hot recognizes hot || ao3 || " Bored in a fancy bar your friend dragged you to, you see a man by himself nursing a drink and decide to start up a conversation. "
balcony. || ao3 || " You're Roman's sad assistant, Roman is your comforting boss. There's something unspoken, too. "
NSFW
phone. || ao3 || " You and roman talk over the phone, stuff happens along the way. "
lacy. || ao3 || " Roman inquires about a piece of your clothing. "
collared. || ao3 || " You have a gift for roman, and he seems to enjoy it. "
movie. || ao3 || " Roman wants you to stop watching a movie and pay attention to him, so he goes about it the best way he can think of. "
e-mail. || ao3 || " You're roman's assistant, and after delivering breakfast something clicks. "
|| KENDALL ROY ||
NSFW
bathroom. || ao3 || " You're Roman's assistant, at a launch party Kendall invited you to. Stuff happens along the way that you're sure would get you fired. "
Summary: You're Roman's sad assistant, Roman is your comforting boss. There's something unspoken, too.
Word count: 1.685
The harsh autumn wind bites at the skin exposed by your party dress, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It's times like these where you curse yourself for your 'the jacket ruins the outfit' mentality. Sure, the moment you wanna go home you can step into a cozy Uber. But this jacket-less lifestyle doesn't support emotional breakdowns on balconies.
You're not sure why you feel the way you do. Maybe it's just life-- too much and too little, constant scratching and clawing just to get out of bed. Or maybe it's this dress, and the fact it just doesn't look as good on you as it used to look. Maybe it's the fact that you're lonely, no matter how much time you spend with others.
"Are you thinking of killing yourself? Because that's, like, lame." Your head turns for some reason, as if it isn't immediately clear to you that it's Roman. "Only a little bit," you weakly chuckle out, turning back to look at the view. Small lights blinking from high to low, desperate to shine through the darkness.
Roman wordlessly walks to stand next to you, although he turns his back to the view. He leans on the old, marble railing, hands tucked in his pockets for only a moment before he pulls them out again.
He's clearly nervous. Emotions aren't on the forefront for him, and the dysfunction of his upbringing definitely hasn't made him capable of handling yours any time, either. But his hands clasp and unclasp, his eyes blink rapidly, and with a single sentence he dives into the deep end.
"So are you, uh, okay?"
Your breathing stills at the question. Suddenly the cold air blows into your eyes, and now suddenly it's making you tear up. Damn the cold air for making you look weak. "Yeah, I just... I don't know," you mumble out, carelessly wiping your eyes, any make-up you had on now smudged. From the corner of your sight you can see Roman's eyes widen. His head starts darting around, like he's searching for something in the air, as he hesitates in his next actions.
He takes a single step. A small one, for sure, but the step is to get closer to you. One leg over the other, and now his arm is touching yours. "D'you wanna... talk?" You shrug, still mindlessly staring out in front of you as Roman struggles to think of ways he can show he does care about your feelings, even if he wouldn't outwardly admit it.
"Wanna be my therapist?" You laugh bitterly as you say it, to which Roman cracks an uneasy smile. "Sounds like a fun time, maybe even a little hot. Doctor, patient, stuck in a room for way too long," he tells you, carrying a nonchalant grin.
As always, he makes you laugh. "And a therapy couch to have crazy monkey sex on. I'm into it." Roman's grin grows at that, teeth peeking out as he finally turns to look into the night as well. "Soooo, what, is the party so bad you're considering suicide?" You roll your eyes at him with a light smile, which he happily reciprocates. "You're on the right fuckin' path, though, since their wine tastes like the aftermath of a grape juice enema," he groans out, eyes squeezed shut in faux annoyance.
With each smile you give him, he feels more secure. Like his feet are properly tied onto the ground, instead of floating out into the empty cold of space. "I'm just sad is all, Romes. Not about the shit wine, though, I haven't even had any tonight."
"Seriously? I thought that guy from the app company sent you a drink. He wanted to get into your panties bad, you do know that, right?" He tries not to come over as jealous, since this is your moment of vulnerability, but you can tell he is by the way he runs a shaky hand through his hair. All you do is shrug in response. "Didn't accept it."
He cackles, which makes you smile. "You stone-cold bitch. Poor guy's gonna jerk himself off as he cries, and you show no mercy?"
Another shrug from you, and another laugh from him. His laughter dies down quickly when he sees the change in your expression. There's a quiet somberness to it. The kind that brought him back to his childhood, uniforms and broken mirrors.
He hates that somberness on you.
"Seriously, what's up? You're all quiet and fuckin' depressed, it's giving me the heebie jeebies." Your head doesn't turn to Roman as you prepare to speak. You keep your eyes on the twinkling lights of the buildings far away from you. Twinkles of humans who are just as awake, and possibly just as solemn as you are. "It's these parties. They just kinda highlight my loneliness, it's... it's just a bit much tonight," you sigh out, head not moving an inch.
You don't bother looking at Roman's face. It's most definitely a melancholic one, eyes round and glassy with his eyebrows slightly knotted. "You have me," he mumbles out, and despite his weak attempt at making it sound humorous, you both know it fell flat. He's too desperate for you to acknowledge that for it to be funny.
"I know I do."
A silence falls between the two of you as you both stare out. Roman's arm is still flush against yours, a lick of heat that's so miniscule yet so warming to you.
He's thinking of something, anything, to say to you. Something that'll comfort you like you always comfort him. But how can he copy the eye contact you make across a room, or the hug you always give him where you squeeze his shoulders extra tight? Nothing he could say could ever carry the nurture your perfume carries for him.
"You don't have to say anything, Romes, just... be here with me?"
Roman stills. His hands stop fiddling, and his eyes stop darting around, searching for an anchor point to help him stay ashore. He lets out a heavy sigh, before grabbing your hand and tugging you with him. "C'mon," he mumbles, not daring to look at your expression, "let's go home."
There's something far too domestic about how he texts his driver with one hand while the other one holds onto yours. Like you're not his underpaid assistant, or his closest friend, but instead his partner. Your mind floods with images of his apartment flooded with your things, and Sundays together in bed.
The two of you weave through the crowd. Roman speaks for the both of you every time someone tries to speak to either of you, probably to ask why you're leaving so early. He simply throws a 'fuck off' their way as he continues leading you to the exit.
The taxi is somehow already standing there. "Let's ditch this shitty granny orgy," he chuckles out. He's clearly just as nervous as you are about the implication of whatever is happening now, but he doesn't hesitate in sitting snugly against you in the car. You let your head fall onto his shoulder. A heavy sigh escapes you, the kind that felt like it had been in your lungs for years.
"Just so you know, I didn't do groceries." You huff out a small laugh. "I told you to start doing them though," you mumble against his shoulder. His head falls to lean against yours, digging his nose into your hair. "I know, I'm just really fucking stubborn, like, all the time," he mumbles back.
This makes you laugh a little harder. He laughs too, content in your proximity to him. It felt right, sharing body heat. The car stops, and as the two of you step out Roman grabs your hand again. He doesn't let go, not even when unlocking his door.
Your hands disconnect to let Roman remove and hang up his jacket. He scurries to his bedroom, leaving you to take in his apartment. You've been in it plenty of times, but never like this. Never in a way that made it feel like home.
Roman returns, already changed into a sweater and loose pants. He hands you some clothes, as well, head nudging you towards his bedroom. "It's all oversized, because my pecs are fucking huge and stretch my clothes out," he jokes, flexing his muscles as if he can't hear his blood flow in his ears.
With a sheepish grin you head to his bedroom and change. You try not to dwell on how constant Roman's scent now is, or how you're pretty sure he uses the same fabric softener as you. Instead, you call out his name, thoughtlessly throwing yourself into his bed.
He bites back a quip, and silently enters the bed to lay next to you. It's like there's no air in the room as you lay your head on his stomach, your arms carefully wrapping around his waist. Gently, he strokes your hair, other hand swung over you, keeping you as close as you can be.
Roman's body stiffens at the first sniffles. Your tears roll down your cheeks, but you don't let out any sobs. He pulls you up, and tightly wraps his arms around you. Only when your head is buried in Roman's shoulders, you let out a strangled cry. You convulse in Roman's hold, shivering despite the warmth he's giving you.
"Hey, it's okay, I'm here," he whispers as he keeps his hold on you strong, lightly rocking from side to side. There's a lump in his throat as he listens to you gently weeping. You, out of all people, shouldn't ever have to feel this way.
As you quiet down, only letting out the occasional hiccup, Roman lightly pulls you to look at him. He cradles your face with his hands, shakily wiping your wet cheeks with his thumbs as he tries to think of anything to say.
"If you need a salary raise, let me know."
A hoarse laugh escapes your throat. You smile through your tears, and Roman smiles back.
Summary: You're Roman's assistant, at a launch party Kendall invited you to. Stuff happens along the way that you're sure would get you fired.
Word count: 3.794
18+ only! More under the cut,
Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Dom Kendall, implied one-sided attraction from roman, bathroom sex, fingering, p in v, sexual tension, stewy makes a cameo
A/n: this is based on a request i got! :DD
_______________________
It’s a cold night, and Kendall is standing in front of you.
You don't know Kendall that long, but there's a clear twinkle in his eyes that shines with deviancy as he greets you. Even in the darkness of the New York street, you can see a glimmer that simply can't be usual. His smile is something you'd consider overly excited, and his short hair is slightly ruffled. You look him up and down, taking note of his casual appearance. "Hey hey heyy, there's my girl," he says with a wide grin.
He goes in for a side-hug, which you lean into with a smile. You don't expect him to speak as close to your ear as he does as he tells you, "I'm really fucking happy you could make it," so you can't help but shiver as his breath fans against your ear. Kendall pulls away from the hug, immediately searching for eye contact as he keeps grinning at you. "You know I'm never one to say no to a good party," you chuckle, letting him lead you from the street into the building.
It's some random start-up party, and Kendall had asked Roman to invite you, so now here you are. You aren't completely sure why he'd invite you, though.
You guessed it was because of Kendall's strange need for validation, and somehow him having a lot of 'friends' validated him. Not like you're complaining-- the white mini dress you're wearing has been collecting dust in your closet, so you're happy to put it into action.
"I like your, uhh, get-up. Real church girl gone slutty vibes. Fits you," he notes, eyes shamelessly raking over your body. You roll your eyes at him. He's high at most, and strangely giddy at the very least. Whatever he says tonight will not be worth worrying over. "And you look like you're gonna be a guest at Comic-Con," you shoot back as you let him open the door for you.
He ushers you inside with a hearty laugh, casually resting a hand on the small of your back which, surprisingly, you don't hate. "Listen, I know you hate those yuppy-wuppy parties, so I thought this kinda shit would be right up your alley. Good food, free drinks and a DJ that doesn't fucking suck." You hum as you scan the hallway you're standing in. Kendall quickly turns to talk to security, while you quickly grab your phone out of your purse to check your messages.
[ sad victorian puppy ]: Where the fuck are you
[ sad victorian puppy ]: ????????
[ sad victorian puppy ]: Hurry up before I hang myself with the fairy lights
[ sad victorian puppy ]: I'm not joking
[ sad victorian puppy]: I'm doing it right now
"You ready to dazzle loser-y tech bro's?" Your head shoots up from Roman's messages to give Kendall a nod. He yet again casually places his hand on the small of your back, handing you a wristband as he starts explaining random finance shit to you. It's all 'bla bla shareholders, bla bla stakes' to your ears, but you nod along as he bridges into the people he knows at the party.
The main event hall is spacious, fairy lights and plastic vines struggling to make this whole thing feel low-key. With a bar in the corner and a lively dance floor at the very front, you let Kendall lead you through the crowd as he points people out. "That's Shane, nasty fucking guy. His dad got in trouble for insider trading, so he made a jailbreak video game based on him and made bank," he practically giggles into your ear, hand slithering to rest on your side.
