#succession oneshot

[hughiecampbelle]

In Another Life I Did Everything Right (Roman Roy x Baby!Roy)

Character/s: Roman, Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Logan

Word Count: 1,761

Inspired By: the popsicle I was eating lol

Requested: Can you write something with Roman and baby!roy? Whatever you want to do is fine. I really love your baby!roy writing and I adore Roman - anon

A/N: I took a lot of creative liberty lol, I hope you don't mind! Feedback is always appreciated my loves! 💜💜💜

It’s always the same memory, the same dream, that comes to him when the weather is warm, and humid, and he falls into a fitful sleep. It’s a realization that comes to him each time he sees your face: how young you are. Not the chubby cheeks of childhood, yet you remain untouched by adolescence. Though he knows he was a much younger man at the time, he is all grown up now. He feels his age, how old he must seem to you, how worn. Tired. He stands in the grass, the sun bright and willing to burn. He holds two plastic pouches. He knows what they are. He knows what you’re going to say, how worried you are that they’re beginning to melt: popsicles. They wouldn’t have been allowed in the house at all. They wouldn’t have made their way into the shopping cart, nor found a home in the freezer, had it not been for Connor. All his doing. He used to know the story, but tonight he can’t recall. Did you ask him for them? Were they a surprise? How could they have been hidden so well from the disapproving eyes of your father? It doesn’t really matter, he knows, but so much of this dream has become lost to him. It’s been so many years. He can no longer rely on his memory. This day has been contorted over the years, malleable and pliable, until, as far as he knows, it no longer resembles what truly happened. You’re on the pavement, legs dangling off the edge of the pool. The water is clear and, unfortunately, not as cool as you’d like. You wait, hand outstretched, for your treat. He makes you pick. Left, right, left right, left. Finally, you choose left. He smiles. Not then, but now. How big that decision must’ve felt, how harrowing it was to decide, blindly, the flavor. Older and wiser puts things into perspective. Time is funny that way. He’s grateful you remain untouched by this. Let this be your big decision. He tears yours open: orange. There is no mourning, there is no disappointment, though there is a mutual understand red is the best. He holds his up to the light, the wrapper giving way to a dark inky color. He’s glad you picked what you did: no one really liked grape all that much. 

He wants to talk to you, to ask you questions, to understand where it all went wrong, but he is limited. The dialogue has been chosen for you. This is a reenactment, a loop, a labyrinth of muscle memory he must abide by. He settles beside you, legs crossed, listening to your teeth break through the ice and syrup. He wasn’t a spiritual person. He didn’t believe in God or Heaven or Hell. He didn’t have anyone or thing to turn to when things were hard, when times were tough. Sometimes he wished he was. A different person who could pray and believe and have faith. The cynic in him thought it was bullshit. The optimist, weak and tender, fought back as best as it could. There has to be something, right? There has to be something after all this? Life, mortal life, was so small in comparison to the time before and time after. How could there be nothing? He wants to ask you what you think, if there is God out there and, if so, how vengeful they must be. You were young, yes, but you grew up. There were so many opportunities for him to ask you, your views and opinions, and he didn’t. He wasn’t thinking as he was now. He didn’t have the perspective. Instead your voice slices through his thoughts, a knife to watermelon, it all becomes a sweet, sticky mess in the middle of his cheat. Where’s mom? You don’t have to clarify you mean your mother and not his. Logan’s latest ex-wife. They lasted longer than anyone expected, separating just a few weeks prior, when Spring turned to Summer. He speaks, and though he cannot hear himself, he knows his lines. He wishes now he’d been nicer. Kinder. Instead he is full of teenage angst and decides a snide comment is the best option to ease your growing unease given their recent split. Like all of your mothers, Connors and his and yours, they’ve left their children in the care of your father, though he understand this thought is cheap and really, only Connors mother couldn’t help it. Still, two out of three? 

Did you see her today? You watch him, and wait, and your eyes are big, and there is melted popsicle down the front of your shirt. Yes, he admits, for a moment, but refuses any further details. Mascara ran down her face. She wheeled two large suitcases out of their (now Logans) room and down the hall, towards the stairs. He’s not sure where she was going, or for how long, and he suspected you wondered the same thing. Were the popsicles, similar to the cake Logan had bought Connor, some sort of bargain? A peace offering? Sorry kid, mommy and daddy are splitting. Here’s some sugar! Was this Connor’s way of making things better? He noticed the absence of his older siblings lessening these recent months. He found Shiv helping you with your school work, patiently listening to you ramble on about grade school drama: Leah liked Tommy, but Tommy liked Madison, who wasn’t your friend anymore because she was no longer sitting at your table during lunch, so Tessa was your new best friend. Kendall, with whatever he did to busy himself all day, took his evenings to hang out with you, trying his best to have something in common with a ten year old. Connor, who had never been lacking in your life, became an even more involved presence. Wrapped up with his own affairs, and probably several affairs, Logan had little time for his youngest. So here he was, doing his part, hoping a little attention wouldn’t leave you screwed up like the rest of them. 

