#jeryd mencken imagine
Text
Persecution (Roy!Sibling x Roman Roy)
Character/s: Roman, Jeryd, Kendall, Shiv
Word Count: 1,465
Requested: Hihihi!!! Would it be okay to request? Or maybe just as inspiration or something: i'd love to see the dynamic between roy!siblingreader and roman and how he would interact with them trying/being the big brother to them like connor and kendall are especially takeing care of them or being protective? I have severe roman brainrot rn lol and i love how you write each of them and overall the way you use words and how alive it all feels! ♡- anon
Inspired By: Family Jewels by Marina
Warning/s: sexual harassment, harassment, men being creeps
Tag: @locke-writes
A/N: You know I had to do it!!! You know I had to!!! I can't actually remember all of the election party episode, so this might be a bit off. My apologies!!! Stop my love, Roman makes my brain rot too he lives in there 24/7!!! Thank you for such kind words!!! I try my best :) I hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜
His hand lingers on the small of your back, on your shoulder, on your body. It burns all the way through. You don’t shake it off though. You can’t. So you smile and excuse yourself, trying to stop yourself from shuddering. It seems wherever you go, wherever you disappear, he is there. He is always there. If not in your presence, then calling, texting, emailing. He is obsessive, hungry, and you have been served to him on a silver platter whether they realize it or not. You sit alone on the couch, nursing your drink, your fourth or fifth of the night just to get through it. His knee touches you, his arm is around you. No one takes notice, not your brothers or sister. No one can save you. He speaks, but only to get closer, so close you can smell the scotch on his breath. He talks mindlessly of his campaign, of the work he and your brother have put into it. That is why you can’t resist. That is why you can’t push him away, throw your drink in his face, call him names that sit on the tip of your tongue. Because your brother has spent too much time building this relationship up, building this man up. You’ve told him time and time again that you don’t like him, that you side with your sister on this, but he doesn’t care. He is not your President yet, though God help you if he becomes him. You won’t be able to escape him. You won’t be able to run.
His hand is on your thigh, inching down. As if his touch is fire you jump up, dropping your glass, spilling all over him, all over Shiv's carpet. Fuck, you think, fuck, fuck fuck. You apologize profusely despite yourself, picking up the shards. They glitter under the light. The mumble of the crowd never stops, there isn’t a single pause in conversation. You are the baby, the least significant one. These politicians, their groups, they don’t see you. They don’t notice you. No one is coming to help you. He doesn’t seem to notice your distress, instead leaning down, face to face with you, watching you avoid his eyes. He rubs your shoulder, explaining that it was an accident, no big deal. With his finger he tips your head up, smile for me, sweetie. You recoil, apologizing, taking what pieces you have, headed towards the kitchen. You’re unsteady on your feet, too tipsy. You drank too much. You curse yourself, trying not to let the tears that welled up in your eyes fall. You weren’t even supposed to be here. You were supposed to be home, safe, far away from him where he could not possibly reach you. But they wanted you here, they needed you here, the biggest night leading up to the election. You could never disappoint them. Never. So you showed up and you drank and now you’re in this mess. You can feel him behind you, like a shadow, close but not close enough. You catch one look behind you, biting back a scream. He shakes hands, introduces himself, cracks jokes, all while moving through the crowd. You are his target, you always have been.
From the moment he laid eyes on you, you knew it was over. Too late. You were drowning and they were doing nothing to save you. He spoke to you like you were old friends, touchy from your moment of introduction. Y/n Roy, a pleasure to meet you. A kiss on the cheek. His arm snaking around your waist for the family photo. Pleading with your eyes, but no one to see, no one to understand. Your father was more than happy to serve you to him, proud you’d made a connection so quickly. Oblivious to your disgust, to your discomfort, as always. Still, he hadn’t been that proud of you in a long time, perhaps ever. You thought you could keep up the niceties until he lost, then you would rid yourself of him for good. And then your father died. And then Roman made his deal with him. And now? Now you’re leaning over the sink, trying not to throw up, your hands shaking at the thought of him being near you like that again. He got caught in conversation with a lesser political opponent, his eyes never leaving you. Someone had given him your contact information. First an email here and there. A thank you for being so kind to him. A proposition for coffee, then drink. Texts next. Jokes that fell flat. Apologies for your father. More dates, more events, all of them, he’s hoping, you’ll be there. Calls, too. Pictures. So many pictures. Silly ones, then not so funny. If he wasn’t constantly watching, talking, touching, then he was trying to. You never responded, but that didn’t stop him. It would never stop him.
What were you going to do?
You clutch the edge of the sink, taking a few deep breaths. As quickly as you can without making yourself even more nauseous, you cut through the pack, headed towards the bathroom. Without meaning to, your barge through your siblings semi-circle conversation. The tears are falling. All of them look up at you, startled, but you slam the door shut before they can ask anything. Shiv knocks softly, saying your name, trying to get you out. Y/n? Y/n what happened? Can you come out and talk to us? Knees to chest you slide down to the floor, drunk, tired, your skin still crawling. Trying to catch your breath. Y/n, come on, come out. Whatever happened, we can fix it. Kendall sounded exhausted. Rightfully so. You stifle a sob, the words coming out before you can stop them. I didn’t mean- I didn’t- I know this is important to you guys. Mencken. He’s important to them, he’s important to your brother, he was to your father. You couldn’t just suck it up for a little while, you had to cry like a child. Who? What are you talking about? It’s Roman now, his voice close to you. He’s not standing like the others, he’s on your level now. You don’t know how to explain it, you can’t. You fear it’ll sound ridiculous. That you’re making a bigger deal about this than necessary. You’re not sure what else to do. You open every tab, every phone call and text thread and email. Then you open the door just a crack, sliding the phone through, shutting it again. There's a moment of silence that feels like eternity. How long has been this going on? Roman sounds angry. At you? A while. It’s all you can manage, curling into a ball, bracing for the worst. For the yelling, the disappointment, for one of them to bang on the door and demand that you come out right now. You wait, and you wait, but it never comes. It never happens. Instead your brother and sister call after Roman, trying to stop him, but he’s seeing red.
There’s no stopping him.
It’s quiet for a long time, but you don’t move a muscle. Your nausea has gotten a little better, your head a little clearer. You call for your siblings, but none answer. What were they doing? What were they saying? You can hear muffled yelling through the door, but the words melt together. Tones rise in pitch. The apartment has quieted. Someone laughs, you think it’s Mencken. More quiet. A door slams. You wince. This is all your fault. Whatever they were doing, whatever was going on, it was your fault. It was all your fault. Then a voice, softer now. He’s gone, kid. You can come out. Roman. He didn’t sound angry, but when did that ever stop anyone? Certainly not your father. When you don’t, you hear him groan, getting to the floor. Through the door, you can hear the weight in his voice. I’m not mad at you, I, I could never be mad at you. A pause. You honestly think I would have chosen him over you? You nod before choking up a yes. It’s my fault, you start, but he doesn’t let you finish. It’s not, it never was. He’s a fucking creep y/n, a monster. I’m, I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. He's gone now. He won’t come near you ever again. He’s never been so sure of anything in his life. He would never let fucking Mencken do that to you again. He wouldn’t let anyone do that. He shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place, he’d carry this for the rest of his life. He let you down, your big brother. He let you down for the last time.
#requested#roman roy#roman roy imagine#roman roy x reader#jeryd mencken#jeryd mencken imagine#jeryd mencken x reader#succession#succession imagine#succession x reader#writing
318 notes
·
View notes
Text
a question, (a promise)
jeryd mencken x f!reader (succession)
wc: 6.1k+
warnings: shitty politician (fictional), swearing, slight dub-con, slight abuse of power, drinking, smut, affairs, workplace relationships, cheating, grinding, thigh riding, fingering (f! receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), clothed sex (m!clothed, f! nude), biting, slight degradation, angst, light dom/sub, no use of y/n
summary: It's been several months since your first meeting with Jeryd Mencken, and many weeks since his involvement with ATN began your work together. What followed was hours of cocky smiles, over confident laughs, and unaddressed tension. Tension that finally snaps due to an party invitation, a vodka martini, and a conveniently empty hotel bar.
authors note: This is a longer one, but I wanted to start out strong for my first fic published on this account! Mencken was such a dick in the show, but I know he'd treat you so right in the bedroom. please consider liking, commenting, or reblogging if you enjoyed!
You didn’t mean for it to start this way.
Well, you didn’t mean for it to start at all, but if you had to choose a way to a begin an extramarital affair with an infamous American politician and presidential candidate, fucking him against the wall in a hotel room at 1 AM would not be your first choice.
And yet, when those blue-green eyes stared into yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, or how his smile-lines wrinkle as he smirks, but you don’t push him away. You don’t tell him to fuck off and run back to your apartment. Instead, gazing up at his face, your questions receding to the back of your mind, you pulled him back in.
You should have found yourself hating him, like Shiv, or maybe enthralled in him, like Roman, but you really felt somewhere in the middle. Your first meeting was in Virginia, at that Future Freedom Summit where Logan was flooded with more attention than the queen for three days straight. You were in the room when he brought Waystar’s CEO a coke, setting it onto his table like a trophy. Maybe it was the casual confidence in his voice, or the way his crisp white button up was rolled to expose his forearms, but you couldn’t help your eyes raking across his back as he left the room.
“That was nice,” Logan had said.
Out of all the words you could use to describe Jeryd Mencken, “Nice” was not one of them. “Bastard,” “Fascist,” “Cocky,” and “Manipulator” all came to mind. But so did “Confident,” “Intelligent,” and “Charismatic.” Don’t get yourself wrong, you didn’t agree with his politics at all. But at the end of the day, you were devoted to Waystar Royco and ATN. And whatever worked for them, worked for you.
You didn’t get to be in the photo that took place the next day, not important or close enough in relation. You lingered to the side, next to your few-times removed cousin, Greg, and out of view of the harsh camera lens. Mencken and you didn’t end up having too much interaction that weekend. A nod of recognition here, a handshake there. But by the time you left the conference, his boisterous laugh was echoing through the halls of your mind, and you just couldn’t stop thinking about his impenetrable gaze.