The side of his body is flush against yours, and his hot breath fans against your ear with each smart-mouthed remark. There's something promiscuous about it all, and you can't help but lean into his casual touches. "Is that one friend of yours here, too? With the beard and gray streak?"
He raises his brow at you in amusement. "You mean Stewy? Why, d'you wanna fuck him or something?" he asks through a wicked grin. "I barely know him, Ken, and you know I prefer being wined and dined." His eyes crease as his smile grows, curiously watching you. "Uh-huh, sure you do. Miss self-respect over here." You grin as well, walking out of Kendall's hold to disappear into the crowd, making your way to the bar.
Almost immediately you spot Roman, whose deep frown you can see from far as he stares at his phone. "Hiya, Romes."
You didn't mean to startle him, but that doesn't stop you from laughing at him when he jumps up, hissing out a sharp 'Jesus fuck' as he turns to glare at you. "Is this what you've been doing? Haunting this place and scaring people like a fuckin' poltergeist?"
"I mean, I am wearing white," you remark, before quickly ordering a mocktail as you hop onto one of the bar stools. Roman scoffs at you, choosing to simply stand next to your seat and lean against the bar. He seems strangely nervous, something you tell yourself to ask about later.
He slips his phone into his pocket with a huff. "Yeah yeah, whatever, Casper the shitty fuckin' assistant." Your drink slides in front of you, so instead of mustering a quip in reply, you opt to quietly taking a sip. It's surprisingly bitter, but you don't hate it.
From the corner of his eye, Roman carefully watches you. "Y'know, I can see you glaring at me," you mumble against the glass of your drink, smiling at Roman as he straightens his back and clears his throat. "Fuck off, I'm just weirded out by you in a party dress. It's uncanny valley type shit," he says, awkwardly tugging at his own fingers like he's trying to dislocate them.
"I think you're using uncanny valley wrong." With a scoff he turns his entire body to properly glare at you. "I know what uncanny valley is, and you in a dress like this gives off major android vibes. Like the real you has been replaced by a freaky, lookalike sex doll." He pokes your arm as he says it. His face is crinkled in childlike disgust as he watches you take another sip of your drink.
You can tell he doesn't mean it. He knows he doesn't mean it, too, hands fiddling as he fights the urge to touch the fabric of your ivory dress. "Still weird that Kendall wanted you here. Are you fucking him? I'm gonna fire you if you are, because that's, like, reaaally fucking gross," he groans out, continuing his glaring as you nonchalantly finish your drink.
"How about you first ask HR if asking about my love life is appropriate behavior, then I'll tell you all the juicy details." And with that you place your empty glass down and stand up from your seat. You pat Roman's shoulder with a grin. "I'm gonna go socialize, so stay put," you tell him, and while you didn't mean for it to come off as flirtatious, you don't correct yourself when you realize it does.
You maneuver through the hipster ocean, avoiding the guys wearing Rick & Morty shirts with ugly tweed blazers on top who are desperate for a conversation with you. The dance floor is in full swing, something you're sure you wouldn't have seen if you arrived earlier. Kendall had told Roman, who then told you that the later you arrived, the better it'd be.
Speaking of that devil, there Kendall stands, wearing kicks you're sure are worth more than your soul, a casual blazer and a shirt with a minimalist design. He lights up when he sees you, smile reaching to his eyes as he calls you over with a wave. Next to him stands that friend of his, dressed far too formal for the occasion.
He opens his arm, signaling for you to slot against him, which you do with far less hesitance than you'd like to have had. "Had enough of Rome?" he teases, carrying a blissful grin. You ignore the comment, instead focusing on Ken's friend.
"Roman's assistant, right? Haven't seen you since that thing in Florence." You hum in agreement, trying to dredge up his name from your memory. Kendall removes you from his arm to stop a wandering waiter and ask for... something, who knows. "Yeah, you were just as overdressed then as you are now," you reply with a cheeky grin.
What his name was, though, is still on the tip of your tongue. Something with an S, for sure, but the rest of the letters just don't place themselves.
Kendall returns to your side, and quickly whispers in your ear,
"Stewy."
He turns his head to look at you, and as your eyes meet he shoots you a coy grin before turning to, well, Stewy. "Y'know Rome has her write his e-mails? She probably knows more confidential shit than I do at this point." Stewy lets out a small chuckle, clearly looking you up and down. Kendall laughs at that, although there's a sharp tinge to it.
After some small talk between the two men that you simply could not follow for the life of you, Stewy leaves to go to the bathroom, winks and nudges palpable as Ken tells him to have fun.
"So, how're you liking it?" he suddenly asks you as the two of you walk to the couches in the corners of the room. "It's very... trendy." You smile as Kendall huffs out a laugh, the two of you sitting much closer to each other than you really have to be.
His thigh, which is surprisingly firm, is flush against yours. You can feel yourself holding your breath, but you just can't seem to breathe out as Kendall doesn't stop making eye contact. "Yeah, this is some hipster bullshit, I know. Still, the drinks are good, and the catering isn't pathetic."
"I haven't even had the food here yet, is it really not that bad? Those mini sandwiches seemed a bit..." He chuckles at that, nodding his head as his eyes quickly dart around, searching for something.
"Like absolute dog shit, yeah. But I swear it tastes pretty good. Let me go get some for you." You were expecting him to stand up, but instead he waves over a guy most definitely getting paid below minimum wage. "Hey dude, can you get me and the lady some of those mini sandwiches? And some drinks, too."
The waiter scurries off with a nod, so you turn your focus back to Kendall who's simply staring at you. "Seriously, thanks for coming. Not to sound like a sappy loser, but I do appreciate it. You're reliable, that's important shit to me, y'know?"
You smile at Kendall, patting his thigh. "It's no problem, Ken. You're a cool dude," you tell him, which somehow makes his eyes glimmer more than they have been so far. With a bewildered, yet smug look he keeps staring at you. "Good to know you find me cool. You're, uhh, cool too."
His hand goes to lay on top of yours, and suddenly whatever cologne he's been wearing floods your sense of smell. The air becomes heavy, too heavy for you to bear, as he continues looking into your eyes.
But then he squeezes your hand, quickly looks away and lets out a light chuckle. As if on queue, the waiter appears, drinks and ugly sandwiches on a platter. He places them on the table in front of you, then quickly departs.
"Fucking finally," Kendall mumbles, grabbing one of the sandwiches. "Alright, now open up."
"Open up?" He hums, smile growing more and more devious as he taps his mouth. "C'mon, say 'ahh', humor me." You have no reason to go along with it, or him, but something inside of you wants to, so you obediently open your mouth as Kendall plops the sandwich in your mouth.
The tension is palpable, partially because of how intense his eye contact suddenly becomes when you accidentally wrap your lips around his finger for a second as he pulls away. Flustered, you start chewing, letting out a muffled sound of enjoyment as the harmonious flavors spread over your palate.
"Shit, Ken, this is good," you giggle out, hand covering your mouth in a weak attempt at hiding your flustered expression. "Told you, didn't I? You can trust me, y'know."
He takes his own bite of food, as well as a dark blue drink, and he--
"Shit."
You look down at your dress, and all you see is blue.
Kendall spilled his fucking drink.
"Fuck, completely my bad," he hisses out, immediately grabbing you by the arm and leading you to the bathroom. For a split second you think you see Roman watching the two of you, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as you rush to one of the spacious bathrooms and lock the door behind you.
Kendall seems a bit frantic, like cold water was thrown over him, hands shaky as he grabs some paper towels and awkwardly tries to dry you off. "I fucked up, I'm sorry. Did you have a jacket with you, or?"
You simply shake your head no, to which Kendall grimaces. "Send me the cleaning bill for this shit, alright? This is completely my fault," he murmurs. "Ken, it's fine, it's just a drink. It'll wash out by itself."
It definitely won't, but the verbal comfort seems to ease his mind, as he stops wiping. "Yeah, you're, uh, you're right. I can get Jess to go find a jacket for you, it'd be here in like, ten minutes."
Before you can even decline, he walks to the other side of the bathroom, phone held against his ear as he mercilessly calls Jess during a Friday evening. You stare at yourself in the mirror, frowning at the splotch of blue. As you try to tug the dress a bit away from your skin, Ken appears behind you. "You okay?"
"Yeah, it's just really sticky," you groan as you grab another paper towel and struggle to push it in between your dress and your bare skin. "Fuck, this is uncomfortable but, uh... would it be cool for you to zip my dress down a little? So I can actually reach inside my dress."
Your cheeks are hot as you ask him, eyes cast down to the marble floor. He lets out a tense chuckle, stepping close enough to reach your back. "Yeah, of course." You look into the bathroom mirror and watch Kendall as he slowly reaches for the back of your zipper.
His knuckles brush up against your skin as he takes the delicate zipper in between his fingers. Little by little, he pulls it down, watching your face through the mirror. Breathlessly he waits for you to nod, to tell him that it's enough.
But for a reason you could never say out loud, you don't. Instead you watch him zip the dress down, lower and lower until the zipper ends at your waist.
His hands sneak into your now unzipped dress, holding onto your bare hips as he places a careful kiss to the back of your neck. "God, you smell fucking divine," he groans out, covering your neck and back with pecks as he roams your body. The pads of his fingers are rough against your skin, like sandpaper against velvet.
He gropes one of your breasts, breathing in your scent while his other hand traverses lower and lower. The whine you let out as he gently tugs at your nipple is desperate, something he replies to with a simple kiss to your temple. "You gotta be quiet, can you do that for me, sweetheart?"
Before you can even nod, he lunges at you, lips smashing against yours. He doesn't take his time, tugging at your bottom lip as he groans into your mouth. It's like he's trying to ravage you, hands growing rougher in their touch as he drowns in your scent.
You can barely hold back your moans as he consumes your entire being. His hand finds the rim of your panties in no time, and with zero hesitation he pushes two of his fingers against your clit. The small circles he makes send small sparks of delicious electricity through your body. "So wet for me," Kendall whispers against your lips, still watching you through the mirror.
His gaze is hot, burning through your skin and heating you to your bones as he pleasures you. "Ken, please."
He can't stop himself from chuckling at how needy you are. "I kinda always knew your whole put together thing was bullshit. I mean, look at you now," he says, letting out a sharp laugh as you shiver at his words.
"Roman doesn't even know you could be like this, huh? A needy slut fucking her boss's brother in some random bathroom." He doesn't give you any time to respond, his two fingers move from your clit to slip inside of you. Your walls squeeze against his digits as he uses his thumb to keep the pressure on your clit constant.
It's all too much. His filthy words against the shell of your ear as he abuses your cunt, his other hand still busying himself with your nipple. It's hot, and harsh, yet the most satisfying feeling you've had in years.
Not only that, but you can tell how riled up he is, too. Panting, lightly grinding against you, hungrily staring at your reflection. "Fuck-- sit on the sink for me," he groans, removing his fingers. You do as he tells you, whimpering at the sudden emptiness.
He pushes his fingers into your mouth without much warning, but you gladly let him. There's a small part of you, in a very dark corner of your brain, that's cursing you out for being here. For letting him feed you, for letting his hands even graze against you. It's like every moment with him tonight led up to this moment, with you sucking your own juices from Kendall's fingers as he undoes his pants with his other hand.
Kendall pulls his fingers away, wiping your saliva on your exposed thigh. You giggle as he pulls a condom from his pocket, giving him a teasing look. "Prepared, are we?"
He shrugs, expression almost bashful as he carefully rips the foil. "Not gonna lie to you, I got them from Stewy right after you walked away," he chuckles, cheeks raised high as if he's genuinely embarrassed. "I was really hoping for this," he motions between the two of you with a strangely sincere smile, "to happen."
"Stop being a sap and fuck me, Kenny." His head hangs low as he laughs at that, pulling out his cock as casually as one can when getting ready to fuck their brother's assistant in a bathroom. You bite the inside of your cheek raw as you watch him slowly roll the condom down. He lets out a small hiss as he does so, eyebrows furrowing as he gives himself a few loose-handed strokes.
