’t. It doesn’t. The hurt from home doesn’t follow you, wherever you go. 

You can’t reach the other two. You try calling, the deja vu twisting your stomach. The last time you tried to reach them, the last time. . . No. Stop it. This isn’t that. You’re better now. Shiv picks up, waiting for you to talk. You don’t care what happened. You don’t care what went down in that boardroom. You don’t care that he’s CEO now, that you lost. She’s your sister. The same sister that comforted you after nightmares, who iced your bruises, who wanted the best for you from day one. Whatever happened couldn’t change that. She gave you so many chances, time after time, and you let her down. You let everyone down. She still cares, she always would. You would, too. The words come up, out, before you can stop them. How much you love her, how much you’re going to miss her, how badly you need this, how much you wish you could be with her right now. You hear her take a sharp inhale in, a shudder in her voice. I’ll come and visit, yeah? Wherever you end up, I’ll be there, okay? You nod. Yeah, yeah of course. You can feel your eyes well up again. She was your big sister, the only maternal figure you’d ever known. It wasn’t your mother who shushed you to sleep at night, holding you close. It wasn’t your mother who gasped at the bruises you gave yourself in a fit of rage. It wasn’t your mother who climbed into that hospital bed with you when you were sick and scared and didn’t want to fall asleep alone. It was Shiv. You're Shivy. Your sister. Do you have everything packed? Always fretting, always worrying. Yes, Mom. You laugh. You know she’ll be a good mother. Maybe she doesn’t think so, maybe Tom doesn’t, but you do. She took care of you your whole life. She’s still trying to. You um, you have your chargers? Extra socks? Do you need me to- I’ll be okay, you interrupt. You’re both quiet for a moment, taking one another in. You can feel her wanting. Wanting to reach through the phone and kiss your cheek, to hold you so close your hearts beat at the same time. Wanting to keep you there forever, not wanting to let go.

She always knew this day would come, though. You’d always had big plans. You could never be confined like the rest of them. 

You couldn’t reach Kendall. It went straight to voicemail. So you sat in the lobby of Waystar, trying to figure out exactly how to put it. Every thought in your mind, every thank you and I’m sorry and forgive me and I forgive you. Everything that’s ever sat between you two into a compact, meaningful message. You didn’t want to worry him, that was the last time you wanted, for any of them. You sat and watched everyone pass by. They were celebrating the new owner, one of the biggest deals they’d ever made. Some on their way to get drunk, others drunk already. Too much champagne. Finally, after a long time, you called again, listening to his voice play the message. Kendall, it’s me, you start. What next? You’re sorry. You’re sorry for putting them through all that you’ve put them through. The alcohol, the drugs, all those scary nights where they didn’t know where you were, if you were okay. All those nights where you weren’t sure where you were, if you’d make it out. You were sorry for calling him that night, for putting the blame on him if anything happened. You were sorry for blaming him. For not being the baby sibling he deserved. He deserved better, he expected better. I’m uh, I’ll be out of town for a while. You forgave him. You forgave him for all those outbursts, all those times he hurt you and Shiv and Con and especially Rome. You forgave him for turning into your father, the man you despised, the man you feared, the man you loved. I’ll be okay. I won’t, I’m not, I’m clean. I’ll stay that way. You loved him. You loved him despite the fear, despite the outbursts, despite the narrow path he chose to take. You loved him, and love him, because he’s your brother. He begged for you to stay awake, stay conscious. He wanted you to live even when you didn’t. That night, he looked like a ghost. I’m gonna miss you. A lot. Thank you for taking care of me, for loving me, for being there, you want to say. Thank you for being the best brother you could given the circumstances. Thank you for protecting me from him, from everyone. Call me when you can. I love you. Bye. 