He wants to ask you what you think of all this. He should have, at the time, but he was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable that, finally, you were earning the Roy name. Your mother was just another wife, you were just another kid he didn’t like or want. You weren’t special, you weren’t going to change him. Uncomfortable because you were a child and children had big emotions. What if you cried? What if you got upset? He didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know how to help. You wouldn’t know it at the time (how could you?) but your mother would move on. She’d remarry a few years down the line, and have more children, and leave you behind. Her second husband wasn’t a fan of your father. By association, he wasn’t keen to you either. Roman never asked, even when you got older, how you were dealing with it all. Not just this, but everything. Adolescence. He figured, like the rest of them, you’d move on. Recover. Find your way. You couldn’t. You were in Logan’s custody sure, but it was her you wanted. Holidays, and birthdays, and events, you wanted her. Instead he decides the conversation is over. The in-between is murky. There are popsicles, there is this grimm realization, there is regret, and then what?

He isn’t sure what it is that keeps him reliving this day over the others. There were plenty of times he spent with you, though usually you were drinking, attempting to run away from the family, your bloodline, your future. He saw you so rarely, you were such a different person when he got the chance to really look at you, talk to you. Logan shipped you off to boarding school the school year after your mother leaves. It’s prestigious, and sterile, and ruins any of that person he’s sitting beside. Somewhere between here and then you changed. Not just growing up, though is any other big brother really prepared for their baby to get older? You grew harder, colder, bitter. You drank more. You disappeared often. Your grades suffered, though that kind of information was kept mostly between you and the school. Every so often, Connor would send out a group text saying he was going to visit you. Roman, at least, knew what that meant: you got into trouble and needed someone to clean up a mess you made. Everyone had grown up and adjusted as well as to be expected. They were waiting, impatiently, for you to catch up in maturity. You were a teenager expected to act like an adult, treated like a child. You begged Logan to come home. Your school was far away. It was lonely. It was brutal. But it was the best education anyone could ask for and he believed you were being a brat. 

You wanted to see your mother. It had been years, at that point, since you last saw her. Occasionally you’d receive a cold phone call, but that was all you were allotted. That’s the story, anyways. No one really knows why you went out that night, why it was so urgent, only that you were drinking and you weren’t wearing a seatbelt. They found the car wrapped around a pole. You took your place in the family mausoleum. As far as he knows, your mother doesn’t visit. But they do, all of them. This was years ago, a little over a decade. You’d be all grown up by now. He still sees you as a ten year old. He always will. Maybe he dreams this day, over every other, because it was before everything turned sour. Maybe he just likes the taste of popsicles. Either way, it’s always a treat. He wants to ask you everything he didn’t get the chance to, but he can’t, and soon he will wake up. He’ll wake up in a cold sweat and make a point to visit you sometime soon, taking this as a sign that you’re lonely and looking for company. For now, he looks at you, really looks, and takes you in. You’ve been talking this whole time about what you’ve been learning in school, what Shiv has been helping you with. He will nod. He was bored then, wondering who would take over babysitting duty, but he isn’t now. He soaks up every word. He misses your voice, your mannerisms. So much has changed since this day. So little has changed, too.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Ruined

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

Oneshot

summary: a chess move gone wrong. but it brought you two back together, so how can she complain?

thank you anon 🫀 for requesting this! you’re so loved and appreciated <3

Word Count: 2.257k

When the invitation comes in the mail, you think nothing of it. Because of your job, Waystar was always trying to kiss your ass and trying to convince you they were the perfect employer.

It was also because of your previous relationship.

Even though you and Siobhan had been separated for a few weeks now, you weren’t sure that many people knew. Not only did Royco execs invite you to try and convince you to ‘join the ranks’, they’d invite you to try and get closer to Shiv. The daughter of the man in possession of the biggest media conglomerate in the world, a mega billionaire.

You assume this is just another dinner to kiss ass to prospective employees. You didn’t really mind, though. It’s free food, and even though you’d never admit it out loud, a boost to your ego.