With a gentleness he hadn't shown before, he pushes your thighs apart and your panties down. He looks into your eyes and smiles warily as he lines himself up against your entrance. "Are you okay?"
You roll your eyes at him, and with a burst of sudden confidence you grab him by his hips and push him against you. It takes a small bit of adjusting from Kendall, whose amused grin is, at this point, infectious.
As his cock slowly delves into you, you let out a tandem moan. "So fucking tight," Kendall huffs out, thumb yet again finding your clit as he watches you weakly writhe. "Can you please just move, Ken?"
The laugh he lets out is breathy, but he quickly complies, almost fully removing himself from you before slamming back into you. The pace he sets is brutal, his large hand clutching at your side and his eyes only focused on you. Your dress is clumsily pushed down, letting your tits bounce freely as his every thrust shakes you to your core.
Kendall doesn't relent with his other hand, either. He roughly spits on your sopping wet cunt, thumb gliding over your slick clit with ease. His every move leaves you gasping for air, and if it wasn't for the hand you're using to cover your mouth, you're sure everyone outside would hear you.
"I knew I had to fuck you when I saw you in this dress," he groans out as you shove your head into the crook of his neck, biting on his shoulder to keep your noises unheard. "I don't know how Rome handles having you around, always wearing those tight fucking pencil skirts. I'd bend you down over my desk," he picks up his pace, harshly slamming his cock into you, "and eat your pussy with everyone's watching."
With a particularly hard thrust and his words ricocheting in your head, you fall apart. Your entire body convulses, and everything turns a pure white as you can feel Kendall smash his lips against yours in an attempt to swallow your noise.
His own thrusts grow sloppy, and with a gruff moan he slowly stills his movements. You stay like that for a moment as you come to, his forehead resting against yours. You're both panting, and horribly sweaty, and as you slowly open your eyes the first thing you notice is the blue on your dress. Ken follows your line of sight, letting out a weak chuckle.
"We, uh, still haven't fixed that."
The two of you share a laugh, before he slowly pulls himself. You pull your panties up as he busies himself with discarding the condom and tucking himself back into his pants, hissing at the cold sensation of your cooled down slick. "Hey, didn't you call Jess or something?" you mutter, more to yourself than to him as he helps you zip your dress back up. "Yeah, she's probably been waiting."
"Poor Jess." Kendall heartily laughs at your sympathy. "I just gave you a mind-blowing fuck, and you're worrying about her?"
You shrug, shooting Kendall a small smile as you fix yourself up a bit in the mirror. Ken wraps an arm around your waist as he stands besides you. "So what happened to being wined and dined? Or is that still on the table," he asks through a brash grin.
"Stop being a smart ass and ask me on a date like a normal rich guy."
"Rich guys don't do dates," he jokes as he unlocks the bathroom, arm still around your waist since your legs are wobbling,
Pairing: Sub!Roman Roy x F!Dom!Reader
Summary: You and roman talk over the phone, stuff happens along the way
Word count: 2.115
18+ only! More under the cut,
Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, degradation, pillow humping, phone sex, implications of jealous/possesive roman
A/n: as DJ Khaled said, "another one."
_______________________
It's unusually dark in Roman's apartment.
You squint your eyes, looking around for any sign of him, hand busying itself to locate the light switch. "Romes?" There's no reply, and as you finally manage to switch the lights on you realize he isn't here. The shoes he usually keeps sprawled by the door are missing, as well as the scarf you had given him for his last birthday.
You shrug off your jacket and hang it, noticing how Roman's lighter jacket seems to be missing as well. Cautiously, you walk around the empty space. You take note of the way he left his cologne on the coffee table without its cover, and as you go to his bathroom you see his aftershave is uncrewed, too. He was clearly in a rush.
His bed is messy, as it always is when he's left to deal with tidying the sheets himself. You chuckle at the shirt of yours peaking out from under his pillow. It takes a lot of mental strength for you to not snap a picture for future teasing material, and instead kick your shoes off.
His scent surrounds you as you nuzzle into his goose feather sheets. The scent is sharp, and woody, and clearly trying too hard to be noteworthy. But deep in those harsh, overpowering scents of desperation, you smell the chamomile from the 'calming room sprays' he always claims to be buying ironically. You also smell your own perfume, and with enough focus you can even smell hints of the vanilla of the soaps you use.
The sudden ringing of your phone startles you. You fumble a bit trying to remove your phone from your pocket, smiling as you realize it's the tiny devil himself calling.
"Romes?"
"Don't 'Romes' me, where in shit's name are you?" he immediately grumbles out, not giving you a second to trade simple formalities.
You can't help but laugh at him. "And hello to you, too. What do you mean, 'where am I'? Where are you?"
He groans, then mumbles something far too incoherent for you to pick up over the phone. "Uh, at your fucking apartment? Did you seriously forget about me that fast? I'm seriously regretting hooking you up with that new job, since you're now apparently too cool for little ol' Romes." After a few seconds of processing his words, you frown. "Wait, what? You're at my apartment?"
"Okay, yeah, you totally forgot, and I just embarrassed the fuck out of myself for breaking and entering. Nice knowing ya, I'm gonna go jump into a river or some shit," he mumbles underneath his breath. Even through the phone you can tell he's pacing around. "Can you even swim?"
He scoffs at that. "The fuck kinda question is that? You don't ask a guy about to take a cyanide pill if he's well versed in medicine, do you? Twisted bitch." Your frown deepens the more you listen to him. "Roman, we were supposed to meet at your apartment, you do remember that, right?"
It's completely silent on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Then, "Oh fuck off, you are not at my apartment right now. Just admit you forgot and let me go cry-jerk myself to sleep in your bed," he huffs out, trying to fight back the strain in his voice.
"Romes, I'm laying in your bed right now." He laughs at you, clearly doubtful, but as he quiets down you get the feeling he's starting to believe you.
With his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, Roman looks down at the pillow of yours he's holding. It's a long one, for your neck or something, and he relishes in how much it smells like you. "So what, we're at each other's apartments, laying in each other's beds, like total fucking idiots?"
You can't help but snort at that. "You're the idiot, since I'm at the right apartment. Also, way to go snitching on yourself. You better have removed your shoes before getting in my bed," you say, tugging at a bit of string connected to one of Roman's pillows.
"Yeah yeah, my shoes are off. I am gonna piss on all your furniture, just so you know. I need to mark my territory as the alpha and all that," he jokes, swiftly unzipping and shuffling out of his pants. "Oh, I'm also gonna sleep here because I can't be fucked to call someone to drive me back. Your bed is comfy as shit, anyway."
You let out a humored chuckle, quickly putting the phone down and removing the top layers of your work clothes to leave yourself comfortable. The sound of his voice is small, so after getting settled back in you grab the phone and place it right next to your head.
"Sorry, was getting comfy, what's up?"
Roman lets out a low whistle. "So basically stripping naked? That's hot. You should take pictures of your boobs or something and send them to me," he says, his clutch on your pillow growing tighter as he continues, "we could have hot and heavy sex over the phone, like they did in the 60s when FaceTime and pocket pussies weren't a thing."
"I'm down if you are," you reply as casually as you can, despite the fact that the idea of it excites you. Roman seemingly chokes on his own spit at that, coughing for a few seconds. Ad he clears his throat, he awkwardly unbuttons his blouse as he keeps the phone flush against his ear.
"Oh yeah? What're you wearing, then?" he asks in a try-hard sultry voice. It's hard not to laugh at that, but you manage. "A 17-inch strap on with LED lights, what about you?" Roman lets out a forced moan in reply. "God, that's fuckin' hot. I'd see my insides glow all kinds of pretty colors and shit," he forcibly continues moaning out.
With his blouse fully unbuttoned he shuffles it off, ignoring the fact that he somehow is already getting riled up. Maybe it's the fact that he's surrounded by your presence, or maybe it's the fact that your voice is dangerously near your ear.
Whatever it may be, it makes him move a shaky hand down to his length, applying a singular squeeze to himself and fighting back the hiss he wants to let out. "Seriously though, can you at least try to hide the fact you smell my shirts while you sleep? They're just sticking out," you chuckle out, tugging at the shirt you had previously spotted.
The silence on his end is oddly tense as you fully pull the shirt out, and you quickly realize why.
"Roman... do you actually cum on my clothes?"
He lets out a quiet 'fuck', keeping a solid hold of his cock through his underwear as he realizes he's been caught. "Shit, I-- yeah, I do, sometimes," he weakly stutters out. You tut at that, heat pooling in the bottom of your panties. "So, what, you jerk off sniffing it and thinking of me, or...?"
Roman's breathing slows, turning into weak pants that you can pick up on your end. "I, uh, yeah." A devious grin tugs at your lips as you shimmy yourself to a more comfortable laying position.
"What do you think about?" It's a simple question, really, but the way Roman gasps through the phone makes it worthwhile. "I dunno, just-- fuck, things," he struggles to groan out as he rolls to lay on his side, the pillow he was clutching automatically slotting between his legs.
His cock throbs with need, but something about using your pillow seems too much, even for him. Your shirts, and the occasional pair of underwear were one thing, but your bed felt so clean. Roman didn't want to be the one to make it-- make you dirty.
"Do you think about me touching you?" You hear him mumble out a small 'yeah' in response. You respond back with silence, quietly urging him to keep talking.
His clutch on your pillow tightens, knuckles turning white. "I think about you hugging me, 'cuz you always do when you see me," he whines out, as he continues fondling himself with his one hand while the other keeps its hold on the pillow. "You always, uh, squeeze? And you just smell really good, which is nice, I guess."
"Is that all?" You smile at the whine Roman lets out. "Whatever, I like other shit, too," he mumbles out, trying his hardest to practice restraint.
"What's 'other shit'? Like last week at that fundraiser in the closet, did you like that?" you coyly ask him. The drawn out moan he lets out at the memories is like musicto your ears. "Uh-huh," he weakly moans out, the muffled sound of fabric shuffling causing your mind to race with thoughts of what he's doing.
Roman's hips start a hiccup-y rhythm, attempting to grind into his own touch as he thinks of that night. You had toyed with him all night, dishing out casual yet flirty touches to whoever was there, shooting him a wicked grin any time he caught sight of it. When he had dragged you into a closet to try and stop your little show, you had demanded he went on his knees and apologized for his behavior.
By the end of it, Roman was a sweaty mess as he ground against your leg, trying desperately to keep quiet as you taunted him. Just thinking of how nasty you were to him that night, despite you gracefully letting him use you to get off, sends his head reeling as he gasps at his own touch.
You snicker at the desperate noises he's making. "Are you touching yourself Roman? In my bed of all places? You have no shame, do you?"
"None," he whimpers out, pulling down his drawls to let his reddened and leaking cock spring out, smacking against his stomach. "Are you using your hand to get off? You sick, fucking puppy?" Roman groans out a quiet 'yes' as he carefully strokes himself at an unsteady rhythm. "I w'na use your pillow, can I-- fuck, can I please use y'r pillow?" He gasps out deliriously.
The shocked laughter you let out through the phone is genuine as you realize he's really into this. "Seriously? How fucking disgusting can you be, asking for my pillow? Was using my clothes to jerk off not enough for you, creep? Go ahead and use it if you're really that much of a degenerate."
He immediately places the pillow on the bed and goes to lay on his stomach, moaning as his dick makes contact with your pillow. He doesn't waste any time, immediately picking up in thrusting speed as he revels in the friction the pillow gives against his cock.
"Oh my god, you're actually doing it. Rutting into my pillow like a dog in heat, absolutely fucking revolting," you hiss against your phone, "y'know I have cameras in my room? I could easily send everyone you know the footage of you fucking my pillow like a flithy pervert. You'd like that, anyway, freak."
