Request: That Roman soulmate fic was sooo good 😭😭😭 argfhh biting my pillow rn. May I request a scene rewrite of your choice of them already in an established relationship? They’d have cute bickering and lots of casual physical contact all the time. Maybe theyre on a yacht together like that one episode and theyre just so intertwined all the time that its hard to tell where roman ends and reader starts 😣-- anon
Summary: Roman seems to like casual intimacy, even in front of his family
Warnings: fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), based on 2x10 “this is not for tears,” established relationship, alcohol, ken suicide joke (one line, nbd), roman jokingly calls something 'domestic abuse' it certainly is NOT that, normal Roman shenanigans
Word Count: 1.1k
A.N: guys, I usually write fantasy so this dialogue may just suck ass im SORRY LMAO, lemme know what you think!!! Hope you guys enjoy! Roman is so bbg
•
The Mediterranean sun warms your exposed skin while the sea breeze keeps you from getting uncomfortably hot. The Roy's certainly knew how to take a vacation.
Roman lazily drapes his arm over your shoulders, the small act of casual intimacy in front of his siblings something you still can't really get used to just yet. The family, you learned pretty quickly, was not a clingy one, so Roman's constant need to be touching you in some way in front of them was unexpected.
You sigh happily at his side, ignoring the boring work talk the siblings had already immersed themselves in.
The weather was just too divine for you to focus on anything other than the free vacation and your boyfriend.
Shiv's piercing blue eyes peer curiously over her dark sunglasses. Her gaze causes you to straighten your back and shift ever so slightly away from Roman. You've noticed that her and Tom were never exactly touchy, but then again her and Tom were barely a loving couple.
The harsh scrutiny of her stare doesn't go unnoticed by Roman, who immediately pulls you back closer to him. Your cheeks flush at his blatant display of affection.
"Something the matter, Siobhan?" Roman asks, his voice slightly higher than usual with a British twang to it. His fingers absentmindedly trace odd shapes across your back. He sips at his cocktail, eyebrows raised waiting for her retort.
Shiv’s intense gaze slowly slides over to Kendall. Their older brother offers your group a half-assed shrug.
"Nothing at all, Roman." She offers you both a tight-lipped smile, swirling her white wine in front of her.
Awkwardly you lean back into him as he sarcastically grumbles something under his breath, unconvinced. Roman’s body in tense beside you, but stays firmly pressed next to your own.
Sounds of waves crashing against the yacht and distant conversations almost lure you to sleep though the three sibling’s chatter keeps you just conscious enough that you don’t completely drift off.
You hear Kendall get up from his seat, his joints popping.
"I'm gunna go check on dad," He says, voice low though he knows you're not actually asleep. "I'll catch you guys later."
"Just don't jump off the boat, Ken. We're not turning the ship around just for your old-ass." Roman jokes before yelping at Shiv's slap to the shoulder.
You hide your tiny grin with a fake yawn.
"Very funny, Rome," Ken mutters before leaving the three of you.
It's awkward, just the three of you alone; the tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife. Shiv clears her throat and you can only imagine the patronizing look she has on her face. Roman shifts, and most likely flips her off, but otherwise he's silent.
Moments later you hear the thud of expensive yet tacky yachting shoes against the floorboards, which could only mean Tom.
"Shiv, uh," The man stutters, obviously distracted by something. Slowly you open an eye, peering over at the man. "Why don't we go and uh, discuss that thing from before, huh?"
Tom's eyes can barely settle on one thing, he looks between you and Roman before only briefly settling on his wife. His cheeks are a little red, but with a man that pasty, it's sure to be a light sunburn.
"Oh yeah?" She asks, almost seductively, blue eyes twinkling with some hidden secret.
Tom's lips tilt down into a frown, now no longer even looking in your direction. He's jealous, you figure, you've never seen him and Shiv cuddled up like this, at least not comfortably so. Someone is always tense and irritated.
After sparing her husband a glance, you see her eyes narrow and her lips drawing into a tight line.
You offer them a smile while Roman once again gives a rude gesture.
Swiftly, Shiv rises from her seat, empty wine glass in hand. She barely gestures a simple goodbye before walking away with Tom. You watch as she says something to him, which makes him recoil from her.