You remember Roman saying once that Mencken had told him that he “didn’t have a lot of boundaries.” That much became clear to you as you began to work with him. From your very first meeting at ATN, the man didn’t seem to have any issue with discussing personal topics or joking with his employees. You were used to humor in the workplace, I mean, you worked with Kendall and Roman Roy for fuck’s sake, but there was a stark difference in the humor between the Roy siblings and Jeryd Mencken. While their jokes bordered on sexual harassment, Mencken’s were backed by a teasing smirk and a good-natured laugh. You knew it was wrong, or at least weird, to be so enamored by this man. He was a borderline fascist, bible-thumping yuppie, but for some reason you allowed yourself to overlook the obvious flaws in the politician. And soon, you found yourself beginning to fall for his good looks and somewhat sleazy charms
“You’re on in ten, let me know if you need anything.” You popped your head into the conference room where Mencken was waiting. It was his first in-person appearance on ATN, an interview with one of the hosts to help his relatively extreme political agendas seem a bit more palatable to the average viewer. He was surrounded by his team of marketers, campaign managers, and other low to mid-ranking poli-sci majors, a thick stack of papers in front of him and a chorus of open laptops circling the table.
“A kiss for good luck, maybe?” He lifted his head from his reading to give you a half-quirked grin. Nobody else paid you any mind, too engrossed in their work to give a shit about some random woman that probably out-ranks them making sure they’re on task. “I am half Irish, you know.”
“You’re a white American man, of course you’re part Irish. But seriously. Get down to makeup soon, they want to do some touchups before you go on.”
“I don’t need makeup,” he stressed the word need, like it’s so obvious his beautiful face shouldn’t be covered by any cosmetics.
“Nobody needs makeup. It does help though” You lightly rolled your eyes as you stressed the same word as him and laughed at the reaction he displayed before exiting the room, heading to the stage as you pulled out your phone. An incoming text caught your eye, and you clicked off the email you had been reading to view it.
Having a small celebration after the show tonight. Interested in coming? – Jeryd.
It was something small that reminded you of his age, the signing of his name behind the text he sent. As if you didn’t have a contact for the man you’ve been working with for several weeks now. But still, a smile brushed your lips and you responded.
Sure. What time?
10, I’ll send the address.
10? Isn’t that a bit late for your age? I thought you’d be tucked into bed by 8:30.
Haha.
See you soon, Mr. Mencken.
So, at 9:50 pm you found your driver pulling up to the curb outside The Four Seasons hotel in Manhattan. It figures that Mencken would book the most expensive hotel in New York for his stay. You were familiar with the building, having gone to enough work parties in the bar to make your way there without getting lost in the vast expanse of the well-decorated hallways and foyers. Brushing your hair out of your face, you checked your phone again. Refreshing your emails and messages, you had about a dozen new items to read, even though you were off the clock. One thing you learned early on about working in Waystar, the work never really stops.
“Hey, look who showed up,” your attention snapped from the device in your hands to the source of the noise. Your eyes met Jeryd Mencken, whiskey in hand, moving from his spot atop a bar stool towards your direction. His smile was bright, and he was still dressed in his suit from earlier in the day, though now he was missing a tie and a few buttons at the top of his shirt. You noticed his blazer buttons were undone as he opened his arms wide to you.
“Here I am. I know, I know, you missed me.” You replied to his open arms with your own, giving in to the hug he initiated. Your arms circled around his neck and shoulders, his fall to your waist as you held each other for a moment. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, but you feel him rest his mouth against the top of your head, placing something close to a kiss on your hair.
“Yeah, I don’t get enough of you during 12-hour workdays. You want a drink?”
“Yeah.” The hug broke away and he smiled down at you, a look which you returned with a bit of reservation. You were far enough into the bar now from moving to meet Mencken that you only had to turn a bit to address the bartender. “Can I get a vodka martini?” A silent nod confirmed your order.
“Walk with me.” Jeryd whispered into the shell of your ear, stooping down a bit to level himself to your height. He offered an arm out to you, and you grabbed on with a hand as the two of you began moving through the crowded bar.
You saw a few familiar faces as you slowly progressed, which you greeted with small smiles and hellos. Mencken was stopped more times than you, something you had learned to accept when with him, but he was hasty in ending conversations as he pulled you through the crowd. It took longer than it should for the two of you to finally arrive at the empty booth in the back of the bar, but you were happy all the same to sit down on the cool red leather seat. He sat across from you, because of course he did, and you heard a small sigh escape his lips as he relaxed a bit against the seat behind him.
Both of you stayed quiet for a moment, just sitting in each other’s presence. There was something thick about the air around the table, something dark in the way he looked at you, eyes never leaving yours. You broke out of the haze as the bartender from earlier set your drink at the table, which you welcomed with an acknowledging smile. As you lifted the drink to your lips, he finally spoke.
“I’m glad you came.” You swallowed thickly, a slight burn grazing your throat before opening your mouth again.
“Well, I had to celebrate your television debut,” you responded with a small teasing smile, he scoffed a bit at your joking.
“The numbers were good.” He said quietly, unwavering eyes still trained to yours. There’s something he’s not saying, you felt it in his short responses and slightly clenched jaw, the way he brought his whiskey glass to his lips and how his empty hand flexed a bit against the dark wood table. You hummed in response, taking another sip of your martini. It was quiet again for a moment, the two of you just staring and drinking, tension building until you broke it.
“Is there something wrong? Did someone fuck something up?” You finally questioned him, shaking your head a bit as you spoke. He just smiled and exhaled through his nose, moved to lean forward and placed his elbows on the table.
“It’s… personal,” he took his time answering, searching for the right word before he spoke. And you think you might have just messed everything up, ruined the unsaid attraction between you two. He hadn’t been one to shy away from personal topics before, you might have just pushed him too far. “But hey, marital issues are basically a rite of passage in the oval office,” he joked with a grin.
“True, it’s probably a sign of your future. Might wanna get used to it,” you matched his tone. You knew it was fucked up to be attracted to a married man, a man currently talking about his troubles with his wife, but something about that smile sent a wave of shock down your stomach and found yourself subtlety squeezing your thighs together beneath your skirt. Regardless, he laughed at your answer, and you smiled at his amusement.
You continued this way for a while, small talk and meaningless conversations just to make each other laugh. You poked fun at his age and he joked about your fucked up family. Around and around you go, drinks are removed and refilled, coworkers stop by for a few minutes before leaving, and others just wave before making their way out. The next time you checked your phone, two hours had passed and more drinks than you probably should have on a near empty stomach had been consumed.
“Shit, I should get going. I have a meeting tomorrow I need to be ready for.” You mumbled a bit, looking down at your screen with cheeks flushed a light red from the alcohol in your system and the presence of Jeryd across from you. The bar was nearly empty by then, and completely devoid of your co-workers. Any last lingering customers were patrons of the hotel, and you were suddenly struck by the realization you were practically alone with him.
“You sure? It’s late, I have a suite on the top floor and the guest bed is empty.” He had lost his suit jacket by then and pushed up his sleeves in the way you loved so much. His arms were open and rested on the top of the booth, elbows slightly bent and hands lightly gesturing as he spoke. You pressed your lips together, biting the bottom one and contemplated. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to stay, didn’t wonder what would happen if you accepted. It was a bad idea, you both knew it, backed by the gold ring on his left hand and the NDA you signed when accepting your job so long ago. Still, he cocked an eyebrow at your silence and beneath the table you felt the toe of his black leather loafers travel up the expanse of your leg. He started at your ankle, just above your designer heels and slowly moved up the inside of your lower leg, beginning to reach the inside of your knee. You had enough time to stop him, to move away, kick his foot away and leave the bar.
But you didn’t. You didn’t want to. So instead, you opened your mouth slightly, your bottom lip slightly wet from your bite to it earlier.
“Yeah, okay. I probably shouldn’t be driving.” It was a half assed excuse and you both knew it. You barely drove, and you’d been dropped off at the hotel today so there was no way you were driving home in the first place. But maybe you needed some justification for yourself, something to make your subconscious just a little less guilty for what you were about to do. For what you wanted to do.
Mencken didn’t press, though. He just nodded, tapping his toe lightly on the inside of your thigh before retracting it to stand up. The loss was sudden and a bit jarring, and it made you notice that you had been subtly leaning into his touch. He put back on his jacket, not bothering to roll down his sleeves as he moved beside the table to help you up, extending a hand to you. Slowly, you reached up and gently placed your hand in his. His skin was surprisingly rough for a man who worked a desk job, you could feel calluses on his palms and the tips of his fingers. He pulled some of your weight as you stood, reaching around with your free hand to smooth the back of your skirt and grab the handles of your small purse. When you met his eyes again, his pupils had grown and a smirk had landed on his otherwise stoic face.
“Lead the way,” you spoke so softly that your lips barely moved, your eyes looking up at him through dark lashes. He nodded again. His eyes dragged over the curves of your body before briefly returning to your eyes. As you began walking, your hand rose from clutching his to softly holding his arm just above the bend in his elbow. You maintained just enough distance between your bodies that the interaction could be passed off as polite, not the breaking point of months of unresolved sexual tension that it was. Mencken walked fast, you almost tripped over your feet a few times as you tried to keep pace with him. The halls were ornate, outfitted in marble flooring that left your shoes clacking frantically with your hurried steps.
The pair of you stopped briefly at the entrance to the elevators, and you took the time to quickly glance over your shoulder behind you, finding the room otherwise empty. You weren’t sure whether you should be relieved or disappointed. Relieved for a lack of witnesses. Disappointed that you couldn’t use a crowd as an excuse to call off the encounter. It would be for the better to forget about it, put the flirtations to an end and abort the budding affair. You were putting your job at risk, your credibility and your public image. Not to mention your relationship with your family.
He pressed the elevator button once, twice, three times. You opened your mouth slightly, the beginnings of a sentence forming on your lips when he moved his arm from your grasp, snaking it around your back to rest on your hip. He pressed the fabric of your skirt gently, and you found your side pressing against his. Warmth radiated through your body, going straight to your cheeks as a subtle blush started to grow. Your mouth was left hanging open, silently gasping for air as he delicately traced his lips in a small line over your hair. His large nose pressed into your scalp, you felt him slowly inhale the scent of your shampoo. The moment was the closest thing to tender you’ve ever experienced from him, and it’s over just after it starts.