This isn’t some magic answer to your sobriety. This isn’t a cure. Hell, it might be you running away again. Who knows? But you can feel it, finally. The anger, the rage, the wrath. That burden starts to feel less heavy day by day. It won’t disappear completely. You’re a Roy, it’s in your blood, in your genes. But it gets easier to carry, to hold, to take with you everywhere. You don’t want to cave in, not as much. Sure, a strong drink would help, but you made promises. You made promises you’d like to keep. Promises to yourself and to your family. You’d call Connor when you landed, wherever that is. You’ll tell Shivy, too, so she can come and visit. You’ll check in with Rome and give Kendall another call. Hopefully this time he picks up. Hopefully this time you can have a real conversation, you can talk to him, really thank him for all that he’s done. But you know your place is not here. Your people are, they always will. That mausoleum will be waiting for you like it waits for them. Eternity you’ll get to spend by their sides. Now though, now you have the choice. The choice to get better. The choice to get away. The choice to be free. You’ll see them again, you always will. They’re your brothers, your sister, the people who raised you. You’ll see them again despite the distance.

They can’t get rid of you that easily.

Succession Preference: Baby Introducing Their First Date

Requested: 2nd preference: how would each sibling react to their baby sibling (reader) introduceing their first date (gn neutral if possible) - anon

A/N: This is just too cute to imagine!!! I love it!!! I hope you like it my love!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Connor is so excited to meet them. Unfortunately for you, the whole family is over for dinner and insists on meeting your date before you go out. You were hoping to sneak out after drinks, but before dinner. Connor won't let you get away with that, though. He's eager to meet them. Really. Unlike the rest of your siblings, Connor fears no ill intentions. He truly wants to see the best in people, even the people trying to date his baby sibling. When they get there, they're immediately taken into the living room. You have no time to warn them at all. He doesn't intend for it to be an interrogation, but Connor asks them a lot of questions. Are they in school, what do they do for work, do they have any siblings, pets, what is their family like, what are their intentions with you, etc. This is just a first date. You like them, you want things to go well, but this is definitely not the type of deal where they should be meeting your family. This is not going well, not if they're with Connor the whole night. Your date just smiles and nods along. When your brother is satisfied, he winks at you before you go, telling you "they're a keeper". You thank him, getting the hell out of there before he asks anything else.

Kendall doesn't like this at all. He goes to your father, asking if he's heard about this little date you've got planned for tonight. Of course he does. Why would Kendall care? No, no he has to put a stop to this. He thinks his father has lost his edge. He tries to bribe you with money and alcohol and shares in the company for you not to go. You try to remind him that you're an actual, legal adult. That you can see whoever you want when you want and he can't stop you. You also remind him that this is a first date, it could be nothing special. It definitely won't end in marriage. You don't know that, he warns. What are you talking about, Ken? You were never this way with Shiv and Rome. He wants to tell you it's because you're his baby. Shiv would date whoever she wanted and didn't care what anyone thought. Roman rarely dated and when he did it was never that serious. But you? You're his baby. He watched you grow up. He can't let you go that easily. He just can't. He doesn't care if this person is some supernatural genius or the next president or the bringer or world peace, he will not let you go with them. You're just a baby, his baby.

Shiv accidentally and not so accidentally crashes your date while you're on it. You and your date go to a very local, very popular cafe that just so happens to be near Waystar. You didn't even think about if you would run into your family, you just picked it because it was a nice place. Shiv spots you laughing and smiling across from someone who most definitely is not a friend, at least not a friend she's ever seen. Hey kid, she says, dragging a chair over with her. Who's this? Wanna introduce me? If you could crawl under the table and hide, you would. Instead now you have to sit and smile as your sister quite literally interrogates them. What do they want with you, what are their intentions, do they respect that no is a complete sentence, do they know who your father is, etc. You want to die. They have this look in their eyes that screams help me, but you can't do anything. Every time you try to get her to go away and move on, she blatantly ignores the hints. When she's done, you swear it's taken forever, she leaves with her coffee and a wicked grin. Your sister doesn't like anyone wanting to date you. As far as she's concerned, you're too good for them. You'll always be too good for them. All of them.