You could only imagine what that was about, but you figure it was you and Roman.
You press your cheek even harder against Roman's chest, almost like you're trying to burrow your way under his skin. The fresh white linen shirt he's wearing is soft underneath you. His uncalloused fingertips continue to dance across your exposed arm.
He's no longer tense, you notice; his muscles are more relaxed now that his siblings are nowhere to be seen. Logan wasn't around either, which eased the thick and looming tension that usually hung around the family.
Roman chuckles, tangling his feet around yours.
"What's got you all giggly today?" You ask, closing your eyes as you soak in more of the warmth.
"I'm not giggly, thank you very much. Giggling is for school girls and wine drunk single moms."
"Yeah, ok," You snort, smiling.
"You're just all over me like a fucking uh--"
"Koala?"
"Nah, more like one of those bigass fucking boa constrictors, y'know the ones I'm talking about?"
"A boa constrictor?" You gasp, jokingly offended at his words. Shifting from your position you eye your boyfriend. "You asshole!" Grabbing a small pillow from beside you, you hit him square in the chest repeatedly.
You're hovering over him, knees on either side of his hips, pinning him to the couch below him.
"Hey, hey!" He laughs, attempting to grab your wrists. "This is domestic abuse! ABUSE! ABUSE! Greg call the cops, she's beating me!"
Somewhere in the distance you can only faintly hear Greg stutter something, but your laughter is too loud to actually make it out.
Roman finally grabs the decorative pillow out of your hands and flings it somewhere.
His brown hair is messy, strands dangle in front of his eyes, no longer slicked back and proper. The laughter dies down but his bright smile remains, melting your heart.
"You're an absolute prick, Roman Roy, y'know that?" You whisper, lips lingering right over his.
"Oh I know," He smirks, irritatingly handsome like usual, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. "And you fucking love it."
Surging up, his lips connect with yours, traces of coconut and pineapple left on his tongue. The sweetness of rum mingles with the fruity aftertaste.
Humming in satisfaction, you close your eyes and place your hands on either side of his face, leaning into the kiss. Roman's light scruff rubs against your palms.
Eventually you pull back in order to breathe in the salty Mediterranean air. Roman's lips chase after your own, hoping to continue and subsequently never stop again.
"Yeah, I do." You sigh, gazing at his eyes as they turn into a molten shimmering gold hue in the afternoon sun.
This fic is based on the work of the wonderful and talented @beechu-beechu, this story is all based on her OC, her beautiful illustrations and her story ideas.
Before getting inside the bush Roman looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. It was five past six, still early in the evening, in a town in upstate New York. Inside the confines of the Terrace Room, yet another shareholder meeting was taking place. Outside, the extravagantly lit patio seemed peaceful enough.
The expensive setting, however, couldn’t hide the ghostly profile of the building against the sky. Echoes of the chatter inside could still be heard, barely, seamlessly merging with the chirping noise the crickets were beginning to make. Murky and gloomy, yes, but there was nothing in sight to fear.
With a new-found determination, the one stride of confidence that not being seen always gives you, Roman took a deep breath. He tried to concentrate on the nice earthy odor filling his lungs as he crawled under the bush.
The little rabbit, with its pristine white and as innocent as it looked, seemed to have a life of its own; Escaping from his grip, laughing at his inadequacy, forcing him to go further inside the wooden warren, forcing him to drag his limbs through the recently sprayed dirt.
The contained gasps that were coming out of Cecilia weren’t helping either. Roman felt the pressure to save the stuffed animal stirring in the pit of his stomach. It did not even matter if she could buy a hundred bunnies just like that one, CeCe’s earnest anxiety made him let go of his initial precautions and convinced him to push his face against the rootstock. With that move, Roman was finally able to grab the damn thing.
When he crawled out of the bush, all it took for him to know was one glance at his white trousers.
His father was going to kill him.
Rome almost forgot about the inevitability of the reprimand as soon as he felt the girl’s tight grip around his neck, as soon as he could smell how nice her perfume was. At the end of the day, that was all that really mattered. It had been worth it. Cecelia had given him the most sincere hug he would ever receive, and he was the one who got her plushie back to safety.