A loud ding from the elevator dragged your attention from the feeling of Jeryd to the empty elevator in front of you. You looked from him to the space before you. He was watching you, of course. Waiting for your next move. Either into the elevator and a time of lies and careful discretion, or back to what you knew was safe.
You walked into the elevator.
The second the hotel door clicks shut, Jeryd is on you. Pressing your back into the nearest wall, his hands cradle your face with a surprising amount of care. His knee slots between your legs and he takes a moment to just look at you. Your chest rises and falls quickly, mouth open and eyes blown wide with passion.
“Tell me you want this.” He breathes into you.
“What?” You gasp out the question, mind too foggy with desire to quickly process his words.
“Tell me you want this. I need to hear it from you.” His hands move from cupping your face to grab your chin, your lips slightly pouting with the pressure on your skin. The air is silent for a moment before you answer.
“I want this. I want you.”
The words have barely left your mouth before it's covered by his, greedy and heavy and passionate. You move with him, slinging your arms around his shoulders and leaning into his touch. His tongue taps at your bottom lip before entering your mouth, tracing lines on the roof of it. You let out a quiet moan and his knee moves up between your thighs, granting you a source of friction for the heat building between your legs. You grind down on it unabashedly, sighing at the sensation that results. Jeryd smiles against your lips before moving one of his hands from your face to your hip, encouraging the movements you’re making against his leg. A whimper escapes your lips and he groans at the noise, your attention moving to the growing bulge you feel pressed into your lower stomach.
He kisses you like a man starved. Like he could do it forever, just savoring the flavor of your lips. You move a hand from his shoulder to feel down the front of his chest and reach his crotch. Your fingers press lightly against the seam of his pants, rubbing the fabric just enough to earn a low growl from Jeryd’s throat and a restrained buck of his hips. His lips move from yours to travel down your neck, sucking your skin hard enough to leave bruises that’ll last the week. Your lips part when freed from his kiss and your neck falls slightly to the slide, allowing him more access to the small area not covered by your button up, office appropriate blouse. A small nip of his teeth causes you to squeeze the hand covering his groin, a movement that causes Jeryd to muffle a deep moan into the slope of your neck.
“Fuck.” You sound wrecked, desperate, needy, and Jeryd’s barely touched you. You’re rolling your hips steadily now, too far gone to worry about his reaction. Pencil skirt hiked up, skin-toned stockings on display, you selfishly chase your own climax. Eyes flutter shut as you focus on the sensations enveloping your body. Jeryd’s wet kisses trailing down your neck, his hands possessive on your hips and chin, his leg sandwiched between your thighs and pressing roughly against your core. Two thin layers of fabric separating you, both providing a deliciously coarse texture against your sensitive clit. Your panties are soaked, you wouldn’t be surprised if his slacks are left with a wet mark when he removes them.
His hands move from their places to begin undoing the buttons on your top. Your eyes open with heavy lids as you watch him. He’s hurried, urgent, his brows slightly furrowed and his lips parted while his fingers move nimbly, making quick work of your blouse. You move to help him, together pushing the garment off your shoulders. He bends his knees slightly to level his face to your chests, and you momentarily whine at the loss of pressure against your vulva, but the sight your eyes are greeted with is worth it. His hands are immediately on your breasts, cupping you roughly through your bra and pushing your tits together as he plants sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your cleavage. It’s odd to see him like this, slightly bent over, serving someone other than himself and enjoying it. Hair ruffled and forehead damp with sweat, pupils blown wide, wide, wide, with lust. You thread your fingers through his salt and pepper hair, not pulling or controlling, just wanting to touch him.
The throbbing between your legs increases and your thighs clench together with nothing else to stimulate your core. You whimper, he chuckles at the sound, a vibration traveling through your chest and sending electric shocks straight to your center. Jeryd reaches up, moving the straps of your bra down your shoulders, not bothering to move his face from his attack on your breasts. You push it down to your waist, not bothering to unclasp the back, fully exposing your tits to him. Now he pauses, taking a moment to crouch down and sit back a bit on his heels, eyes focused on your body before him. Your immediate reaction is to cover up, but you hold yourself back when his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. When he finally meets your gaze, you're sure you must look wrecked, at least if his smirk is anything to go off of.
“Look at you. So eager for my touch.” Jeryd speaks quietly, getting closer to you as his hands travel up your thighs to rest on the dip of your hips. His fingers dig in slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to control you and dimple your skin underneath his touch. One hand comes up, kneading the flesh of your left breast. The other moves to unclip your bra from behind you, letting it softly fall to the floor. You nod and bite your lower lip, knees knocked together as your thighs rub against each other, desperately chasing some kind of stimulation. Your eyes drop his gaze as you watch him palm your skin.
“Please..” You whine out, blushing as you make eye contact again. Mencken laughs, only a little mean, takes your nipple between his fingers and pinches enough to make your voice squeak in your throat.
“If you want something you have to ask for it.” He cocks an eyebrow as he speaks and you swear you’re drooling at the look in his eye. You hesitate a minute before responding, feeling strangely self conscious and filthy.
“Please touch me, Jeryd. I need you.” He smiles and curses before returning his mouth to your breasts. A large hand creeps between your thighs, pressing gently on the soaked fabric of your panties. He speaks into your skin as he feels your need.
“So wet for me already. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting if I’d known how desperate you were.” His touch is feather light, and you feel your cunt clenching at the sensation. His hand doesn’t wait long, hooking your panties to the slide before he begins to slide his middle finger through your sopping wet folds. Your hips buck against his touch, he responds by moving a hand to pin your hip against the wall. Your head is thrown back now, resting against the surface behind you. Blush is hot on your face, you can’t figure out if it’s caused by shame, or desire, or the combination of both.
It’s not long before his fingers are gently probing your entrance, his middle digit entering you up to his second knuckle. You clench around him, moaning at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you. His thumb moves to your clit, spreading your wetness there as he massages small circles into the bundle of nerves. Instinctively, you try to move, try to grind down on his palm and take what you want. Jeryd’s hand keeps your back to the wall though, and he tsks at your disobedience. Your eyes move down and you find him staring back at you. You wonder if he’s ever looked away, or if he’s just been relishing in your desperation.
His finger presses deeper, your folds met with the skin of his first knuckle. He curves the digit, gently pressing against that spongy tissue deep inside of you. When he finds it, he smirks, looks down at your exposed mound and briefly presses a kiss to your upper stomach. The finger moves, thrusting in and out of your cunt a few times before being joined by his index finger. It stretches just a bit, before the sensation is replaced by one of building pleasure. That heat you’ve been chasing courses through your core, your lips parting at the feeling. Shocks of pleasure course down your thighs as your clit becomes more and more sensitive.
You were slightly shocked when your legs began to shake, kness almost buckling under the jerky motion. It normally took you much longer to climax when with a partner, but you had been so needy for so long that your orgasm was approaching at a rapid speed. Jeryd felt it too, wrapping a free arm around the back of your hips to help hold you up while your cunt clenches and flutters around his fingers.
“Come on, Cum for me. Show me how good I make you feel.” He whispers, leaning his upper body back slightly to look deeply into your eyes. You barely hear him over the filthy sounds of wet skin and your increasingly loud moans. His words have to register somewhere though, and just a few seconds after he utters the command, you obey. Eyes roll back while you constrict around his fingers, gasps of air leaving your throat. Jeryd is relentless, finger fucking you through your orgasm until you’re overstimulated and practically pushing his hand away.
Your eyes haven’t even opened again when you feel him stand and crash his lips crash back into yours, his hands raking through your hair. Unhindered by his grip, you move your arms to press him against you, rolling your hips into his.You groan in unison, and Jeryd takes the moment to move one of his hands to the back of your skirt, quickly unzipping it. Your grip releases for a moment to push the skirt and your panties down your legs, kicking them off your heels further into the room. Neither of you bothers with your thigh high stockings or shoes, too engrossed in the feeling of your exposed skin to pay them any mind.
The pair of you separate for a moment. Jeryd’s eyes travel down your body, a curse escaping his lips at the sight. You look vulnerable, powerless under him. He loves it. His lips go back to your throat and his hands reach for your breasts again. In turn, your hands fumble with a few buttons on his shirt, exposing the top of his chest before you abandon the garment and travel down to the seam of his pants. Your fingers linger on the zipper. Asking for permission or readying yourself or wanting him to tell you what to do, it doesn’t matter. All that matters in this moment is Jeryd Mencken and the passion burning through both your bodies.
He nods against your neck and you waste no time in undoing the button and zipper of his slacks. His boxers are black, your fingers flutter under the elastic waistband, stroking the soft skin there lightly. Your hand dips lower, past the mass of short blond pubic hair climbing up his lower stomach, settling on the base of his cock. Slowly, you begin to pump his length. When you reach his tip you dip your fingernail slightly into the slit there, and Jeryd rolls his hips forward in response with a loud groan. A wide smile graces your face, your hand surging faster in his boxers.
“Fuck, take it out.” He traces his nose up the side of your neck, whispering into the shell of your ear. Of course you comply, how could you not? Your eyes dart down to his cock, getting your first good look at the skin there. He’s an average thickness but long, longer than you’ve taken before. With a slight curve upwards and a pink tip dripping with pre-cum, you clench around emptiness in sympathy. Your hand moves again, jerking him off as his head falls back and his eyes shut. You savor the sight before you.
Jeryd’s eyebrows are raised and his lips are parted, completely and totally lost in his pleasure. His neck now exposed to you, you lean forward and press kisses along the underside of his jawline, trailing down to his Adam's apple. You’re careful not to leave marks, even if you nip a little at the sensitive skin that your lips brush. His eyes open again, and he grins at the coy smile on your face. He kisses you again, his tongue stroking the roof of your mouth, causing you to moan loudly into his lips before he pulls away.
“Here, wrap your legs around me. I’m gonna fuck you right next to this door, let the rest of the hotel hear how loud my cock makes you.” He moves against you, pressing his hips to yours, slotting his arms around your waist. You wrap a leg around the back of his hips before he helps hoist you up to wrap the other. His length is hard against your lower stomach, the tip spreading wet precum across the skin there. Your hand moves down, grasping it and pumping a few more times when Jeryd moves his hips back, creating enough space between you for his tip to brush against your folds.
