#something something kendall roy energy

[preordainedplace]

divine madness

[kyrylo-kot]

ᅠᅠ— this is what i want: i want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time， losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.

[myplasticadversary]

I think girl Kendall's whole deal is that she really wants to embody this cultural ideal of what a mother or eldest daughter should be and be emotionally and physically available and doing tasks around the house in the hopes that if she just keeps putting in the effort unlike Caroline she'll receive appreciation from her family, but whenever she tries to help she's just comically mystified as to how anything actually works. Amelia Bedelia vibe

[cvrnelians]

smile like you mean it - chapters 1-3 (reupload)

You knew filing for divorce would be no easy feat. But filing for divorce from Roman Roy?

"No easy feat” might as well have been synonymous with “impossible."

warnings: drug use, alcoholism, miscarriage, Roman and the rest of the Roy family being awful.

chapter four // chapter five

music

You’re broken up.

Separated, split up, estranged, whatever. You’re living apart, en route to what you can only foresee as painstakingly drawn out divorce proceedings. Brutal divorce proceedings, because you’re not just dealing with a “normal” human being. Unfortunately for you, the demise of your relationship has taken on a life of its own. Things always did when there was money involved.

You’re broken up.

Evidently, Roman doesn’t care.

But there’s a catch, as there usually is with your husband, and with the Roy family in general. You had hoped he would be largely unfazed by your decision to leave him, as he was with most things. You had hoped that he would sign the papers without even giving them a second look, send you a belittling text message or two, and move right along. You tried to make things as clean as possible. You hadn’t asked for a single thing—not his money, not his various properties, not his ridiculously expensive cars (yes, cars as in multiple), no valuables. Nothing.

Nothing.

Part of you knew better, though. He certainly would care that you were filing for divorce. He loved you. He loved you enough to marry you. He loved you enough to marry you without a prenup for fuck’s sake, going against any shred of common sense he had left. You had married into one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in New York. Did you really have the audacity, the gall to file for divorce from Roman Roy—theRoman Roy? You? You?

Roman loved you as much as he was capable of loving anyone. That wasn’t much by other people’s standards, but for him, that meant something. You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone, which by any sane person’s standards (and your own) seemed like a lot. And it was. But he had finally pushed you to your limit, and you were fed up.

And now you were suffering for it.

It was funny. In trying to make things as convenient and non-combative as possible, you had only made things harder on yourself. It wasn’t the divorce that Roman didn’t care about. It wasn’t you he didn’t care about. Of course not.

It was your boundaries. Roman didn’t pay any mind to those. He never could.

…which was why he had taken it upon himself to barge into your new apartment uninvited, at two o’ clock in the morning on a Tuesday. He arrived seconds after you returned home from a miserable night out, forcing open the door before you had even gotten the chance to take off your coat, turn around, and lock it. He had shoved the door open with such force that it hit you square in the back, making you stumble over your own two feet.

“Jesus, Roman!” You were breathing heavily, shaking from the adrenaline that accompanied someone sneaking up behind you and ramming into you full force.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

🌃 Several years ago 🌃

Your boss is really kind of embarrassing.

There is an awkward, anxious energy to Kendall Roy that you cannot help but identify with. To those that didn’t know him, the “confidence” he tried so hard to embody probably came across as arrogant and idiotic—as if an incredibly affluent nepotism baby wasn’t unlikable enough.

But you did know him, at least to some extent. You had been his personal assistant for a little over a year. To you, Kendall seemed like the type of person that lied awake at night overthinking. He seemed like the type of person that practiced positive affirmations in the mirror every morning, and listened to podcasts hosted by hack motivational speakers in order to pump himself up. He seemed like the type of person to go all out on some fad juice cleanse with the intention of “reaching peak wellness,” only to smoke half a pack of cigarettes that same day in order to calm his nerves. His chief concern, apart from earning his father’s approval, was with making everyone think he was cool. Hip, if you will. But no matter how many designer suits or expensive sneakers he bought, to you, Kendall was a dad. A white collar dad, no less.

In other words, your boss was a dork.

He ruminated a lot, he talked a lot, he felt a lot. And why wouldn’t he? He was carrying the burden of a major media conglomerate like Waystar Royco on his back with very little support or guidance from anyone else. And in spite of his age, Kendall Roy seemed like he would do well with a bit of guidance.

“Hey, can I talk to you real quick?” he asked, peeking out from the doorway of his office. You turned to look at him as you hovered over the Keurig, which seemed to be malfunctioning. You had to hold back a sigh. To Kendall, “real quick” usually meant up to half an hour or longer. Typically, you didn’t mind talking to your boss, but you were feeling desperate for some prolonged silence and a heavy dose of caffeine. You had slept in later than intended, and in your discombobulated scramble to arrive to work on time, you had neglected to have the two cups you usually drank when you woke up. Yes, two.

Because working for a Roy was fucking exhausting. 

As fair as he could be and as well as he paid you, your dynamic with your employer was this: when he said “jump,” you said “how high?” twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. You picked up takeout for him at all hours of the day and night, scheduled meetings—sat in on, took notes, and got yelled at in said meetings—fielded calls from people he did and didn’t want to deal with, ran whatever errand he could think of, and—although he didn’t want anyone else to know this—made sure he went to his AA meetings. He even asked you to pick his kids up from school a few times. You were starting to think that Kendall would pay you to breathe for him if he could.

“Yeah sure,” you said, trying your best not to sound exasperated.

Kendall was pretty perceptive when it came to your mood, however, and he barely stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have one for you already. I bought it on my way here.”

“You got me coffee?”

“You mentioned that you like a good cappuccino, so.”

“Oh! Thanks, Ken. I really appreciate that,” you said, beaming.

He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your sense of gratitude quickly died down when you realized that this probably wasn’t good. It was generally never a good sign when Kendall gave you little peace offerings like this. The last time he bought you coffee, he was preemptively apologizing for piling a bunch of new job tasks on you; a direct result of firing most of your colleagues, including some of your favorite ones.

“Have a seat,” he said, sitting down at his desk, pushing the massive cup towards you. You cleared your throat and stepped into his office, closing the door behind you. “Sorry to call you in here right as you’re walking in. I just have a few things I want to go over with you.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.”

You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like he was nervous, like he knew something you didn’t, like what he was about to say would feel like pulling teeth—not only for him, but for you, too.

“Alright, um. So I wasn’t going to mention this to you because honestly, I think it might be…well, you might not…I’m not sure how it’s going to be received. And in my view, I mean. It’s not like that. I mean, I’m not like that. I’m not that guy. I promise, I’m really not! It’s just—”

“Ken?” you asked. His anxiety was rubbing off on you, giving you the urge to bite your nails.

He sighed. “I would never, ever want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

You raised your eyebrows, taking a big gulp of your cappuccino, made just the way you liked it. You had a feeling you were going to need it. He placed his head in his hand, his thumb and middle finger splaying across his forehead to touch his temples. “Ah god, I really shouldn’t do this,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears. Was this really it? Was he firing you? Were you getting let go? Your mind was racing, trying to recall if you had done anything that warranted being kicked to the curb. Did you do anything even slightly detrimental to the company, anything at all? Did you even need to? Waystar Royco wasn’t exactly fair, or employee-friendly for that matter.

“Is everything okay?”

Your voice sounded just as pathetic as you felt.

“Yes. Well, sort of. No. Maybe.”

You were about to say something when Kendall’s eyes suddenly shifted towards something above you, and he covered his face with his palm dejectedly. And then you heard a loud banging noise, making you jump. You turned to see who was easily one of your least favorite people in the world: the obnoxious, antagonistic, arrogant, irritatingly well-dressed imbecile that was Roman Roy.

He slammed on the glass windows of Kendall’s office with both hands, making everyone nearby turn and stare. They all should have been relatively unfazed by this nonsense by now. On the days that he was actually at work, if Roman wasn’t being disruptive, there was something very wrong.

“Did he tell you?” he asked, his gaze honing in on you. His voice was somewhat muffled through the glass, but the volume at which he was speaking more than made up for it. His tone was half maniacally happy, half mocking. There was no other way to describe it. “Is he telling you? Is he telling you right now?”

“Jesus Christ, not this,” Kendall muttered.

“So, did you give her the good news?” Roman asked, shoving the door open so hard that it hit the wall, making the desk shake.

“Seriously, man?” Kendall groaned.

You suddenly felt hands clutching onto your shoulders from behind, making you seize up. You were hit with a wave of what had to be a laughably expensive cologne, but not a nice one. It was more sleazy than anything. ‘Drug dealer cologne’ were the words that popped into your head, if that was even a thing. ‘Creepy guy cologne.’ ‘Guy who thinks that just because he has money means that he can do anything he wants and get away with it cologne.’ To make matters worse, his hands were ice cold.

Like his soul.

He leaned down to face you, and you reflexively jerked away. “So beautiful, did he give you the good news?”

“No!” Kendall snapped, attempting to reach over the desk and swat at him with a piece of paper. “Absolutely not. You cannot touch the employees. You know that I could fire you for sexual harrassment right now if I wanted to?”

Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took his hands off of you, holding them out in front of him defensively. “So I’m guessing you didn’t tell her, then. Terrifying Ken, really. I’m quaking. How would I ever recover?”

“I already told you that wasn’t going to happen. Get out. You can hire your own assistant.”

What?

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked, trying to avoid looking at Roman. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

Kendall looked at you and sighed. He was quiet for a few moments, like he was contemplating something. You surmised that he was probably just overwhelmed by his brother loudly barging into his office so early in the morning. “Overwhelming” was the perfect word to describe Roman’s presence, among other things. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course. This. But it’s not happening, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Au contraire mon frère,” Roman said. “I’m COO now, remember? I need somebody to bring me coffee and pick up my drycleaning just the same as you.”

“So hire an assistant.”

“I am hiring an assistant.”

“Hire your own!”

“Oh, great idea, Ken! But oh, oh, you know what? You know what? It’s actually a really stupid fucking idea because I clearly said that I wanted your assistant. You might’ve understood that if you had been listening.”

In the midst of their little back and forth, you felt frozen. Even from only having just a handful of interactions with him, you hated Roman. You hated him when you knew of him, and you hated him when you met him. You already kind of hated working in the corporate world, but being able to afford to live in the city and having Kendall as a boss made it all at least somewhat bearable. If you had to be Roman’s assistant, it was over for you. There was no other option. You would have to quit your job. If you didn’t, you were in for the most demoralizing experience of your life. 

Why was this even happening? You figured this situation had absolutely nothing to do with you, that there was some kind of underlying argument going on between Roman and Kendall and that you were just being used as a pawn in the game. You were a fairly decent assistant, but nothing remarkable. There was no reason why anyone would or should adamantly argue to hire you. It was crazy how people with money and power could change your entire livelihood on a whim.

“Besides, Kendall, you already have Jess. You don’t need two assistants, that’s diva behavior. And Dad already said I could. You won’t even notice that she’s gone.”

“Yeah?” Kendall mocked. “Really? You’re dicking my employee around just because Daddy said you could?”

“Ew,” Roman laughed. “Did you seriously just call our dad Daddy?”

“It was in a mocking tone!”

“Yeah, okay, Daddy.”

“Roman,” you interrupted. You knew you probably weren’t going to be able to level with him, but you had to try. If there was even a slight chance that you could remain in your current position and maintain your sanity, you were going to reach for it. “Kendall has me doing some seriously low-level tasks. That’s why he still has Jess. I’m basically an intern, I’m just here to learn. You’re probably going to want someone more experienced.”

Roman shook his head and tutted at you. “Aw, Ken. You’ve really got to keep your diminished sense of self-worth in check, it’s starting to rub off on your employees.”

“I’m going to talk to Dad, you are going to leave my staff alone, and we are going to hire you an assistant,” Kendall said slowly, as if he was talking to a child.

“Yeah, because Dad is always so willing to back you up, right? Old reliable. I’m sure that’ll work out great for you.”

The room was dead silent for the next few moments. They were doing that weird sibling thing where they were having a conversation just by looking at each other, a conversation you weren’t part of. Roman had struck a nerve, just as he knew he would.

“Did you wanna say something else, or?” Roman asked.

Kendall wouldn’t look at you, instead losing his staring contest with Roman to aimlessly move some things around on his desk.

And just like that, it was over. You were fucked.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸

Hell was not some fiery, underground inner sanctum. It was sitting next to Roman Roy on a private jet (the Roys’ second private jet, which Roman affectionately deemed “Family Torture Chamber the Second”) en route to Herefordshire, England for Siobhan’s wedding.

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, you know.”

Oh yes, I do.

You were only three months into being Roman’s personal assistant, and you already felt like he was taking years off of your life.

Today had been a rough day, to say the least. You were under the initial impression that you were going to board “Family Torture Chamber the First” (also known as, “If You’re Not First, You’re Last”) along with the rest of his miserable excuse for a family earlier that morning. But then Roman took it upon himself to inform you just as you were walking out onto the tarmac that they had all departed for England several days prior. He said some routine maintenance was being done on the jet, and a few seats were removed so that they could be repaired. As a result, there wasn’t enough room for two additional passengers. So here you sat, stranded alone with your boss in an unusually cushy torture chamber.

It was almost sad, the way you were actually kind of looking forward to the original travel plan. If you managed to shove your way into a seat next to Willa or Greg (who reminded you that normal people did, in fact, exist) it would’ve been a welcome reprieve from the world in which you lived, otherwise known as Roman’s world. It was kind of like Elmo’s World, except actually not at all.

Elmo’s World never made you contemplate throwing yourself off a bridge.

Roman’s world: a cruel reality in which everything was all about Roman, all the time. During your time served thus far, things had been—for lack of a better word—weird. It was bad, sure, but not quite in the way you had expected. You anticipated that you would be yelled at, talked down to, and forced to overhear things you would never be able to scrub from your memory. And there certainly was a bit of all of that. 

But mostly, you felt…smothered.

At any given hour, it was rare that Roman didn’t have you practically glued to his side. If you weren’t readily available or even simply within eyeshot, he would make up some dramatic excuse to reel you back in. Everything that involved you doing something independently became a major issue. There was a never ending list of monotonous tasks he would create for you to complete.

“You’re gonna have to stay late again tonight. You might have to stay over, actually. I need you to fill out this paperwork I don’t feel like pretending to read.”

“I don’t care if it makes you uncomfortable, just forge my fucking signature. I’m telling you you can. Oh wait, look, look! How about this? I’ll make it all better. I’m openly threatening to fire you if you don’t, so now you’re under duress. Not liable if shit hits the fan, unless you fuck me over and make me change my mind. Who’s even gonna know, a handwriting expert? What kind of maniac under sixty sits down and writes anymore, anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s 2am, you’re tired. So is everyone. I need you to pick up some groceries for me. Yeah. Right now. I don’t trust someone from one of those delivery apps knowing where I live. Inevitably someone’s gonna tweet about how hot I am in person when I’m just trying to have a quiet night in, and you know how much I hate drawing attention to myself. Also, I’m kind of drunk right now, so…”

“I don’t pay you for nothing, beautiful. If I have to go for a run at disrespectful o’clock in the morning, so do you. Don’t be mad. We can get donuts after.”

Somehow, you had allowed things to cross the line from weird to downright ridiculous. The only time you spent away from him was to go home and sleep, and that didn’t always happen, either. He liked “working from home,” aka, leaving the office early and making you come to his house so you could work from his home. During that time, he would just sit and relax, or talk at you for hours until you became visibly agitated. Those seemed to be his two favorite hobbies as of late.

You would be answering emails and creating spreadsheets and doing god knows whatever else he asked you to do so late into the night that he just started letting you sleep there. Or rather, insisting that you sleep there, in one of several guest rooms of your choosing.

The first time you passed out on his couch—long after he had gone to bed himself—you were horrified. You had never once done that at Kendall’s house. But he always made sure to let you leave at a reasonable hour, and on the rare chance that you had to stay late, he would send for a company car to take you home.