With all the tension suddenly off her shoulders, Cece was laughing all of her worries off, suddenly in a good mood now. She hugged him one more time, and thanked Roman for finding her bunny.
“Keep an eye out on your stupid rabbit”
────────
Cece and Roman were hiding inside the bathroom hall. Logan had taken a swing at his son’s face in front of everyone: Cecilia’s family, businessmen, the staff, and other clients. Roman had made the terrible mistake of ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.
The girl had initially thought a few meters and some walls may be enough to calm Roman’s nerves. However, even young as she was, she already had an increasing suspicion that fear was a cathedral of its own, insidious, indefatigable and inescapable.
“Your daddy is really scary, I’m so-”
“Shut up” the boy’s response was plagued with defensiveness. And it had only made his discomfort more evident.
Cecilia wasn’t sure what had hurt more, the humiliation or the ring on Mr. Logan’s index finger.
Roman averted his gaze in an effort to look anywhere but the girl's eyes, fixating instead on the ridiculous color of her puffy dress. While grabbing the back of his head with his hand, —partially to seem unbothered, but mainly to avoid letting her see the redness on his right cheek— he focused on the synthetic fabric on the skirt. How it weaved itself smoothly with a soft wavy pattern.
“Can I show you my plushie collection? I promise Banana will behave this time and stay close. You two can become-“
A soft smile emerged from his face. Cece was trying to make him feel better. She did not seem embarrassed for the redness on his face, she did not laugh the whole thing off, she seemed sincere.
“Okay, okay. Sure”.
────────
In the lead-up to their makeshift wedding, Connor and Willa decided to host their rehearsal dinner at The Grill. She wasn’t completely sure if it was the wedding itself that sickened her or if it was all the tacky 50’s-inspired extravaganza. Still, the end result was the same: Cecilia couldn’t handle being in the venue any second longer. Feeling her own neck contracting in on itself, squeezing the air out of her body, choking her and leaving her dizzy.
The only salvageable part of the ceremony was the expansive view of the midtown space that the balcony offered. And, while the martinis and the nicotine smoke obfuscated the pristine taste of the meal, she could still savor the rather tasty rib she had eaten earlier that night.
It was a nice taste to savor. The ideal last meal of many, she supposed. Taking a slow puff of her cigarette, Cecilia took morbid delight in parading near the edge of the deck. The water from the pool made a soothing sound, and it matched perfectly with the vertiginous view that plagued her vision. Would it hurt terribly? To slip into the opening?
“Hey, Holly! Are you done pretending you have the balls to jump off?”
Right. Rome. A smile replaces the troubled look on her face as she clumsily sits on the floor, carelessly removing the heels of her feet. They were in public, yes, but as usual, it did have a terrible importance to either of them. Cecilia tipped her toes inside the pool, but the weather had made the liquid impossibly cold.
She laughs. They must look pathetic. Taking another hit from the cigarette, she lets the sour taste of the tobacco ground her. She inhales and holds it in for a second, as she closes her eyes.
Cece can feel Roman’s poorly concealed worry wash over her. His puppy eyes disfigured with a frown that seemed of their own. Cecilia playfully blows the smoke on his face. He has nothing to worry about. Not today.
“Look, I stole a napkin” Roman had revealed it with a proud grin on his face. The woman lets out a snort, she can’t really help it.
With the swift changes on the breeze, they quietly decide to exchange tokens. Rome takes the cigarette off her hand and she further inspects the cloth. The small and ridiculously silver W&C on the left side of the tissue was rendered small when you compared it to the poorly drawn rabbit Roman had made with blue ink. The bunny was winking at her, and it wore the same white bow her plushie had all those years ago.
She smiles again, and he makes a point of avoiding looking at her now exposed thighs. The rising skirt seemed to go all the way up, exposing pulp flesh, which was filled with small patches. She must be starting to feel cold. Cecilia looks at him, once more, only this time shy teary pearls adorned her gaze.
Sitting on the floor, Roman hugs her by the side, and kisses her temple. He has nothing to worry about. Not today.