Roman's moans grow louder by the minute, every one of your poisonous words shooting straight to his cock. "Fuck, 'm close," he groans out, sweat rolling down his forehead as he desperately chases his release. "Are you seriously going to cum on my pillow, Roman? You're a genuine embarrasment, god."
His breath stutters before he lets out a gutteral moan, ropes of cum shooting onto your pillow and most definitely permanently staining it. "Jesus fuck, Roman, you're a legitimate freak," you giggle out through the phone as he slowly comes to, pants coming out muffled as he buries his head into the unused pillows.
"What the fuck, man," he groans out, phone still held against his ear. You let out a chuckle, glancing at the time on your phone and realizing it's gotten quite late. "You doing okay, Romes?"
He lets out muffled noises of confirmation. "Yeah, just fuckin' tired now. Thanks for the, uh, phone sex. It was great."
"Go clean yourself up, Romes. And just put the pillow somewhere in my bathroom, I'll take care of it." He lets out a small whine, awkwardly tucking himself back into his underwear before shuffling to your bathroom. "You're legit going to be the reason I die an early death. I'm gonna fucking, cum my brains out or some shit," he mumbles out as he drops the used pillow on the ground, grabs some wipes and cleans himself up a bit.
"Sounds like a great way to go out," you hum out in reply.
Pairing: Sub!Roman Roy x F!Dom!Reader
Summary: You have a gift for Roman, and he seems to enjoy it.
Word count: 2.496
18+ only! More under the cut ^^~
Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, degradation, collar and leash stuff, coming untouched/in pants, aftercare
Summary: You have a gift for Roman, and he seems to enjoy it.
A/n: wrote this in a haze and now its here so yippee. this is also on my AO3 btw :D
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"Romes, c'mon, just open it!"
You watch him fumble around with the sleek, black gift box, his nervous laughter filling your living room. "Fuck off, I will, I'm just making sure this isn't a fucking bomb you put to kill me or something. You freaky assassin bitch," he jokes tensely, brows furrowing. In the dim lighting you can see his eyes glimmer in anticipation. "So this is like, what, a pair of panties for me to wear around the office or some shit? Or like, a cock ring? Do you like my dick so much you wanna marry it?"
All you do is shoot him a sharp look, but it's enough for him to raise his hands in defeat and start pulling at the tiny ribbon. "I guess romance isn't dead," he mumbles to himself as he struggles to pull at the ribbon's tail. With a roll of your eyes you snatch the box away from him, quickly untying the ribbon for him and handing it back to him just as swiftly.
"You can't do anything, can you?" There's clear humor in your tone, and yet you instantly pick up on the way his chest stutters and his forehead creases. All he can manage to let out is a small 'shut up' before he removes the top of the box, revealing your gift. You revel in the way he starts shifting in his seat, eyes glued to the content of the box.
Roman lets out something akin to a nervous chuckle, high-pitched and curt, as he grabs and raises the gift for you to see. "A collar? Seriously? That's like, majorly fucked up. My therapist is gonna hate your guts, because you just put his ass behind three years at the very least with this."
You watch him as he inspects the maroon red collar and its golden detailing. His hands are shaking as he messes with the buckle, despite his clear attempts at trying to still himself. "I even added a name tag for you," you hum out as you let your back meet the couch's pillows. Roman, on the other hand, shoots up, collar still in hand as he lets out an incredulous laugh.
"A fucking dog collar! You're one wicked bitch, y'know, seeing I told you about the cage shit. Or is this because I told you? Oh, fuck you, I shouldn't have told you that. I wouldn't have if I knew you were gonna do psychological mind games while my guard is, y'know, down."
He starts pacing around in front of you, the tag of his collar jingling as he waves his hands around during his rambles. "And I thought you were trying to be sweet, propose to my dick, have a Las Vegas wedding with it. I had little baby dick names ready for the fuckin' family I thought you were gonna build, but no, you target my childhood trauma instead. Real fuckin' classy, holy shit," he rambles on.
With each word he says, heat travels further and further from his neck up into his face, until his cheeks are left to burn brightly. Even in the darkness of night and dimness of your lights, you can pick up on just how red he is in the face. Every laugh he lets out between sentences becomes shorter, bouncier. It's like you're watching him melt right in front of you.
"So?"
His head whips to look at you. "'So?' Fucking 'so?'"
You stand up and walk to stand only inches away from him, a light grin gracing your features. "So do you want me to put it on for you, or...?"
Roman blinks once. Then twice, and then another dozen times as he processes your words. "It's a yes or no question, Roman, c'mon. Even you should be able to answer that."
"I, uh... god, fuck you," he groans out, eyes squeezed shut before looking down to stare at the collar in his palms as he hides from your heated gaze. Weakly, he hands you it, not making eye contact as he explains. "You spent money on the stupid thing, I don't want you to be a whiny baby about wasted cash."
You let out an unconvinced 'sure' as you take the collar from him. With repressed glee you caress the intricate stitching in the leather. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't immediately thought about Roman the moment you laid your eyes on the thing, knowing how nice it'd look around his neck. "Alright, then kneel in front of me."
Roman's line of sight rises to meet your own. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. It takes all but four seconds for him to awkwardly kneel down, his dress pants clearly restricting his movements to a degree. "Jesus, you actually kneeled down. Embarrassing," you tell him as you unbuckle the collar, reveling in the way he quietly heaves at your words.
All it takes is a one-two movement to unbuckle it. You dangle the now open collar in front of Roman, a sadistic fire lighting in the pit of your stomach. "D'you want your collar?"
Quietly, he gives you a small nod. Not enough. "I can't hear you, Roman. Do you want your collar or not?" you hiss. The noise he makes is something between a grunt and a moan, his puppy-like eyes glossed over as he stares at the collar. "Use your words, mutt."
"H-ahh, fuck, yes please."
That's what you wanted to hear, so you bend down and carefully wrap the collar around his neck, taking your time as you buckle it back up. You make sure to let your nails "accidentally" scratch his neck as you mess with the tightness of it, watching his expression from the corner of your eye. He doesn't seem to be turning purple, and you're able to wriggle your fingers between the toughness of leather and scratchiness of his stubbly neck.
You back away from him, taking in the sight in front of you. He's already panting, hands awkwardly resting on his thighs. You can see his fingers tremble with anticipation as he occasionally fumbles with the fabric of his slacks. And god, that collar. The red contrasts beautifully against both his pale skin and light blue blouse. You watch the name tag bounce around with each of Roman's quivers, golden and glimmering, borderline hypnotizing.
The veins on his neck are also clearly visible now, though it's more because of the restraint he seems to be practicing, rather than the tightness of the collar. He clearly wants to say something, anything, but he's biting his tongue for you. "You look so handsome with your collar on. Does it feel nice?" you ask, taking slow steps to stand only inches away from him.
He nods his head with a breathy 'yes' as he looks up at you. With a gentle hand you play with his hair, messing it up even more than it previously was. He's always disheveled when he visits your apartment, blouse already buttoned down and sleeves messily rolled up as he unceremoniously throws himself onto your couch.
You hum in response, fingers carefully tangling in his hair as you look down at him. "God, you're really pathetic. Kneeling down with a fucking collar on, how would people react to this? Fucking disgusting."
"I know," he groans out, squeezing his eyes shut in a weak attempt at calming himself. "Oh, you know?And yet you still act like a bitch in heat in front of me. Is the thought of everyone knowing how disgusting you are really that arousing?"
As he squirms and groans you grab the best part of your gift ever-so carefully from behind your couch's pillows, and before he can react you clasp the matching leash onto his collar. "Romes, is this alright?" you quickly ask, and with a quick nod from him you continue. You carefully pull at it, laughing as Roman loses his balance and grabs onto your legs for support. "Now you're a proper bitch! You're probably hard as a rock by now as well, aren't you, freak?"
He doesn't say anything to you, just lets his bottom lip stutter as he takes in raspy breaths, barely nodding his head in confirmation. "Go ahead and loosen your pants, mutt," you snarl at him. Yet again you can't help but laugh at him as he unbuttons- and zips his trousers with an extreme urgency.
"It's sad how needy you are, really. All I needed was a collar and leash, and you're letting me push you around as if you aren't a fucking Roy. I should really contact a gossip site about this or something, or your siblings even," you think aloud, and the way Roman lets out a pathetic whine at the words makes your head spin.
With a wicked grin you yet again yank at the collar. You pause for a moment, waiting for the confirmation that he's still okay, and when he lets out a broken hum of approval you happily tug at it once more.
Each tug at his collar sends a shot of ecstasy through Roman's body, a feeling he wouldn't be able to compare to anything else. No money, nor business validation, nor closed deal can copy what you're doing to him now- what you're giving him. "Are you already close, mutt? Don't tell me you're gonna finish in your underwear just because of a simple tug. You're not that much of a perverted freak, are you?" He lets out a whiny 'I am', and as you look down at his lap you grin at the sight. Pre-cum is steadily leaking through his navy blue boxers, his painfully erect cock twitching from underneath the damp layer of fabric.
You let your face morph into one of pure disgust as you strengthen your grip on the leash, lightly tugging at it as you watch Roman fall apart. "You gonna cum in your pants, Roman? Like the disgusting pervert you are?"
It's clear that he's having a hard time getting his words out. The feather-weight friction of the fabric of his boxers rubbing against him with every tiny movement he makes clearly is too much for him. There's even a slight bit of drool on the side of his mouth, wetting his pretty pink lips and making them shimmer. "C'mon, Roman, tell me if you're going to cum and admit you're disgusting," you taunt. It seems to do the trick, as his eyes screw shut and his breath falters. His face is as flushed as can be, hair tousled and forehead glimmering with sweat. Just the way you like him.
"Fuck, 'm gonna cum," he fumbles out, sharp breaths turning into light moans as you deliver a final, harsh tug to his leash.
He releases with a loud gasp, followed by a low, strung-out moan as he messes up his underwear. You watch him as he lightly convulses with pleasure, body hunched as he takes in each wave of sensations. As his breaths slow down, you bend down and unclasp his leash, holding his burning face in your hands as you tut.
"Such a filthy pup, making a mess. I'll clean you up, alright?" Roman simply hums in response, eyes still closed as he leans into your touch. "You did so well for me," you tell him, kissing his forehead as you unbuckle and remove his collar.
Carefully, you hold onto him and help him stand up. His knees wobble, and his pants sag down a little, but he's managing. He lets out a hoarse chuckle, finally making eye contact with you again. "Jesus fuck, woman."
You smile at the words. He's clearly alright, and that's what matters most. "I know, I know. So you liked the gift?" you ask as you lead him to your bathroom. He shuffles along awkwardly, clearly bothered by the sensation of still wearing his underwear. "Don't fuckin' ask me that, my god. And can you make sure to use the, uhh, the vanilla soap you always use? I'm sticky as shit with sweat."
"And other stuff," you quip, letting Roman sit on your toilet's closed cover as you start running a bath. "Oh please, like your panties aren't absolutely soaked because of me," he replies, adorning his usual, clownish grin. "Uh-huh, you're a total pussy slayer, Romes."
He puffs up his chest and smacks it with flat palms, letting out forced grunts in his ultra-dominant ways. "I'm a total fuckin' alpha. Seriously, how you let me parade around the office by myself is fuckin' beyond me. You should be more worried about all the women that flash their tits at me through the windows," he says, carefully watching the bath foam up as you pour the soap in.
"Maybe I should then just get you a collar with my name on it, force you to wear it at work and stuff," you mumble, more to yourself than to him, but he softly groans at the thought. "Maybe you should," he mumbles back, nibbling at his bottom lip as he looks away from you. All you reply with is a light chuckle.
You hum at the smell of vanilla permeating in your quant bathroom. You use the same soap for every day showers, mostly because Roman has been gifting you it ever since he first caught a whiff of it. "Want me to help you undress?"
Roman shakes his head, pulling down his pants and undergarments and quickly making work of the buttons of his blouse. He clearly struggles, though, hands still trembling as he can't get the buttons through the slots. "C'mere, lemme do those," you tell him, and he doesn't hesitate to sit back down on the toilet lid and watch you, bent down to properly reach the buttons.