Roman was totally unfazed when he found you that morning. You could vividly recall him waking you up by hitting you repeatedly with a $300 throw pillow.

You did all of this and more, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You were starting to feel like you sold your soul, and for what? A check? To live in an insanely expensive city without any friends, without any family, completely alone? Was sacrificing your dignity and virtually all of your free time really worth the money he paid you?

You preferred not to answer that question.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to come home to, not even a cat or something. Your family lived out-of-state. What else were you going to do with your free time? Why not work 24/7, if anything, to distract yourself from how empty your life truly was?

You had been poor once, not long before you started working for Kendall. You could just barely afford basic necessities, sometimes having to live off of granola bars for weeks at a time. But you were determined to remain afloat. Leaving, going back home to a family that wasn’t much better than the Roys, would feel like giving up. It would feel like you had failed. Getting your degree, working multiple jobs, going through roommate after roommate, struggling for all those years just to return to the place you were so desperate to escape…it seemed like such a waste. It would’ve been all for nothing. You had become so rundown that you were prepared to lay down and die like that, prepared to surrender.

And then you got a job at Waystar Royco.

You weren’t afraid to quit under Kendall. You knew he would provide you with a glowing reference, as long as you left on good terms. Roman, though…

You would probably have to fabricate one. That is, if he hadn’t totally blacklisted you from being hired by everyone else in the industry if you even so much as hinted at quitting. And he certainly had the means to do that.

Given the amount of time he forced you to spend with him, if you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought Roman actually liked you or something. But you weren’t an idiot. Roman didn’t like anyone. He was just, well…

He was a brat. Roman was a brat. There was no better word to describe him. It was that simple. As much as you tried to hide it, he knew you totally despised him. How could he not? You couldn’t tell if he kept you on such a short leash just because he enjoyed torturing you, or if he was genuinely that needy. 

Kendall was sort of like that, too, in his own way. You figured it must’ve been a Roy thing.

Being trapped on a twelve hour flight together probably wasn’t helping to lessen your disdain for him. He sighed dramatically, slamming himself back against his seat. All was quiet for a few seconds until you felt him flick your ear.

“Ow! Roman, why?” you groaned, shoving his hand away. You leaned your head against the window, squinting your eyes shut. “Can you please let me get some rest? I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, figures. You’re probably not used to flying anything but coach. And believe me, I get it. For a wee commoner, I’m sure the plane that Dad only uses when he has no other option is just beyond. Dare I say comparable to, I don’t know, what’s something broke people think is opulent? The water mattress that your dad who only saw you once a year got you for your birthday when you were ten, or something. It’s like that to you. Am I right or am I right?”

If there was ever a time where you really wanted to punch him in the face—and there were many times in which you really wanted to punch him in the face—it was now.

“It’s comfortable, sure, but not comfortable enough to sleep on. Let’s be honest with each other. Who the fuck can fall asleep on a plane?”

“People fall asleep on planes all the time, Roman,” you sighed.

“Some people. Not you, though.”

“Apparently not.”

It was hopeless. There was no point in arguing. If there was one thing you had learned these last few months, it was that in order to get what you wanted from powerful people—powerful people that also just so happened to be awful people—you had to learn to pick your battles.

You were right on the verge of laying down and dying once again the morning after Roman hired you. That is, until he offered to drastically increase your salary. You were certain he did this to ensure you would stick around, not because he valued you as an employee, but because he wanted his brother to know that he won whatever weird little dick measuring competition they were having.

You opened your eyes and rolled your shoulders back.

Just a few more hours. You can do this. You can do this.

When you turned your head to look at him, Roman was leaning back in his seat, already looking at you.

“Oh my god! Have you been staring at me this whole time?”

“Besides,” he said, ignoring your question. “It’s not like I would even try and bother you if you were awake. Which you have been, like, this entire time.”

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t try to bother me?”

“I wouldn’t,” he said earnestly. The look on his face was a drastic shift from the expression he usually wore. Like with most unlikeable people, there were moments where the cracks would begin to show, where you would see an inkling of vulnerability beneath the surface. It was the strangest thing, how he could vacillate from sly fox to kicked puppy.

You wanted to cry. Did he really have the audacity to sound so sincere when he had been bothering you around the clock for three months straight? He had to have known how annoying he was. It was deliberate, wasn’t it? It was always deliberate with him.

You couldn’t even control sniping back.

“You literally just bothered me so that I would wake up and talk to you.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Once again, you were already awake, you little liar. And I don’t want you to talk to me. I want you to look at me and laugh at everything I say and hang onto my every word. See? That’s not talking. That’s listening. There’s a difference.”

“You know there are several other seats available for you to enjoy?” you asked, gesturing to the empty cabin. You wished that even just one of the other Roys had opted to fly with you. You silently prayed that one of them would somehow materialize, becoming an unwitting buffer between the two you. “You don’t have to sit directly next to me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. See angel, I’m incredibly delicate in body and soul, meaning that I have the circulatory system of roughly an eighty year old man. Therefore I am fucking freezing in here. I basically have to exchange body heat with you or I’m going to die. And if I die, you don’t get paid, so you’ve kinda gotta weigh your options real carefully.”

Suddenly, the somewhat polite, professional resolve you had been trying your best to uphold had collapsed. It was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. He was impossible. You groaned and knocked your forehead against the seat in front of you, resting it there.

Roman let out a laugh. “Aw hey, come on. Cheer up. We only have…” he checked his watch. “Seven more hours to go! Wanna play truth or dare?”

“Your circulation is probably bad because you’re cold-blooded,” you said, your voice muffled against the leather seat.

“What, like a snake?”

You thought for a second, straightening back up. “No, you’re not that threatening. More of a lizard. Maybe a gecko.”

“Did you just…what the fuck?” He looked at you incredulously, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “Did you just say that I look like a fucking gecko?”

“No, I said that you’re cold-blooded like a gecko.”

“Are…wait, are geckos cold-blooded?”

“I mean, they’re reptiles. I don’t know, Roman. I’m not a gecko expert.”

“Damn shame. And here I thought your knowledge and expertise knew no bounds, Bachelor’s degree,” he mocked.

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?” 

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?” he mimicked you, raising his voice an octave. “You don’t really have to when you’re fucking loaded. Hey, do you want some wine?”

He got up and grabbed a few bottles from the small wine rack in the corner—yes, a wine rack—and held them out in front of you. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you would think that he looked nice. He usually did, with his button up shirts and his blazers and his many, many coats. He had sharp features, always with dark circles under his eyes. You sometimes wondered if he was just as tired as you were. Even though he could be kind of lazy, it wasn’t hard to imagine that being part of the Roy family was no easy feat. Every once in a while, you wished he wasn’t the way that he was. If he wasn’t your employer and he wasn’t such a horrible human being, you could concede that Roman was really kind of handsome.

In his own weird, rude, cold, apparently gecko-like way.

“Bitter, disgusting liquid or bitter, disgusting liquid? Take your pick. You’re usually pretty predictable, but I cannot for the life of me decipher whether you’re a red wine person or a white wine person.”

You cringed at the thought of having a glass of wine with him. Although you could really stand to unwind, you had a brutal headache that didn’t seem like it was going away any time soon. You knew from experience that wine would only make it worse.

“Neither right now. Thanks, though.”

He scoffed. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m offering you ketamine or something. I’m being nice, I’m actually asking which kind you like before I give it to you. So what’s it gonna be, red or white?”

Being nice. Roman used that phrase a lot. “I’m being nice.” As if kindness was a rare, transactional behavior to be immediately acknowledged and rewarded. If he was “being nice,” then you had to be nice. Otherwise, he would make you pay for it.

And he could be pretty sadistic when he wanted to be. 

You wondered who he got that from, Caroline or Logan. Maybe both.

“Neither. I have a headache.”

“I will literally spit in your drink if you don’t tell me which one you like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you even—then I just won’t drink it.”

“Whatever,” he sighed, uncorking the red. He didn’t bother to grab a glass, instead taking a swig directly from the bottle as he sat down next to you. “More for me then.”

For a short while, things were eerily quiet. Roman was eerily quiet. Then again, he was steadily chugging wine, becoming more and more inebriated as the minutes ticked by. It was about an hour and a half until he finished it off. You were resting your head against the window again, willing yourself to sleep when you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“So. You and my brother,” he said. “You guys…hang out ever?”

“Hang out?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

He nodded, all tired and glassy-eyed. “Yeah. You ever…” He looked like he was seriously thinking about what he was about to say next, but that might’ve just been the alcohol. “You ever hang out outside of the happiest place on earth?”

“You’re asking if I’ve ever met up with him outside of work?”

“Look at you, putting two and two together,” he exclaimed. His tone changed to one of a pet owner excitedly greeting their dog as they walked through the door. He moved his face closer to yours. “Who’s a smart girl? Who’s a smart girl?”

You placed your entire palm against his face and slowly pushed it away.

He laughed. “Ooooo. Y’know, I actually kind of like it when you do that.”

But you weren’t laughing. Not even a little.

“Are you insinuating that I’m hanging out—” you gestured with air quotes. “—with Kendall?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking a question so I can stop other people from insinuating. It’s all anybody ever talks about when you leave the room.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. People were talking about you? All this time you had been working your ass off, going the extra mile just so you could keep this stupid job and afford to live, and this was what you had to show for it? Your coworkers speculating that you were sleeping with your boss?

Well, former boss.

Why? Just because he was nice to you? And not just Roman nice. Actually nice.

You had to stop yourself from yelling.

“The way he looks at you sometimes, I mean. Yeah, I get it. The dude has eyes, but come on. How fucking obvious can you be?”

“You think I’m sleeping with Kendall.”

“I mean. Are you?” 

He had that look on his face again, the weird one. The nervous one. Kicked puppy. The “I’m trying to get my point across but but I’m afraid of your reaction” face. It was always so jarring when he got like that. You almost preferred the snark. What did he have to be nervous about? Nothing was going on, and even if it was, how would that even slightly affect his life? Why did it matter?

“I think it goes without saying that I’m not.”

“Well that was convincing,” he said flatly.

“Think about it, Roman. When would I even have time to sleep with anyone? I work constantly. I’m literally always with you!”

“Before, though?” he asked. His voice was borderline whiny, like he was pleading. You had a gut feeling that you should get up and move further away from him, but you stayed put.

“Before?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m asking. Before you worked for me, were you fucking him?”

“No!” you snapped. “Roman, ew. Why do you even care? It’s none of your business what I do outside of work.”

He uncorked the other bottle of wine and took a drink. “Wanna hear another fun fact?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna hear it either way.”

“I’m warning you, though. You tell anyone, you die.”

“Alright, fine. We’ll make a blood oath.”

He smirked at you and shook his head, taking another drink. “Oh, you know I love me a blood oath. So glad you’re my assistant, by the way.”

“I really wish I could say the same.”

He placed his hand against his chest. “Ouch. You won’t even give me an inch, will you?”

“Just tell me the fact.”

“So demanding. Fine, since the anticipation is killing you. Fun fact, I’m a nervous flier. More than nervous, actually. Like, I’m more of a terrorized, traumatized, scared out of my mind flier.”

Okay. You were not expecting that admission.

“Really?” you asked. “You’re afraid to fly?”

“Yep. Like a little bitch boy.”

You snorted. “Being afraid of flying doesn’t make you a little bitch boy. Lots of people are afraid to fly.”

“Talking, though. Talking to someone during the flight?” he slurred, as if he was asking a question. “Talking helps me relax.”

Oh. So that was why he wasn’t letting you sleep.

“I’m honestly a little shocked that you’re a nervous flier. You fly places all the time.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sucks to suck, I guess,” he said, taking another swig.

You grabbed the bottle’s neck, trying to pry it from his fingers, but he wouldn’t budge. “I think you might want to slow down.”

He smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe you would’ve known that sooner if you took, oh, I don’t know, two seconds out of your day to ask me a single question about myself. And clearly you don’t wanna talk to me right now, so getting drunk is really my only other option for getting through this flight. But I’m cold-blooded, right?”

This whole interaction had taken a bizarre turn, and you had no clue how to react. You almost felt guilty, but you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to feel guilty for. Maybe you had been a bit cold when it came to Roman, but how else did he expect you to act? He was awful. Everyone knew that. And he was your employer, not your friend. You weren’t required to ask him about himself unless it pertained to what he wanted you to do. How were you even supposed to ask about something like that? How would it even come up in conversation? 

There was a long, awkward silence after that. He kept drinking and you kept staring out the window, thinking of what to say next. Should you apologize? Should you move seats? Was there a way to create distance from him that wasn’t blatantly obvious?

“I–”

He waved his hand at you dismissively. “You’re sorry, you feel bad, blah blah blah. Whatever. I don’t need you talking to me because you feel bad for me. Unlike my brother, I don’t want anyone’s pity. Just go to sleep.”

“Roman, I’m sorry. But don’t you think you’re being a little unfair?”

“You wanted to go to sleep, so go to sleep. Keep acting like I’m not even here. Keep ignoring me, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not ignoring y—”

“Alright. You want to keep this pity party going? Fine by me. But while we’re at it, we’re just gonna nip this in the bud now, okay?” he said, exuding a false sense of cheerfulness. He stood up and stumbled a little ways down the aisle, raising his hand to lean against the overhead compartment as he turned towards you. “I’m sure you’re already well aware, but need I remind you that you’re a fucking coffee gopher? Because you are. You’re a run of the mill, ladder climbing, H&M wearing plebeian. And you know what else? This is the best you’re ever gonna do. You need this job, and in order to keep it, you need me to like you. And in spite of what you’ve heard, in spite of what you’ve chosen to believe about me, I’m really not that bad.

“In fact, you should be thanking me up and down right now. Because right now, I’m essentially paying you to drink wine, and take a nap, and complain about how much you hate me, and talk about how much you miss working for my cokehead brother on my fucking dime. So if I were you, I would wipe that miserable look off your face and attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Unless, of course, you want to buy your own plane ticket home, which I’m telling you right now, is not gonna be cheap for someone like you.”

You felt like you had just been slapped. You might as well have been. Your chest was heavy, your breathing sporadic as your eyes welled up with angry tears. Your mind was racing as he stared at you, waiting for a response. He could be fairly ruthless, but you hadn’t experienced anything like this.

“Oh, you’re crying now? You’re crying?” he taunted. “Why don’t you just go tell Kendall about it? I’m sure he’d love nothing more.” 

You were wondering when Roman’s “niceness” was going to reach its threshold. 

There it was.

-

this is a reupload of a story i posted a little over a year ago. i'm really glad to be working on it again 😊 hope you enjoy

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Hi there! How are you doing? I just recently found your account and LOVE it! Thank you for sharing all your stories! I particularly loved the head cannons for clingy Roman and comforting Roman!

After reading the comforting Roman one, I had an idea for some more head cannons or a story (truly whichever you prefer if you want to write this idea). But maybe something along the lines of standing up to Logan somehow and defending Roman? Seeing him so hurt and vulnerable because of what his father said broke my heart and I definitely think he needs someone in his corner, privately and publicly!

Thank you so much if you do write something around this idea, but please don’t feel pressured to if it doesn’t spark any ideas. I hope you have a fabulous day/night! 💛

In My Corner

Roman Roy x Reader

Oneshot

this is literally the sweetest request I’ve ever gotten so it went to the top of my priority list. I’m doing okay, thank you so much for asking!! I hope you’re amazing <3 you don’t understand how much it means to me that you enjoy what I write and that you love it!!! it makes me so happy!!! any request or idea you have, I promise, will give me ideas. I’m so grateful I have people like you enjoying and reading my work!! It’s one in the morning for me, so I’m sorry I can’t make it longer… but enjoy! I love you rita, thank you for requesting xx

also just a general psa, if there’s never any specific pronoun/reader gender detail in the request, I’ll default to fem/female unless I can access your profile, to which then I’ll just use the requester’s pronouns/gender. enjoy!