Post breakup with Shiv felt apocalyptic. You didn’t want to eat, sleep, breathe. But you had to. You had shit to get done.

You’re happy for the excuse to get dressed up. It makes you feel good about yourself, and god knows you need that right now. You stare at yourself in the mirror, dark colored turtleneck and high waisted pants accentuating the curves of your body. You gloss your lips, mentally preparing for the night out.

The place is gorgeous, as always. The hallways are dimly lit, warm orange light dappling the space around you. You find yourself with a finger sandwich in hand, waiting for dinner to be announced so you can congregate in the dining room with everyone else and actually eat.

You watch as Logan Roy plucks a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing servant. If he was here, then that means this thing was important. But that raised a question- why are you here?

Your answer arrives right with Siobhan Roy. You spot her the moment she sets foot in the room. Despite how messy your brakeup was, you just couldn’t get yourself to get over her. She’s radiant, beautiful like the sunset, like the time-old glaciers, like the condensed dew on an ageless bottle of wine. She lit up your world, bringing day to your dystopian world of eternal night.

She was stressing over something, you could tell, even from across the room. Her shoulders were set tautly, her phone gripped in her hand. Her eyes sweep hastily over the gathered people, and yours subconsciously follow. You recognize all the high profile politicians, the big whales of finance and business. You’re beginning to feel out of place.

Lost in your daze, you don’t realize as she steps up beside you. When she speaks, you think you’re dreaming for a split second. In recent history, the only time you’d ever heard her voice, spoken to her, was in the depths of your mind’s eye.

“Are you fucking with me?” Shiv hisses from beside you, fake smile pasted to her face.

You’re taken aback. “Hello to you, too,” you mutter in response.

Her hand falls immediately to the small of your back, and she steers you away from the crowd. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was invited. I didn’t fucking drop from the face of the Earth after you broke up with me,” you say dryly. Once you’re out in the hall, her voice raises slightly from her original whisper.

“Who invited you? How the hell are you even here?”

She leads you into an empty spare room and shuts the door firmly behind her. “What the fuck, Siobhan?”

“This is a dinner to introduce an acquisition. I would know if you were hired by Waystar. So why are you here?”

“Like I said, I was invited.”

“Why? For what?”

You scoff. “How encouraging of my career,” you drawl.

She snorts in response, turning to pace the room. “What’s he up to? Do you know?” she asks quickly, referring to her dad.

“How should I fucking know?” You cross your arms over your chest. “I didn’t know we were on speaking terms, anyway.”

“We’re not,” she spits. “Not after what you put me through.”

“What I put you through?” You laugh. “Siobhan, you dumped me because you were too busy fucking your work rather than me.”

She barks out a laugh. “Is that how you see it?”

“That’s how everybody but you fucking sees it. You got angry I wanted to talk about the fact that you did nothing but work, and work overtime, and neglect me, that you ended things and ran,” you spit back, voice dripping with venom.

She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry I take my job seriously.” Her bracelets tinkle as her hands flit back down. “And that’s not what happened.” She twists to face away from you, hands carding through her hair.

“Then, pray tell, what did? You didn’t exactly wait around for me to even process. This is the first time we’ve spoken since then.”

When she turns back around, tears dot her waterline. Your chest swells with anxiety, struggling to differentiate between the stone-cold killer Siobhan and your sweet Shiv.

“I’m sorry, I’m deflecting. It’s not like that, I swear,” she says, voice cracking. “Oh, my fucking god. I got fucking scared, baby. I have all of these complicated feelings for you, and when they never went away, I got scared. I realized I loved you, that I love you, and I got horrified I’d fuck things up.”

Your heart flutters at the pet name. “That’s not a fucking excuse, Shiv. You left me by myself. You never even said goodbye properly.”

“I know, I know it’s not.” Her face drops into her hands. “It’s just… I can’t bear the idea of getting hurt. Being hurt by you, no less. I’d never recover. I haven’t recovered. I can’t move on. I can’t think of beauty without thinking of you. You’re in every goddamn sunrise, piece of jewelry, every starry night sky. Nothing I’m scared of matters anyway, because you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

You’re rendered speechless. Your mouth opens, then closes. You don’t know what to say.

“I can’t,” she says weakly. “I compare every single person to you. And every single time, I love you so much fucking better.” She chokes on a sob, face still covered by her hands.

Without thinking, you step towards her, taking her in your arms. Her head rests on your shoulder as sobs rack her body. You’d never, ever seen her like this. Not when you were together, not in any sort of public media. You rub soothing circles into her back.