────────
Notes: I hope everyone enjoyed this! And I hope that I made justice to Beechu’s oc <3. (I took a loot of creative liberties) Have a great time and take care of one another, I’m not from the US, but my heart goes out to everyone who might be suffering from the election results. My dms are always open, you are not alone!
Pd: If you saw me take inspo from Gabriel García Márquez of all people for the first paragraph: No you didn’t. I’m sorry literature gods.
I’m half way through season 2 of succession and I have to ask why does everyone like Rome so much? Like he’s fine. But where are my Kendall girlies at ? I never see them around ??
Request: Please I'm begging on hands and knees, I'll take any Roman or Tom fic. Anything. I would do desperate things for it. Kisses xxx! I honestly love the countdown soulmate au, just running into each other unexpectedly is a really adorable thing for me. Maybe they are late from somewhere and they run into reader, could be whatever. You can also ignore it. If I may I would like she/her reader, but I'm fine with gender neutral reader also. — anon
Summary: In less than twenty-four hours you’ll meet your soulmate. Your friend drags you to some weird underground private party
Warnings: soulmate AU, logan roy mention (also quick mention of abuse), mention of drugs and alcohol and all that shit, not a lot of dialogue I’m sorry lmao, 9/11 mention? (iykyk)
Word Count: 1.5k
A.N: first Roman fic!!! This was actually going to be a blurb and then I kept fucking writing. I hope his characterization is ok, if you have any tips don’t be afraid to let me know!! Hope you all enjoy!
Next Part: (WIP)
•
Roman had never cared for the timer on the inside of his elbow. The black bold numbers inked permanently into his flesh. It was always hidden away underneath expensive suit shirts and well-tailored business jackets. It was a ticking time bomb; never to be acknowledged until it finally blew him to bits.
Or, in this case, meet his soulmate (though to him, that was one and the same).
It's not like he wasn't curious about who some higher power judged to be his soulmate--because he was. It was, however, more of a morbid curiosity. He was Roman Roy for fuck's sake, no one should be tied to him.
His father never talked about his own timer, the one time he ever asked about it he got backhanded so hard he face planted onto the tiled floor beneath his feet. That was that. He laughed it off afterwards, when Ken was placing ice against his bruised cheek. He really should've known.
Kendall had spent months convincing Rome and his other siblings that his timer went off when he first met Rava in college, though they got divorced so he highly doubted that was the case. And if it was? Well shit. That didn't bode well for the rest of them.
Shiv's situation confirmed that he was doomed. Despite Roman being in charge of her soon-to-be husband's bachelor party, his sister once drunkenly confided in him that her timer had went off years before she even heard the name Tom Wambsgans. The next morning, when she called him with a splitting headache, she said she couldn't remember anything she told him the night before. She was fucked too.
Connor was Connor and Roman was sure he had ranted about his at one point, but whatever goes in one ear goes out the other with him.
So when Roman glances at his timer in the mirror it feels like a cooler full of ice water just got dumped on him. His body is frozen but his skin crawls with anxiety. Today was the day. In less than twenty-four hours he was to meet the person he was destined to be with.
What a sick cosmic joke.
He bites his nails and paces the length of his kitchen as he waits for his driver to get to his apartment. By the time he's seated in the back of the car with the smell of worn leather overwhelming his senses the thought is pushed so far back in his mind that he barely remembers why his fingers are absentmindedly stroking the inside of his elbow.
You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.
The timer on your wrist was frequently the topic of discussion both with your friends and in your personal journal. It had always been exciting, the guaranteed notion that you were going to meet the love of your life.
Your friends had married their soulmates which had made you believe even more in the timer. The people around you were happy with what the universe had promised and you just wanted that to be you already. You were content waiting but that never stopped you from watching the numbers tick down whenever you could spare a glance.
The childish romanticism of the timer never faded throughout your life.
It kept you going--you woke up in the morning because you needed to know what, or, rather who, the universe had in store for you.
You were jittery in the morning. Not just because your friend was forcing you to join her and a couple others at some underground private club, but also because your timer had indicated that today, of all days, you were going to meet your soulmate. Every inch of you buzzed with excitement.
Toying with your bottom lip you wait for your friend to pick you up. This party would be it, you determined.
It was going to be a dream come true.
The club sucks.