Word Count: 2.181k

Married life was all you could’ve ever dreamed it would be. It was more.

Roman had surprised you with how quickly he’d committed to you and you solely. He’d told you, the night of your wedding, he knew you were it for him from your first official date. That even if you dumped him, hated him, threw him out, he’d be yours. He’d never remarry, he’d never even look at another woman.

You’re the only thing that brings light to his life. You radiate warmth into him. Being around you is being by a fire in the dead of winter up on Mount Everest. In quiet conversations in the middle of the night, the two of you tangled together in bed, he’d admitted he’d kill for you. Lie for you, commit crime for you, it was all the same to him. You are what brings meaning to his life. You’re an absolute in his world of probabilities. His anchor, his rock, the love of his fucking life.

Neither of you ever take off your rings. You’d both made sure to get metals that wouldn’t rust with water and had high durability just so you were never without them. If Roman was a shell of a man before he’d met you, he’s a god now.

Late nights at the office, he has a thing of chocolate for you clutched in his hands as an apology. Untoward women flirting with him despite his very obvious marriage (he endlessly speaks of you to anyone and everyone), his hand is on your hip, his lips on yours. You’re sick? He’s taken the day off to stay with you so you’re not suffering on your own.

On the off chance you both have days off and the energy, you’re out and about. Arcades, carnivals, anything so he can see you laughing and smiling and so fucking glowy. If you’re happy, he’s happy. You’re the most important thing in his life. In between your occasional excursions, he’s Googling how to beat carnival games, he’s practicing Flappy Bird, just so that when you do go out, and your eyes catch on a particularly cute plushie, he can get it for you and watch your face light up and feel the universe grace him with heaven.

If there was anything that came with being married that you didn’t like, it was his family. Maybe not Kendall, nor Shiv. Both were kind to you, and Connor didn’t come round anymore. You couldn’t blame him.

Roman’s your husband. You know him, you know what upsets him. And nine times out of ten, when he’s crying, it’s because of his father.

Usually so bubbly and relaxed, when he was upset, he was upset. He was unable to function. He ran to you like a moth drawn to light. He’d gone so long not knowing how to cope; you were only just now helping him learn how.

“Roman, where’s that cream sweater of yours?” you call out to him. He was washing his face in the bathroom, the two of you getting ready for dinner with his family. Waystar shenanigans, as he’d put it. But you knew that truthfully, it was deeper than that. More terse.

“Hell if I know,” he calls back.

“Then what’re you going to wear?”

“No clue.”

You tsk, instead crossing over to your side of the closet to pick out an outfit. “Just no weird color combinations, for fuck’s sake.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he says, not bothered, strolling into the closet. He pinches the small of your back as he slides past you, going to look through his clothing. “What color are you wearing?”

“It’s going to be really cold, so I was thinking cable knit. Or should I just wear a turtleneck and slap a jacket over it?” You hold both options up, turning to face him. This was routine for you both. Strangely enough, he loved matching with you, and you both regularly help each other dress.

“You’re already shivering. Wear the sweater.” He comes to you, plants a kiss on your lips, then turns back and tugs his shirt off over his head. He manages to find another sweater, slipping it on. It’s the same color as yours, and even though he’s done this countless times before, your heart warms. Once you’re both ready, you’re in the car that was sent for you. You grip the bridge of your nose with your fingers, taking a deep breath as the car gently jostles you as you’re driven. Roman scoots over in the back seat, where you both are, so that your sides are pressed together. His hand slides over your thigh, rubbing gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say truthfully, dropping your hand and looking over at him. You smile, meeting his eyes. You adore him. It’s evident in your gaze, and it’s mirrored in his. “Just bracing myself.”

He leans over, kissing your cheek.

Roman grips your hand tightly as you go up in the elevator.

You stick a fake smile on your face and step out into the light to greet Marcia. She air kisses both your cheeks, then Roman’s, greeting you both. You both make your rounds, hugging, kissing cheeks. You pretend to steal Iverson’s nose, to his delight, and he runs to his father, tattling on you with a massive grin on his face. Kendall just smiles at the both of you, the exhaustion slightly lifting from his features.

You go say hello to Greg, who’s happy to see you. Out of all the Roys, save for your husband, Greg’s the one you got on with the most. You were both in the same situation. You were both considered outsiders, yet still apart of the inner circle, still concerned with all the plotting and scheming and drama.

He gives you a hug, and you duly note that Roman’s being taken aside by his dad. You turn your attention back to Greg, making sure to keep an ear strained for anything that might go wrong. You chat idly for a bit, and you get the sense that everyone in the room is doing the same thing you are. You can feel the tension slowly spreading. Something’s wrong. And if it’s not, it will be very soon.

It doesn’t take very long.

Logan’s voice is booming through the townhouse, and everyone gathered quickly silences.

“What do you fucking want me to do, then, Roman? Roll over and let you fuck me?”

You and Greg wince in unison. “Are they still arguing over whether they should sell?” he asks you quietly. Frown starting on your face, you nod.

Waystar wasn’t the only company the Roys had control over. There were conglomerates on conglomerates of other companies, the most problematic of the bunch causing massive monetary issues- among others. It was an ethical disaster, and the lawsuits were beginning to pile up on top of each other.

While the general consensus was that the company should be sold, and quickly, Logan was stuck in his ways and took it as personal offence. Specifically with Roman. You couldn’t even begin to make up some lame reason as to why. They’d gotten into countless arguments over it, Roman doing his best to convince his father that if this one company went down, it was going to take a lot down with it.

You give Kendall a look, and he pushes himself up from his seat on the sofa and follows the direction of their voices. Shiv follows shortly after.

At dinner, everyone is white knuckling their silverware. Under the table, you let your leg press up against Roman’s. His entire body’s taut, and he’s staring down into his plate. You eat silently, the chatter around you awkward. You and Shiv murmur to each other about a new restaurant opening up down the street, making unofficial plans to go together when you could.

Of course, the moment you’re feeling at ease again, Logan decides to ruin it.

“Roman, you want to tell the table how willing you are to stab your own father in the back? We can’t just not talk about it.” He chews before speaking again, voice ringing. “Don’t you think your wife ought to keep her eyes open?”

You bite down a retort, Roman bristling. “Come on, Dad. Don’t bring her into this.”

You’re silently hoping that Shiv, Kendall, anyone steps in. Points out how wrong this is. How hypocritical, just how fucking ridiculous it all is.

“You know what, Romulus? I’ve let you do as you please for far too long.” You look up from your plate, on the brink of shock. You just can’t fathom the idiocy. “It’s time the world knew that you’re a cheat, you’re a liar, and you’re fucking rotten to the core. It’s time you stopped showing your face around here, like your brother.”

Your husband opens his mouth, then closes it, flabbergasted. You can see the tears rushing to his tear ducts, you can practically feel the tightening in his chest.

That’s it. You can’t. You can’t fucking handle this anymore. You get up abruptly, your chair making a garish, grating noise against the marble floor. “He’s right. We shouldn’t come here anymore,” you say, voice steady and clear. Your voice is raised, your tone firm. “It’s time we left, Roman."

Logan drops his utensils, the silver clattering against the table. “What’s the hurry? At least finish up with dinner.”

The heat immediately rushes to your face, and you can’t suppress the anger anymore. “Are you fucking senile?” you yell, Roman quietly getting up to stand beside you. “Enough is enough. Stupid fucking Pyros and it’s stupid fucking issues! You run it like a prison, your profit is nonexistent, and it’s being sued by every law firm under the sun. There’s a right decision you can make, but your head is too far up your ass for you to even see it. Go ahead, let shit hit the fan! Let the entire fucking family fortune get snatched away from you because of one measly company! And by all means, bully Roman over it, despite the fucking fact that every single person in this room agrees with what we’re saying.” You’re the one bristling now, the words spilling out of your mouth. “We’re not coming back. I’m going to the press first thing in the morning. You’ve been doing too much for too long. You’re nothing more than a piece of shit, Logan. You wouldn’t know a good son if he fucking punched you. Fuck off. You don’t deserve someone like Roman.”

Roman’s out the door before you are. Face still flushed and adrenaline still pumping through your veins, Roman helps you into your coat, you grab your purse, and you’re out in the chilly New York air, waving your arm for a taxi.

The ride home is silent, his head leaning on your shoulder.

Back at home, you kick off your shoes at the door, your stomach still in knots. “I’m sorry,” you manage, watching him shuck his jacket off and toss it into the coat closet. “I should’ve… I should’ve kept my temper in control.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” He comes over to you, his hands going to cup your hips and pull you close to him. “You’re the only one that’s been in my corner. Ever. My entire fucking life. You deserve a fucking medal.”

You kiss him gently, quickly. “It just made me angry.”

“I’m going to quit,” he tells you lowly, hand coming up to your jaw. He strokes your bottom lip as he gazes at you. “I’m going to quit and we’re going to run off to whatever place is the farthest from here.”

You steal another kiss from him before responding. “Let me ruin his fucking life first, okay? Pretty please?”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Oh, only since you asked so nicely.”

You’re both giggling as you collapse on the couch together, the dinner already forgotten. That’s how you know he was meant for you. Nothing mattered but him. The world could be burning around you, and Roman Roy could be smiling, and everything’d be fine because he was happy. That meant all was right in the world.

You cuddle up to him, his arm coming to drape over your shoulders. You hook your arms around his waist, tucking your face into his chest.

“You know,” he begins, “with corners and stuff, that’d make you a boxer. Or a wrestler.”

“Wasn’t that your analogy?” you ask, laughing lightly.

“Well, yeah. Doesn’t stop you from being a fuckin’ champion.” His voice wavers, the way it does when he’s on the brink of sleep.

“Fucking cheese ball. Go to bed.”

You both share a long, loud, laugh. It’s far too late at night for this. Apparently, his father was fucking nocturnal and only had meals past ten.

“You know you love it. You love me,” he murmurs groggily, barely still clinging on to consciousness.

“Yeah. I do.”

[youreirrelevant]

Skyglow

pairing: kendall roy/reader

summary: “I want you to take care of me.” That makes him ache. Fills him with that heavy, hot feeling- the one you get when something’s a little wrong.

words: 1787

tags: explicit, sickfic, daddy kink, praise kink, but also a little degradation kink, pwp, established relationship, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, playful sex, like the tiniest bit of fluff, implied age gap, there's really nothing that establishes when this is so

a/n: I started writing this when I was sick a few weeks ago and I thought I'd finish it. It's just for fun. It's a little silly. It doesn't all have to be serious or good.

It always felt like a waste, to stay in bed all day. Somehow scrolling through your phone in the living room seemed more productive than if you did it in bed. You barely even had the energy to do that. Left thinking. Wanting. Always find your mind wandering to him and what he can do for you. A warm, soft place to rest your hands. Press your lips against.

A deep voice to coax you through what his cock brings out of you— 

But the exhaustion was bone-deep. Bending a finger, lifting an eyelid- both felt nearly impossible. Even while lying down you felt weak, like you couldn’t get deep enough into the pillow, into the mattress. You needed to pool and bubble out; water spilled on the counter. 

The door opening wakes you from what must’ve been the fifth nap of the day. You were in a guest room- you didn’t want to get Kendall sick. He had shit to do, things that were “unmissable.” 

It’s dark. You can see out of the window from the bed; the sky is blue-black, a yellow edge on the horizon that fades up into it. Planes blink red and white across it. Only some of the windows in the other buildings are lit, and you wonder how late it really is. It's quiet; you can hear the AC running. The apartment is thrumming with a sleepy energy, like the way voices sound when you’re dozing off- blurred and smoothed at the edges.

“Can I, uh, can I sleep with you?”

You mumble that he can, voice croaky and gone. Scooting further in on the bed to make room for him- every joint aching so badly you almost whimper. He wraps his arm around you, kisses the back of your neck, and breathes. The heat on your skin makes you melt. 

“I couldn’t sleep without you in there with me.”

He brings you a little closer, for emphasis.

“I’d like to say the same, but I’m exhausted.”

A little huff of air from him, an affectionate smile you can’t see. Another kiss, right along your hairline. 

You both lay there for a while, but you don’t fall back asleep. The thoughts are much worse when he’s flush against you, firm thighs and a softer chest. His arms around you- you want him to use them to pull you down over him. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping? You said you’re tired.” He sounds groggy, as if maybe he’d fallen asleep, for just a second. 

“I know I was just- I was thinking of this,” you giggle a little, “of this tweet. Where this guy said that pussy, when someone has a fever, is crazy because it’s so hot.”

He grins so wide it hurts his face.

“Is this your way of, uh, telling me you want me to fuck you?”

“I mean- we gotta at least find out for ourselves.”

Kendall slips his hand beneath the waistband of your pajamas, uses the pads of his fingers to guide your leg up, to drape over his leg. He’s surprised to find you so wet, skin scorching against his. Wonders how long you were thinking about it. Rubs your clit slowly, and you’re practically boneless already. But then fingertips work down, towards your cunt, and you tense in anticipation. He knows you’re sick; he should be nice. But he can’t help but tease, doing it a few times until you whine his name. 

“You need it that bad?”

“Please- ” you sound kind of annoyed, as if his denial doesn’t warm you.

His clothes are moved just enough, but he grips the waistband of your pants to yank them down as far as he can from his position- he wants to get at you fully. They get stuck above your knees, and you huff and whine as you kick them free clumsily. Kendall’s undeterred, puts you back where you were. Presses in easily, and maybe they were right. Your groan is distant in his ears. When he’s seated fully, he rests his forehead against your shoulder.

“Well?”

“It- it is hotter. It could be, uh-,” he makes a muffled sound, like he’s steadying himself, “be in my head, though. Placebo effect, or something.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the noise scraping out of you so badly he almost couldn’t tell what it was.

“You’re ridiculous. You’ve been asleep all day, I come in to sleep with you and you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to take care of me.”

That makes him fucking ache. Fills him with that heavy, hot feeling- the one you get when something’s a little wrong. He places a big hand on the back of your thigh, slides it up to lift your ass cheek, spread you open. 

“Like, a daddy thing, or-?”

Oh… man.

“I don’t know if we- if we have to be so- if we need to go quite that far.”

As soon as you say it you’re prepared to recant. It makes your stomach fill with butterflies and warmth but it seems so much more taboo than other things that people would actually consider worse. So heavily stigmatized, something everyone knew about and mocked. His teeth press into your shoulder, like he’s squeezing it out of you. 

“Well- it does sound… kind of hot. Maybe we ease into it? Maybe ‘daddy’ doesn’t have to be said, but implied?”

His hand slips over your hip to rest on your lower stomach, a slow pull and push of his hips as his fingers find your clit again. Not wasting any time.

“You want me to ‘take care’ of you?”

Plush lips slide beneath your ear as he speaks, and every inflection and hard consonant fills you with heat. It’s your words, but from his mouth, it sounds good and perfect and right. His voice is soothing in this condescending way and it makes your lashes flutter.

“Yes, Kendall.”

He uses his palm against your pubic bone to pull you close, allow him to get deeper, fuck a little rougher. Insistent. You reach behind you to grab at his waist, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Your voice is fucked- every moan and whimper is broken and raspy and quiet. He kind of likes it, drags his lips over your neck, laughing affectionately when his finger presses harder, rubs at just the right angle, against just the right side and you cry out hoarsely. Barely able to keep your eyes open before but you want him so fucking bad. 

It’s like you’re next to a fire; you can practically see a red glow coming from your skin, penetrating your closed eyelids. You’re limp, melted into the smooth sheets, rolling weakly against him when you really need it. His brows pinch and his jaw falls open with a desperate noise before his lip is tucked beneath his teeth. Kendall props himself up on his elbow, fingers slipping into your hair, damp from sweat, turns your head enough to kiss you. So slack and pliant. You don't even think to stop him. 

“Does that feel better? Is this what you needed?” 