Roman doesn't like them at all. He doesn't even give them a chance. He makes fun of them, he points out their flaws, he picks on them. They come up to meet Logan just for a second before you go to dinner. You don't know that Roman is there until you come out of the bathroom and see your date being taunted by him. Immediately you defend them, hissing at your brother to stop it. You send them down to the lobby, needing to talk to your brother. What the fuck are you doing? You ask, ready to kill him. He was going to scare them off forever. You really liked them, you wanted things to go well. Them? You like them? Are they paying you? That earns a slap to his arm. What is wrong with you? He laughs. How much time do you have? You just roll your eyes. You'll have a big fight about it after, but for now you have to go downstairs because your date is waiting for you. Roman would never put this into words, but you dating means you're all grown up. He doesn't like that thought very much. What happened to the baby he used to rock to sleep and the toddler he held on his shoulders? Suddenly you wanted a partner? Nope, not on his watch.

Venom (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

((SUCCESSION FINALE SPOILERS))

Characters: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Matsson, Tom

Word Count: 1,477

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: This is omg y'all!!! Y'all aren't ready ahhh!!!! That's all I can say :P Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

You watch them, horrified. Kendall stop! You’re yelling, trying not to let them hear the crack in your voice, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to hear. He spits venom at your sister, calling her two-faced, saying terrible things about her. She pretends it doesn’t hurt, pretends it doesn’t kill her. The kinds of things Logan would have said. Stop it, now! None of them hear you. None of them see you. You’re invisible now, like you’ve always been. The baby, underestimated from day one because of your order of birth. Roman says something, something you’re not hearing, but seeing. Watching. About his kids. Low blow. Kendall goes for his neck. There are moments like this where you watch your father instead of your brother. Such an angry, bitter, paranoid man. With his hands around him, you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. His name is on the tip of your tongue. Logans, but that is the wrong man before you. This is Kendall. You get between them, prying his hands off Roman. In doing so, you’ve put yourself in the line of fire. His eyes are so wild, so angry. Get off me! You yell, pushing him away, but he’s too strong. He’s too powerful. He holds you against the glass, his hands around your throat, hungry enough to bite. Rabid. You can’t breathe, fighting him off, unable to make any noise. Finally he realizes it’s you. You, not Rome, not Shiv, you. His baby. He lets go immediately, stepping back, stuttering. You can’t help it, the tears begin to run down your cheeks. You saw fury in his eyes, purebred wrath. If he wanted, he could have killed you. Just like Logan. You push through them, out the door, down the hall and towards the elevator. Kendall calls your name quieter now, defeated, ashamed. You don’t turn back. Sniffling, you wait for the doors to close, trying to catch your breath. You dial the number. I knew you’d call. . . 

They turned on one another. They’d decided he would be their successor. The three of them, after Roman disappeared. You were the only one he talked to on the phone, Caroline losing the power to guilt you. You weren’t her child. That was to your advantage. She put him on with strict warnings not to upset him, saying he was fragile. He sounded softer, beaten down, but as defensive as ever. Ken and Shiv are on their way, you warned. I know. He didn’t have enough in him to fight or to joke. He was all facts. Are you okay? Me? I’m fine. You knew he wasn’t, but you weren’t going to go there to see him. You had plans. For now, you had to take his word for it. You weren’t going to ask him for his vote. Quite frankly, it didn’t matter anymore. They could pretend they still had precedence, that the crown they wore could protect them from a beheading. Their heads rolled just the same when dismembered from a body. In fact, it was the crown that weighed them down. They forgot this, racing with one another about who could get to him the fastest. It wouldn’t matter in the end. When would they realize this? When would they accept it already? I have to go, call me if you want, okay? What are you doing that’s so important? Just meeting a friend. 