"Thanks, mommy," he jokes in a mocking, slightly more high-pitched tone. "Don't call me mommy as if you aren't totally into the idea of it," you retort, winning you a partial victory as he sputters before mumbling a weak 'shut up'.
You watch Roman carefully enter the bath as you remove your own clothes. You make sure to grab both his and your underwear and throw it in the laundry bin, before stepping in and sitting behind him, his back resting against your chest.
With a bit of similarly scented shampoo you carefully wash and massage his hair, humming a vague tune as you do so. He falls quiet, as he usually does in moments like these, simply letting his eyes flutter shut as you take care of him.
"Was everything alright tonight? Nothing too much?" He lazily hums, clearly in a state of tranquil as you pamper him. "It was perfect, you were really fucking hot, aaand I came my fucking brains out untouched. No complaints here."
You laugh at that, and with a small kiss to his bare neck you let yourself get lost in him.
Summary: You're roman's assistant, and after delivering breakfast something clicks.
Word count: 2.154
18+ only! More under the cut
Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, mommy kink, praise kink, hand jobs, come eating,
A/n: tysm @prettywordsblog for the request!! :DD i love your writing so it was a pleasure to get requests from you (my requests are still open, fyi)
_______________________
You've been wearing pencil skirts and heels a lot these days.
It's not that you particularly enjoy wearing them. Running errands like "get me a bagel" and "actually, I want a cinnamon roll instead, so get me one of those" do not become easier with red bottoms, and the cold of New York in autumn nips at your barely clad legs with ferocity.
But when you wear them, Roman becomes... docile.
Maybe it's the fact that the heels make you taller than him. Or shit, maybe he has a sexy assistant fantasy, who knows. All you know is that when you dress the way you now do, he hesitates when he snidely asks you to write his e-mails for him. Instead, he carefully suggests you should do them, not a singular perverted comment slipping in.
So now, as you walk out of the elevator, you hear the clicking of your heels echo. It's far too early to be in office, evident by the lack of your peers in the bull pit.
You huff as you approach Roman's office and see him lounging around, legs on his desk as he leans back, staring at his phone. You don't even bother knocking, simply swinging the door open. "I know it's like, three in the morning, but can you at least try to pretend you're being productive?"
He lets out a huff, dramatically rolling his eyes as he flops his legs down. "Yes, mommy," he mockingly whines out, staring at the plastic bag swinging from your arm. "What's in the bag?"
"A gun, so I can finally kill you," you casually throw out as you place the bag on the glass coffee table, throwing off your long jacket onto the leather chair he has. Roman stands up, amusement twinkling in his doe-like eyes as he walks over to sit on his couch. "Y'know, I could totally report you for saying that. That's like, a legit death threat. I could SWAT you." With a tiny jump he hops on the chair, shoes still on as he crouches on top of the couch's pillows.
You can't help but frown. Sometimes you feel like he isn't a total nepotism baby, but instead some kind of orphan child raised by wolves. "Don't do that with your shoes on, Roman, it's unhygienic." With another eye roll he lets himself fall onto the chair, resting his one leg on the thigh of the other. He leans back, arms reaching over the couch's back cushions.
You grab the contents of the bag and place them on the coffee table as you hum a random tune. The smell of a breakfast spread makes you hungry as hell, but you don't have another break until six hours from now. Silently, Roman watches as you place the various foiled up plates down and remove the foil.
Roman eyes the dishes-- an omelette, some sausages, bacon, hash browns, and a paper cup of coffee that he's sure is from his favorite café. "Okay, this is fuckin' weird. What's the catch? Did you get a chef to make all of this arsenic-infused? Because as my assistant, you're also my taste tester, so I'm not eating until I see you poison yourself first," he rambles, cautiously watching you place napkins, a fork and knife down.
"This is a congratulatory breakfast, so just shut up and be grateful."
He raises his brows at you. "The fuck are you saying congrats for?" With the tiniest smile you could stomach giving him, you throw the plastic trash in the bin. "The Oplex deal, Roman. You were the one who ended up buttering the guy up," you explain.
His eyes widen for only a second before returning to their neutral, lidded state. "Oh please, all I did was give him a verbal fuckin' blowjob. Kendall did all the business-y shit," he mumbles out, picking up the cutlery with a solemn expression.
"I'd disagree, and I think Mr. Roy would, too," you mumble out in return. You watch Roman as he takes the first bite of his omelette and moans, quickly scurrying to get another bite. "Fuck, this is good. Is this laced? I'm gonna fire the shit out of you if this is laced," he says in between bites.
You grab your coat from the chair and hang it up, smiling as you continue watching him from the corner of your eye. "I'm flattered, but no. I'm just a good cook." You fight back a laugh as he very clearly chokes on his food. Professionalism and all that, if there's even any left between the two of you.
"You're fucking with me." You plop down on the leather chair across from Roman, grabbing your thermos from your bag and taking a sip of tea as you shake your head. Wide-eyed, Roman gawks at you, then the food, and then you again. "You made me breakfast?"
You simply nod before pulling your laptop out. "I wasn't expecting you to be surprised by that. You're the one who always calls me mommy," you mumble out as you watch e-mails and messages immediately start to pop up. "Now finish up your food and get to work, before you upset mommy."
With a teasing grin you wait for Roman to shoot something back. Maybe something about you getting reported to HR, or about you wanting to suck his dick. Maybe even one of those jokes he makes about how his dad only hired you to be his personal babysitter.
But instead, you simply get,
"Yes, mommy."
Confused, you look up from your laptop to see Roman quietly eating his food. His cheeks are dusted a ripe shade of red as he struggles to cut his food up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
Something that should've clicked ages ago, clicks. So carefully, you stand up and walk to stand next to the couch he's sitting on. Roman's head looks up at you, eyes large and lashes fluttering. His bottom lip stutters, as if he wants to say something, but it doesn't successfully form itself.
"Do you need me to help you with your food, baby?"
Your heart pounds in your chest as you await his response. Nervously, he scans your face, licking his lips as he mulls over his options.
"Yes mommy," he yet again mumbles out.
You take a seat next to him and wordlessly grab the fork and knife from his hand. "I hope you know I'm proud of you for landing that deal, baby," you tell him as you put a piece of the sausage on the fork. He doesn't hesitate to open his mouth for you, obediently letting you feed him in his office, in a building his dad owns.
"You made mommy so proud. When we finish up here, can you go sit at your desk for me?" He nods as you continue feeding him, which continues for another silent fifteen minutes.
After wiping his mouth for him, he quickly scurries to his desk, staring expectantly at you as you slowly make your way over. You place one hand on his chair, and the other on his desk, leaning over to stare at his computer screen.
Roman lets out a soft groan as your tantalizing perfume overwhelms your senses. All he can do is look up at you as you start up his computer for him. "You have an e-mail you need to write regarding a contractual agreement with a production studio. Can you do that for me?"
It's like he's possessed by you, charmed into a spell of utter submission as he can only mutter another 'yes, mommy'. He opens his mail, and right as he starts typing you tut.
"Mommy wants to hear you say what you're typing, so I know you're doing well," you tell him, hand moving down from his chair to instead rest on his shoulder. Wordlessly, he nods, clears his throat and with a shaky voice reads aloud to you.
"Dear Mr. Spruce, attached is a--" his voice dies in his throat as you let your hand slither down lower and lower, testing the waters as you fully bend over to reach his lap. "Keep going, sweetheart," you tell him, watching his twitchy hands hover over his keyboard.
As he continues where he left off, you carefully unzip his trousers, loosening the top button and successfully revealing a dark imprint showing through his white Calvin Klein boxers. "Attached is a, uhh, a copy of the contract, fuck."
The moan roman lets out as you pull his briefs down, allowing his erection to spring free and slap against his covered stomach, is whorelike. "Keep going, baby," you hum in his ear as you unbutton the bottom of his blouse a bit, wanting to avoid his pre-cum staining a perfectly good shirt.
"Please, mommy, fuck," he whines out as you let a singular finger drag over the tip of his cock, already causing his hips to rut up. "This e-mail needs to be sent today, Roman. Keep typing if you don't want me to get angry."
He nods fervently, shakily continuing to type as you carefully take his erect cock into your hands. He stumbles over his words, moans and hiccups filling your ears as you stroke him at a slow pace. You let your hand squeeze the base before going up, applying the perfect amount of pressure before rolling your thumb over his leaking slit.
Roman's eyes quickly turn glassy with welled up tears as he's made to endure your slow, torturous movements, and as much as he wants to please you, writing the e-mail would be the actual death of him.
His hands shoot away from his keyboard to clutch onto his seat's armrests. With a wanton moan he throws his head back, eyes screwing shut as you slightly pick up your pace. "You've been such a good boy for mommy, Roman, haven't you?" you ask him, voice dangerously low and dangerously close to his ear.
"Ngh-- yes, so so good f'r you, mommy." You kiss his forehead, earning yourself a cute whine. "W'na kiss you, please, mommy," he moans, head struggling to reach yours. "I'll give you a kiss after you finish the e-mail, alright sweetheart? For now," you tell him, grabbing his hand and leading two of his fingers into his own mouth, "I want you to be nice and quiet for me while I take care of you."
With a lack of hesitation he accepts his own fingers into his mouth, immediately sucking on them as his eyes flutter closed, and his moans grow strained. "Do you like it when mommy takes care of you, Roman?"
He nods, writhing under your every touch. He gasps around his own fingers as you pay extra attention to his tip, instant over stimulation taking over his body as his hips twitch up to meet your touch. "Mmh, would you let mommy fuck you?"
"Yes, fuck, yes," he groans out, removing his own fingers to instead find hold in his chair's armrests again. "W'na feel you around me, feel you-- fuck, feel you squeeze my cock." You increase the speed of your strokes, watching your boss fall apart in front of you. His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his lips are as rosy as they are glossy with spit.
The veins on his forehead and neck look like they're about to pop as you whisper in his ear. "You wanna feel mommy's cunt as she milks you dry?" All he can manage to let out is a desperate 'uh-huh', clearly close to reaching completion.
"'M gonna cum, mommy, I'm g'na-" Roman gasps out, cutting himself off with a drawn out moan.
"Cum for me, baby."
With a moan so slutty you could confuse it for porn, Roman finishes, thick ropes of cum shooting onto your hand as you stroke him through his orgasm. Even when he's emptied out you continue relentlessy, earning you a teary-eyed Roman as he begs for you to stop.
Hiccuping, he grabs your arm. "Too sensitive, mommy," he groans out, trying to catch his breath. You decide to have mercy on him, removing your hand and instead hovering it in front of him. "Clean mommy up?"
He simply nods before licking your hand clean, tongue lapping between your fingers as he practically sucks off his own semen from your fingers. With your hand clean, he lets himself sink deep into his chair.
"That was, uh," he mumbles as he mindlessly stares at you as you wipe his saliva off on your pencil skirt. You don't say anything, simply walk back over to your laptop. "I'm gonna finish up scheduling for next week, alright Roman?"
He blinks a few times, processing your words before awkwardly agreeing with yet another nod. "Oh, and make sure to write that e-mail," you add, turning to now fully focus on your own work.
SUMMARY two friends, catching up. But the topic of childhood memories spark tensions.
WORD COUNT 1.7k
THEMES angst, one sided feelings, Roman being Roman
A/N got inspired when I was reading dog and bone on ao3 (go read it)
You and Roman have known each other since childhood. You, being Logan’s goddaughter, had grown up quite close to all the Roy children, but being closer in age to Roman meant that the two of you stuck together. Luckily, you never endured Logan’s toxicity— directly at least.
You often witnessed his wrath, unleashing on his poor children. It always made your head spin. Often, you’d stay up late, comforting whichever child that fell victim to his anger. And even more often, this was Roman.