Jesus. It’s as if your brain is already fried- you’re already gone. Making some noise that’s probably the saddest attempt at an ‘mhmm,’ ever been done. Trembling, pulled tighter, breathing ragged and uneven and burning in your chest and throat. He brushes the tip of his nose over your temple- his own breath puffs rapid and hot against you.  Grunting when you grip even tighter. 

When you cum, it's so good it hurts. Like massaging a sore muscle, or fingers into your cheeks when your sinuses ache. It seeps into your hips and belly and back and you lean into it, into him. He shushes you and you can’t help but let out this startled ‘ god .’ You want to tell him he feels perfect, fucking perfect, but the words don’t come out. His pace doesn’t falter -no matter how snug and plush and slick you are around him- and it makes it seem like it’s lasting forever. 

Kendall thinks it’s lasting forever; you’re over a cliffside, on the other end of a rope, trying to pull him down when he has to keep you up. He makes sounds like he’s struggling; when you finally relax, he sounds relieved. 

Part of him wants to keep it up, and he can’t help, for a second, seeing the new ease with which his fingers slip over you, pressing three flat against your labia to make you squirm from the sensitivity. But that doesn’t last long, arm moving to wrap around your waist to hold you in place. Insistent. 

You’re awash with fatigue, fingers curling around the edge of your pillow, lids low over your eyes. Each time his hips meet your ass you make these pathetic little noises from the impact, sometimes barely even audible. He grabs your face again to turn you toward him- you feel hot, cheeks flushed to show it. Skin around your eyes, shiny, blueish, almost cartoonish. But you look up at him dutifully.

“You’re so pretty when you take it for me.”

That reignites something in you, makes you moan and grab at him.

“Such a pretty, perfect little girl deserves to feel good. Always desperate to cum on my cock- thinking about it when you can barely fucking think.”

You let out something between a gasp and a laugh, stunned. Thrown against the ledge but you can’t go over until you get that little bit more. 

“I- Ken, can you- would you-?”

This is how it always goes- just one more. Kendall gives it to you and goes to get his, but it always puts you right there, and he can’t help but oblige. He wants to tell you to do it yourself, because you’re tired, and maybe you won’t get off and you’ll get frustrated and whine. That makes him feel orange-hot and tingly, makes his hips stutter at the thought. But that’s not what this was tonight. The wide pad of his middle finger is tight against you -swollen, slick- and even with how fast you cum, he cums faster, hips so rough against yours that you whimper and wince.

He’s almost as light-headed as you are, almost as lax, weak. Every inch of you is unbearably heavy; it's like your skin could slough off your face. It’s so good.

“I might bring a whole new, literal level to sleeping like the dead.”

Your voice cracks and you slump forward onto your stomach, keeping your face turned from him.

“At least you’ll feel better.” Smiling softly, rubbing your back.

“You’ll join me shortly, since you fucking kissed me.”

[the-west-meadow]

hi! hope youre doing good! could I request Lukas Matsson x reader fic with the prompt “why are you awake right now”

im in love with your writing!

so thankful for the Lukas love. got carried away again, 18+ only!!

Lukas Matsson x (fem) Reader

prompt: Why are you awake right now? 18+ ONLY

In an unexpected twist, you spent your first night in Stockholm stranded at Lukas Matsson’s estate with the Roys. A torrent of icy rain had made travel to your hotel nearly impossible, so Lukas had diverted you to his house. He called it your welcome party to Sweden. 

At two in the morning, you were still wide awake. You could hear the sound of a TV from behind Roman’s door, Shiv on the phone with Tom, and total silence from Kendall’s room. As his assistant, you were basically always on call. At least for now, you were off the hook and free to roam.

The house was otherwise quiet, with the sound of icy rain pelting the roof. You wandered the dark halls barefoot. Of course the concrete floors were heated. Beyond dark kitchen, the light of a TV flickered from the another room. You peered inside then froze, looking in at Lukas himself, reclining on the sofa in only a white tank top and shorts. You started to turn and creep away, but it was too late.

“Is the TV too loud?”

You stepped into the room hesitantly, self-conscious in just a t-shirt and shorts. 

“No, it’s fine. I just got lost… on the way to the bathroom.”

“There’s one in your room.”

“Right.”

He gave you a curious glance.

“Why are you awake right now?”

“Jet lag. I never sleep anyway.”

Lukas nodded knowingly. 

“I’ve never met anyone I respect who sleeps well.”

He gestured towards the TV.

“Well, I’m watching Swedish dramas if that interests you.”

You padded into the room. There was no where to sit but on the sofa with Lukas. Tucking your legs beneath you, you took a seat at the far end. You blinked at the screen, where two Swedish detectives leaned over a body.

“I don’t speak Swedish,” you said.

“It’s okay. I’ll explain. By the way, have you tried any of our snacks yet?”

He held out a bag of gummies and you took one, examining it.

“What is it?”

“Bilar. It’s supposed to be shaped like a car.”

“It looks like a rabbit.”

"Yeah. Now that you mention it."

“What is that?” you asked, pointing at his soda bottle.

“Julmust. It’s soda we drink at Christmas.”

“It’s April.”

“I guess I don’t do things like normal people.”

“I could have told you that.”

He gave you another curious look, which turned into a grin.

“Sorry,” you said. “Jet lag. My filter is gone.”

“It’s okay. I've never had a filter. It gets me in trouble a lot.”

He gave you another glance.

“So can we agree to pass over all that small talk bullshit?”

“Fine with me. I don’t have the energy for it.”

“You can hit me if I say something shitty.”

“Sounds like you have something in mind.”

He sat up, putting aside the soda and candy. 

“I could have gotten you guys a ride to your hotel. But I wanted you to stay here.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I don’t know when we’ll have a chance like this again.”

His eyes passed over your bare legs. His arm was spread along the back of the sofa, lingering close to your shoulder. You felt the heat flush into your face. You had caught the looks he gave you at various events with the Roys, and yet this was the first time you had found yourself alone with him.

“Why didn’t you come to my room?”

“I wanted you to come to me.”

You stretched out your legs, grazing his lap.

"I've got all this energy I don't know what to do with," you said.

He slid one hand up your calf, creeping along your thigh. His eyes were fixed on you, watching your reaction.

"I think I can help with that," he said.

You took a sharp breath as his hand pivoted to the inside of your thigh. 

“I think the others are still awake,” you whispered. 

“Then you’ll have to be very quiet.”

He gently took hold of your ankle, pulling you towards him. You wrapped your legs around him, feeling him between your thighs, just the thin fabric of your shorts separating your skin from his. 

“Do you think you can be quiet?” he asked, eyeing your lips, your neck. 

“I’m usually not.”

He let out a low breath, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“I wish I could hear that,” he said. 

“What about you?” you asked, grinding into his lap. He tilted his head back, letting out a low moan. 

“Shh,” you said, then leaned over him, taking his head in your hands. As you kissed him, you felt him grind against you from below, growing harder. He grabbed your hair suddenly, pulling your head back.

“Whoever breaks first loses,” he said. You grinned into his lips.

“Deal.”

In one movement, he picked you up and lay you down on the sofa. He pulled off your shorts, tossing them on the ground, and nudged your legs open with his palm. He looked at you with a glimmer in his eye.

“I think I’m going to win,” he said. He stroked you between the legs with one long finger, gazing into your eyes. You threw your head back, biting your lip. 

“See?” he grinned. “You’re already so wet.”

“Fuck you,” you whispered. 

He slid the finger inside as you stifled a moan. Then with a wink he lowered his face between your legs. You felt his tongue hot and wet against you. 

“Oh my god,” you whimpered.

His other hand slid up your leg as his fingers moved slowly, rhythmically, in and out. You clenched your fists in his dirty blonde hair, meeting his blue eyes as he glanced up to see your reaction. All the while, the TV light flickered silently over your two bodies, pressed against each other on the sofa. 

“I’m still going to win,” you gasped. 

He lifted himself up, gazing down at you with his hair wild, breathless. He kicked off his shorts, buried his hand in your hair, and pulsed into you all at once.  

The moan that escaped you was beyond your control. You felt his entire weight on top of you, cradling you in his huge arms, as he teasingly put a hand over your mouth. 

“You lose,” he whispered. 

Not two minutes later, the door to Kendall’s room slid open. He peered out into the hall. Silence. Padding through the house, he made his way through the kitchen until he saw the TV flickering from the other room. 

He peeked inside. There you sat, side-by-side with Lukas, a blanket over your laps. Between you were several bags of snacks. 

“Hey guys,” he said uncertainly.

“What’s up, man?” 

“I thought I heard something.”

Lukas nodded at the TV. “Someone just got murdered. You want some snacks?”

It wasn’t hard to miss the fact that your hair and Lukas’s was a mess, several pillows had fallen to the floor, and your cheeks were flushed. You looked at him guiltily. Kendall caught your eye and gave a slight grin. 

“That’s okay. I’ll leave you guys to it.”

With a little wave, Kendall withdrew from the room, leaving you alone again.

“Poor guy,” Lukas said. “Guess he can’t sleep either.”

Then he tilted your face towards his and kissed you on the lips. His hand slid beneath the blanket.

“Now, where were we?”

[hughiecampbelle]

Succession Preference: Their Love Language

Requested: hi! i hope you’re having a wonderful day, your writing always makes my day a little better. i was wondering what you think the Roy Sibling’s love languages are (either how they receive it or give it!) thank you so much in advance, please take all the time you need to answer this! - anon

A/N: I absolutely love this request!!! I had a love languages preference for another fandom ages ago, but I never got around to it. Thank you my love!!! I hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Connors is physical touch. he both needs and gives physical touch. He needs to be close to you at all times, he can't help himself. When he's far from you, when he can't get get close to you, he starts to panic, he starts to get these terrible thoughts that you don't love him anymore. He was never hugged or really touched as a child, so in adulthood he's starved for it. His hands are always on you, wrapped around you, in your hands. Even when he can't touch you that way, he's close enough for your bodies to be touching. He just needs to be close. He needs it from you, too. He needs you to reciprocate his touches, his squeezes, his wants. Connor needs it to be known he's needed. If he has a partner who struggles with touch it makes him spiral. It's definitely something that needs to be talked through, that sometimes you just want your space and its nothing against him. Especially at night he gets needy, wanting to cuddle all night. If you roll away from him or if its too hot, he definitely feels a sense of rejection.

Kendalls is words of affirmation. His father and mother rarely told him they loved him, that he was a smart, bright, good person, really anything that pointed out anything positive. He both gives and receives this. Kendall is so affectionate with his words. He has all kinds of pet names for you, he reminds you that he loves you a thousand times a day, he'd keep saying it til he's blue in the face. He could go on forever about what he loves about you, what makes you so unique and beautiful and all these reasons why you're too good for him. He also expects it back. He needs to hear that you love him, what you love about him, that he's doing a good job, etc. Kendall is incredibly insecure. He lives inside his head and his thoughts can be viciously unkind. Having you there to remind him that he is capable of good, that he is deserving of love, that makes all the difference. If his partner isn't used to it or doesn't say what he needs to hear he gets insecure and in his head. He gets a lot of self-doubt.

Shivs is acts of service. Doing something that takes time and thought and energy makes her heart melt, it means you were thinking of her and what you could do to make her life easier. Growing up, no one ever did anything for her. Ever. She was expected to pick up the pieces. Her mother especially, could be ruthless when it came to small, kind acts. She always expected a grand gesture in return and that's not how it works. She both shows her love through this and feels loved by it. If you wash her favorite coffee mug so she can drink from it in the morning, replace the toothpaste, pick up the groceries she needed but totally forgot about, etc. Nothing grand, nothing thoughtless, just small and wanted. It makes her feel seen and heard and respected, all things she didn't feel as a child. She remembers the way you like your eggs and plugs in your phone when you fall asleep. It's how she shows that she cares when words fail her. If she's with someone who doesn't do this she feels like the invisible little girl she used to be. It absolutely kills her to feel unheard, unseen.

Romans is quality time. No one ever wanted to spend time with him growing up. He was mostly either lift by himself, like being shipped off to boarding school, or completely ignored when he was in the company of others. The best attention he got was when his father was abusing him and everyone let it happen. Whether it be sitting in the same room on your phones and watching tv or talking together in bed or going with pre-made plans, if it's with you, he's going to feel loved. He both expects this and shows it, giving you his undivided attention when you're around. That's what is important to him, that you're paying attention to him. If he doesn't feel seen, then the time you spend together means nothing. Even if you're both on your phones, it's a mutual thing. If you're on your phone and he's not, it could lead to hurt feelings. If that's not your love language, if you don't value it as much, it'll make him feel isolated and alone, the worst feelings for this type. It's definitely something that is vital to your relationship and the trust he has in it.

[msviperwrites]

Lowkey Kendall’s reaction to something Greg does in this chapter 👀

Chapter 3

Part 1 Part 2

Sonnie got to her apartment a little past 6:30, and Ivy was waiting for her in their living room. Her roommate sprang up from the couch and rushed to throw her arms around Sonnie.

“I was so worried about y—“ Ivy paused and took a step back. “Are you high?” She asked slightly concerned. There was amusement in her tone of voice, but fear was palpable.

“And drunk,” Sonnie laughed. Ivy did too, nervously.

“Kendall got you high as well?” Ivy swallowed.

“He surreeeeee did.” Sonnie sang. The two besties walked over to the couch and sat down.

“I’m glad you’re okay… I really am not sure how good this is going to be. I mean— again, so happy for you Sonnie, but this behavior from Kendall is incredibly reckless and borderline dangerous.”

“Yeah… not gonna lie Ivy it’s really hot.”

“Sonnie?!” Ivy exclaimed “Girl, I know. He seems hot as fuck but, again. This is Kendall ROY! He has—“ Sonnies phone began to vibrate loudly in her purse. Someone was calling her. They ignored it. “—so many lawyers and so much money. I just am worried a love affair will turn sour quickly with his position of power over you… if it ever came out, guess who the public is going to blame?” Ivy added.

Sonnie paused, her intoxicated brain was delayed, but pieced what Ivy was saying, together. This wasn’t a game.“Me…” she trailed off.

“Exactly. And Alec honestly is the first guy you’ve dated that I haven’t felt worried about. He treats you well, you are so safe with him, I can tell he is a great person. Do not crawl back to the familiarity of turmoil just because it is a past pattern. You’ve seen men like Kendall before…” Ivy trailed off, holding Sonnie’s hand. Sonnie winced, trying to mask the painful memories of past relationships that flickered in front of her. But if she was being honest, she hadn’t seen a man like Kendall before. He was his own brand of mayhem that Sonnie desperately wanted to dive head first into. She could see herself becoming addicted to Kendall, and that terrified her. “Alec is a great guy, Sonnie. Don’t let Kendall ruin that.” Sonnie’s phone vibrated again, and the two looked at each other confused.

“Sorry, let me see who’s calling…” she dug out her cell from her purse.

“Is that the new one Kendall got you?”

“Yeah!!” Sonnie’s face went white. “Oh shit… he’s calling me. Which is weird because I don’t have his number, so that means he programmed it into the phone for me.”

“Are you gonna answer?” Ivy asked, stunned.

“Well—“

“Go ahead! I want to see what he says to you…”

Sonnie swallowed nervously, but put the phone on speaker.“H-hello?”

“Hey, Sonnie.” Kendall’s deep voice rang through, and sonnie’s stomach did a flip. “Thank god you answered—“. Ivy gave Sonnie a surprised glance. “I was worried you didn’t get back okay. Just wanted to check in.”

The concern in his voice and feeling of protective energy turned Sonnie on. She could feel herself getting hot. “Oh! Sorry, yeah Phil dropped me off like 15 minutes ago.” Sonnie bit her lower lip, looking between her phone and her roommate.

“Okay…” Kendall trailed off. “So listen—uh about today,”

“Yeah?”

Kendall cleared his throat before confessing “That was probably the most fun I’ve had in a while…” Ivy looked at Sonnie impressed.