What about Tom? Tom? He is nothing. You shouldn’t but you laugh. Your drink is strong, his even stronger. But you trust him, you believe him. He can’t be backstabbing everyone. Besides, the x’s have been removed. Yours in their place. You take a look around the bar. Expensive. Oskar and Ebba keeping to themselves off to the side. They come when he says so. They sit when he says so. Now he’s holding a pen. Would you do the same? Your whole life, all you’ve done is follow. Follow your brothers and sister into any war they brought between them and your father, into every media frenzy and disaster because they convinced you it was always in your best interest. It wasn’t, though. It never was. In the end, it was always you getting hurt, taking the blow, having your name smeared across the headlines. From the moment he saw you he’s been trying to save you. They would hold your head under water and tell you they were helping you be a better swimmer. They were trying to kill you, drown you, just so there would be one less body in the pool. You were doing this for you, for them too. To show them that you weren’t just some lap dog they could order around. You were just as much a Roy as any of them. More so, even. You were smarter, you were savvy. You could get what you wanted, you always had. 

Going in, you were meant to warn them. That was the plan. Always. The deal seemed enticing, it was the cherry on top, but you couldn’t hurt them like that. You would not turn into them. But, then they decided on Kendall. Without consulting you, without even asking. They had decided for the family when there were still two more to consider. You knew what Connor would have done, you all did. He would have put up a fight, but in the end would have agreed. You? You were going to warn them. You were going to put out the fire before the house burned down with them in it. Instead they called you from the car that morning, on their way back, telling you he was next. He would be in charge. Had they even considered you? Roman laughs. The baby doesn’t get to be in charge, ever. Kendall chuckled. You didn’t get a vote or say, it was decided. You bit the inside of your cheek, letting the conversation fall. They spoke around you anyways, making all these big decisions without you. It was fine, you decided, hanging up. It was fine. You would tell them when they got here. It wasn’t technically a secret, they just hadn’t asked. That was all. So, you accepted that Kendall would take over. After everything you’ve been through, after everything they put you through, at least there would be an ending. Your phone rang, but you ignored him. Fine, you though, at least it’s staying in the family. You weren’t about to turn bitter. You weren’t about to turn vengeful. 

And then she threw the plan away the minute she could, believing that Tom would be Matsson’s CEO. You were going to tell them, really. As soon as that glass door closed, you were going to spill your guts. About him, about the deal, about everything. You swear on your father’s grave, you were going to tell them. And then he put his hands on you, around your neck, and any alliance you had was over. Any good graces you had left vanished. You wanted them to burn in that house. You wanted the whole world to burn. You put up with enough. With too much for far too long. He’s been trying to save you since you met, giving you outs from the maze you were in. You couldn’t leave them, they were your family. Now? Now they were nothing. They were strangers. You watched the bruises form in the reflective doors all the way down, listening to him carefully. If you still want it, it’s yours. Good. What about Tom? Like I said, he is nothing. Nobody. All you have to do is sign.

Roman and Shiv came back from that meeting, his stitches bloody. She wears a knowing look, the kind that says she thinks she’s won. He signed in front of everyone, in front of Matsson, who signs the stack of legal documents after. I’d like to announce my CEO. Shiv steps forward, but you come up behind her, around Roman, to Lukas’ side. Please welcome, Y/N Roy. Everyone applauds you as you sign your name. Roman’s jaw hangs open before catches himself, then looks to your sister. Her lips remain in a tight line. Tom looks surprised for the both of them, trying to get close to Lukas, but is unable to with all the cameras. Thank you, you whisper to him. You deserve this. You are the most capable Roy. You would have told them, you were going to, but this tastes so much better. You don’t care that your skin till hurts, still burns from his touch. You don’t care that your brother drifts away or that your sister storms off. You don’t care that Kendall is nowhere to be found. You don’t care about them anymore, they never did about you, not when it came to this.  

You win.

Sunlight / Roman Roy Imagine

Request: I would love to get some sort of a happy ending for Roman!! Maybe post-finale him and his girlfriend/wife/whatever run away from New York and do their own thing?

Oh my gosh love I so agree with you!! Let us give this man a hug and some love pls I beg <3 

Warning: strong language, mentions of smoking, mentions of death, mentions of blood/injuries, Logan Roy being homophobic, sexual innuendo, mentions of childhood abuse!