He tilts his hips again, rubbing himself across your pussy, catching on your clit just enough to make you rock your core forward to try and meet him. A breathy laugh escapes his mouth at your attempt, he rewards your debauchery by circling his hand around his base and roughly tapping his tip against the bundle of nerves. You sigh and let your head fall back, watching him move with heavily lidded eyes. Jeryd moves again, using his hand to position himself at your entrance. He teases you a bit, slightly shifting in and out without fully sheathing his cock inside of you.
“Jeryd…” Your voice is whiney as you speak, but still carries an edge of warning with it. He just smiles that lopsided grin of his, takes a deep breath in, and presses fully into you.
There’s a slight stretch as you adjust to his length, you can’t help your mouth falling open in ecstasy at the feeling. As he bottoms out, he releases his breath with a groan and you feel his tip brush against your cervix. You’re needy and wanton, whimpering and moaning at his every twitch, wiggling your hips to try and get some relief as he keeps himself deep inside your cunt. His face is tucked into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You feel your entire being aching for him. Another mewl escapes your lips, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. He’s waiting for you to break first. So you do.
“Please fuck me.” Your voice is barely a whisper, your hands traveling to cup his chin. Jeryd surges forward, even deeper into your dripping pussy, and kisses you roughly on the mouth. He bites your lower lip, slightly pulling it with him as he moves away, and your hands find their place again on his shoulders. His hips move back, so far that his length almost slips out of you, before thrusting forward. He sets a brutal pace from the beginning. Hard and fast, pulling noises you didn’t know you could make from the depths of your throat. It almost hurts at the beginning, but then he tilts his hips and finds that spot inside of you, the one that lights a roaring fire inside your cunt. The pleasure is immense and all consuming, the only thing you can focus on as your head drops backward and your back begins to arch.
You don’t even recognize half the words leaving your throat. Strings of “please,” curses and mumbles come from your mouth, joined by the animalistic grunts and groans of Jeryd’s approaching climax. Your fingers tangle in his hair and this time you pull, earning a deep moan from his parted lips. The sex feels primal and wanton and borderline violent. The culmination of heavy pressure. A cord stretched as tight as possible and then some, the snapping of which caused depravity and perversion for all those involved.
He grinds into you roughly, hitting your g spot perfectly with every thrust. Your hand moves down to rub frantic circles into your clit, repeatedly murmuring a line of “yes”’s as you stare deeply into Jeryd's eyes. You know you’re pathetic. Begging and pleading him to fuck you harder, the wet slick from your cunt spreading onto both of your thighs, causing truely obscene sounds to fill the air.
“Fuck, look at you. My pretty little slut..” He groans out, punctuating his words with strong bucks of his hips. “Cum on my cock, you’re fucking mine” he says, adding your name like it’s a divine word.
That's all it really takes, and with a particularly perfect movement of your fingers, you clench down on his cock in a harsh climax. You swear you see white for a moment, your toes curling in your heels, your back arching up from the wall behind you, the moan coming out of your mouth echoing around the hotel room. All you can do next is hold on as Jeryd’s hips stutter and his mouth comes down to bite on your exposed shoulder as he follows you to his own peak.
He spills inside of you, fucking his cum further into you while he thrusts through his own orgasm. A “fuck” falls from his lips, muffled by the skin his mouth is pressed into. You stay like that for a minute, heavily breathing and coated in sweat, his softening cock still inside of you. When you finally move away, he’s surprisingly careful. Setting you back down on your feet delicately before tucking himself back away. Your hands come up to instinctively cover yourself, feeling insecure now that he wasn’t actively fucking you. His hand grabs one of yours, removing it from its position in front of your breast as he steps closer to you. You speak first, quietly and full of question.
“I can go…” you look behind him for your clothing strewn across the carpeted floor.
“No. Stay the night, I meant it.” Jeryd pulls you into him, his larger form tucking around your body in a hug. He rests his chin on your head. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you go so quickly. Not after I’ve waited so long to have you.”
You smile at that, let him press a kiss to the top of your head before he grabs your hand and begins leading you to the bedroom.
He’s passionate and possessive and caring and mean. You live in the shadows together, wrapped in deceit and white bed sheets. You never comment on the lack of his gold wedding band, and he never mentions the taste of vodka on your tongue. Your fights are brutal and sadistic, always ending in sex that would make the bed shake and leave your bodies sore for days after. It’s more of an alliance than an affair. It’s more of a tragedy than a comedy.
It’s more of a promise than a question.
© secondhand-snow 2024
#ao3#fanfic#fanfiction#succession#succession fanfic#justin kirk#jeryd mencken#jeryd mencken x reader#jeryd mencken x you#jeryd mencken x ofc#jeryd mencken x oc#jeryd mencken fic#jeryd mencken smut#jeryd mencken imagine#snow’s fics#smut
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Girl Next Door part IX
Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC
Warnings: dubious content, affairs, age gap, morality issues, mentions of vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, my improper use of commas. MDNI!
A/N: Alright, this is the big one. There’s one chapter after this and then the epilogue. Can anyone guess where this is going? To everyone who has read this and commented, my lovely betas who listen to my neurotic rants, and everyone else in between, thanks for all the love. I never would’ve guessed this little piece of shit would garner so much attention but here we are. You all get one (1) kiss on the forehead.
WC: 2725
Call it women’s intuition, clairvoyance, unchecked paranoia, I knew the moment I saw the other vehicle in his driveway that she was home. I felt it deep within my gut, unsettled like the battering sea, churning away to the point that there was no ignoring it. Willful ignorance was the only thing keeping me afloat in those days.
Something came up. Let’s rain check our run.
“Rain check your run,” I mumbled to myself as I read his text, sliding into my trainers as I made my way to the front door.
A series of events quickly set into motion as I latched the door behind me, completely out of my control, blurring the lines between he and I even more than they had been blurred previously.
Jackson came barreling towards me out of nowhere, nipping and licking at my fingertips once he finally skidded to a stop at my shins, coaxing my hand to scratch between his ears.
“Where did you come from?” I cooed to him, patting his side as he leaned into me.
“Jackson!” I expected Jill to come tottering around the corner, but the smile on my face quickly faded when I saw her poking her head over the picket fence that separated our properties.
“I am so sorry!” She whistled at Jackson, pointing her finger back at the yard he had escaped from, “He doesn’t listen to me.”
“I’ve got him,” I led Jackson carefully over to the yard as she unclasped the gate and let him back inside.
“Thank you,” she smiled at me, “He doesn’t like me, I don’t think.”
Jeryd came walking out on the porch, leaning against a column casually, drying his hands with a dish towel, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He watched the scene unfold, his eyes darting between his wife and I.
“I’m Hannah,” she said, offering her hand out to me.
“Liv,” I noticed her hands were soft and small as we exchanged a clipped handshake. Her eyes were kind, everything about her screaming out the picturesque vision of domesticity that I would never be able to achieve. Imagining her on her knees in a head shop bathroom in Provincetown was like imagining myself being the First Lady; so very wrong and out of place. She and I would fill our respective roles in a man’s life that had no regard for either of our feelings at the end of the day. A man so unsatiated that he would have his cake and demand he be able to eat it. That’s the only thing Hannah Mencken and I would ever have in common.
She bobbed her head at me, “Law school Liv. The previous owners gave us a run down.”
“Right.”
“Well, it’s nice to be able to put a name with a face.” She assessed me, walking back to the porch to take her place beside Jeryd as her eyes roamed across my face and down my figure.
I smiled up at them, nodding as I turned the other way, running as fast I could before the tears inevitably came falling down.
_________________________________________
He started out by flaking. On my first day back at the university later that week, he called in sick. I only found out when I walked in and was greeted by a substitute. My texts went unanswered, and each call was forwarded to his voicemail. Any headway we made in Hyannis was quickly replaced with regret and remorse.
I cried the entire way home that evening, breaking the vow I had made to him a few days prior in Hyannis.
When he attempted to talk to me from his vantage point on his front porch once I arrived home and mustered enough strength to get out of my car, I fully ignored him.
When I walked into his classroom the next day, he looked at me as if to say ‘I know, I know’ but I was quick to shut down his attempt to rectify the situation.
I quite simply didn’t want to hear him speak.
That didn’t last long. When he slid his hand into my slacks, opening me up with deft fingers against his desk, I felt all the tension leave my body.
“There’s my girl,” he cooed as I came around his fingers, looking over my shoulder with a sly smile as if I died and came back to life under his ministrations.
At one point, I reasoned with myself that I couldn’t possibly be in love with him, chalking up my moments of weakness to the different ways he found to get me off. And boy, did he find new ways to get me off once the stakes were higher and his wife was home. Like he knew I would eventually tire of the secrecy and lies if he didn’t make it worth my while.
“You get wetter now that she’s back,” He whispered against the nape of my neck as he angled his fingers deeper, one orgasm following the next, leaving a trail of my arousal slathered across my skin as he drug his fingers across my asscheeks and up to the small of my back.
“Don’t fucking say that to me,” I turned around and shoved myself away from his desk, repositioning my pants as I grabbed my bag.
“Where are you going?” He asked as I made my way to the door.
“To hell.”
_________________________________________
If the situation wasn’t already complicated by Hannah’s presence, my mother arriving home added a new element to the entire charade.
“You don’t look so good.” She said as she appeared in the kitchen.
“Thanks. I didn’t have the luxury of going on a two week cruise.” I had been sitting at my laptop at the kitchen table for over an hour preparing the last few batches of PowerPoints for Jeryd’s lectures. With The Marina reopening on the Fourth of July, which also doubled as my twenty-third birthday, I planned to give my notice at the university the following day.
She stopped and looked at me, shocked that I would hit back that deeply. “That wasn’t very nice.”
I had become so used to hard-hitting sarcasm as a defense mechanism, a tactic I had learned from him, or maybe to protect myself from him, that I had forgotten how to have a normal conversation without any dour undertones.
“You’re right,” I said, rubbing my temples, “I’m sorry.” I closed the laptop, offering her a kind smile.
“Tell me about your trip.”