Sonnie blushed “me too,” she admitted. It was embarrassing how quickly she was developing a crush on Kendall. She just hoped Ivy wasn’t going to judge her for being truthful. Alec is always busy with work, and this kind of attention was something Sonnie not only lacked, but missed in her romantic life.

“Anyways… see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Kendall.”

“Goodnight, sunshine.” And Kendall hung up.

“Sunshine!?” Ivy shrieked. “Sonnie he is wrapped so tightly around your finger... What did you do to him?” It was a joke, but she was being serious. This guy is already so attached…

“Honestly? I think I just allowed him to be himself… he just really liked my vibe.” Sonnie twirled a strand of hair between her fingers, and sighed dreamily. “Fuck, Ivy. He’s just so hot.”

Ivy laughed. “I’m glad you guys vibe. That will be great at work, but…Alec is the one you should focus on romantically. Kendall, even though has shown you he is very sweet, is also very dangerous. I just want you to be safe.”

“You’re right, ives. You’re right.” Sonnie swallowed. Kendall should not be taken lightly.

“I know, and I love you.”

“Love you too.”

If only Sonnie listened to Ivy.

───────────────────────── ♡⋆☆⋆♡ ──────────────────────────

Sonnie carried three coffees in a tray to Rava’s apartment the following morning. She listened to an early 2000’s playlist and began fantasizing about the events that took place yesterday. Kendall’s command over her, his hot gazes and even hotter touches. She was nervous to see him, not sure how to act. Her stomach did flips though just thinking about seeing him. The amount of sexual tension they had became more palpable as Sonnie sobered up. And the more she thought about what they did, the more uncertain she was of her decision to work for him. Could the two possibly maintain professional boundaries at this point? She wasn’t sure.

The doorman to the building greeted Sonnie as she entered the gaudy lobby, making her way to the elevator. Her heart was pounding in her chest as the gold doors opened and she stepped in. She typed in the special code to get into Rava’s penthouse, and the machine mechanisms of the elevator began to whirl. Sonnie took a few deep breaths.

“You can do this Sonnie, you can do it!” She said to herself. When the elevator doors opened, Jess was already barrelling towards Sonnie.

“What—“ Sonnie began until Jess entered the elevator. She hit the close door button and then followed by the lobby button.

“We are going to be having our orientation at the Library,” Jess declared. The doors started closing and Kendall appeared in the living room. He looked around frantically until his eyes met sonnie’s. His gaze was wild, and he began storming towards the elevator until the doors shut and brought them down.

“Uh— is Kendall okay?” Sonnie asked.

Jess ignored her. “I booked a conference room for us to use and we will re-group later today,” Jess said. She checked her watch and then began rummaging through her briefcase before the elevator door dinged open. She hurried out and Sonnie followed on her heels. Jess grabbed a green filing folder and turned to Sonnie, exchanging one coffee from her tray with the file.

“Read through that while we walk to the library and stay close.”

Anxiety began to coagulate and form a pit in sonnie’s throat. Something inside of her began to stir. She grabbed the folder from Jess’s grasp, and Sonnie began to read the documents. It was an N.D.A. That strongly implied whatever relationship Sonnie was to have with Kendall, both inside and outside of working hours, required Sonnie to follow specific guidelines in order to protect Kendall. The pit of anxiety that clogged her throat began to expand. The vagueness and precise use of the language in the contract suggested a romantic undertone. She looked up at Jess mortified as they rounded a corner.

“It’s just a formality,” Jess assured. But Sonnie could read through the fine print of the document clear as day. If something were to happen between her and Mr. Roy, she legally could not say a word.

They got to the steps of the library and Sonnie shifted her focus back to Jess, who had started to make the ascent to the entrance. She followed behind her, and began to feel her phone vibrate in her pocket. She ignored it and Jess held open the door, gesturing for Sonnie to enter.

“What was up with Kendall this morning?” She asked as they stepped into the grand foyer of the library. The young PR consultant was in awe of the architecture of the library, Jess wrapped her hand around Sonnie’s elbow and pulled her along to the front desk. “Nothing he um…he said he needed to do some prep for Siobhan’s speech on the Cruises,” Jess muttered. “Something about wanting to have some staff be there to take notes on what she says.”

“He seemed like he wanted to come with us to the library…” Sonnie trailed off as she felt her phone begin vibrating again.

Jess checked in with the librarian for the conference room. “Here’s the key—“ the older woman handed one to Jess, “you’re in conference room 301”

“Thanks,” Jess gave the woman behind the desk a small smile before leading Sonnie through the non-fiction section. They climbed a dingy back stairwell and popped up to the children’s section. Sonnie looked around confused, until she noticed way in the back, several conference rooms. As the pair entered, Jess locked the door behind them, and drew the blinds down halfway. Sonnie’s phone vibrated a third time, and she placed the coffee tray she was carrying down on the table and the N.D.A. before she grabbed her cell, seeing Kendall was calling.

“Uh… he’s calling me?” Sonnie said with uncertainty. Jess, who had just taken a seat, looked at Sonnie nervously. “Am I not supposed to answer him?”

“No, you can, but I would strongly encourage he comes to see us once we finish our orientation. Am i being clear?”

“Yes,” Sonnie swallowed nervously, but slowly slid her finger across her phone to answer it on speaker. “H-Hello?” She asked.

“Sonnie!” Kendall exclaimed. “What are you and Jess up to?” He probed.

“Nothing, we are just going over some of the orientation stuff…”

“Great, yeah, hey listen, um—“

“Hi Kendall!” Jess chimed in. “Sonnie and I are at cafe latte right now, can we call you back once we are finished with the N.D.A?” She lied about the location, which was… odd to Sonnie. What does Jess know?

Kendall paused. “…which version of the NDA did you give her?”

“The second one; that entails her professional duty to maintain secrecy with certain things.”

“So…not the first one I had pitched?”

“Definitely not the first one. Kendall, I’ll call you back later.” Jess stood up from her seat and reached for sonnie’s phone, then hung up.

“First version?”

“Don’t worry about it…” Jess trailed off. “Just sign this one and don’t think about the previous version mentioned.” She instructed Sonnie to re-read the N.D.A. and just like the first read through, It seemed pretty boilerplate, except for the part that said “The undersigned party agrees to maintain strict confidentiality and shall not disclose any information, directly or indirectly, pertaining to the nature of her relationship with Kendall Roy, including but not limited to personal details and any discussions or events related to their potential involvement.”

“And this last portion…” Sonnie pressed again. “Is this normal?”

“Yes.”

“…should I have a lawyer present?”

Jess sighed frustrated. “Look Sonnie, this is very basic stuff. If you want to continue to work for Kendall, you have to sign this.” The money alone made it worth working for Kendall, so Sonnie signed. “Excellent, now--” Jess opened her briefcase and pulled out a few packets. Jess cleared her throat, “This is a brief overview of Kendall’s current public reception. I’ve highlighted several, uh, weak points. Take some time to review it, and we can discuss any questions you may have.”

Sonnie accepted the document, her gaze fixed on the pages, attempting to grasp the gravity of the situation. Kendall was right, this was a shit storm. All the scandals coming from his family company alone left a red mark on his ledger. But his addiction history and other personal affairs made Sonnie understand why she was hired in the first place.

“And how…true is all of this?” Sonnie questioned.

“Well, since you signed the NDA, I’d say there are large grains of truth…to some of this activity.” Jess swallowed and smiled politely.

Sonnie paused, thinking about how to put what she wanted to say delicately. “I'll do my best to understand the intricacies and uh, sensitivities.”

“Okay, now that you’ve read through the context of what you’re up against… Let's discuss your role and responsibilities. As a PR consultant, you'll play a crucial role in managing Kendall’s reputation—“ Jess began to say as she handed Sonnie a brand new MacBook laptop “— courtesy, of Kendall—“ she slid a charger on the table to Sonnie “— you’ll be mitigating the impact of recent events, and rebuilding trust with the public and stakeholders.”

Sonnie's eyes conveyed a mix of concern and resolve, steeling themselves for the difficult path ahead. “I’ll help in any way I can.” Sonnie said with resolve clear in her voice.

Jess nodded, acknowledging Sonnie's commitment.

“Great, Kendall needs all he can get.”

───────────────────────── ♡⋆☆⋆♡ ──────────────────────────

By the time Sonnie and Jess had gone through all the material, it was 4:30pm. Jess stretched and began packing up the documents that were sprawled over the table. Sonnie’s head was swimming. “Sorry, I know that was a lot. But thank you for sticking with it. You’ll need to know a lot of the information I mentioned for Kendall’s disruption appearance in 2 days.”

“I need a drink,” Sonnie laughed, feeling exhaustion settling behind her eyes. The pair packed up the conference room and began to make their way out of the library. The sudden sunlight bouncing off of the concrete jungle caused Sonnie to squint.

“Let’s call it a day, yeah?” Jess stated as she began descending the steps.

“Sounds good to me.” Sonnie trailed behind Jess and they started to walk towards Rava’s apartment. Right before they greeted the doorman to the apartment, Jess decided to give Sonnie a formal warning. “Kendall… hasn’t been doing well.” She admitted. Sonnie cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?” Jess waved at the doorman and they entered the gaudy lobby. “I mean… he’s been acting…a touch deranged recently.” They waited for the elevator. “I just want to advise you to not find yourself in a situation where his…perceptions become your reality.” “Why does everyone keep trying to tell me something about this guy?!” Sonnie demanded in a hushed tone. The elevator doors opened and they walked in. “I don’t have too much time to explain, but he has his eye on you. Be mindful.” “But—“ “Sh!” Jess hushed Sonnie as the lift began to project them to Rava’s penthouse. When they arrived, the two women found that there was no sign of Kendall. They heard muffled music coming from the kitchen, and they exchanged a look before walking closer.

“—Too many bottles of this wine we can’t pronounce, too many bowls of that green no lucky charms—“ “What the?” Jess asked. As they entered the kitchen, Sonnie and Jess saw Kendall with two joints lit in his mouth, holding a very large glass of white wine. A very, very tall man Sonnie had never seen before was laughing as Kendall, who seemed to be very animated, was deep in a story about something. The tall man laughed again, and took a sip from his own wine glass and nursed his own joint. “Greg,” Jess sighed.

“Greg?” Sonnie asked.

Jess nodded. “Kendall’s cousin.”

“Do we— do we like Greg?” Sonnie stuttered.

Greg made eye contact with Jess and gave her a friendly wave. Kendall spun around, and his eyes widened with delight when he saw Sonnie through the kitchen window. He waved for them to come out, and they did.

“Hey, hey!!” Kendall smirked, still puffing on two joints in his mouth. He opened his arms and walked towards Sonnie. She held her arms out to him and he gave her a gentle, slightly intimate, hug. He stood there for a while, as Greg and Jess began to converse. When he finally stepped back, he kept one hand planted on the curve of Sonnie’s waist. He plucked one joint from his mouth, and gently placed the tip between sonnie’s lips, his fingers fully touching the soft pink skin. God he wanted any and every excuse to be in her personal space. He loved the sensation of her skin against his. Sonnie flushed and he smiled down at her. “Oh!” He took a step back and gestured to his cousin, still touching her waist with his other hand. “This is my cousin Greg.” Sonnie walked to him and stuck out her hand, and they shook. “Nice to meet you.” He said with a smile. His eyes flickered up and down Sonnie, and she looked at him a little confused before masking with a soft grin. She took the joint out from her mouth and said,

“Hi, Greg!” in a sing-song voice. The two looked at each other before Jess checked her watch and declared

“I have to head out and pick up my mom from her appointment. Kendall? I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned to Greg, and said a separate goodbye to him before heading inside.

“Sonnie, do you want some wine?” Kendall asked as he clapped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly before putting his lit joint on an ashtray that was in the center of the bistro table.

“Uh, sure!”she said with a shrug, still puffing on her joint. Kendall went in on Jess’s heels. Sonnie watched them out of the corner of her eye speak, Jess handing him all the paperwork that she and Sonnie worked on, and then left. Kendall went about grabbing Sonnie wine.

“So, how long have you been working for Ken?” Greg asked. “Literally 24 hours,” Sonnie giggled, once again feeling the intoxicating pull of marijuana. “Wow; okay, well how do you like it so far?” “I haven’t really done anything besides party if I'm going to be honest!” Sonnie laughed. Greg did too. “Not a bad way to start off!” He added, sipping his wine and puffing his joint as well.

“What do you do?” Sonnie asked. “Me? Oh, uh, have you met Kendall’s sister? Siobhan?”

“Yes, I have!”

“I’m her husband’s…assistant, I guess you could say.”

Sonnie raised an eyebrow. “What like, sexually?” She laughed.

“Wh-what? No!” He said nervously, and then laughed as well. “Okay, based on how I made it sound I get why you said that but— no, just a normal, normal assistant.” Greg playfully tapped sonnie’s shoulder as Kendall reappeared with an opened wine bottle and a full glass. Sonnie hadn’t seen him re-enter, and took a long drag of her joint before saying, “you’re funny Greg,” in a sweet voice. He gave her a small smile.

“Thanks, Sonnie.” Kendall coughed and Sonnie turned to see him place the open bottle on the table and held out a glass of wine to her. “Here you go Sonnie.” He said, flashing a look at Greg. She grinned and practically skipped over to him to grab her drink. She took a few big gulps before going back for the joint. She started to feel a rush.

“So Sonnie was telling me she just started working for you, that’s great Ken.” Greg said.

“Yeah she’s been doing great so far!” Kendall placed his hand on the small of her back. He absolutely loved anchoring himself to her.

“Aw, thanks Kendall! Haven’t really done anything yet but I appreciate the kindness.” She felt giggly and enjoyed the sensation of Kendall’s hand a little too much. “Nonsense, you’ve certainly been making progress in the fun-department.” He reached behind him for his joint and put it in his mouth again. He searched his pocket for his lighter ans sparked the end of the joint with his free hand. Greg tried to take a toke, but no smoke came out from the end.

“Ah, Kendall can you—“

“I got this!” Sonnie said. She stepped out of Kendall’s reach, much to his displeasure, and took a big drag of her joint. She ashed it, and placed it back in her mouth before snatching the joint from Greg’s mouth. “you just gotta make them kiss and—“ she touched the lit butt of her joint to his, soon igniting the dead end. “Voila!” “Wow, thanks!” Greg beamed. She touched his elbow tenderly.

“Of course!” She said. Sonnie paused for a moment, smiling at Greg before recognition flickered on her face. She spun around to face Kendall, who was scowling. “That reminds me!” And she rushed inside, still smoking the joint.

───────────────────────── ♡⋆☆⋆♡ ──────────────────────────

Kendall and Greg observed Sonnie rushing into the kitchen and rummaging through her backpack, before Greg said:

“Dude, Ken, she’s really cute.”

Kendall’s head snapped In his direction. Any patience he had, was now gone in an instant. “What?”

“Sonnie,” Greg continued. “She’s adorable. Do you know if she’s single? ‘Cause I’m going to a party this weekend —“

“No, she’s not.” Kendall smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

“Aw man, that blows.”

“Mhm…” Kendall clenched his teeth, hard. “Listen man, I think you should go now.”

“What? I thought we were going to go to that new bar—“

“Changed my mind.” Kendall’s face darkened. Greg furrowed his brow and scoffed.

“Wait, you’re being serious?” He was surprised by the quick anger in his cousin’s eyes.

Kendall nodded “As serious as cancer. Fuck off Greg, I’ll see you thursday.”

“Jesus. Fine. I guess I’ll see you…” Greg mumbled as he put his joint and wine down before passing Sonnie on her way out to the patio. “Nice meeting you Sonnie…” he said quietly as he entered Rava’s apartment, then disappeared. Sonnie, who was holding the KISS t-shirt, looked at Kendall confused. He was angry.