The vibe I was going for in this is based on ‘Romulus’ by Sufjan Stevens, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading this - it’s one of my all time favourite songs!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @924inlegend.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Roman Roy couldn’t remember the last time he had actually felt the warmth of light, instead of just observing its strands.

He had spent so much of his life withering obediently within the shadows. So many years curled up tight underneath his bedframe, shaking with fear and snivelling into his kneecaps as the cast shadows of his austere room seemed to creep inch by inch towards his toes; the pressure of bone was so tight against the bridge of his nose that he nearly burst blood from his left nostril. That’s where you would always look first: you would kneel down slowly and lift the edges of his silk sheets, as if you were a curious ornithologists trying their best not to frighten the wild nest of a flight-inclined bird. The first thing he would notice, before he caught side of your hand sliding out to grip him across the floorboards, was how the faint light  seemed to make the fringes of your head glow with strands of silver, like warm moonlight falling through the fresh sprigs of silver maples that brushed across the slats of his windowsill. 

It had made him gasp.

He had spent so long living behind the colossal shadow of his father’s form: curled up, deferential, strangled. It was so stifling there, so dank and claggy that he used to become saturated with the feeling. It used to sink into his clothes, his skin, his muscles, until he was so laden that they began to move of their own accord; after long enough time being asphyxiated, his limbs began to seep life from his father, mimicking his harshness with shoving twitches of his arms, moving his choking jaw with Logan’s fury and repeating his apathy. You would stop their movements by touching his hand where he sat, despondent, at his father’s business dinners. Seeing him look so downtrodden, the familiar hunch of his back becoming more and more prominent as he slouched, you frowned, and he made no reply. He was busy trying not to notice the stern gaze of his father, the red hot fury burning like a demon’s wrath in his eyes, warning him to duck his head and behave. 

To try and cheer him up, you balanced your fork above your mouth in a makeshift moustache, and tried do to your best impression of his father’s new chief financial officer Karl. At fifteen, he still had enough life in him left to let a laugh burst out at that, but he quickly stifled it by shoving the back of his free hand against his mouth. He bit down until he could feel the familiar taste of tangy blood run freely against his wiping tongue, and he felt better. But you, oh you, your infectious laughter rang freely into the warmth of the lavender infused air, and filled an adoring Roman Roy with feeling he never wanted to forget.

The slap he received from his father in the kitchen afterwards was the first time he has lost a tooth, yet he still dared to chime in with your giggles until he was gasping for air. 

Weiterlesen

the poison drips through | Roman Roy x Reader

Summary: grief is a natural instigator of reflection; Logan’s funeral forces you to look back on your own grief, and your relationship with Roman.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings/tags: death of a parent (Logan Roy, reader’s mother), discussions of abuse (physical, emotional), grief and breakdown, mentions of addiction, depression and associated mental health struggles in a parent and in reader, implications of suicide, toxic and/or abusive familial relationships.

a/n: roman roy has a special place in my my heart. he’s awful, he’s product of his environment, I can’t justify his actions, I love him, it’s confusing, I don’t know. I binge watched all of succession in seven (7) days.

masterlist!

You’re not sure how old you were when you first met the Roys, but you find it strange to think of time pre-Roman, pre-Roy, when you were free of proxy-politics, hidden slights and subtle digs. You must have been a preteen, maybe twelve. It would make sense—the second summer after your father moved to New York, when he bought the house in the Hamptons. Your mother had stayed in London that summer, leaving you and your siblings to battle the sweltering Long Island heat alone with your father, who worked most of the summer anyway. Had it been the Sailing Club or the Golf Club where you’d first met Siobhan Roy? You aren’t sure, but you remember the bathroom where you’d run into her, and how a five minute conversation had turned into five weeks of friendship. It had gone beyond that five weeks—even when you got back to the UK, you’d found ways to keep in touch, and spent holidays together when you were in the same place; you’d grown accustomed to Kendall’s strange attempts at seeming “hip” and cool, and Roman’s whining and jokes.

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