The door of your apartment clicks open.
“Roman?”
“Nyello,” You hear his voice behind you. “I always forget how much I love your apartment. I really feel like I’m part of the lower middle class whenever I’m in here.”
You roll your eyes at his snarkiness, but smile. It’s nice to see your old friend.
“You really took your sweet time getting here didn’t you?”
He checks his watch. “Time is relative. I’m basically on time.”
“If on time means an hour late, sure.”
“We’re just hanging out, what’s the rush?” He sits on the couch across from you, slumping down on it like a bored schoolboy.
You raise your eyebrows “Well, if you showed up on time, we’d have more time together. Beer?”
“Yes please, madam” He says ‘madam’ with a certain sarcasm.
You grab two bottles and hand one to him. The two of you drink and talk for hours, like time hasn’t passed since you last saw each other. The conversations go from childish banter, to the siblings and the family.
“Maybe Logan will drop dead soon and you won’t have to worry about it anymore. He’s prehistoric.” You scoff. “I bet he witnessed that asteroid killing the dinosaurs.”
“Fingers crossed. But you know he’ll live forever just because he’s the embodiment of evil, and evil never dies.”
“I guess you’ll be around for a while then.”
“Oh fuck off,” He rolls his eyes. “I’m good. Unlike Dad I don’t have the soul of a sadist lurking under my skin.”
“Yeah, true. You got the soul of a masochist instead”
“Is that why I’m sitting here drinking beer with you instead of someone whose company I actually enjoy?”
You smile. “Yep.”
He takes a hearty sip of beer. “Sounds about right.”
Hours continue to pass. Time with him seems to fly by.
“Oh man, I'm going to hate myself tomorrow morning when my head is banging and I'm remembering everything I said to you tonight.” He puts the fourth bottle down.
“Hey,” You shoot him a look. “Talking to me is a blessing.”
“Hanging out with you like this is a sign I’ve truly hit rock bottom. I mean, I could be out doing something else.” He crosses his arms and puffs his chest out ever so slightly. He thinks he looks cool, but he’s clearly forgetting he’s a tiny, insecure man.
“Uh huh,” You nod, unamused. “Like what? Flirting with women and then getting scared when they wanna sleep with you?”
“Shut up. I have the worst friends.”
“Friend, you mean. There’s just me.”
“Well, you’re a shitty enough friend. I don’t need more.”
You smirk. You know he doesn’t mean it. It’s easy for you to see past the rude comments, despite the fact he hasn’t always been like this. “Glad I’m special enough to be the only one.” You pull your legs up to you, sitting criss-cross on the couch.
“At least somebody likes me. Well I don't even know if you like me actually, I think you just tolerate me because I'm your childhood friend and you've already invested too many years in this relationship to quit now.”
You shrug. “That’s definitely one theory.”
You think to yourself for a moment and chuckle. “You know, when I think about it, neither of us really had other friends growing up. Same with Kendall and Connor and Shiv.”
He thinks for a moment. “Yeah, I guess we never really did.”
“No wonder we’re such awful people”
“Well, I definitely think you're onto something. We're just a sad bunch of lonely little shits aren't we?”
“Roman? Talking about his feelings?” You let out a fake gasp. He’s not exactly talking about his feelings, but it’s rare he’s honest like this.
“Oh, shove it. I just had a thought, and I'm allowed to have thoughts.”
“You know what, it’s actually nice that you’re not having weird, perverse thoughts for once. Maybe this is good.”
“Hey. I’m not as depraved as you are. Whore.”
“Mhm,” You take another sip of beer. “Remember that time you sent your own father a dick pic?”
He groans. “I’ve told you this before. It was for another girl, who just happened to be under Dad’s contact.”
You raise an eyebrow. He left out the part about how it was for Gerri. “Oh yeah, speaking of that. How’s it going in the uh, woman department?”
“Well, it's pretty dead actually. I've just been so focused on trying to avoid my father's wrath recently I haven't had time for any more of my womanizing ways…”
“You could always go for the geriatrics in ATN, since that seems to be your type.”
“Oh yeah, those are the only women who would sleep with me right?”
“I figure you’d like it that way,” You laugh.
“Har har.” He rolls his eyes.
A moment of silence passes. Talking to Roman again had been sending waves of nostalgia all night. It’s only been a couple months since you’ve seen him, but it felt like ages. Your mind wanders down memory lane, particularly to the sweet, intimate moments you shared with him in your youth. You hesitate to bring things up, but decide there’s no harm in it.
“Remember when we used to sleep together all the time when we were little? ‘Cus you were scared of sleeping alone?”
He pauses, and then snickers. “My god, you have some nerve. Are you trying to embarrass me now?”
You scoff. “Way to ruin a potentially sentimental moment. I was just… reminiscing.”
“Reminiscing? Oh yeah I’m sure, you’re just all sentimental about our childhood. Is that what you call it?”
You furrow your eyebrows. “Jesus is it that weird that I think about it every now and then?”
“Well, for normal people maybe not, but for you it is a little weird I must say. You know why?”
Your nose wrinkles as you shoot him a look. “Why’s that?”
“Because you're you. And I know you're not just reminiscing and thinking about the "good old days." I know you're thinking about us and how we used to be and what could've been.”
Your mouth drops open slightly. The sudden aggression makes something in your stomach churn. It reminds you of Logan, in a way.
But you just inhale deeply and turn your head towards the window.
“Oh please, don't you play dumb with me! I know you better than anyone else does.”
You get up abruptly to throw the empty cans of beer away. “You’re such a dick.”
He gets up as well. “Oh, I'm the dick, okay. Because I can see what you're feeling and you're clearly not used to anyone actually reading your emotions so now you're freaking out and getting all pissy at me.”
“You don’t have to rub salt in the wound.”
“So there’s a wound?” He puts his hands on his hips, in the typical Roman fashion.
You narrow your eyes and him. “Yes. There’s several.”
“Oh come on, it was such a long time ago.”
“I would be over it if I wasn’t strung along by you all the time, like a fucking dog. I’m always stuck at your side but you just get to do whatever you want because you’re Roman Roy.”
He groans. “Oh please, don't even start with me. You love being at my side, because I'm the only person you know that actually treats you with a modicum of respect, unlike my father who's a walking pile of dogshit you've grown used to, or Kendall who is just an entitled brat, or Shiv who doesn't even see you as a person. But I still treat you like a human being despite all the crap you've put me through over the years. You just don't want to admit that I'm the most decent person in this whole rotten family.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut, turning away from him. “God, you drive me insane.”
“Yeah? Well, welcome to my world.”
You lean against your kitchen counter. You can’t believe his audacity. To bring up the fact you still want him after all these years, to bring it up like it’s nothing. You never even told him.
You always forget how perceptive he is.
“I stick by your side ‘cus I know no one has your back like I do.” You mutter.
“Yeah, that's true. But you know what else is true? The reason you keep sticking by my side is because deep down you still believe that I might return those feelings for you one day.”
Your heart drops even more. You want to say something, something quippy. But you can’t, all you can feel is that burning in your throat, and you know you won’t be able to say anything without coughing up sobs. So you sit there. And sniffle quietly.
His gaze softens, however. He feels panic arize in him, snapping out of his ill-mannered mood. “Hey, wait. Don't cry. God, I hate it when you cry. Hey, hey, don't get all teary eyed on me. You know how much I don't like it when you're upset.”
He walks over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, trying to present a scrap of regret. “Don't cry, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me tonight. I'm sorry, I am. You're my best friend. You are, and you always will be. I don't know what I'd do without you to be completely honest.”
Seconds pass silently. He stands there, not knowing what to do, other than attempting to comfort you as he watches tears stream down the side of your face.
“…Rome?”
“Yeah?”
“… Can we lay down together? Like I mentioned earlier?”
You feel his grip on your shoulders lighten. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s do that, it’s okay.”
The two of you walk to your bedroom, not a word spoken. You lay down beside him, looking up at your ceiling.
“I can’t remember the last time we did this.” He finally says.
You move your hand on top of his, gently running your thumb alongside his. “It’s been a while.”
Ooh also (since I love smut Sorry.), maybe Roman’s secretary being quite motherly towards him while he’s being annoying and fussy. As per usual. And at one point he’ll probably call her ‘mommy’ as a joke, and from there it just goes!
done!! :DD tysm for the requests, your writing is 10/10 and always feeds my roman needs
Summary: You're roman's assistant, and after delivering breakfast something clicks.
Word count: 2.154
18+ only! More under the cut
Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, mommy kink, praise kink, hand jobs, come eating,
A/n: tysm @prettywordsblog for the request!! :DD i love your writing so it was a pleasure to get requests from you (my requests are still open, fyi)
_______________________
You've been wearing pencil skirts and heels a lot these days.
It's not that you particularly enjoy wearing them. Running errands like "get me a bagel" and "actually, I want a cinnamon roll instead, so get me one of those" do not become easier with red bottoms, and the cold of New York in autumn nips at your barely clad legs with ferocity.
But when you wear them, Roman becomes... docile.
Maybe it's the fact that the heels make you taller than him. Or shit, maybe he has a sexy assistant fantasy, who knows. All you know is that when you dress the way you now do, he hesitates when he snidely asks you to write his e-mails for him. Instead, he carefully suggests you should do them, not a singular perverted comment slipping in.
So now, as you walk out of the elevator, you hear the clicking of your heels echo. It's far too early to be in office, evident by the lack of your peers in the bull pit.
You huff as you approach Roman's office and see him lounging around, legs on his desk as he leans back, staring at his phone. You don't even bother knocking, simply swinging the door open. "I know it's like, three in the morning, but can you at least try to pretend you're being productive?"
He lets out a huff, dramatically rolling his eyes as he flops his legs down. "Yes, mommy," he mockingly whines out, staring at the plastic bag swinging from your arm. "What's in the bag?"
"A gun, so I can finally kill you," you casually throw out as you place the bag on the glass coffee table, throwing off your long jacket onto the leather chair he has. Roman stands up, amusement twinkling in his doe-like eyes as he walks over to sit on his couch. "Y'know, I could totally report you for saying that. That's like, a legit death threat. I could SWAT you." With a tiny jump he hops on the chair, shoes still on as he crouches on top of the couch's pillows.
You can't help but frown. Sometimes you feel like he isn't a total nepotism baby, but instead some kind of orphan child raised by wolves. "Don't do that with your shoes on, Roman, it's unhygienic." With another eye roll he lets himself fall onto the chair, resting his one leg on the thigh of the other. He leans back, arms reaching over the couch's back cushions.
You grab the contents of the bag and place them on the coffee table as you hum a random tune. The smell of a breakfast spread makes you hungry as hell, but you don't have another break until six hours from now. Silently, Roman watches as you place the various foiled up plates down and remove the foil.
Roman eyes the dishes-- an omelette, some sausages, bacon, hash browns, and a paper cup of coffee that he's sure is from his favorite café. "Okay, this is fuckin' weird. What's the catch? Did you get a chef to make all of this arsenic-infused? Because as my assistant, you're also my taste tester, so I'm not eating until I see you poison yourself first," he rambles, cautiously watching you place napkins, a fork and knife down.
"This is a congratulatory breakfast, so just shut up and be grateful."
He raises his brows at you. "The fuck are you saying congrats for?" With the tiniest smile you could stomach giving him, you throw the plastic trash in the bin. "The Oplex deal, Roman. You were the one who ended up buttering the guy up," you explain.
His eyes widen for only a second before returning to their neutral, lidded state. "Oh please, all I did was give him a verbal fuckin' blowjob. Kendall did all the business-y shit," he mumbles out, picking up the cutlery with a solemn expression.
"I'd disagree, and I think Mr. Roy would, too," you mumble out in return. You watch Roman as he takes the first bite of his omelette and moans, quickly scurrying to get another bite. "Fuck, this is good. Is this laced? I'm gonna fire the shit out of you if this is laced," he says in between bites.