“I’m sorry,” she laments, her voice wavering. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve never let you go. I want you back. I need you back. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this bullshit. You’re it for me. You’ll always be it for me.”

“Shiv,” you breathe. “Shiv, take a breath. Come on, you’re working yourself up.”

She obeys, attempting to regulate her breathing. She sniffs roughly, wiping at her eyes, before pulling away from you and turning her back to you.

“What I did was inexcusable,” she says, voice quieter. “I… I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore. I’m sorry. I love you.” She inhales shakily, her hands smoothing down her blouse. “Dad knew what would happen if you came today. I need to go.”

Without another word, she leaves you behind.

You see no point in sticking around. You’re confused, strangely swelling with love. You want to both chuck your phone into a river and pick up and dial her number immediately. You hunt around for someone who can get you your coat, and before you know it, you’re out in the blistering cold by yourself.

You spend the rest of your night face down in bed. You’re so conflicted. Does she want you, or does she not? Should you contact her first, or can you still hold onto the hope that she’ll come find you?

The night drags on, and there’s nothing. Early the next morning, you bolster the confidence to send her a text asking her if she’s alright. Your anxiety runs rampant the moment you hit send, and your face burns with heat. You both pray she answers as soon as she sees it and pray she never sees it at all. You want to belt your phone at the wall.

You find yourself at a coffee shop at seven thirty. You need to get out, to think about literally anything else. You have the day off, and you’re not sure if it’ll be good or bad for you yet.

The moment you set foot in the shop, you see her, and she sees you. Her hair is tied back, and she’s wearing an old sweater of yours. This is when she’s prettiest, you think. When she’s not playing the game of succession, not strategizing, just sitting comfortably in her skin.

Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying. She beckons you over, doe eyes still glinting with tears.

Hesitantly, you go over and sit across from her.

“How did you…?”

“You come here every day,” she says quietly. She pushes a cardboard cup of coffee towards you. “I never forgot your order.”

You murmur your thanks, taking a sip. “We should talk,” you say stupidly.

“Yeah. We should,” she responds, folding her hands together and setting them on the table in between you two.

“Can we just… talk things through?”

“I want that. Please.”

You sit back in your chair, unsure of where to begin. “Did you actually mean it? Last night, I mean?”

“Everything I said. I would’ve stayed, but… ironically, duty called.”

“What’ll change?” you ask softly. “If we… if we try again?”

“Everything,” Shiv whispers. “You’re my world. I can’t go a second without thinking about you. You’re my top priority, I swear. I’ll never fucking leave your side again. I was a shitty girlfriend before. But I’ll change. I’d do anything for you.”

“I missed you,” you choke out. “So much.”

She loses it a bit, too, tear escaping and sliding down her cheek. You reach across the table and wipe it away. “I did, too. I missed you.”

“Do you want to come home?” you ask, hopeful. She smiles.

“Finally. I’ve been living in a shithole with my cousin since you.”

You roll your eyes, knowing she’s playing it up. She takes your hand, and before you know it, you’re sat on the couch, making out. Her fingers dig into your jaw, keeping your mouth locked with hers. Shiv kisses are hard, needy. She’s been waiting for you, craving you the last few weeks.

She pulls away to kiss and suck at your neck. “Shiv,” you say breathily, not expecting it. Despite her fervor, she’s gentle, successfully pleasing you.

“Shh, baby. Let me do this. Let me make you feel good. I need to make it up to you. I was an asshole.”

You laugh. “You’re just being territorial.”

She sighs, leaning back and inspecting a developing purple hickey on your skin. She buries her head into your shoulder after dotting soothing kisses along the new bruises.

“I love you. I’m sorry,” she says into your skin.

“I love you too.” Your hand strays to her back, stroking lightly.

“I promise I’ll do it right this time,” she murmurs. “You’ll never stop feeling fucking amazing.”

“I hope you’re right,” you respond.

“Really. I’m going to be better.” She kisses at your shoulder. “I’ll start skipping meetings for you.”

“You don’t need to neglect your job, Shiv.”

“I want to, anyway. I want to spend every second right here, with you.”

Your hand smoothes down to her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “As long as you’re happy.”

“I’m so fucking happy. You make everything better.”

Shiv slips out of your grasp, padding into your kitchen. You stay sprawled out on the couch, content.

The days go by slowly, and you’re grateful. The two of you spend morning tangled together, nights intertwined. You come home to her, she comes home to you. You never leave each other without a kiss goodbye, and you never say anything before kissing hello.