For the next hour we worked in tandem around the kitchen. She chopped onions and I sautéed mushrooms, listening intently as she recounted each port the ship stopped in, tenderly going into detail about each little thing that reminded her of me.
“I really wish you could’ve been with me, my love.”
I wondered if she would still love me unconditionally if she knew what I had been up to. If a mother’s love truly knew no bounds and if she would forgive me for hurting another woman the way my father had hurt her.
“Me too.” I said honestly, knowing I had been out at sea in regards to my own life for the duration of her trip.
We dined together in content silence, sipping wine, enjoying one another’s presence. For the first time in a while, I didn’t think about Jeryd.
But he was there, like he always was, peeping cautiously through his kitchen window at us, like he knew I was debating on coming clean to my mother.
Luckily for him and I both, I decided to live our lie a little longer.
_________________________________________
“You could’ve told me, Olivia,” A few brisk steps and he caught up with me as I made my way down the hall, towards his classroom.
His use of my full name still had a weird effect on me.
I surmised the department head had let him know about my resignation because everything else in my life, big, small, or undefined, he knew about. The more my legs opened for him, the more secrets, or lack thereof, he seemed to pry out of me.
I waited for him to unlock his classroom door, his eyes never leaving mine as he turned the key in the lock.
“You knew I would be going back to The Marina as soon as it reopened.”
He let me enter first, tossing his keys and phone onto the desk with a loud huff of frustration.
“But you could’ve told me first. Seems calculated, no?”
I shook my head, “I knew you’d try to talk to me out of it if I told you first.”
“And you knew I’d be successful.” He seemed almost pleased with himself as he said that, a wry, sly smile pulled at the corner of his lips.
I let out a full body sigh, watching his movements in the reflection of the window I was standing beside, “This was fun once, wasn’t it?”
“In the beginning, maybe?” I continued, willing myself to turn around and look at him. It was a genuine question.
Everything blurred together when I looked at him. Days, weeks, months, years could have passed by and I wouldn’t have had a clue. I had been so wrapped up in him that nothing else had mattered.
He searched my face as I stared at him. Before he could comment, his students began to pour into the room, effectively shutting our exchange down.
I wanted to care about him, I truly did. There was a part of me that wished that he would be an unbearable asshole all the time, just so I’d be able to walk away a little easier. I was tired of the constant battles and pitfalls that existed between us, the need for me to continue waging my internal battles, as I fought for control of my own life and feelings. I was tired of navigating through broken promises and shattered expectations, letting my own guard down only to quickly rebuild it, reminding myself of why it was there in the first place.
I filed out of his classroom with the sea of students once class was over, not willing to face him to hear his answer.
_________________________________________
I kept my distance as July approached, longing for him to want to see me, to need me the way I had convinced myself that I needed him, but my pride wouldn’t allow me to beg myself for an ounce of his attention. I had gotten so used to everything being on his terms, I had forgotten that I was a willing participant in our affair. That I mattered just as much as he did. My needs remained unfulfilled and knowing that he was merely hundreds of feet next door at any given moment sent me into a maniacal spiral filled with thoughts of bursting into his house, of spilling my guts to his wife. Just to hurt him. She was an innocent bystander that my bulleted speech would maim. I lied to myself, my mind assuring me she deserved so much better. That I would be doing her a favor. At the same time, I assured myself he was exactly what I deserved.
If that doesn’t say something about the way I viewed myself then, I don’t know what else does.
_________________________________________
It was hotter than usual that Fourth of July.
“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” My grandmother said to my mother as I walked into the kitchen, grabbing the cup of coffee she slid over to me.
Her southern accent was a means of comfort to me, until she eyed me up and down, “You don’t look so good, Livvy Lou.” Even her sweet cadence couldn’t sugarcoat the fact that I was falling apart.
She continued to eye me over the rim of her teacup, sitting it down long enough to insult me again.
“You look terrible. Like you crawled up from the grave. Was that you throwing up last night?”
“Nope,” I lied. “Must have been the neighbor's dog again.” Knowing good and well I had cried so hard that I had vomited sometime during the witching hour.
She only hummed in response, not looking away as I quickly downed the coffee that had been placed in front of me, grabbing my keys from the counter.
“These were on the porch this morning,” My mother came from the living room holding a bouquet of red roses and a book, neatly bound together with a simple piece of silky red ribbon.
“Who sent this?” I grabbed the book, pale yellow, with the words DOSTOEVSKY: LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES emblazoned on the front in sage green calligraphy.
“Don’t know. It was on the porch when I went out to grab the newspaper this morning.”
“Strange.”
All it took was flipping the book open to notice his handwriting scrawled out on the first page:
‘Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart.’
_______________________________________
“Did you get my gifts?”
About an hour before my shift was scheduled to end, he showed up, requesting a table by the window in a secluded part of the restaurant, in my section.
“I did.”
I looked around at my other tables before gazing back down at him with a soft smile, “Thank you.”
“Do you have any plans tonight?”
“Dinner with my parents and grandma at that Italian restaurant next to the jazz bar on MaryAnn street. I might go out with Heather and her family on their boat to watch the fireworks after.”
He nodded at me, sipping his water to maintain the illusion of casual coolness between the two of us.
“Right, well,” I nodded as I took off, dancing around my section under his prying gaze for the rest of my shift.
I delivered his check, watching as he inked his name across the bottom, letting out a measured sigh as he began to speak, “We need to talk.”
_________________________________________
“You’re going to do this to me on my birthday?”
Per his request, I followed him to the university, its parking lot empty due to the holiday. For a split second, I thought he had wanted to see me, spend time with me, or maybe he would drag me to the backseat like he had on the way home from Hyannis. But as I followed his car closely, those four words, “we need to talk” ringing in my ears, I realized what was coming. I knew it the moment I climbed into his car, when he couldn’t look at me, barely acknowledging my presence as I waited for an answer.
“It’s not personal, Olivia.”
“Stop fucking saying that to me,” I seethed from my place in his passenger’s seat.
He didn’t let my anger phase him. He looked straight ahead, his hands pressed flat down on his thighs, his eyes scanning the empty parking lot.
“Spit it out,” I wanted to sound brave and hardened, like I could take whatever he threw at me, letting it roll off my back in stride, but my words came out as nothing more than an airy plea.
I braced for impact, waiting for the speech about my age and future. The setbacks our tryst would eventually unravel and what lost potential would come along with it. The disappointment of it all.
“Let’s be honest,” he cleared his throat, finally looking over at me, “this thing had an expiration date from the beginning.”
I met a whole different side of him that day. The Jeryd Mencken who is so full of himself, so wholly pompous and removed from any vulnerability, that you start to believe the things he says. He believed himself, at least, in saying that we had an expiration date. So much so that I sat there in silence, running through each word we had shared, every interaction, for any indication that this whole thing had been given a strict timeline.
I laughed incredulously, scoffing at him.
“God. Fuck you, Jeryd.”
I grasped the door handle, clawing at it in an attempt to get away from him.
“She’s pregnant.”
In grim slow motion, I turned around to stare at him, jaw clenched, my entire body coiled up and ready to strike.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Taglist: @aurorag98
#jeryd mencken x oc#jeryd mencken fic#jeryd mencken fanfiction#jeryd mencken x ofc#jeryd mencken x original female character#justin kirk#jeryd mencken imagine
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
you want a coca-cola? the shit that made jeryd mencken president?
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
wait I didn’t realize Mencken said “ kidding. You good?” to Roman after mocking him. Nevermind they’re kinda not dead!
#roman roy#jeryd mencken#succession#romencken#romanmencken#like that’s their dynamics!#imagine he tells matsson to choose Roman as ceo
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
One of these days Roman's gonna have a massive epiphany on why he enjoyed being the special little guy for Eduard, Mencken and Matsson so much
#the dots are connecting it's only a matter of time#and say it with me that's what we call progress#eduard provoked the most insanity i will die on that hill#makes 100% sense why he never appeared again but imagine he had#what ever became of the football club...#succession#succession season 4#roman roy#hbo succession#lukas matsson#jeryd mencken
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
i think jesse armstrong really missed out when he didn't make roman/mencken a canon thing. sure, one could argue that it's cheap making the republican politician a closeted homosexual but i think this instance is the one where it would have worked so well.
their dynamic was one of a kind and add the fact that post logan's death mencken is basically roman's 'daddy' substitute there's this whole other level to their relationship. it would make so much sense for roman to jump into that and have it be A Thing. not to mention the way they looked at each other like, mencken was always one second away from jumping roman.
in conclusion, jesse armstrong you fumbled the bag with these two.
#succession#roman roy#jeryd mencken#romencken#imagine the threads people would write on them#the debates on how homophobic it is to have them be a thing#a gold mine
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
i think i know why jeryd mencken was deleted from the episode. imagine how awkward it would been if they saw each other in the same outfit.
116 notes
·
View notes
Text
Eat the Rich
Ch. 1 - The Campaign
Chapter Summary: Colette Fisher attends the campaign that is being held for Jeryd Mencken, a presidential nominee. She finds out the Jeryd Mencken is in fact not how she imagined him to be.