You grab your coat from the chair and hang it up, smiling as you continue watching him from the corner of your eye. "I'm flattered, but no. I'm just a good cook." You fight back a laugh as he very clearly chokes on his food. Professionalism and all that, if there's even any left between the two of you.
"You're fucking with me." You plop down on the leather chair across from Roman, grabbing your thermos from your bag and taking a sip of tea as you shake your head. Wide-eyed, Roman gawks at you, then the food, and then you again. "You made me breakfast?"
You simply nod before pulling your laptop out. "I wasn't expecting you to be surprised by that. You're the one who always calls me mommy," you mumble out as you watch e-mails and messages immediately start to pop up. "Now finish up your food and get to work, before you upset mommy."
With a teasing grin you wait for Roman to shoot something back. Maybe something about you getting reported to HR, or about you wanting to suck his dick. Maybe even one of those jokes he makes about how his dad only hired you to be his personal babysitter.
But instead, you simply get,
"Yes, mommy."
Confused, you look up from your laptop to see Roman quietly eating his food. His cheeks are dusted a ripe shade of red as he struggles to cut his food up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
Something that should've clicked ages ago, clicks. So carefully, you stand up and walk to stand next to the couch he's sitting on. Roman's head looks up at you, eyes large and lashes fluttering. His bottom lip stutters, as if he wants to say something, but it doesn't successfully form itself.
"Do you need me to help you with your food, baby?"
Your heart pounds in your chest as you await his response. Nervously, he scans your face, licking his lips as he mulls over his options.
"Yes mommy," he yet again mumbles out.
You take a seat next to him and wordlessly grab the fork and knife from his hand. "I hope you know I'm proud of you for landing that deal, baby," you tell him as you put a piece of the sausage on the fork. He doesn't hesitate to open his mouth for you, obediently letting you feed him in his office, in a building his dad owns.
"You made mommy so proud. When we finish up here, can you go sit at your desk for me?" He nods as you continue feeding him, which continues for another silent fifteen minutes.
After wiping his mouth for him, he quickly scurries to his desk, staring expectantly at you as you slowly make your way over. You place one hand on his chair, and the other on his desk, leaning over to stare at his computer screen.
Roman lets out a soft groan as your tantalizing perfume overwhelms your senses. All he can do is look up at you as you start up his computer for him. "You have an e-mail you need to write regarding a contractual agreement with a production studio. Can you do that for me?"
It's like he's possessed by you, charmed into a spell of utter submission as he can only mutter another 'yes, mommy'. He opens his mail, and right as he starts typing you tut.
"Mommy wants to hear you say what you're typing, so I know you're doing well," you tell him, hand moving down from his chair to instead rest on his shoulder. Wordlessly, he nods, clears his throat and with a shaky voice reads aloud to you.
"Dear Mr. Spruce, attached is a--" his voice dies in his throat as you let your hand slither down lower and lower, testing the waters as you fully bend over to reach his lap. "Keep going, sweetheart," you tell him, watching his twitchy hands hover over his keyboard.
As he continues where he left off, you carefully unzip his trousers, loosening the top button and successfully revealing a dark imprint showing through his white Calvin Klein boxers. "Attached is a, uhh, a copy of the contract, fuck."
The moan roman lets out as you pull his briefs down, allowing his erection to spring free and slap against his covered stomach, is whorelike. "Keep going, baby," you hum in his ear as you unbutton the bottom of his blouse a bit, wanting to avoid his pre-cum staining a perfectly good shirt.
"Please, mommy, fuck," he whines out as you let a singular finger drag over the tip of his cock, already causing his hips to rut up. "This e-mail needs to be sent today, Roman. Keep typing if you don't want me to get angry."
He nods fervently, shakily continuing to type as you carefully take his erect cock into your hands. He stumbles over his words, moans and hiccups filling your ears as you stroke him at a slow pace. You let your hand squeeze the base before going up, applying the perfect amount of pressure before rolling your thumb over his leaking slit.
Roman's eyes quickly turn glassy with welled up tears as he's made to endure your slow, torturous movements, and as much as he wants to please you, writing the e-mail would be the actual death of him.
His hands shoot away from his keyboard to clutch onto his seat's armrests. With a wanton moan he throws his head back, eyes screwing shut as you slightly pick up your pace. "You've been such a good boy for mommy, Roman, haven't you?" you ask him, voice dangerously low and dangerously close to his ear.
"Ngh-- yes, so so good f'r you, mommy." You kiss his forehead, earning yourself a cute whine. "W'na kiss you, please, mommy," he moans, head struggling to reach yours. "I'll give you a kiss after you finish the e-mail, alright sweetheart? For now," you tell him, grabbing his hand and leading two of his fingers into his own mouth, "I want you to be nice and quiet for me while I take care of you."
With a lack of hesitation he accepts his own fingers into his mouth, immediately sucking on them as his eyes flutter closed, and his moans grow strained. "Do you like it when mommy takes care of you, Roman?"
He nods, writhing under your every touch. He gasps around his own fingers as you pay extra attention to his tip, instant over stimulation taking over his body as his hips twitch up to meet your touch. "Mmh, would you let mommy fuck you?"
"Yes, fuck, yes," he groans out, removing his own fingers to instead find hold in his chair's armrests again. "W'na feel you around me, feel you-- fuck, feel you squeeze my cock." You increase the speed of your strokes, watching your boss fall apart in front of you. His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his lips are as rosy as they are glossy with spit.
The veins on his forehead and neck look like they're about to pop as you whisper in his ear. "You wanna feel mommy's cunt as she milks you dry?" All he can manage to let out is a desperate 'uh-huh', clearly close to reaching completion.
"'M gonna cum, mommy, I'm g'na-" Roman gasps out, cutting himself off with a drawn out moan.
"Cum for me, baby."
With a moan so slutty you could confuse it for porn, Roman finishes, thick ropes of cum shooting onto your hand as you stroke him through his orgasm. Even when he's emptied out you continue relentlessy, earning you a teary-eyed Roman as he begs for you to stop.
Hiccuping, he grabs your arm. "Too sensitive, mommy," he groans out, trying to catch his breath. You decide to have mercy on him, removing your hand and instead hovering it in front of him. "Clean mommy up?"
He simply nods before licking your hand clean, tongue lapping between your fingers as he practically sucks off his own semen from your fingers. With your hand clean, he lets himself sink deep into his chair.
"That was, uh," he mumbles as he mindlessly stares at you as you wipe his saliva off on your pencil skirt. You don't say anything, simply walk back over to your laptop. "I'm gonna finish up scheduling for next week, alright Roman?"
He blinks a few times, processing your words before awkwardly agreeing with yet another nod. "Oh, and make sure to write that e-mail," you add, turning to now fully focus on your own work.
i saw your requests were open for succession requests! may i request a Roman x f!reader where he finds out he’s a little freak and loves giving oral? please and thank you! 😭
tysm for the request!! i ended up writing it out as soon as i woke up lol
it's right here :DD
Summary: Roman wants you to stop watching a movie and pay attention to him, so he goes about it the best way he can think of.
Word count: 1.812
18+ only! More under the cut
Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, oral sex (f receiving) praise kink, coming untouched/in pants
A/n: based on a request i got!! tysm for the inspo :)) my requests are also still open!
_______________________
You're watching a movie when he comes in.
Grin wide, eyes tired and hair messed up beyond relief. He jingles the spare keys you gave him in the air, spotting you on the couch. "Got in with our key," he says matter-of-factly as he throws his shoes off, walking over to you.
Ever since you gave Roman a spare key to your home, he's been visiting you with no warning. It's not the fact that he was growing co-dependent on your time that piqued your interest, though. It's always been how he refers to the key.
He used to just say 'the spare key', clearly tense as he struggled to find comfort in his intrusion. Then it became 'your key', which he said with the tiniest smile. When he started calling it 'my key' you would fight back a grin. He was clearly indulging himself with this.
What the implication of this new 'our key' situation is, you have no idea. Better to keep it unspoken, like you two usually do.
"What're you doing?" You only look away from the screen for a second to watch him walk over to you, before returning your attention to the screen. "Watching a movie," you tell him rather dryly. He lets out a huff, plopping himself next to you on the couch. "Well, I'm here now, so screw your movie."
His hand shoots to snatch the TV remote away from you, but before he can do so, you yank it away. "The movie is almost done, just watch it with me or something," you mumble out, transfixed on the riveting plot in front of you.
"So what, your shitty B-roll movie trumps quality time with the number one bachelor of America?" You don't even respond this time, you simply keep your eyes on the movie. Roman groans, head dramatically falling back as he stares up into the ceiling. "What am I even supposed to do while you melt your brain with numbing media consumption?"
Again, no reply. Just a meager shrug.
Roman, at first, wants to glare at you. Maybe smack your arm, then go to your kitchen and purposefully make a shit ton of noise, so you're forced to stand up and pay attention to him. But as he stares at you, he can't help but notice a small amount of red lace peaking from under your sweatpants.
Then a much better idea to get your attention pops up.
Wordlessly, he removes himself from the couch and instead kneels down in front of you, hands awkwardly resting on your thighs as he stares up at you. "Uhh, what're you doing, Romes?"
"G'na eat you out," he plainly tells you, lips twitching up into a smirk. "Roman, have you ever given anyone head?"
He shrugs, hands slowly pulling your sweatpants down. You do wanna finish this movie, but you're also curious to see where this goes, so you help him by slightly lifting yourself up, so he can properly remove them. "No, but I'm like Leonardo Davinci, naturally talented and amazingly hot. I can do this easily," he states with confidence that is clearly a facade.
Roman's pupils are dilated as he stares at your lacy red panties. His hands shake as he pushes your legs apart, giving him better access. You hum with intrigue, giving his hair a quick pet before yet again focusing yourself on the movie. "Whatever you say, Davinci."
You weren't expecting him to start out with a kiss atop of your underwear. It's awkward, yet sweet, which you reward with another stroke of his hair. The air is tense as he slowly moves your panties to the side, and ever-so-slowly, he dips in.
With a sharpened tongue he experimentally licks the inside of your folds. You shiver at the sensation, keeping your hand casually rested on his head. For a moment there's nothing, before Roman's head turns up to look at you.
You flush at the sight of him looking up from you like that, eyes wide and unknowing as he's kneeling in between your thighs. His obedience is like second nature to him, and in moments like these you revel in it.
"Can you, like, give me a tiny hint on what to do? Or else I'm just gonna bite your clit off," he huffs, face already reddened.
"Try flattening your tongue a bit, for one. Just take your time, Romes."
And that he does.
Carefully, he laps at your folds. Places his hands back on your thighs, keeping them open as his eyes flutter shut. Just as suddenly as he got on his knees for you, he places his entire mouth on you, roughly sucking on your cunt. You gasp at the sensation, hand clutching at his hair as he suctions onto you.
The groan he lets out as he tastes you is guttural, like he was a man starved and you were his last supper. As he removes himself from you with a sinful 'pop', he lets out an airy laugh. "Jesus, this is, uh... fuck," he whispers out before delving right back in, madly licking and sucking wherever he can reach.
He can't stop himself from letting one of his hands drop from your thighs, using it to palm at his growing hardness. "Shit Romes, you're doing good," you groan, struggling to pay attention to the movie when Roman's tongue is a single movement away from circling your clit.
"Only f'r you," he desperately gasps out, only taking a second to get air back before focusing his full attention on the small bundle of nerves he's finally located. He isn't as hesitant as you would've thought he'd be-- he wastes no time roughly sucking on your clit, shamelessly moaning as he feels you twitch and writhe from his touch.
"Fuck, you're doing so good baby, keep doing that." You grab a handful of his hair and forcefully pull him closer. He moans pathetically at the movement, at the way he's suffocating in your juices.
The wet noises he's making are absolutely sinful, and if it wasn't for his relentless mouth you would've joked about his eating manners. His mouth and nose are shiny with your wetness, and he pays it no mind, drilling his tongue inside of you without a care in the world. "W'na please you," he moans against you, his own hips stuttering as he stops palming himself, cock painfully restrained in his dress pants.