Shiv wasn’t lying. She prioritized you, and solely you. If she couldn’t come home on time, she’d send flowers and crawl into bed with you late at night, peppering your face with kisses. She’s become more affectionate, her touches always lingering and her always curled up against you.

You make sure to never neglect her, either. Despite your massive differences in salary, you make sure to give thoughtful gifts, and kiss her whenever you can. You find that you enjoy cooking for her, watching her face brighten whenever she eats something she likes.

You’ve both begun to keep pictures of each other in your wallets. You always catch her staring at a miniature portrait of you in her hands, her thumb gently stroking over your face.

Every night, your bed is warm with affection. You never feel alone again.

When it happens, she doesn’t get down on one knee. It’s when you’re both half asleep on the couch, your head cradled in her lap when she shows you the ring. She giggles when you let her slip it onto your finger, the word fiancé falling giddily from her lips.

You spend a moment rummaging around in your purse, then hurry back to her, another ring in hand.

She kisses you so hard your head spins.

“I love you. I love you so much. And that’ll never change.”

[meddlingmarples]

someone please request a one shot for a succession character 😭😭 i wanna write so bad either with a prompt or just an idea!!! or no thoughts at all lol

more otp dialogue prompts <3

as a follow up to this post

1. “Okay, maybe I have a crush on you! So what?” 

2. “It’s not like this with them.”

3. “Tell me to leave and I’ll never bother you again.”

4. “This doesn’t change anything between us.”

5.  “Just take me home.”

6. “I appreciate the effort but this is all wrong.” 

7. “I don’t want anyone else.”

8. “What could you possibly be this stressed about?” 

9. “You haven’t changed at all.” 

10. “I never want to be without you again.”  

11. “You tricked me.”

12. “You can’t tell anyone. Seriously. Even them.”

13. "You want me, don't you?"

14. “If you do that one more time I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.” 

15. “I can’t believe you remembered.” 

16. “You won’t believe me.” “Try me.” 

17. “I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

18. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

19. “I think about you all the time.”

20. “Why do you insist on misunderstanding me?”

21. “Then take me with you.”

22. “I think I missed you more than you missed me.” 

23. “I thought I’d lost you.”

24. “Don’t say that to me. That’s not fair.”

25. “Well, since you asked nicely...Sure."

26. “You used to have feelings for me. Admit it.”

27. “So you don’t regret it at all?” 

28. “I’m not ready to let you go.” 

29. “Don’t lie to me. I was there.” 

30. “Leave me alone.” “Is that really what you want?” 

31. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.” 

32. "I can't hide it anymore. I have to tell you how I feel."

33. “I don’t want them. I want you.”

[cuubism]

literally just smut, dreamling, prince/knight dynamic, uh. lowkey virginity kink. lowkey degradation kink. yeah.

--

The war camp is dark, the tent only barely lit by a few scant candles, but Hob is wide awake.

It had been a fantastically successful battle, that day. Much needed after a string of losses. They’d absolutely destroyed the enemy, Hob’s only just managed to clean most of the blood off himself—and he’s still riding that high hours later, blood pumping, restless energy racing as he occupies himself cleaning his armor and his sword.

Technically, he could get someone else to do these menial tasks. He’s a knight, he’s of high enough rank to request it. But Hob’s always believed a man should tend to his own weapons, should know every piece of them. It’s the same reason he takes care of his own horse, and his own tack.

Besides, the repetitive motion of the cleaning is taking the edge off.

There’s another thing that can cut the edge of the battle high.

Sex.

How fortunate, then, that Hob is on good terms with so many of the working ladies of the camp.

Not that it’s really so hard to be on good terms. The bar is so low that simply not behaving like a total dick seems to do the trick—but the fact remains that when Hob calls for one of the messenger boys who hang around outside to send for whoever’s working that night, he knows someone will come by. He pays them well, he gets along with most everyone, and it’s really not that hard to get one’s prick wet under those circumstances.

He’s just finished oiling the final leather straps on his armor, is hanging it up to await the next fight, when he hears the entrance flap of the tent, to his back, swish open and shut again. The rush of cool night air into the warm, close space.

“Be right with you, luv,” he calls, tying off the last strap, and a deep, sonorous voice responds—

“Please, take your time, Ser Gadling.”

Hob whirls around, nearly falls over like a buffoon he goes so fast. Standing there is not one of the working girls he’s come to know. It is, in fact, Prince fucking Morpheus, dark hair tousled by the wind, wrapped in a long velvet cloak that sparkles like stardust where the light catches it.

