Very Well Written Everything Flows Really Well - Blog Posts

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.