"You're such a good boy for me, Roman, you're doing so fucking good." His eyes screw shut as he groans against your clit, the vibrations leaving you to gasp for air. It's all just too much, the pleasure combined with the desperate noises he's letting out sending you into cloud nine.
He whines at your every noise and your every word. It's like his heart is going to burst out of his chest, and when you yank at his hair he can't hold himself back. With a muffled groan he releases his load, only slightly faltering in his pace before continuing to practically torture your pussy.
"My sweet pup, eating me out so well, so proud of you," you moan with a fistful of his hair in your hand, only half-aware of Roman's own predicament. Your words of praise alone are overstimulating, but he can't stop himself from lapping up your juices.
He pulls away for a moment, gasping for air as he looks at you, face glistening. "You're so fucking wet, I just w'na live here," he groans out, before roughly sucking on your clit.
You don't know if it's the hungry moans he keeps letting out or the blinding pleasure he's giving you that pushes you over the edge. Thousands of blinding white stars cover your vision as your entire body stiffens, a gargled moan escaping your throat as you push Roman's entire face into you one last time.
He moans against your slick cunt, weakly lapping at you as you slowly come down. Even when you whine at the overstimulation of it all, he keeps at it, tongue busying itself with cleaning you up. For a moment you think you can even hear him gulp, whining as you try to pry him off of you.
Reluctantly, he pulls away, carrying a serene expression. With lidded eyes he looks up at you, and the question he asks almost makes you cum again on the spot.
"Did I do good for you?"
You let out an airy chuckle. "Yeah, you did."
Roman groans as he stands up, and only now you see the dark stain at the front of his pants. "Oh my god, did you?--"
"Shut up, yes." You giggle as he awkwardly stands up to place a small kiss on your lips. Your hand shoots to grab the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, and you hum as you taste yourself on his tongue. He moans into your mouth, a sound you happily swallow before pulling away. "You did very good, Roman. Didn't realize you're a total perv for giving oral," you hum out as he waddles yo your bathroom.
"And I didn't realize you were a total slut for it," he retorts, keeping the bathroom door open as you hear him shuffling out of his pants. "Where's my shit?"
You pull your panties up, but simply remove your sweatpants, before walking over to your bedroom and quickly fishing out a fresh pair of pants, a shirt and some boxers for him. The amount of times he's made someone drop off fresh clothes for him to your apartment has caused an influx of items for him to wear when he's with you.
With a light grin you walk towards the bathroom, handing Roman his things as you sit on the closed toilet seat. "I'm happy you were able to enjoy yourself, too."
Roman shrugs. "Yeah, I mean, I ruined my fucking pants, but it was also fucking hot."
"You win some, you lose some," you hum as you watch him remove his blouse and replace it with the shirt. "You should definitely let me do that again, by the way. Just-- ask whenever you want a real man to make you cum," he mumbles out, avoiding the eye contact you're trying to make with the mirror he's in front of.
"You're just saying that because you're a total pussy-loving freak, aren't you?" He groans at your words as he finishes dressing himself, walking out of the bathroom with you in tow. You chuckle at the TV-- the credits are rolling. "Can you please not say kinky shit to me, my dick is in recovery mode right now, thanks."
The two of you plop onto the couch, legs tangling as you grab the remote and put on a show the two of you usually watch together. "Seriously though," Roman suddenly pipes up,
Summary: Bored in a fancy bar your friend dragged you to, you see a man by himself nursing a drink and decide to start up a conversation
Word count: 1.806
You nurse the mocktail you have with a light frown. The thing cost 17 dollars, and you're pretty sure most of that money is simply for the fancy glass it's in.
The bar you're at is a fancy, high-end breeding spot for nepo babies. A place you wouldn't frequent if it wasn't for your friend, who got free entry for the both of you because she slept with the owner's niece or some shit like that. You don't remember it well, and she's already disappeared into the designer-clad crowd. Asking her about the lore of how and why you're here isn't an option anymore.
You're painfully bored, stuck in a 1-percenter hell-hole by yourself. So when you see a guy nursing a drink with an expression you're sure is the same as your own, you can't help but make your way over to him.
His eyes, which you can't help but find sad looking, remove themselves from his drink and instead take your presence in. You can visibly see the cogs in his head turn as his brows furrow and his bottom lip stutters in initial confusion. And then finally, with a slight raise of his eyebrows, he scoffs. You catch a quiet 'fuck off' he seemingly mumbles more to himself than to you, right before he lets his line of sight drop back down into his untouched drink.
Rough start, but whatever. You won't let a sour attitude stop you from, at the very least, getting a fun story out of tonight that you can tell your friends tomorrow. "Hey so, not to be a weirdo or anything, but I noticed you're here by yourself too, and also seem pretty miserable."
This time he fully moves his head to face you, carrying an incredulous look in his eyes. As you watch his eyes slowly move down, and then back up again from your figure, you notice how antsy he seems.
The tips of his fingers are nervously tapping against the marble of the bar's counter, and his sleeves are crumpled up from what you can only assume is constant fidgeting with them. There's also a shine of sweat on his neck that you're only seeing now that you're closer in proximity.
"I don't wanna get my cock sucked, thanks and fuck off," he quickly mutters as he busies himself by clasping and unclasping his drink. Now it's your turn to scoff, because who even is this guy? He's dressed like he's about to enter an important business meeting, as if the bar's bathrooms aren't most probably occupied by D-list celebrities getting their rocks off.
You settle down into the seat next to his, the need to win this verbal battle now in the forefront of your mind. "Dude, I don't wanna suck your shriveled up witch's finger dick. I'm just bored and thought you'd be good enough company for now."
He lets out a huffed chuckle. A brief, barely audible one, but you caught it. "And I don't want your mouth near my dick, either. Don't wanna catch whatever diseases you're carrying- bird flu or some shit, I don't know."
"Is that why you haven't touched your drink? Too scared of bird flu, pussy?" His posture visibly straightens up at that, body slightly turning to face you. "Who the fuck wants bird flu? You sound like you fucking enjoy the idea of having the same disease as pigeons. Is it a kink thing? A hot and heavy pigeon sex kink thing?"
You don't hide your amusement, nor the way you check him out the same way he did to you. His hair is clearly messed up, remnants of intact gel shining in the bar's lighting. He has slight facial hair, which you could only describe as an overgrown stubble, as well as strangely pretty downturned lashes that flutter with each blink.
Vaguely, you remember thinking about how sad his eyes looked. Now that you're closer, and can see the semi-permanent crease between his brows, he reminds you a bit of an overgrown, overworked puppy. "I think you're projecting your bird kink onto me."
The corner of his mouth quirks up. "And I think you're getting your panties soaked just thinking about me being into pigeon sex. You're probably g'na ask me to follow you to a random closet and coo in your ear as you jerk me off."
You shift your weight around a bit, taking a glance at your own drink as you realize you should probably start drinking it again. "You wish I would, freak," you quip before taking a sip from the metal straw currently swimming in your drink. For a moment you catch a flash of something- a slightly creased brow, and a stutter in his breathing. Something with an implication you can't help but find intriguing.
"So what's your deal, then, if it's not kinky pigeon role-play?" Now it's your turn to quirk a brow at him. "My 'deal'?"
The man shrugs, lips pouted as he carelessly picks up his drink and swivels its content around. "Y'know, why did you fuckin', walk up to me and try to plow my ass knuckles dip? What's up with that?"
You scoff. Whoever this overgrown teenager was, he could not let go of the constant quips. "What's up with the jokes? Don't tell me it's a coping mechanism," you ask him before you can stop yourself. He makes a face of faux disgust, failing to hide how his lips genuinely twitch downwards. "Why are you dodging my question with another question?"
"Why do you not let yourself be open and vulnerable?" You don't bother looking up from your drink as you take a sip. Whatever his expression was, you were sure it wouldn't surprise you all that much. The man sputters, uncharacteristically not knowing what to say in reply. "The fuck are you, my therapist?"
"Is your therapist hot, and incredibly charming?" His eyes sparkle as he looks at you. He's clearly amused, which you wish you could say didn't tickle you. "She's an ugly hag," he says, clearly only partially joking. "I'd turn into an ugly hag, too, if I had to listen to you whine about, I don't know, your Rolex being dirty."
His frown deepens at that, eyes looking away from you, like he's shielding himself from your financial judgement. "Whatever, then fuckin' leave since you're so hot and charming," he mumbles, and suddenly he takes a swig from his drink. He's a bit of a drama queen.
"But talking to you is soooo much fun, why would I leave?" You make sure to have the sarcasm drip off of your words. Just as suddenly as he took a swig, he suddenly turns his whole body to you. "Seriously, what the fuck is your deal? If it's about my dad, fuck off and die," he hisses out, finger pointing at you.
You point your finger back, and even go as far as to let the tip of your index finger touch his. "I have no idea who your dad is, so I'm not gonna do that. Now order me a snack as an apology," you retort with a straight face.
His eyes dart all over your face, trying to deduce your truth and lies or something like that. With a deep sigh he turns away from you, putting his finger down and instead calling over the bartender. "D'you guys have, like, peanuts, or cookies, or some stupid bar snack shit like that?"
Quickly, the bartender nods, busying himself in making what seems to be a miniature charcuterie board. Seriously, what kind of bar is this? "I swear to god, if you're a reporter, I'm sicking my lawyers on you and having them raid your villages, burn your crops and devour your women," he mumbles as he returns to staring at his drink.
"What, are you famous? Like a knock-off DiCaprio?" He chuckles at that, so apparently he finds you funny. "You seriously don't know who I am?" You shrug in reply, to which he suddenly grabs your phone from the bar you had placed it on. He shoves it towards you, eyebrows raised. "Unlock it."
Usually you wouldn't let some random wet puppy dog of a man demand something like that of you, but the small possibility that he's actually famous intrigues you. Awkwardly, you grab your phone and unlock it, handing it back to him. "If this is your way of giving me your number, I'm gonna strangle you, just so you know."
The bartender places the charcuterie board for mice in front of you. It looks good, also more expensive than two years of your rent. Meanwhile, mystery man types something on your phone, not paying you any mind. "Here, you don't know this?"
Your eyes squint as he shoves the screen in your face.
'The Waystar Royco Legacy, And The Oil They Spill Into The Ocean Of News.'
Wait,
"You're Logan Roy's son?"
He nods, grabbing the one of the tiny forks given with the board and popping an olive in his mouth, humming in confirmation. "Isn't your brother, like... Kendall?"
"Yeah, what about him?" It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts, but when you do, you grin as you tell him. "His tweets are really funny in like, an ironic way. He's also kinda hot." The face he makes is one of pure disgust, but there's a twang of something bitter. "Ew, Kendall? Seriously? That's what you find hot? He looks like a fucking Playmobil figurine on ketamine, your taste in men is horrible," he groans out, popping another olive in his mouth as he keeps frowning at you.
For a second you wanna ask 'well, wouldn't he actually do ketamine?', but you stop yourself from being an insensitive asshole and instead grab the other fork, plopping the food in your mouth. "Well, I find you kinda hot, too. So you calling my taste horrible is just insulting yourself," you say as casually as one can when shooting their shot.
The shot seems successful enough, since he starts choking on his olive, face immediately growing three shades redder. "H-oly fuck, don't just fuckin', say that, god," he wheezes out. You shrug, fighting back a proud smile. "Hot recognizes hot, that's all."
You grab your phone from his hand and glance at the time and oh shit, it's late as hell. "Hey, you're hot and fun to talk to and all, but I start my first day at work in like, four hours, so I gotta go." You shove a few of the charcuterie pieces into your mouth, not waiting for his response as you rush outside.
Roman scoffs as he watches you scurry off, taking a final, large sip of his drink, frowning at the burn of it.
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