“My prince,” Hob stammers, trying to decide whether he’s meant to bow and managing only a dip of the head. It’s Prince Morpheus’s fault, this awkwardness, Hob would have managed with perfect politeness the sudden arrival of one of his siblings, or even the King himself. It’s only Morpheus that fells him so. “I—”

“—called for a whore?” Morpheus finishes, quirking a brow. Hob can only describe the look in his eyes as mischievous.

Anything Hob might have possibly managed to say is derailed by the rush of interest to his dick. That look, that phrase in Morpheus’s pretty, proper mouth— and what is he implying—?

“That’s… not the word I’d use,” Hob finally manages, throat tight. “Did. Did you need something, my prince?”

“As I’ve said,” repeats Morpheus, taking a fluid step closer to him. And he’s— he’s fucking barefoot in the grass. Lord have mercy. “You called for a whore.”

Hob should step back. Instead he’s rooted to the spot. Paralyzed by a swirling mix of fear and arousal. “That’s not— you’re not—”

Morpheus keeps advancing on him, liquid and predatory. The deep vee of his robe suggests he’s wearing nothing underneath. He’s got some kind of glitter under his eyes. And he’s— he’s so beautiful. Hob has always thought so, especially on that one blessed night when—

“Do you think me not a whore?” says Morpheus. He says it with allure, almost pride, not shame. “Do you think, my knight, that I have never slunk into some lord’s bed to steal secrets? That I have never used my body to seal an alliance, when my words were not sufficient?”

Hob should be horrified at the thought of his prince debased so. Instead, the image of Morpheus on his knees flashes through his mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from whining. “That’s not— the same,” he manages.

“Is it not?” Hob’s ankles hit his bedroll and he trips back, falling on his ass and bracing himself on his elbows, and Morpheus follows him, crawling up Hob’s body in a long, sinuous movement, the velvet of his robe soft wherever it touches his skin. “People can make sex their trade for coin, but it is different when I offer myself up in exchange for goods or laws or partnerships?”

If that’s all the case, Hob should find out what Morpheus wants with him now. Instead he asks, breathless, taken in by Morpheus’s eyes, “What did you trade for, then, my prince?” Maybe Hob doesn’t care what Morpheus wants with him. Maybe he only cares that Morpheus wants him. “When you let a foreign king bed you, did you use your mouth?” He touches Morpheus’s lips with his fingertips, and Morpheus smiles, sharp and pleased. “Or did you let him fuck you?”

The thought is as jealousy-inducing as it is arousing. Hob has no right to be jealous about his prince. But.

“What I needed to,” says Morpheus. “I have learned how to bait my lures. Many kings, I have learned, like to ruin pretty young men. Do you know—” he taps a fingertip along Hob’s lips “—how many times I have ‘sold’ my virginity? Played the hapless youth desperate for an older man to teach him, to use him?”

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“And did you learn?” Hob asks, hyperfocused on every point where their bodies are touching.

Morpheus tilts his head at him, suddenly all innocence. “Learn what?”

And, well. He does know how to bait his lures, it turns out. Even knowing he’s sinking his mouth onto a hook, Hob growls and flips them, pushing Morpheus down into the sheets. Morpheus lets out a startled breath that Hob’s pretty sure is affected but still succeeds in sending a thrill through him, and a powerful sense—careful, delicate, don’t hurt him. Even though the small part of Hob’s brain that’s still checked in to reason knows well that Morpheus is the one truly in control of whatever’s going on here.

“Should I teach you, then?” he asks, dragging a hand through Morpheus’s hair— so soft. “Show you how good I can make you feel?”

“Please,” Morpheus breathes, wrapping a delicate hand around the back of his neck. Hob really hopes he isn’t going to get drawn and quartered for this. Might be worth it, though. He doesn’t want to die, but if there were a way to go… “Hob, please.”

Fuck, his name in that wanting mouth.

“Got my mouth on you last time,” he muses, the sense memory of Morpheus’s prick on his tongue rushing through him, the hard press of the palace flagstones on his knees, “think I can show you something new, now.”

“I defer to your experience,” Morpheus breathes, as Hob pulls open his heavy velvet robe. As he’d thought, Morpheus isn’t wearing anything under it, and the thought of him walking through the camp like that to get here makes Hob want to bite something. Morpheus makes him so base and irrational.