“Uh, everything okay?” She asked. He finished his joint, and then grabbed the open bottle of wine and began to chug it. When he was done, he took a deep breath and wiped his mouth. His eyes met Sonnie’s, and they looked feral. He stepped forward, slowly but surely closing the distance between them to the point Sonnie began taking steps back.

“Ken-Kendall?” Her voice cracked. The joint dropped from her mouth and she continued to move backwards until she was against the wall. His knee pushed itself between her thighs and she looked at Kendall shocked.

“Here’s your KISS t-shirt!” She blurted out, pushing the clothing garment into his chest. He grabbed her wrist with his left hand, and pushed her arm to the side, pinning it next to her hip.

“Sonnie…” he trailed off. “I—“ his gaze fixated at her mouth, his eyes looking as if they were playing out a scene over and over again. Sonnie’s breath hitched in her throat as he pushed his knee up into her womanhood. She yelped and felt her knees knock into his leg. He began to smirk. Something came over him, and he didn’t want it to stop. He leaned into her, bringing his face closer and closer to hers. Sonnie breathed heavily, parting her mouth and shuttering as he inched into her space. Their mouths barely touched, just the smallest hair. A small, very quiet Moan squeaked from sonnie’s throat. Kendall’s other hand moved fast, and he pressed his palm next to sonnie’s neck, his thumb touched her fluttering pulse.

Her eyes began to roll back as she swayed forward, anticipating a kiss that she so desperately wanted. Abruptly he dropped his knee, and stepped back. Sonnie nearly collapsed to the gravel on the patio, but caught herself.

“Go.” He commanded.

“Kendall—“

“Go. I’ll see you Thursday.”

“So don’t come in tomorrow—“

“I said GO!” He yelled. She flinched and scurried away, leaving him once again.

───────────────────────── ♡⋆☆⋆♡ ──────────────────────────

[cogcltrcorn]

"half rava half a filing cabinet" is actually driving me insane. like we will likely never fucking know what Exactly it was and each possible interpretation makes me a little insane in its own way.

rava had an affair? logan thought kendall got cucked. demeaned. emasculated.

they used a sperm donor? logan thought kendall is infertile. incapable of producing an offspring. which is just as bad as being cucked and emasculated

or maybe logan didn't think about the logistics. maybe he just didn't accept the idea that an autistic child can be his heir on principle. anything bad could not have been passed down from the Roy Side, so whatever it is it's half rava half Something Else Althogether.

I personally lean into the last interpretation (with the side of logan assuming kendall was weak enough to permit an affair) because I am a kendall is autistic but spends all of his energy masking truther and the idea that logan would reject Iverson as a possible heir for essentially the same reason he rejected kendall (although neither of them are aware of that) makes me go fucking bonkers

[ratquesadilla]

waste my time (chapter 2)

pairing: stewy hosseini x oc

word count: 1075

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43040553/chapters/116164429

a one night stand with endless consequences.

chapter 1 - series masterlist - full masterlist

----

“what the fucking fuck are you doing here.” i whisper shouted, hitting stewy in the arm with my phone. it was bad enough that i’d slept with kendalls roommate but having to sit through breakfast with him less than 12 hours after? it was like i was being tortured or something. 

“i’m having brunch with my roommate.” he said very matter of fact-ly, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“i’m having brunch with my brother!” i exclaimed, adding an emphasis on the ‘brother’ part. 

“so i slept with kendalls baby sister huh.” he scoffed, muttering almost like he was thinking out loud.

“how are you so casual about this?” i questioned, opening my mouth to continue rambling before i was cut off by his face colliding with mine. his hands snaking down to my lower back and pulling me closer. “why would you do that you sex addict?” i said as i felt a blush creeping up my neck, pulling away but not removing his hands from my body.

“had a feeling if i didn’t shut you up you were gonna go on forever.”

“oh my god you’re such a dick.” i exclaimed before running back towards our table at the front of the restaurant. 

stewy was messy, he was willing to kiss me in an environment where my brother could catch us at any time. while i was careful, meticulously planning my every move, he was spontaneous. no doubt because of the lack of responsibility he’d harbored since his teens, that was less of an assumption and more of a fact i’d become eerily familiar with after watching roman grow up. 

kendall was on his phone mindlessly scrolling through waystar news, a painful habit he’d picked up after our father accosted him for not being up to date on the worlds comings and goings, only glancing up for a second to acknowledge my presence.

“did you run into stewy or something?” he asked, a hint of genuine curiosity hidden underneath his mentally checked out demeanor. “he went to the bathroom like 2 minutes after you and you were in there for a while.”

“i’m on my period thank you very much.” i said, taking a large gulp of my water in an attempt to bring down the redness in my face. 

“wow tmi man, i don’t need to know about what goes on in your vagina.”

“trying to figure out if were synced, you’re radiating major bitch energy right now.”

“whatever” he muttered, pushing a cup of coffee towards me. “i already ordered your usual don’t worry about it.”

under kendall’s general grumpiness lay a caring man. to the untrained eye it was virtually impossible to spot but under layers and layers of self hatred, general negativity, and entitlement kendall roy was a loving man. while his love was usually expressed through gifts, and small things like remembering a breakfast order, his love was genuine and infectious. 

all of my siblings had one thing in common, our father. some of us raised differently than others but we were still connected through logan fucking roy. to be fair, all of us were barely raised by him; connor spent his formative years with his mother and the rest of us spent our time with ours until the divorce. in america our father was barely present, choosing to hand us off to au pairs instead of raising us himself. 

“so,” my brothers roommate said, returning to the table and pulling me from my thoughts. “gonna introduce me to this stranger ken?”

“youre impatient this morning.” kendall scoffed, finally prying his attention away from his phone. “this is my baby sister, adynn.”

“addy is fine, no one actually calls me adynn.” i said, reaching over the table to shake his hand. “and i’m only his baby sister because he was born 20 minutes before me.”

“stewy.” he replied as he took my hand in his, letting his fingertips brush against my wrist. almost as if he was trying to feel my pulse spiking. “it’s very nice to meet you, i’ve heard only good things.”

——

my apartment was my safe haven, my bubble seperating me from the outside world, and for the second time today that sense of safety was shattered by stewy fucking hosseini. 

it began with a follow request, on the instagram account i had tried very hard to make extremely difficult to fine, and when i reluctantly accepted a text followed. not a “hey” or a “i had fun at brunch”, but a very short and douchy “u up?”.

“ur so gross” i texted back, hoping he would get the emphasis on ‘gross’ through the screen. a notification alerting me of another message flashed on my screen, right before i heard a light knock coming from the front door. i ran to open it and was unpleasantly greeted by the towering billionaire leaning against the doorframe. “how long have you been outside my apartment?” i asked, walking away from the entrance and slinking into the kitchen. silently inviting him into my home. 

“since i sent that follow request babe” he said as he slowly inched inside, removing his shoes and shedding his jacket as soon as he noticed the slippers on my feet. 

“was this entire plan riding on the chance that i would accept it?” i giggled as i placed a kettle on the stove. “tea?”

“more of a coffee guy myself” he replied, “but since you’re offering i’ll take some.”

“so.” i said, placing tea bags into mugs and pouring water into them. “what brings you here, finance guys rarely come over to this side of campus. something about it being too sunny for all you cold blooded creatures over here?” i slid onto the couch next to him, almost mimicking the positions we met in the night before, and pulled my legs to my chest. 

“ouch, thats a low blow.” he clutched his chest, as if he’d just been stabbed through the heart. “i had a very strong urge to come see you, if you must know.” he slid closer to me, leaving his mug untouched on the table. snaking his arms around my waist and pulling me onto his lap. “has anyone ever told you you have beautiful eyes.” he said as he began inching his arms under my sweater.

“you aren’t too bad yourself hosseini,” i said, pulling my face to his before the almost-compliment could get to his head.

[akajustmerry]

the thing i do relate to most, and arguably love most, about kendall roy is how badly that man wants to take a proverbial bat to a proverbial wasp nest whenever he sees one (proverbially). "oh, my dad has successfully covered up a corporate abuse scandal and expects me to take the fall? what if i just.." or "oh my siblings are agreeing on something that i do not like what if i just hhahaha heehe" and "oh this woman has said something intelligent but what if I just disagreed hehe". as somewhat of a metaphorical wasp nest batter myself, i respect the energy!! if only he swung that proverbial bat for the right reasons and, you know, actually believed in something. that line in the script describing his dialogue that's like "does he believe what follows? maybe. but he feels the need to counterbalance." what is that line but the hymn, the prayer of a person with chronic wasp nest batting syndrome. we've all been there, brother. dude would do numbers on 2011-13 tumblr

[scarletttries]

Kendall Roy x Trans Man!Reader Headcanons:

Pairing: Kendall Roy x Trans Man!Reader

Rating: Fluff with one NSFW thought clearly labelled at the end :)

Request: "hello! i love your works very much. can I request something about kendall roy x trans man reader? perhaps kendall's reaction to the fact that the reader is transgender? something very cute, some fluff."

Author’s Note: Thank you do much to the anon that sent this request in, I feel like Kendall and Trans!Reader is such a good idea and I hope you enjoy these headcanons ☺️ And thank you for your wedding ship request too, I will share the for you next week 😉 Kendall Masterlist Here 🥳

- Kendall knew it from the minute he saw you across the room at some party Stewy had thrown. He wasn't sure exactly what he knew; that he wanted to be your friend? That you were going to be someone important to him? That one day he'd grow to admire you in a way he wasn't expecting? It's like he knew all of those things at once the moment he watched you mumble a sly joke that had Stewy throwing his head back in laughter like Kendall had never seen before.

- He spent the whole night captivated by your presence; the way you held yourself like you had fought to become the person you were and now you owned your whole energy with every step, the way you effortlessly charmed every person in your path like you had an insight into them he could only dream of, the way the dark club lights danced on your delicate features. He never usually observed someone this closely unless they were a business rival or a love interest, and Kendall struggled to know which camp you fell into that night.

- Meanwhile you had grown used to being the centre of attention, whether for the right or wrong reasons, but even you couldn't miss the way Kendall Roy's eyes were following you through the crowd as you mingled and networked. Finally you had to find out quite what that interested smile on his face was hiding, buying two soda waters at Stewy's suggestion and approaching the slim built man.

"I thought you might need some hydration since you've been too busy staring at me to get a drink?" Your demeanor was even more captivating up close, a playful glint in your eye that had Kendall falling hook, line and sinker.

"And here I was, thinking i'm the master of subtly. Cheers" He held up his glass to yours, intentionally bumping his hand against yours, the spark not going unnoticed by you both.

- He'd get your number from Stewy and call you up the next day, inviting you to golf or watch a sports game or some place he thought two men sat together wouldn't get a second glance, his feelings towards you new and unsettling, but endlessly exciting all the same. It would be obvious to you from day one that these were dates, but it would take a few weeks of denial on Kendall's part before he finally invited you up to his penthouse and once safely in the privacy of his own home he'd build up the nerve to kiss you.

- It would be so slow and timid at first, as if he's not 100% sure either of you are going to go through with it. Gradually as he feels the delicate press of your lips against his, the sweet taste of reciprocated affection, then he'd be a goner, leaning in for more and smiling against your lips. One kiss couldn't erase all the years of internalised homophobia instilled by his father, but good god did it make a big fucking dent.

- You'd know from your time with Kendall that he genuinely tried to be an ally to those less privileged than him (which was frankly everyone) but that didn't mean you wouldn't be nervous to tell him your full truth once you were ready. You'd have him over to your place, a smaller and much more homely apartment that Kendall would come to adore, pulling out an old photo album and explaining the body you were born in, and your journey transitioning, and how you wanted him to know this important thing about you before you got any closer.

- Already thrown off my liking a man, Kendall wouldn't necessarily be smooth at taking the news. Don't get me wrong, he'd be so happy you told him and so proud of you for becoming the person you were meant to be, just brace yourself for a lot of "No worries dude, i'm an ally, fuck gender conformism, it's all construct put in place by people with small minds, you're stupid hot in any gender." All pouring out of his grinning lips at record pace until you finally shut him up with a kiss that he's more than happy to reciprocate, feeling incredibly lucky to be let in on this part of your wonderful life.

- Kendall would want to support however you chose to express your masculinity, but you will absolutely have to meet his tailor. This old-fashioned gentleman would take one look at you, know the perfect measurements for your build, and before you can say anything other than your favourite colours he's pulled out half a designer's catalogue in your size and Kendall is paying to have it delivered to your apartment.

- Growing up with a difficult rivalry with his own brothers, Kendall would love having another man around to do all the things he never has a friend nearby to do, especially when it's the man he's falling in love with and gets to take home at the end of the night. Prepare to have him fully invested in your hobbies, excited to gain a best friend and a lover at the same time, the lonely darkness he once existed in fully illuminated by your light.

- Connor and Willa adore you. Connor's never seen Kendall so happy, and wants to make you feel as welcome in the family as possible given you might be on the receiving of a few off-colour comments from the older generation. Roman would have a field day making slightly disgusting jokes at your expense, but given you have a much smarter retort for everything he says, he quickly gives up and sulk quietly away. Tom and Greg would both make some overly supportive comments about Kendall's newly perceived sexuality that would have even more rumours circulating about the two of them. But most of all Kendall would just take it all with a smile on his face, so content and comfortable by your side that he'll let any of their dumb jokes roll off his back as long as you want, knowing he's exactly where he's meant to be.

- That being said, if anyone is being transphobic, he will 100% ruin their life. There is no coming back from that in Kendall's mind, his love for you growing protective in a world that is so unwelcoming to the trans community, and feeling somewhat responsible given the messaging of ATN. He'll really put in the work to not only improve himself, but also his business, trying to be the change he wants to see in the world for you and everyone other trans person.

- One slightly NSFW headcanon: Regardless of what stage you are at physically in your transition, Kendall will worship your body. Feeling dysphoria? Kendall will kiss every one of your features and tell you what a handsome man he immediately thought you were that first night, and how he's only grown more attracted to you since. Ken will happily bottom for you if that what you're into, letting you take control as long as you praise how well he takes you, hearing him whimper out how good you make him feel.

[stewyonmolly]

WANT TWO: CHAPTER FOUR

Waiting for a dream

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT

Waiting for the present, for the present to pass

Waiting for a dream to last

You are not my lover, and you never will be

'Cause you've never done anything to hurt me

There's a fire in the priory

And it's ruining this cocktail party

Yesterday I heard they cloned a baby

Now can I finally sleep with me?

Diving through the rising, through the rising waves of night

Keeping a reflection of you in hindsight

But in turning back the brackish waters will not reflect you

After you have turned the color black of death or something like

That

There's a fire in the priory

And it's ruining this cocktail party

Yesterday I heard the plague is coming

Once again, to find me

There's a fire in the priory

And an ogre in the oval office

Once again we all will be so broken

Now can I finally sleep again?

——

Kendall felt amazing.

He demolished a slice of seedy spelt bread upon rolling out of bed in the pre-dawn dark, stood over the kitchen sink, pure fuel. He jacked off to his reflection on the en-suite shower door to the sound of Stewy snoring in the attaché. He doom-scrolled on his iPad while shitting but successfully pulled himself out of it like a fucking boss and funneled his energy into something useful: he decoded Stewy’s allusive espresso machine and had two burnt-black shots all clarifying tannins that pricked his tongue yet tasted inconsequential going down. He had another for luck. He felt like moving his body. He felt like push-ups and pull-ups. He enlisted one of their softspoken and inexplicably uncomfortable cleaners to help him find workout clothes in his new closet, told her she didn’t have to have that face, that everything was peace and love, then went to Stewy’s private gym, a jungle lush with high-tech machines of all sorts, enough to keep Stewy from boredom and to catch Kendall’s attention, his usual meditation and circulation flows unappealing in this brave new world. He fiddled with an electronic mirror which tried to tell him to do a thirty-minute intensive HIIT circuit. Thirty minutes were not enough. Kendall became frustrated with the touch-screens and went to the treadmill, which thumped under his weight, which reacted to his every whimsical button-prod with polite increases in incline, immersive sceneryscapes, he ran through a deciduous forest and tried to imagine morning mist on his cheeks, he upped the speed, his body hit its stride and yet his animation did not waver. He consciously opened his fists, pushed his shoulders back, cross country posture. He lost himself in the virtual path he was on, beneath tree canopy, past deer and rabbits, he raised the speed. He felt he could do anything. He felt his body was consciously and carefully designed for these purposes. Kendall Roy was a runner, yes he was. His attention elapsed before his vigor; he changed the scenery to an arctic wasteland and accessed Spotify and blasted Fugazi’s Instrument Soundtrack and felt like he was on the lam. He shut his eyes and trusted his balance and worked up to a near-sprint. His lungs wrung. His pulse flew spiraling wingnut circles. He was lightheaded and thunderhearted and indomitable. He hadn’t slept for two nights.