Notes: I hope you like the first chapter😵💫 I struggled a lot with this. I hope I did not disappoint you. Anyways, enough rambling, enjoy💕
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Heed (Roman Roy x Mencken!Reader)
Chatacter/s: Roman, Mencken, Logan mention
Word Count: 1,413
Inspired By: Nothing's New by Rio Romeo
Requested: hihi! ahh i loved your newest roman fic! i also have severe roman brain rot & would love a fic that is super fluffy & hurt/comfort where he is super soft with the reader (either his s/o or situationship or friend or lil sibling i don’t mind & hope that isn’t to vague) & treats them like he does with kerry in ep4 at logans wake.thank you so so so much xx - anon
A/N: Are you ready for the hurt/comfort my love???? Because I don't think you are!!! :P This was so cute, he was literally so cute in that moment like god please let him be soft!!! Thank you for requesting my love!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜
Succession Masterlist
You scream his name, but it’s too late. They recognize you. They’re grabbing at you, pulling at your clothes, tearing them from your body. You’ve fallen to the ground, on your hands and knees, begging for them to stop. Crying out to him. There’s too many of them, they’ve made a wall around you, a bubble he can’t pop. They’re kicking you, punching you, pulling at your hair. The road burns under your skin, your palms being torn to shreds. You taste blood in your mouth, choking on it, unable to cry out any longer. He’s calling your name, crying out to you, but you can’t move. You can’t fight. There’s too many. You can feel it in your stomach, in your sides, your chest: their anger. They won’t stop. All of them are so angry, so full of rage, taking it out on you. Your shirt is torn open, torn off, discarded in the crowd, one of your shoes gone. Your left eye has swollen completely shut and there’s a terrible, pulsing ache on the side of your head. It vibrates through your skull, making you nauseous, terribly aware of the iron taste in your mouth. Something wet and hot drips down your face, your chin. It feels like forever, hands groping you, touching you. They spit their words. Words meant for your brother, your family, not you. You had nothing to do with his campaign, his supposed win. Nothing. You shared a single last name, that was all. That was all. Eternity passes before they’ve grown tired, bored, before you’ve gone limp, crying quietly to yourself, your arms wrapped around you, protecting you from the cold of night. They’ve moved on, leaving you shaking, whimpering. Someone touches you, but you pull away, screaming at them to get away from you, get away. He just shushes you. It’s me, he says as gently as possible, It’s just me. You open your good eye, staring up at him. He’s bleeding. One of his eyes has gone completely red. He looks frantic, disheveled. He can’t think, he can’t breathe, all he can see is the crowd swarming around you, hurting you, you calling out for him and he’s unable to help. He’d never felt so helpless. Steadily, holding out his hands, he reaches for his jacket. He slips it off, putting it around your bare shoulders, making sure you see his every action. Despite yourself, you flinch. Despite yourself, you fall into him, shuddering, shaking, crying. He doesn’t think about it, instead instinctively putting his arms around you, holding you tight. It’s okay, he whispers, everything is going to be okay.
He never meant for this to happen.
Your brother never should have said what he did. You knew, under that faux laugh and eye roll was someone hurting, mourning, grieving. You tried to apologize later on, but by then the damage had been done. By Jeryd, by Kendall, by that stupid video going around. From the moment you met him you liked him. You didn’t care about the friendship between him and your brother, or that he was a Roy. He was funny, and kind when no one was looking. You’d only talked a few times, but you got the sense that he liked you, too. He went to seek you out at the election party, the two of you conversing in your own private corner for over an hour. He made you laugh easily, hysterically, until you were crying. Nothing was off limits. You spoke of your brother's political career, how it had made an impact on your life. It could be worse, you shrugged, trying not to sound inconsiderate. Roman was, after all, a huge help. He’d been with him from the beginning, most of the family had, too. You’d told him how sorry you were about his father, hugging him tight, and you noticed he didn’t resist or try to side-step you like he had others. His shoulders slumped a little. He was taking it in, really taking it in, grateful you weren’t made of plastic like everyone else. It could also be better, he objected. You just nodded, unsure of what to say. It could always be better. True. You’d lost a lot of friends because of Jeryd, a lot of people in your life. It felt like, sometimes, you only had Roman. He’d asked for your number, for anything about the campaign he’d said quickly after, but you understood. You texted, you called. Sometimes about your brother. Mostly about life. How you were doing, how he was doing. He wasn’t all defensive and witty over text. He dropped the exhausting act. It was nice. You were seeing the real him. When he took off you chased after him. You couldn’t let him do what he was going to do, whatever it was, fearing the worst. He walked down the street, past his car, towards the protesters. Your stomach dropped. You watched him get hit, once twice, before going down. You called to him, trying to save him from himself, climbing over the barrier. You shouldn’t have. It was stupid. But you couldn’t let him get hurt. That’s when they recognized you, that’s when they came after you.
You stay like that for a long time. He rubs your back, hushing your cries. It’ll be okay, we’ll get you some help. Head pounding, sides aching, everything hurt. It hurts to breathe. Slowly you make your way to the other side of the barriers where he sits you down on the sidewalk, trying to access your wounds. You’ll need stitches, he thinks dreadfully, a lot of them. As carefully as possible, he wipes the blood away, red soaking into the sleeve of his white button up. Your head is pretty banged up and you might be missing a few back teeth. He can see the bruises forming in the opening of his jacket and your palms are bright red. You’d stopped crying, now embarrassed. I’m okay, really, you protested, fighting him, but the look in his eyes was scared and stern: stay put. You couldn’t stop yourself from apologizing. If you’d been smarter, if you thought for just one second, he wouldn’t have to be doing this. Roman was quite a moment, getting to your level on the ground. This is my fault, not yours. You were, you were just being a good person. You shake your head, going on and on about what an idiot you are, but he’s not listening. He tips your chin up, making you look in those big brown eyes. So sad, you think, so hurt. Listen to me, his voice soft, shaking. This wasn’t- it’s not- none of this was your fault, okay? You just shrugged, defeated. He calls a car that should be there soon. In the meantime he sits beside you, every so often dabbing your forehead. Is it as bad as it feels? You’re quiet now. How would you explain this to your brother? How could you explain your lack of thought? You just moved, you just acted, following him because you were worried, because you were petrified about what would happen to him if you didn’t. He’d never understand. You and Roman, you weren’t anything, but you cared about him and he cared about you. It didn’t have to have a name. It didn’t have to exist to everyone else. He shakes his head, dabbing the blood. You kinda pull it off. You smile, nudging him. Really, this could be the new look. You roll your eyes. You let your head rest on his shoulder, exhausted, the adrenaline wearing off. Everything hurts, everything aches. You reach with your tongue in two empty sockets. Your teeth must be over there, on the sidewalk. He puts his arm around you, letting it hover just above your skin, not wanting to cause anymore harm. He knows you’re tender, that the booze and emotions will wear off and you’ll be in a world of pain. The car pulls up just as he’s about to call. Slowly he guides you in, climbing in beside you. They start to drive quickly, towards the nearest hospital, every so often glaring up at you two. What a sight. Your poor eye, you whisper, touching the side of his bruised face. He holds your hands, knowing how they must burn. He didn’t care the least about himself, you were his only concern. You should see the other guy.
#writing#requested#roman roy#roman roy imagine#roman roy x reader#succession#succession imagine#succession x reader#jeryd mencken#jeryd mencken imagine#jeryd mencken x reader
97 notes
·
View notes
Note
I have a request on mencken: what do you think of reader being his questionably young wife? (This is probably going to end in pwp but i dont mind lol) he likes to show her off and buy her expensive things from the money he pocketed 😂 she's practically his sugar baby but she has a side hustle of being the first lady too
your mind... im obsessed this is such a good dynamic
nsfw | jeryd mencken x f!reader (succession)
The sugar baby comments don’t really get to you anymore. They’re pretty accurate, truth be told. But people don’t need to know that.
Your relationship with Jeryd Mencken began in your late 20’s, back when you still had a bad dye job, student loans, and a shitty studio apartment. You were employed at a jewelry store, barely making minimum wage, working 9 hour shifts every day just to pay your rent. The first time he came into the store, you treated him like any other customer. Any other incredibly attractive, extremely charismatic, and undoubtedly rich customer. But all the same, when he made his purchase and you parted ways, you never expected to see him again. Until he came back to the store a second time. And a third time. And a fourth, fifth, and sixth time. When he finally asked you on a date his image had already been clouding your sexual fantasies for weeks.
And so started your incredibly complicated romance. Jeryd expected you to be submissive and compliant when you first started going out, basing his speculations on how you’d acted at your job. Let’s just say he was more than surprised when you talked back to him, not afraid to be a brat in public to get what you wanted. This revelation was more of a thrill than a shock. Not only did he get to fuck you so hard the neighbors complained on the noise, he also got to punish you when you acted out. And you acted out a lot. But more than the sex was the attention the pair of you got in public. He’d bring you to his business events, dressing you in expensive silks, showing you off to his colleagues. He loved how amazed his peers got when he arrived with a pretty little doll on his arm, how the women would envy you and the men would crave to be him.
The gifts started as a reward of sorts. Everytime you accompanied Jeryd to one of these work benefits, everytime you made him look good in public, everytime you were especially well behaved in the open, a present would arrive at your door. Wrapped in gold wrapping paper, with a handwritten note on the top expressing his appreciation, and usually sporting a designer logo of some sort. It began as just a few times a month, but you reacted so happily each time you opened one that he started delivering them almost daily. Oh and he loved when you wore his presents out in public. Most outings with you wearing his gifts would end with him pulling you into a bathroom, car, or empty room, making you thank him for the present while he bent you over and fucked some gratitude into you. He started paying your rent when he convinced you to quit your job, saying that you're too pretty to have to work so hard. And when he sees your apartment for the first time, he immediately insists on finding you a new space. When you can’t find anything you like enough, Jeryd just moves you in with him.
When you finally get married, it’s more a formality than anything else. Your love goes beyond metal bands and a piece of paper. The 5 carat diamond ring does help, though. The wedding happens when Jeryd’s career starts really taking off, when his name starts to seriously come up in political discussions. You both knew he needed a loyal wife to further his traditionalist image, and you were more than capable to play the part. So what if your age gap was controversial, you would make sure every other aspect of your public personas was absolutely perfect. And you did! You wore the business casual skirt suits and attended the charity events. Shit, you even learned about government systems to understand his campaign better. But you can’t tame the perversion away, not completely, not forever. So when Jeryd finally wins the presidency and your lives become semi-private again, it’s a massive relief.
It’s only his first week in the White House when you can’t hold back anymore, sauntering into the Oval Office and kneeling underneath his desk as he works.
“You missed me this much? Had to come in here while I’m working, couldn’t wait a few hours?” Jeryd’s hand is tangled in your air, slacks around his ankles as you sit on your knees in front of him. You kitten lick at his tip, already red and leaking from your touch as you stroke his shaft languidly. “Such a little slut, so desperate for my cock.”
Your only response is a little smile as you press a teasing kiss to his public bone. Then, you swallow his dick to the base in one movement. His hand tightens in your hair, his head falling back as soft sighs of pleasure leave his plump lips. You’ve done this more times than you can count, having his likes memorized to the point of instinct. You know to cup his balls as you suck his cock, to trace your tongue along that one vein on the underside of his shaft, to hum around his length as he’s fully sheathed in your throat. If you wanted to, you could bring him to release in a matter of minutes. But where’s the fun in that?