They had taken your phone at the door, the music is way too loud, and your drink tastes sour when it should be sweet. Not to mention the amount of people having sex in every corner of almost every room.
Your friends ditched you about an hour ago and your timer still has an hour left.
Taking a sip of your drink your face scrunches in disgust. Your eyes focus on the drinks behind the bar, the colorful glasses occupying your vision so you don’t accidentally make eye contact with the drugged up people around you. The pungent smell of weed surrounds you.
You sit and watch the bartenders dart across the space behind the bar, mixing and pouring drinks expertly. Men and women approach you occasionally, but you’re not interested in conversation if your timer doesn’t go off.
You wish you had Twitter to at least occupy your mind.
“Hey, I’m Connor.”
You turn to face the man to your right, his grey hair and piercing blue eyes are nice, but your timer doesn’t go off so what’s the point?
“Not interested.” Taking a quick sip of your drink you turn away from the man.
“Oh come on, I just want to chat,” He sits next to you, nursing his own drink. He smells of alcohol and expensive cologne. “Say, where were you on 9/11?”
Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, eyeing the man trying to find any hint of a joke. He looks completely serious.
“Where was I on 9/11?”
“Yeah, I mean, I gotta make sure…y’know what I mean?” He shrugs at you, still waiting for your answer.
Subtly you glance down at your wrist, the numbers now under a minute. Slowly you smile, nerves washing over your entire being.
You get up from the bar stool, drink in hand. “Try that on another girl, I’m sure it’ll work next time.”
Passing by people you attempt to get out of the stuffy room when someone knocks into your shoulder. It’s not hard, but it certainly warranted some kind of apology.
You turn around only to see the other person doing the same.
Your breath hitches when you hear the noise—it’s crystal clear and high pitched, like a bell. Eyes widening you stare at the stranger in shock.
“Oh fuck.” His brown eyes widen at the noise, the realization washing over him. “Shit so you’re—you’re my…?” With one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair he looks you up and down.
“You’re my soulmate…” You say, just above the music. The air feels as if it’s been punched out of your lungs.
The man’s eyes can’t seem to stay still.
Your own eyes run over his handsome figure. His clothes imply at least a decent amount of money—his white dress shirt crisp and recently pressed. The sleeves, however, are rolled up to his elbow exposing his forearms. Your face heats up at this; the casual gesture being a lot more attractive than it should be.
Swallowing down the thoughts and the bubbling nerves you extend your hand.
“(Y/n) (L/n).” You smile, hoping to ease the tension.
“Oh uh, yeah—yes.” He stutters, hand taking your own. His palms are a bit sweaty but he has a nice firm grip. “Roman Roy.”
Roy—well that explains a lot. So far the universe has got good taste.
Your hand tingles as you pull it back to your side. Biting your lip you take him in again, how he flexes his jaw and drums his fingers against his hip bone. The music pumping throughout the room becomes muffled as you focus solely on Roman Roy.
It seems he has a difficult time tearing his eyes away from your own, but eventually he’s successful at examining the expensive watch on his wrist.
“Oh shit fucking damnit…” He mutters, brows furrowing momentarily before softening when his gaze lands back on you. “I gotta go, I have this stupid fucking meeting…” Apologetically he steps closer to you. You deflate a bit at this. “It’s just big company stuff, I’m sorry. Can I uh…can I get your number though?”
Smirking at the question, you nod. Excitement courses through your veins again. “Do you have a pen?”
“A pen? What is it 1999?”
“They took my phone at the door, dumbass, I assume they took yours too.” You snort teasingly.
“Shit.” He pats his body, searching for anything in his pocket. He’s quite quick about it and eventually he finds a shitty black pen with barely any ink in it.
Giggling you write your number down on his forearm before handing the pen back to him.
“You better call me, Roman Roy. I know where you work.” You wink, toying with your bottom lip again.
He flushes at that, cheeks turning pink as his eyes settle on your lips.
“Oh fuck I’m gonna call you.” Clumsily he winks back before turning around and getting caught in the crowd, heading to whatever meeting he had.
Setting down your drink on the nearest table you head the opposite direction, towards the exit, cheeks aching from the satisfied smile on your face.