Kendall opened his eyes to toggle the incline higher and caught a peripheral glimpse of Stewy behind him in the mirror; he startled with a curse and nearly tripped, had to grab the handles of the treadmill, jump to the solid sides, but his knees gave, so he squatted there half-hanging like he was laboring to deliver the lump of his tangled guts and watched Stewy’s reflection roll its eyes and approach.

“Hi,” Kendall said, craning to smile at him. His head and hands tingled, he realized, as Stewy reached over him to stop the treadmill’s whining, then scooped him upright. When Stewy let go, Kendall’s jelly legs wavered; Stewy swore with fiendish precision and caught him.

“Hey Siri,” Stewy yelled, voice still rough from sleep but eyes thoroughly awakened, electric, “turn the music off. Jesus.” Silence descended gravely. “Fuck. What are you doing?”

“Working out?” Kendall said. “Honing my bod?”

“It’s four in the morning,” Stewy said. “I saw like six used espresso cups on the kitchen counter. I’ll ask again, what the fuck are you doing.”

“I wanted to move.”

“Fucking clearly, Ken.” Stewy experimentally released Kendall, whose balance held, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look like himself, but he looked like Kendall’s version of him: bed-rumpled, shirt crooked on his shoulders, gooseflesh from the air conditioning Kendall had blasted into the gym, frizzled curls and glasses haphazardly applied.

“Why are you awake?” Kendall asked.

Stewy shot him a look. “You had that music on volume one hundred.”

“But I closed the door.”

“You didn’t,” Stewy said. Kendall felt chided, could not accept it, and turned away. “Hey. Come back.”

Kendall threw himself into push-ups on a yoga mat.

“Hey,” Stewy said louder. “What’s going on, man? Talk to me.”

Kendall’s elbows gave; he hit the mat with a huff, then boosted back up and kept going.

“I don’t fucking like this,” Stewy said. “What are you running from, huh?”

“Running with.”

“What?”

“Running with. Not from.”

Stewy sat on the floor and ran his hands through his hair, which served to make it stand nearly straight up. His eyes were rounded, crackling with latent—something. “With, then. Kendall, stop. Come to bed.”

Kendall shook his head. “Not tired.”

“When did you last sleep?”

“Uh huh.”

“That wasn’t a yes or no question.” Stewy half-tackled him, his full weight on Kendall’s spine. “Fucking look at me, Kendall. Let me look at you, let me see.”

Kendall fought for breath. It was as if the cardio caught him late, a delayed reaction, or Stewy had reached into his body and seized his lungs. “I feel good,” he said.

Stewy grabbed Kendall’s wrists and pinned them to the mat. It was a distinctly sexless act that nonetheless chubbed him up. Kendall could smell his own sweat, started to feel it drip down his forehead in thick rivulets. He could just see them in the mirror, Stewy the crimson archangel, Kendall the captured shade.

“You don’t,” Stewy said.

Kendall’s body released.

It was a full system-wipe. His mind buzzed faintly. Stewy didn’t let up.

His breath refused to return to him.

“Alright, Ken,” Stewy said. He dropped his brow onto the back of Kendall’s neck, rubbed the arc of his skull against the knobs of Kendall’s spine. His knees pinned Kendall’s thighs. “There you go. Is that what you needed? You fucking freak. Just tell me next time. You wake me. Don’t make yourself sick like this. You don’t have to do that anymore.”

“I’m sick,” Kendall said.

“I know,” Stewy said. He changed his grip, took Kendall’s wrists in one hand and wrapped the other arm around his chest, pressing them closer together. “Should we get a PlayStation? Not like the one I got for Christmas in tenth grade, a new one. We can get really fucking into MLB the show and twelve year olds can call us slurs from their racecar-shaped beds. Say something. Do you want to smoke about it?”

“Don’t move,” Kendall said. “Don’t let me go.”

“Why can’t you breathe? You’re scaring the shit out of me. This is like summer before college shit. You need to call your therapist, for real.”

Kendall tried to center himself. Measured nasal inhales, then out through his mouth.

Stewy’s love was a beast Kendall could never contend with. It was unfailingly kind and enormous, therefore terrifying. Kendall loved Stewy with everything in him. It came nowhere close to how Stewy loved him. There was never a chance for net-zero. No balanced equation. A bloodslick remainder that beat like Stewy’s heart.

“Can I roll over,” Kendall said, ragged.

Stewy raised himself to allow it. When Kendall’s back hit the floor, he yanked Stewy onto him, where Stewy sunk, boneless and warming and wakeful. Kendall planted his feet on the mat, grounding. He wished Stewy were heavier.

“Hi,” Stewy said, “you’re strangling me.”

“Sorry.”

“Still strangling me.”

Kendall slid his hands to hold Stewy’s waist.

“Talk to me,” Stewy said. He rubbed the top of Kendall’s shaved skull.

“What is it like,” Kendall said. “Loving me.”

Stewy made a curious sound, then lifted his face from Kendall’s neck. He looked like a disheveled but doted-upon cat. “Like, how does it feel? Or do you want a day in the life. Sparknotes?”

“I just mean—I worry. Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“No,” Stewy said. “Say it.”

Kendall tried to work himself back into agitation, but failed. Exhaustion had finally come, in the wake of rung bells and panic alarms, at the moment when he least wanted it.

“Does it affect you,” he said carefully, “to love me more?”

“Love you more than what?”

Kendall struggled. He shut his eyes and shook his head. Thoughts rattled against his skull like whacked pinballs, fleeting shots of silver, moonbeat aura.

“Hey,” Stewy said. “Come back.”

“Sometimes you hate that you love me,” Kendall said, keeping his eyes shut. “Right?”

Stewy ran a knuckle along his cheek. “Yes,” he said.

“Sometimes,” Kendall said, “you love it?”

Stewy pressed a scruffy kiss to his chin. “Yes.”

“I don’t hate or love to love you,” Kendall said. “I just do it. I don’t think about it. It just is. Death and taxes, man, and Sadeq all the way down.”

Stewy kissed him again, on the mouth this time, so softly it made Kendall’s toes tingle. “No one loves anyone the same way. Do you love everyone you love the same way?”

“I might,” Kendall said.

“I don’t,” Stewy said. Kendall opened his eyes, masochistically craving Stewy’s lighthouse gaze. “I can’t love any two people the same way. I don’t think anyone who has ever been in love—I don’t think any couple is made of two people who love each other identically. Romantic or whatever. Fucking, snowflakes.”

“Yeah?” Kendall said. “I don’t know. It feels weird. To me.”

Stewy studied him, frowning slightly. Kendall reached to smooth the knot between his brows with his thumb; Stewy caught his hand and pressed it to his mouth. He said, “I’m not ignoring you, I’m trying to think of an example. I mean, my parents, obviously. You were around enough—you know what my mom is like, she’s constantly up to something, arranging flowers or painting or playing the flute. She loves to make life pretty.”

“I remember,” Kendall said, “garden parties. She was very particular.”

“Regimented, sort of,” Stewy agreed. “And my dad is all business. Wants everything to make sense, hates waste. But he loved to give us little gifts, just to see us get excited, and he loved to watch us enjoy the things he bought. They never fucking kissed in front of me. But she’d cut up flowers to put in their bedroom; he’d get a new vase for her to put them in. She’d slip those little watercolor paintings in my lunchbox—”

“The boats,” Kendall said.

Stewy smiled, crinkly and happy. “The boats, or the park, or whatever. Whatever caught her eye that day and she wanted to share. And my dad would sneak new Hot Wheels into the toy chests for me to find. They love each other differently, they love me differently. But all I remember is they both love me. I was lucky. It was never a competition for me. Who loved who best, whose love was good enough to earn the prize.”

“That’s not how it was,” Kendall said, knee-jerk.

Stewy’s thumb traced the line of his jaw. “Yeah, it was,” he said. “I’ll remember it for you. It’s all burnt into my fucking retinas, Ken.”

“I think it’s hard for me. To, um. Believe it. When people just… love me. When they don’t have to.”

Stewy rubbed his beard against Kendall’s three-day stubble. “So, like, are you what you want?”

Kendall’s brain couldn’t comprehend the question. “Ask it another way.”

“Yeah, okay. Are you walking through life looking for your clone? Do you want to be loved by people the way you love people?”

“Fuck no,” Kendall said, though he privately thought that was exactly what he deserved.

Stewy’s face drew, like he could read Kendall’s mind. Kendall wouldn’t be surprised if he could.

“Hey,” Stewy said. “None of that. We’re doing good, we’re talking it out.”

“Sorry,” Kendall said. “It’s—um. Yeah.”

“So you think only people who are fucking, fucking, I don’t know, emotionally stunted should love you,” Stewy said. “You’d cut yourself out of the world entirely and just cling to the same thing you’ve always had, which, I should note, has not been fucking working so well for you.”

“I get what I put out,” Kendall said.

“Maybe,” Stewy said. He finally took his weight off of Kendall and stood, barefooted and glorious beneath the harsh fluorescents. Kendall’s eyes hunted for the curve of his stomach beneath his hitched shirt, his thinned-down shoulders, his graceful hands. “Or maybe not everything is bigger than life. Maybe, like I’ve been incessantly telling you, you’re free. You’re fucking free.” Stewy clasped his hands prayerfully, shot beams of fervency from his eyes. “You’re free, Kendall. Come on.”

Kendall shoved up onto his elbows, shoulders still trembling and weak, and said, “You’re relentless.”

“This isn’t a fight!” Stewy said. “You refuse to hear me! I don’t have to be gentle, I don’t owe you that. I owe you respect. And I do respect you, I respect your mind, I respect that you’ve made it this far, I respect how far you still have to go, which is why I’m listening to you say this shit and I’m hearing it. I’m internalizing it. I’m actively working to understand you every day, Kendall, and you don’t do that back to me. Ever. It’s like—you met me, you made an assessment, and that’s who I’ve been to you since that moment.”

This blew Kendall’s mind. He laid flat on his back again. He said, “I’m hearing you. I swear, I’m hearing you.”

Stewy sighed, then nudged Kendall’s calf with his foot. “Great. That’s fucking great, man. Hey, quick question. Who do you actually think loves you? Like, really loves you, I’m not talking about those girls on Twitter who threw me in a group message where they send photoshops of you in Saw traps.”

“Roman,” he said. “Connor. Shiv. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Stewy repeated. He then rolled his eyes in a monumental and pointedly bitchy way. “Cool. Because you’re talking to them right now, all the time, so much, because they love you, the human you, not what you are or what you can do for them.”

Kendall wanted to sink into the floor. He thought he’d get trapped halfway through, heavy and weightless at once, the proverbial amber-trapped mosquito.

Stewy scoffed loudly.

“Of course you,” Kendall said quickly. “I don’t even think about—it’s not even a question. I know you do. I know.”

“Okay,” Stewy said, though when he sat beside Kendall, he still looked crazed. He ran his hands through his hair again; his curls barely fell back when he released them. “That’s—something.”

Kendall felt emotionally depleted. He wanted to be done talking, but Stewy, who unfailingly tore through the gossamer curtains and knew him and then determined a way for them to move forward, did not.

Kendall held his hand out. Stewy took it in both of his own, cradled it, then dropped his face into it.

“Without the paps,” Stewy said, “and the journalists, and the fucking goons, the entourage, the old guard and everyone else, the bodymen, Jess—dude, I’m not saying this to be a dick, I swear, but who the fuck do you have left without Waystar?”

Kendall did not state the obvious. Morbidly, he asked, “You’ve got all of me, man. Does that make you hard?”

Stewy pressed Kendall’s hand to his chest, over his heart. “No, Ken,” he said. “It makes me sad.”

----

Kendall went back to bed until sundown. Stewy returned home from work an hour later, uncharacteristically dressed down beneath his coat: a simple crewneck sweatshirt, slacks, and smart sneakers, variegated shades of charcoal, even his gloves and scarf. The bags under his eyes were corpselike. Kendall wanted to profusely apologize, to strip Stewy down, to console him with a joint and then head in the shower. He was badly shaken by the way Stewy had cried to him days before. He felt he had entered a new phase of his life—BC (before crying) into AC (after)—he couldn’t unsee it. The miserable crumple of his mercurial face. His exhaustion. His grief. He wanted Stewy never to feel like that again. He wanted badly to stop hurting Stewy. He thought of all the ways he’d fucked up and all the ways he would fuck up in the future. His mouth went stupid and what he said was, “How can I love you more?”

Stewy looked up from his watch, one brow raised. “Are we still on this?”

“I’m sorry,” Kendall said. “You’re right.” He went to Stewy and eased him out of his coat, offered his forearm for balance as Stewy neurotically untied his sneakers before removing them. “Do you wish I could love you more?”

Stewy, still hunched in half, sighed. “Give me five,” he said. “I need a piss and I need to wash my armpits. Then I’ll be ready.”

This sounded reasonable. Kendall stood awkwardly in the entryway under the chandelier with Stewy’s coat over his arm, eventually realized he should hang it up, opened two linen closets and a spare bathroom but couldn’t find the coat room, so he returned discouraged to the kitchen and draped it—thick wool, not too itchy, glimmering mother-of-pearl buttons, it made Stewy look like the sexiest reaper in human history—over the back of a stool.

When Stewy came to find him, he was wearing house clothes and slippers. Kendall met him halfway but didn’t quite hug him—pressed his forehead into Stewy’s shoulder like a shy horse. Stewy palmed his neck, pressed a kiss to his temple. He smelled of mouthwash as he whispered, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kendall said back. “Work?”

“Long. Back to back meetings from eleven until four.”

“Ouch. Sorry.”

Stewy kissed the side of his head again. “Just happy to be home. C’mon, let’s go sit.” He pulled away enough to cradle Kendall’s face, press their brows together, and say, “Thank you for giving a minute.”

“I have a lot of them to offer,” Kendall said conspiratorially. Stewy cracked a laugh. It lightened his mood. He wrapped his arm around Stewy’s shoulders and led him into the living room. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, too many throw pillows, an aesthetically pleasing but itchy afghan, Stewy’s bare feet hugged to Kendall’s chest. Stewy waited for him to hunt down his nerve, patient, warm.

“I guess—yeah,” Kendall said. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

Stewy began to stroke his shin through his sweatpants. “Uh huh.”

“I did, um. I called my therapist.”

“Did she help?” Stewy asked.

“A little,” Kendall said. “I mostly—I have more questions.”

Stewy leaned his face against the cushion of the couch, pulled a pen from his pocket, and ripped it. When he said, “Shoot,” the word was all sweet smoke.

“I think it’ll help me,” Kendall said. “To, uh, understand. I need to know if you wish I could love you more.”

“Okay,” Stewy said, still soft. “Kendall, what I wish is that you’d stop fucking worrying about stupid shit that no one else thinks about. I’m not, like, keeping a chart of how many times you get me off versus I get you. It’s not an eye for an eye. I love you all the time, I want you to feel like yourself, I want you to stop torturing yourself. I want you to finally enjoy your life.”

“Is it annoying?” Kendall said. “Me, like, asking. Everything.”