You release him from your mouth with a pop, taking a few seconds to deviously lick the pre-cum on his tip before addressing your husband.
“You haven’t given me attention in so long…” You lean forwards on your knees, face moving into a pout as you look up at Jeryd with the eyes of a sad puppy. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me anymore.”
He scoffs at that, but takes the bait enough to pull you into his lap, hand coming to your chin to force eye contact. “Don’t be a brat. Just say you want me to fuck you- without making bullshit excuses.”
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Good girl.�� He captures your mouth in a kiss.
It's all teeth and tongue, messy and sloppy and charged with passion. Before long he has you bouncing on his cock, face pushed into his shoulder to muffle your moans. You cum once as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, then again when he bends you over his desk to fuck you from behind at a brutal pace. You're glad the building is less busy this time of day, since the sounds of wet skin and hushed groans would be unmistakable to anyone passing by. Jeryd finishes inside of you, like always. When he pulls out, he kneels behind you, your ass swaying temptingly side to side in front of him. He spends several minutes collecting any liquid that leaks out of you onto his fingers and fucking it back inside of you, making comments that his cum is too important to waste.
The next morning you wake up to a golden wrapped present on your night stand. Inside, a remote controlled vibrator, and a note with a promise to film next time.
© secondhand-snow 2024
#ao3#fanfic#fanfiction#succession#succession fanfic#justin kirk#jeryd mencken#jeryd mencken x reader#jeryd mencken x ofc#jeryd mencken x you#jeryd mencken x oc#jeryd mencken fic#jeryd mencken smut#jeryd mencken imagine#requests#snow's drabbles#smut
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Girl Next Door part V
Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC
Warnings: sexual content, age gap, affairs, unhealthy relationships, dubious morality, my improper use of commas, pure angst, mention of politics.
A/N: For the four people that read this, thank you so much. I almost scrapped this fic earlier this week (the full moon really had me in a full blown tizzy) but this chapter poured out of me at six AM this morning. (Y’all want me to make a tag list? Would that make life easier?)
WC: 1811
“You’re twenty-two?” He hung over my shoulder, watching with darting eyes as I filled out each line of the necessary paperwork for employment through the university.
“I feel like that should’ve been a prerequisite question, don’t you?” I looked back at him and shrugged with an alarmed look on my face.
“Is it my turn to ask if you’re legal?” I joked, watching as he crossed the kitchen and made his way over to the refrigerator.
“To be fair, I estimated you were around that age.” He grabbed the carton of orange juice and turned around towards the drying rack, plucking two wine glasses out, filling them with orange juice.
“Estimations aren’t exact.” I grabbed the glad he slid in my direction and lowered my eyes, “Not very careful of you.”
“They ID’d you at the restaurant, genius,” he shot back at me, “I’m observant.”
I slid the finished paper over to him. He picked it up, skimming the details as he sipped his orange juice.
“Luciano?” He glanced down at the paper and back at me, “That’s your last name?”
I shrugged, “What about it?”
“You’re one bad joke away from joining the mafia.”
“You’re one more insult away from waking up with a severed horse head in your bed.” I countered as I poured the remaining orange juice into the sink and rinsed out the glass.
He narrowed his eyes at me, following my eyeline as I idled about the kitchen, pretending I was focused on anything but him.
“Godfather one or two?” He asked.
“You hardly know me well enough to ask those types of questions.” It was easy to feign innocence when I wasn’t directly looking at him.
“HA!” He bellowed, “That’s rich considering the events of last night,” He laughed again, “You’re funny.”
“Now you’re turning pink.” He cocked his head to the side and lowered his eyes, “Don’t get all shy on me now, Livvy.”
“I’m not shy,” even with my proclamation, I still couldn’t look him in the eye, “I’m still processing it.”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” he mocked with an eye roll,“Should we call a priest? Your therapist?”
“We could call your wife.”
That garnered the reaction I so desperately craved. A little hint of something boiling under the surface threatened to spill over and I waited with baited breath for him to tear into me. In a sick way, I anticipated it. Any crack in the surface to reveal his true nature, or anything of the sort. Something real, something I could latch onto. My own personal souvenir to remind myself that, like me, he was actually human. For a while, he had been a caricature to me. A walking trope actualized in the way he bantered with me, stared at me through his long eyelashes, existed within the confines of my home, my job, my dock. The only thing I knew about him was that he was a reckless driver, previously taught at a high school in Roslyn, liked two lemons in his ice water, and that he had an entire wife and a life so far removed from mine that he may as well have lived on Mars.
I itched for him to ask me my LSAT score, my favorite color, what fucked up series of events had led me to seek sexual gratification from my married neighbor with whom I shared a twenty year age difference.
It was at this very moment, I realized I was never built to be regarded as casual. In other words, being someone’s dirty secret only took care of the gap between my legs, my heart and ego bearing the brunt of his casual coolness.
I grabbed the form from his grip and held it closely to my chest.
“If there’s going to be an issue with us working so closely, I don’t want this job. I’m still technically employed at The Marina.”
He was quick to grab it back from me. A look of disapproval flashed across his face.
“We’re good, Olive.” He moved closer to me, patting me reassuringly on the shoulder.
I nodded, listening as his footfalls echoed from the entryway as he made his way to the front door.
I wish I had the restraint to walk away from him as easily as he walked away from me.
_________________________________________
A day later, we made the trip to the university together. A bad choice on my part, I know, but I genuinely enjoyed his company.
He didn’t seem to mind my company, nor did he seem to mind my stealing the occasional glance at him. A look of approval colored his features as he looked over at me while waiting at a stoplight.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m just looking at you, Olive.”
“Well, don’t.”
That earned me a chuckle as the light turned green.
Getting approval from the university was child’s play. My fingerprints were clean, my background untarnished, my last name garnering enough attention from the hiring office that the job was offered to me on the spot. Turns out I didn’t need his help after all. Though I’d never admit it aloud, I appreciated his offer, flattering myself despite the obvious manipulative undertones both of us were well aware of when the job was offered, considered, and taken.
“You could have told me your grandfather is the district attorney for Manhattan, for Christ’s sake.” He spoke lowly as we walked back to his car.
He opened the door for me and I slid into the passenger's seat, watching as he skulked to the driver’s side and climbed in.
“Is there anything else I should know?” He asked, eyebrows piqued.
“Part two,” I said, and he looked at me confusedly, “The Godfather.”
“Right.” he chuckled, “Are we friends now, Livvy?”
“No, actually,” I rolled the window down, tipping my hand in the wind.
“We’re colleagues.”
_________________________________________
The second mistake I made that day was going over to his house to discuss lesson plans as well as his teaching preferences.
“No fancy transitions, no bubbly text, no stupid pictures,” he told me as he clicked through an example of one of his PowerPoint presentations.
“These are college students, not kindergarteners.”
‘Poli Sci 408- The American Presidency,’ his syllabus read, with a brief introductory statement framing the coursework: This subject describes the types, functions and roles of the Chief Executive, personal administration, administrative corruption, financial administration and administrative improvement.
“No fun in Professor Mencken’s class,” I mockingly saluted him, “I got it.”
Only later would I realize how ironic it had been to stand in the future president’s kitchen discussing the details of his class, which included administrative corruption, given the nature of our relationship.
When he left me alone at his laptop to click through his lesson plans, I did anything but that. I glanced around the kitchen and adjoining living room, my curious feet carrying me to the entryway. No colors, no personal style, no signs of life in the living space. The style screamed avoidant. Like he could pick up his stuff in one go and run out the door at any given moment.
What caught my eye the most, though, was the photo on the fireplace’s mantle. A wedding photo of him and his wife framed in plated gold with the words ‘From This Moment On’ etched into the bottom of the frame in flowing cursive.
I picked it up, my fingertips gliding gently across the glass as I inspected the photo. The refined ball gown she wore with its basque bodice dripping onto the tulle skirt met with a shirred waistline, all made of matte satin throughout. The delicate V back coming to a halt with a simple bow, the chapel length train trailing behind her as they gazed adoringly at one another. He could have been standing there completely naked in the photo and I still would have only noticed how her delicate collarbones peaked through from under the high scoop neckline. Her face, her timeless American beauty. Brunette hair down to her chin, curled under at the ends, framed neatly with a headpiece at the crown of her head. Her veil flowing gently in, what I imagined to be, the summer breeze.
Suddenly I was a little girl again, gazing through the storefront window on Madison Avenue as an elated bride-to-be twirled around in front of the floor length mirror, surrounded by her friends.
Mrs. Mencken was now as real to me as that woman had been. My guilt now had a face.
I slid the frame back onto the mantle and turned around, smacking right into Jeryd’s chest.
“Do you still want to call her?”
I shook my head vehemently, swallowing audibly as I looked up at him.
His face remained calm as he blinked down at me expectantly, his eyebrow sloping at the arch.
He fucked me hard against the wall after that. My legs wrapped around his waist like a noose when he hoisted me up and took me right there in his living room. A reward, I guessed, for not spilling my guts on his carpet or to his wife. In all reality, I had wanted him to fuck me. To break the code of professionalism that we had agreed on previously. I had dressed for the occasion, silently pretending a skirt with no panties was an innocent choice when he pulled it up to rest on my hips. The entire time, my head rested in the crook of his neck, my eyes burning holes through the photo that rested innocently in its rightful place on their mantle. I held onto him for dear life as he fucked into me, slowly coming to a halt as he pulled back to look into my eyes.
“Don’t do that.” He said, lowly chastising my wandering mind. “Don’t make it personal.”
I wanted to ask him what the fuck life is if it’s not personal but I stayed silent.
He brought his left hand to rest on my cheek as he balanced our weight against the wall. The coldness of his wedding band felt like something akin to holy water on the flesh of the possessed.
“Take it off,” I pleaded with him. He was confused by my outburst, his eyes narrowing down at me.
When I slid his finger into my mouth, the cold metal gripped between my teeth, he got the message. It pooled under my tongue briefly before I spit it onto the floor. The ring landed with a soft thud right in front of the rug on the fireplace.
He didn’t look away from me when he resumed his pace. Each time I tried to avert my gaze, he quite literally jerked my chin back to look directly at him.