Hob hadn’t gotten nearly this far last time. Had simply pulled open the ties on Morpheus’s breeches, let his prince tug on his hair as Hob took him in his mouth. Now, he has Morpheus fully unveiled to him, like a gift, like an offering, and, just like an offering, Morpheus stretches, arches his back, long limbs in relief and his cock laying hard against the crease of his thigh. He’s so pristine, always tucked away in his palace, where Hob has been out in the trenches—literally—getting sun-tanned and rough and dirty.

Although. Not so pristine as Hob might have thought. Apparently.

“You’re beautiful,” Hob tells him. “Your body is beautiful. I can’t wait to show you what I can do with it.”

Morpheus shudders, keeps playing along with their little facade of inexperience. “Will you ruin me for other men, Robert Gadling? Defile me, destroy my reputation so no respectable lord or lady will ever dare take me as their spouse?”

“You came crawling to my bed, pretty thing,” Hob says. Nips at Morpheus’s belly, which makes him cry out, such a pretty, keening sound, and then soothes where he’d bitten with lips and tongue. “You’ve been wanting it, I think. Someone to take you down, someone to fuck you.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to reward my favorite knight,” Morpheus says, trailing off into a groan as Hob leaves another mark low on his pelvis.

“Should have told me you were the prize for valor,” Hob says. “I’d have killed twice as many men. Come to your bedroom still covered in the blood I spilled in your name.”

Morpheus actually moans at the image. “I’d have had you that way. My knight.”

“You can have me now.” It’s tempting, to do as he did last time, and take Morpheus into his mouth. But Hob wants to do something different to him. And he has the sense that Morpheus wants something different done. “Go on. On your belly.”

Morpheus’s breath leaves him in a shuddering rush, but he does as Hob says. Hob runs his hands down over his smooth back, his ass, his wiry thighs, kneeling between them and pushing them further apart. Morpheus whines, moving his hips in little circles to get the barest amount of friction on the sheets.

“You need it so badly.” Hob parts Morpheus’s cheeks with his thumbs, rubs over his hole, and Morpheus keens. “Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, Hob, show me—”

Hob swipes the oil from the bag beside the bed—because yes, he is prepared for these sorts of things, if not specifically for his prince showing up—and dips his fingers in. Rubs them together to warm it, then slides one finger into Morpheus, without pause, straight to the first knuckle.

Morpheus lets out a choked gasp, fingers clenching in the sheets. The sound makes Hob’s cock twitch where it’s already straining in his breeches. “Hob—” he moans, strangled, “Hob, I—”

He starts to lift himself up, and Hob pushes him down with a hand on the back of his neck. Morpheus struggles for a moment and then goes boneless under him. Hob releases him and strokes his hair. “Good boy. You want it, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Morpheus says shakily, pushing back on Hob’s hand when he starts working that finger inside him. “Please. Please.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Hob promises. Having Morpheus, his prince, his beautiful prince, splayed out under him like this is heady. If he weren’t so focused on Morpheus’s reactions, he might have lost his grip on his own arousal already. “But you’re mine.”

He slides another finger in, and Morpheus moans raggedly. Hob doesn’t know if he’s truly getting overwhelmed or if he’s still trying to play the clueless virgin, but either way it’s burning through Hob’s veins. He gets Morpheus writhing on his fingers, achingly hard in his own pants, taking each of Morpheus’s pleasured, crying moans as its own prize.

Morpheus is shaking, panting, as Hob pulls his hips up, undoes the laces on his own breeches to pull out his cock, lines himself up. Morpheus presses his face into the bed, fingers tight in the sheets. Hob touches his lips to the base of his spine, tastes the sweat there. “My prince?”

Morpheus swallows hard and it still doesn’t seem to clear his throat. “I am ready.”

So Hob braces his hips and pushes in, one long slow slide. He groans at the same time as Morpheus moans, so ragged it’s almost pained. “Fuck you’re tight.”

“Well,” says Morpheus, “you are the first to have me so.”

Even aware that Morpheus is only playing at it, the words make Hob feel like he’s clinging to sanity by a thread. “You’ve been waiting so long, haven’t you?” he manages, as he starts to move, still holding Morpheus by the hips. Morpheus sighs at the slide, thighs trembling. It’s enough to make Hob obsessed. Morpheus is so tight and hot, Hob really doesn’t know how long he’s going to last, but he’s determined to give Morpheus just a bit of that ruination first. “Waiting for the right cock to fill you?”

Morpheus pushes back on him with a whine. “Yes.”

“Kept yourself as a prize for me?”

“Yes. Hob.”