“No,” Stewy said. He gave a little laugh; despite his zen, the sound was despairing. “I’m fucking floored you’re talking to me. Actually inviting me in instead of actively holding the door shut while I slam on it like a pugnacious fucking—I don’t know. Pugnacious… whatever.” He shook his head and hit the pen again. “I’m grateful, to be clear. Just… yeah. Shocked out of my fucking mind.”

“We’d been trying,” Kendall said, “before, uh. Explicitness. To be a team. Before the end of things. It’s, I don’t know if it’s a habit yet, but. Yeah.”

“Wow,” Stewy said. “Radical honesty from Tweedle Dumbshit and Tweedle Dickhead. I’m surprised that Hundred experiment lasted as long as it did.”

“Me too,” Kendall said, and they both laughed, Kendall tentatively but truly, Stewy loudly with a toss of his head. “Yeah, I don’t know, we were kidding ourselves. But it kind of helped. I think it’s supposed to be healthy.”

“Honesty? Yeah, I’d have to agree. Less stress ulcers that way.”

“I’m trying,” Kendall said, barely a whisper. His eyes burned. He hugged Stewy’s feet tighter. “I’m trying so hard to help make an actual foundation for—all of this. Us. I’m trying so hard to do it right. And I feel like a fucking moron no matter what I do.”

“Honesty,” Stewy said, holding one hand up. “Shame,” he said, raising the other. He knit his fingers together, here’s the church here’s the steeple. “Hey, it’s good, Ken. That was good. You feel any better?”

Kendall sunk more deeply into the couch. “Yeah,” he said. He was coming to understand he’d rather have Stewy with him and exasperated by his failed attempts at normalcy than cut him out in the name of safety.

Kendall, though it scared the fucking daylights out of him, was beginning to want to live.

----

It was Kendall’s suggestion, a weekend trip, but he brought it up on Stewy’s behalf. The sleepless way he looked, the tracks on his skin from Vitaglow IVs, the shuffle of shame to the bathroom to sneak a bump between phone calls. He had begun to stare listlessly out of windows and spend periods of his workday leaning back in his chair with his face craned to the ceiling and his hands knitted on his chest, lost in thought.

“Your place in Napa,” Kendall said. They were in bed, laid facing each other, knees locked, Kendall warming his toes beneath Stewy’s calf. “How much warning does the staff need before it’s ready for use?”

Stewy’s brows pushed together, then smoothed. His eyes were glassy. But he looked okay. “A day, maybe. It’s not so big. Why?”

Kendall touched Stewy’s tired face. “We should go.”

“Yeah?” Stewy said. “You feel like getting away?”

Kendall hummed. “You up for it? Or do you just want to sleep in your own bed?”

“Hey, any bed I own is my bed, man,” Stewy said. “They’re all quality, fucking memory foam. Let’s do it. I like Napa in February. No crowds, no fucking tourists. And I have good heating. It’ll be nice.”

“Good,” Kendall said. He pulled Stewy’s head onto his chest and pet his hair in a way he knew Stewy liked because it turned him boneless enough to drool. “Now go to sleep.”

They left Friday evening, landed before midnight, settled in perfunctorily, asked the staff for tea, drank it outside around a fire pit, blanket-wrapped and silently admiring the stars.

They slept in late, shared a bath, fooled around while soap-slick until Kendall bruised himself slipping on the floor of the tub. Stewy laughed hard at this, but brushed a palm over Kendall’s smarting forehead and said, “Oh, come here. Let me see.” He kissed the mark, laughed against it some more, quietly said, “Aw, baby.”

Kendall, in reply, curled against him and enjoyed the hot soak.

Stewy surprised him over brunch with a plastic baggie of shrooms.

“You shouldn’t have,” Kendall said, feigning ingenue.

“Au contraire. Never say I don’t do anything nice for you.”

They took them, then wandered through vineyards until they hit. Small doses. Everything beamed beautiful and harmonious. The sun on the bare vines, the stiff dirt underfoot, distant fog painting rhimey beards on the hilly skyline.

They returned stumbling to Stewy’s house to ride out the high. Stewy was always so nice on shrooms, just sitting and looking and smiling, happy to be there. His face went lax and his mouth went soft. He looked so pretty. He looked so real. Kendall told him so; Stewy thanked him, then laughed and told him he was goofy.

When Kendall’s phone began to ring, it was a distant, incorporeal interruption. He didn’t check it, but then it kept ringing, incessantly, repeatedly, in a way his ears didn’t like.

“Shut it up,” Stewy said. They were looped together in a truly incomprehensible way, so they had to struggle to locate it. Kendall retrieved one of his hands from down the back of Stewy’s jeans, found the phone, blindly jabbed at the screen, and was treated to Roman’s hysteric voice for his trouble.

“You fuck! You absolute fuck! Pick up when someone calls you! No one fucking makes a phone call for no reason! I need to—”

Stewy snatched the phone from Kendall’s stunned grip, hung up the call, and threw it across the living room.

“Better,” Stewy said. Then he kissed Kendall, which felt amazing. Kendall was infatuated with him, with the taste of his own chapstick in his mouth, with the hyperreal plumes of cigarette smoke swirling as if wind-caught silk in his throat.

His phone rang again. They ignored it. Again.

They tried very hard. They did. Then Kendall shot off the couch, caught his balance against the entertainment center, hunted his phone out from under a recliner, and considered it, pulsing and shouting in his hand. His brother’s name on the screen. His name.

Looking for—what? More poison? A new scar to prod during sleepless nights? Someone to stick their fingers down his throat?

Kendall, in that moment, loved his brother immensely. He wanted to hear his voice again. He wanted to tell him he was—if not okay, then stable. He wanted Roman to feel peace like he sometimes did. He wanted to give Roman the affection he craved, and he wanted to package it like a suckerpunch.

He dropped the phone to the floor, then stomped on it. Cracks emanated; the shards stuck beneath the screen protector; Kendall did not bleed.

“Hey,” Stewy said. “I thought of a question for you.”

“Yeah?” Kendall said, staring at the wreckage.

“Is this how you want to be loved by your family?” he asked. “The way you always have been? Does it feel good to you.”

“We don’t know any other way,” Kendall said.

“Well, that’s a lie, straight-up,” Stewy said. Under the wash of affection Kendall felt at hearing Stewy’s voice, he was distantly aware that Stewy sounded snide. “You don’t love me like that. You don’t fucking smash me.”

“You don’t ask to be smashed,” Kendall said. “There’s one way to love the two of them.”

“Eat and be eaten?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Kendall felt suddenly, deeply lonesome. “Can I ask one back?”

“Look at me first.” Kendall turned to Stewy, who was laid longways across the couch with his massive hunger-dark eyes and his glasses hopelessly crooked. “Okay, now go.”

“You voted for me,” Kendall said.

“I did,” Stewy said. A nod of acknowledgement.

“Why? Why, um, did you vote for me?” Kendall said.

Stewy held an arm out. Kendall went to the couch, sat at Stewy’s hip.

“Ken,” he said, “either way, I stood to win. You know that. There was no harm. So why not stand behind you. You are the one who asked me to.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to,” Kendall said. He swallowed roughly; his throat was mortally dry. “It would’ve been safer. To—vote for the sale.”

“Safer,” Stewy said. “Smarter. Saner.”

“What’s in it for me?” Kendall mimicked, slow rolling words and a cock of his head.

“I do not sound like that!” Stewy said, laughing.

“You do. But whatever.”

“Hey. Ken.”

“Hey Stew.”

“I believed in you,” Stewy said, shining. “But I love you way more than I believe in you. Honestly.”

It struck Kendall as silly, impractical. Stewy should love him exactly as much as he believed in him. That was, Kendall thought, how love worked; he trusted Stewy absolutely, no matter how many times Stewy cautioned him against it, so he loved him absolutely.

Kendall looked at his lap, then flopped onto the couch beside Stewy, who pulled him close. Stewy had been affectionate forever, physically so, in a way that made Kendall feel he was lost in the gaping Daedalian trenches of Stewy’s guts, another swallowed morsel at the other end of the maw, wandering aimlessly for either escape or a place to settle. But Stewy continuously, tactically set himself on fire to light Kendall’s way. To warm his hands. To cook his food. To lead towards the waiting cushion of his heart.

Kendall felt certain he’d never been loved before the way Stewy loved him. In that way, he and Stewy could agree: love had the potential to be different, when wielded differently.

With the stunning clarity of one high out of their mind, Kendall accepted, then, that he’d never love anyone more than he’d loved his father. He’d never love anyone in the same way he loved his siblings. But he loved Stewy precisely how he could love Stewy, and Stewy never asked him for anything more than that.

He finally knew his question.

“How do I love you better?” he whispered.

“See me,” Stewy breathed back. “Appreciate me.”

Kendall lowly said, “I appreciate you, Stew.”

Stewy’s eyes darkened. “Yeah? Show me. Make me believe it.”

Kendall divested him slowly. He felt teary and grateful. He felt sick with love. He felt all of these things in bounty, and he tried to pour them into Stewy, who was even more reactive than usual, as if the shrooms had torched his nerves. Kendall kissed and bit Stewy’s thighs, which he loved, while Stewy moaned like he was three knuckles deep. Kendall did things he thought Stewy liked best. He wanted to lavish love upon Stewy. He wanted Stewy to feel how he felt at the other end of Stewy’s kerosene-blaze stare. He massaged Stewy’s pretty calves, his feet, his hands, until he was limp and wanting. Then he worked Stewy off, reverent and languid in a way they rarely enjoyed but, tonight, felt just. Kendall didn’t want to pop Stewy open. He wanted to sweat off each strip of tape, preserving the paper. He wanted to take the jigsaw apart piece by singular piece. He wanted to make Stewy sleep for twelve glorious, comatose hours. He wanted to live up to Stewy’s image of him, of his strange but good love.

Stewy, amazingly, seemed to catch it all. Mind-reader. Or mind-knower. He came with a whimper, not a bang. He shook, and gasped, and faintly moaned, again and again, as Kendall worked him through it.

“Too much?” Kendall asked, slowing the pump of his tired arm.

“Fuck,” Stewy said. He gaped at the ceiling, all pupils; Kendall caught his hand and held it tightly, with the strangest feeling in his chest, like he was a child watching a balloon ebb skywards. “Just enough.”

[teamkenbaby]

k i’ve been trying to articulate this in the right way for a while. but i feel like after last episode, i’m going to try.

a recurring theme of succession is the cyclical nature of abuse and history and with that comes the popular fan theory that the ending for the three youngest roy siblings following the pattern of logan and his siblings, rose and ewan.

so with that, i’ve been trying to decide if that were to happen, who would be who. and i’ve come up with multiple scenarios:

kendall as rose - death

the easiest option for a sibling to die is ken. not saying i want this (DEFINITELY NOT) nor believe it (i think it might be too easy)

with that you get two options:

shiv as logan and roman as ewan or

shiv as ewan and roman as logan

HOWEVER ANOTHER SCENARIO THAT I THINK WOULD BE ALMOST MORE TRAGIC IS

roman as rose - death

i think roman presents as an interesting case to be the sibling that dies because it would be the end result of logan’s lifelong abuse towards him and even noah’s abuse of logan. roman’s death would also complete kendall’s and shiv’s arcs. hear me out, if roman dies (out of guilt for his dad, sadness, or something else), it would destroy both ken and shiv, but in different ways. roman’s death would serve almost as a catalyst for both: kendall to fully leave waystar behind and become a cynic of the world for taking away his little brother, someone who he wanted to protect. and for shiv, it would reaffirm her drive to be the ceo because she wouldn’t be able to focus on roman’s death without it destroying her. rather she would put that energy into work and being the best. so with kendall’s arc throughout the series, we see him struggle with being the chosen son, juggling his family’s wants versus his needs. but with roman’s death and his dad gone, he would finally be able to walk away. to get out. while shiv’s arc, on the other hand, has been her struggle to gain power as a woman. she is as good, maybe even better, than logan at waystar but people don’t respect her because she is logan’s daughter rather than son. but with her brothers out of the picture, that clears the path for her reign to begin.

so all together, there is only one way it goes if roman dies:

shiv as logan and kendall as ewan

in no situation do i see shiv being rose or kendall being logan because that’s not in their character. shiv is too much of a dynamic character rather than a tragic one for me to see her as rose. and with kendall, the whole reason he hasn’t been able to become (permanent) CEO is because he isn’t like logan. those self hating and self destructive tendencies make it incredibly difficult for ken to become like logan.

ultimately, i think this next episode is CRUCIAL for predictions on the rest of the season. and in reality, i want none of them to die and instead, for them to all be happy running waystar and i guess pierce?? together. with romangerri and shiv in her satisfied, content single era and kenstewy.

ps i might be completely wrong in everything i just wrote but just my thoughts

[thesmallworldofsamizayn]

Please do!!

Well If You Insist!

(copied right out of the drafts <3) (long)

okay beatle roys. they don’t map perfectly at all, but if you absolutely HAD to, im sorry roman but you are george. yeah sure romey we know you’re a good songwriter you can have 2 on this album how’s about that? as smart as or maybe smarter than his siblings/bandmates but doesnt have a genius complex unlike them so is forced to play their games. including their mind games with each other. didn’t want to go on the roof; ended up on the roof. kendall is paul, ‘big brothering’ the little angry guy on the bus who he’ll always see as a little kid even though there’s like 2 years between them for christ’s sake. in terms of age seniority john might be the kendall equivalent but unfortunately paul was ACTUALLY an older brother and he brought that energy to the band, and the john/george alliance against paul reeks much more strongly of roman and shiv teaming up to peck their golden boy older sibling than anything george and paul had together against john. and to those who would say roman’s too much of a dick to be sweet peaceable george, he’s actually nicer okay cause he refused to sign the letter decrying kendall as a bipolar drug addict but george played slide guitar on how do you sleep quite happily.

on the subject of kendall, his depressive lows may seem more john but his manic highs? his big creative visions? his costumes (he got one for roman too)? his general addiction to the spotlight? his droopy eyes? his inability to have swag despite his charm and talents? the way his siblings close ranks against him when he tries to make a stand? the way he's a cog built to fit one machine and paul mccartney's state after the beatles broke up Actually im getting sad let's change the subject? looking for pussy like a fuckin techno gatsby? non zero chance of having done a collab with kanye west/wanted to do one? paul. he’s paul. 

but it’s tough because shiv is the least easy to pin down as her age and gender relations with the rest of the family put her the furthest from john, and she ends up being at best a combo of all three - the underestimated and undermined baby (george) the repressed thwarted leader failgirl (paul) and the hotheaded bastard who's smart but not as smart as she thinks she is (john). but that john role gets much more delectable when you have kendall as paul, or at least if you think of them as the core duo in some way - im thinking of that crushing final scene between them, like take 'I want a divorce' and multiply it by a hundred holy fuck. she respects him, but she needs to prove herself better than him constantly. she needs validation just the same as he does but she's determined to believe/put out that everything she does is entirely under her own steam and that other people are pawns to her. her relationships with logan and mattson remind me of john with authority figures he would latch onto in the hope that they'd fill the void left by his parents, before realising they were phonies trying to get something from him and angrily discarding them.

honestly actually while shiv is the hardest to map clearly john is also the hardest from the beatles end cause there's a lot going on there from childhood trauma that any one of the roys can relate to, and his brand of cruel wit fits them all to an extent as well - but this is the configuration i like the most. also her spouse broke up the band

of course connor maps onto ringo perfectly do i even need to explain it - actually i do cause people might just take that to mean i’m saying ringo was useless or ignored. no he was the older brother everyone loved and who loved everybody, who was an only child for most of his childhood and was so happy to get three brothers/siblings even though they happened to be the worst people alive.

there you have it. and logan. is allen klein (kendall dreams he is being hunted down by him as a dentist)

oh one more thing - kendall as paul is right because he's the only one who's a documented beatles FAN lol