I wanted to ask him if that was his idea of not making it personal.
But I didn’t.
#jeryd mencken fic#jeryd mencken fanfiction#jeryd mencken imagine#jeryd mencken x ofc#jeryd mencken x original female character#jeryd mencken#justin kirk
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
imagine being an actor whose resume includes jeryd mencken the fascist from succession and also prior walter. this happened to my buddy Justin kirk
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Title: "Blood and Scotch"
This was started like a month ago or something like that but I barely finished it because Inspiration has struck! For day #208 of @flashfictionfridayofficial here is my fill (that kinda went over the word count a teeny tiny bit) but, Enjoy!!
Flash Fiction Friday - Tumblr | Ao3 - [Prev <- • -> Next]
[Image ID: #FFF 208 Reporting The Scoop]
Fandom: Succession
Prompt(s): "Reporting The Scoop"
Relationship(s): Roman Roy/Jeryd Mencken
Character(s): Roman Roy, Jeryd Mencken
Important Tag(s): Sexual Tension, Open Too Interpretation, Open/Ambiguous Ending
Rating: Teen and Up
Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply, Cussing, Drinking/Alcohol, Mentions to Sex
Word Count: 1,297
There was a breath, a step from Jeryd, before his hand was clasped over Roman's shoulder, his side pushed onto his front as he leaned over, his mouth a breath away from his ear and his weight pushing dangerously against him.
"Aren't you a fun toy to chew on?" He muttered, tightening his grip.
Or
Jeryd's all alone; so is Roman. They talk about this and maybe something else.
Continue reading below or over on Ao3
(Other Works) (Request a Fic) (Navigation) (Ao3)
"Roman Roy for Jeryd Mencken," he chimed the words that feel like they've been strung and impossibly knotted together. It's useless, he knew, they knew him. He'd stood in that spot and said those words enough times to know that the words meant exactly as he'd arranged them.
Like clockwork, the person behind the desk nodded their head and gestured for him to follow. He was passed off through two sets of security before being walked through the final door and left to himself.
He waited for someone to come around at the sound of the door but no one came. "Hello?" He looked around.
Empty; no wife, no kid, not one of Mencken's personnel hammering away on computer keys and bringing phone call after phone call or stacks of paperwork to their boss. Instead there was an all too quietness that left roman taking his steps carefully as he navigated the already charted and mapped apartment. Twist and turns all too familiar as he took a peek in the kitchen area before down the hall where he knew the bedroom was.
An open invitation laid begging in the form of the cracked open door, something he held no hesistence for.
He let himself be obliged. The door opened with no noise and only a view.
Layers of clothes littered the room from the rucked up covers of the bed to the desk chair. A suit jacket over the chair, a vest on the floor, a wrinkled tie thrown over the best post; Roman followed the story before approaching the main attraction.
"Oh, did I miss the threesome?" He casually remarked.
Mencken turned his head towards him from where he stood, a pair of black slacks hung on his hips, beltless, as a pair of just as dark socks covered his feet; the whole thing complete with a white wrinkled button up, half untucked, half undone, collar half up and half down, and hair that looked it had a hand ran through it a time too many.
A smile grew on his face from Roman's voice alone as he cradled a glass of any presenting alcohol in hand.
"What's stopping you at just three?"
Roman gestured towards the bed. "Not big enough."
A playful but displeased look crossed Mencken's face. "Plenty of floor room."
"Rough on the knees," he excused, walking towards the small table off to the side holding the decanter that no doubt contained what Jeryd was drinking.
Mencken looked down, catering a smile as he turned and slowly walked towards him. "But you know that already," he teased, pouring himself another glass. "Scotch?" He asked, already pouring a second glass and ushering it into Roman's hand.
"Don't mind if I do." Roman followed his lead. Eyes to eyes, gaze meeting as he took a sip from his glass and Jeryd did his.
"So…?" He started, making sure Mencken's attention was on him. "Is there a reason you called me or is Jeryd Mencken really diving for the press' imagination. I can imagine the headlines now, youngest son to Logan Roy or play toy to Jeryd Mencken?"
"One and the same, no?" There was a quick quirk to his eyebrows as he brought his glass up.
"You're in control."
Mencken's grin only grew, an arresting breath to follow like he agreed all too much. "Only your doubt counts, doesn't it?"
"Does it?" Roman countered.
He laughed. "Besides, there's something I wanted to tell you."
"Oh? Phone not worthy of your words?"
"Thought it'd be better delivered with a smile," he gestured, bringing his finger to his own lips, "in secret."
Roman straightened his back and took a breath. "A smile indeed," he muttered. "Don't tell me I have to beg for it."
"You would like that." He took another drink from his glass, savoring it.
Roman bit the inside of his cheek. "So?"
"You're safe."
"Safe?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Safe as in safe safe, wrap me up in a blanket with a warm drink, safe? Or safe as in, fuck me up against the head board and have your shoes on as soon as your finished and out the door, safe?"
Jeryd cocked his head. "Sounds like a trick question to me. What really makes you feel safer?"
"Depends on who's doing what."
"Let me reiterate a story then." He placed his glass down, fingers circling the rim. "We've gone far, you and me; I might even say that we've crossed The Road."
Roman scoffed, looking down.
"You don't agree?"
"No, just…" he shrugged. "You're an agreeable person."
"And?" Jeryd pushed.
Roman pressed his tongue against his cheek. "We never got to that, into the bar, part of things."
"Not good enough for you?"
"What? No. Good—It's good, plenty good, plenty good. Just…" he danced around his words. "Things might not measure up."
Mencken took a step forward. "Is this what you're afraid of?"
"No. Me? No, I think this is pretty good." He raised his glass, making a show of taking another agonizing drink. "It's more for, well… the outside, in," he explained, stepping into Mencken's space. "Things get a bit warped when looking through windows."
He stepped forward, a quick pat laid to Roman's shoulder and said, "I'll have them tinted." In the as a matter of fact voice he supported.
He walked past him, leaving roman gripping the glass in his hand. Hoping for it to shatter, but he knew the glass was too thick, it wouldn't shatter beneath his grip and dig into the soft flesh of his hand; every little cut exposed and burning as blood mixed with scotch. Though, the fantasy feeling had very little difference to the words he and Mencken continued to exchange.
He loosened his grip on the glass. "Tinting doesn't fix a problem."
"I can give you more." Mencken's voice came from behind him.
"More is just more…" he took a breath. "More won't be enough."
"Do you want me to give you enough?"
Roman turned around to face him. An undesirable feeling crawled down his throat as he stood; speechless and undesirable himself.
Jeryd smiled, pleased, and possibly something of entertainment in his posture. "Love is a serious mental disease, Roman," he stated.
"Armchair diagnosing?" Roman moved closer. "Didn't know we were doing that now."
"Should the story end there?" Mencken gestured. His glass hanging from the rim with just the tips of his fingers holding on.
"I don't agree."
"I thought I was an agreeable person?" He cocked his head, an ever growing sly smile on his face.
"Well…" Roman closed the distance between them. "Those who tell the stories, rule society." He pushed himself into Jeryd's space
"Eager aren't we?" He teased.
"At the heels of your feet."
Jeryd chuckled and a part of Roman felt like the hand around his throat loosened enough for him to take an extra gasp of breath.
There was a breath, a step from Jeryd, before his hand was clasped over Roman's shoulder, his side pushed onto his front as he leaned over, his mouth a breath away from his ear and his weight pushing dangerously against him.
"Aren't you a fun toy to chew on?" He muttered, tightening his grip.
Roman waited for the desired pain but settled after a few seconds when nothing came. "So I've been told."
"Keep yourself solitary then," he stated in the same manner an order would be given and followed. With another pat to his shoulder he pulled away, switching his glass to that hand. "To me and to you." He brought it down and gently tapped Roman's glass, before taking a drink.
Roman cocked his head with a pleased grin, looking Mencken in the eye as he brought the glass to his lips. "To you and me."
#succession#roman roy#jeryd mencken#romencken#flash fiction friday#virusfanfic#romanmencken#fanfiction#succession fanfic#i dont know what this is honestly one those no stright forward meaning it kinda wrote itself type things
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
💮 Kieran Culkin could talk about the Castlevania (2: Simon's Quest) game for hours on end and he did in an interview. I imagined Justin Kirk as the host and it being a scene where Roman and Mencken share their secret hobby/collection no one knows about. 💮 Roman says in ep. 8: "You should hear him talk semiconductors." I would have loved to witness that conversation! 💮 What would they each reveal about themselves to the other? I'm thinking Jeryd casually confessing first? What say you?
Point 1: That is so fucking cute. Dork. Into it and your scenario. Dorks.
Point 2: Semiconductors. I repeat: dorks. Mencken going on and on at Roman about things he doesn't even begin to understand and Roman just listening and telling himself that he's not really listening really works for me.
Point 3: This requires a little more thought.
I think in any Roman/Mencken scenario, Mencken makes the first move, even emotionally - not because Roman isn't very into it, but because he's so closely watching Mencken for any sign of anything that he's too busy to actually do anything. So Roman's totally blindsided by Mencken casually tilting things from bullshitting to conversational to casual to personal revelations.
I like the idea of a first tipping point with Mencken talking about parental issues, and a major tipping point with Mencken outright admitting to Roman that he isn't straight. Imagining Roman start to cope with the latter is really something.
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
We should start a club, lololol. I, too, sometimes see a handsome older man and get a little stupid. I don't know what my plot would be, though. I think at first I'd deep my toes into the water with something like lending pieces of political dramas, like the Bodyguard. Imagine being charged with guarding Mencken, and you loathe him and then *wink, wink*. Or an investigative journalist who discovers the fraud but stays quiet because he seduces you, or I'd would go for something so tooth-rottening like "Maid in Manhattan", but in this case the politician is really shitty and has a meltdown over falling for someone from a minority cause he racist af, and forever keeps her in the shadows.
I love all of these omg but be prepared, the jeryds will not hesitate to be mean to you and will almost certainly cheat on you 😂
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
yoadrien
Adrien T.
aussiemodel79
Bree Adcock. 43.Aussie🇦🇺Fashion & Music Lover.🫶🏼🛍
builttotravel
english, music & trip lover
aowuniverse
Untitled