Hob reaches around to take him in hand, and Morpheus cries out, bucking into his touch, pinned in place. Hob moves faster, each thrust pushing Morpheus into his grip, his breeches scraping roughly over Morpheus’s bare thighs, and it feels so base to have him like this, still clothed, taking him like a casual whore when he’s a prince. It feels wrong. But so good.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, voice gratifyingly steady. “For your first time?”

Morpheus lets out a wordless groan. Then, “Good. So much. I—” he trails off again, losing his breath. And this, too, is gratifying, reducing Morpheus, usually so eloquent, to broken sentences and simple words.

“Good, love.” Hob soothes a hand over his hip. “That’s good.”

But before Morpheus can settle, Hob increases his pace, pounding into him so hard and fast that Morpheus loses what remains of his balance and is held in place only by Hob’s hand on his hip, his arm wrapped around his belly. Each thrust pulls a sharp gasp from him, his face pushed into the sheets— and Hob’s nearly insensate with how good it is, but still he manages to pull Morpheus off in time with each thrust.

“Hob—” Morpheus chokes, “Hob, I’m—”

“You can come, love. I want to see you.”

Morpheus comes with a bitten-off cry, spilling over Hob’s hand. He’s so beautiful like that, Hob’s formal, perfect prince—crumpled in pleasure, eyes screwed shut, hair damp with sweat. It’s a collision of every illicit thought Hob’s swallowed down when he’s looked at him. In the palace, on campaign, at times when he was meant to be guarding Morpheus and when he wasn’t. He can’t last long thinking about that, seeing that, so he bends low over Morpheus’s back and kisses the back of his neck. One small, tender touch in this game of roughness and transaction, one touch before Morpheus inevitably swans back out of his tent, back to his writing and his diplomacy and his other diplomacy, and— fuck—

Hob holds Morpheus to him as he comes, wishing he could say, don’t go back to anyone else. You’re mine now, come to me. But those aren’t his words to say.

Morpheus slumps down to the bed, boneless and satisfied. Hob follows him, breathing hard against the back of his neck, finally releasing him from under his weight. Morpheus only winces a little when he pulls out, and Hob yanks off his own shirt and uses it to wipe off Morpheus’s stomach, between his thighs. Morpheus sighs, tipping his head back, a tiny smile on his face, then turns to face Hob, leaning on his arm.

Hob’s swiftly learning how weak he is for that smile on the face of the usually unreadable prince. He trails an exploratory finger along Morpheus’s jaw, up his temple, into his hair. Morpheus closes his eyes at the touch, slow and sleepy.

“Was that better than your many transactional trysts?” Hob asks. “Or do I have work to do?”

“I would not know,” says Morpheus, a self-satisfied little smile now curling on his lips. “Considering those did not occur.”

Hob blinks hard, mind going blank. “What.”

“I spun you a story, Robert,” Morpheus says. His voice is sex-rough, his hair a mess, his gaze drags over Hob’s body with a proprietary touch. “And it is a fun story, is it not? Plying secrets from between the sheets, returning home victorious when one was thought to be had. And,” he drags a fingertip down the center of Hob’s chest, “coming back to the bed of a lover. One whom one wants to be with. To be made his again.”

Hob is still stuck on this. “Wait, are you telling me you made all that up?”

Morpheus smirks. “Do you truly think that my words would ever be insufficient to obtain what this kingdom needs? Do you think I need to use my mouth other ways to get treaties signed?”

Well, when he puts it like that.

“It was a compelling story, though,” Morpheus muses as Hob continues gaping at him. “You seemed compelled.”

“Morpheus, why?”

“I wanted to see how my favorite knight would respond to knowing other men had had me,” he says, and keeps dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair in self-soothing patterns. Then his expression shifts from clever to almost shy. “And. I thought that if you knew the truth, you might defer too much to me. Treat me only like your prince.”

Hob’s stomach swoops. “And… what’s the truth, then?”

“That evening at the state dinner, when someone meant me harm and you saved me…” his voice holds a note of wonder now. “That. Was the first time that I had ever.”

“What?” He can’t lie to himself, the thought of being Morpheus’s first, for real, does spark something in him. But also. Morpheus is a prince. And Hob had been…

“I had never before had cause,” Morpheus explains. “I was uninterested in marriage. And I never found anyone worth threatening my reputation over. Until…” His lips purse, stressed now. “And I wanted you so. And. You wanted me.”

Hob is speechless, running through every second of that night in his mind. Sweeping Morpheus into his arms and out of the way of a blade. Morpheus’s wide eyes staring at the slice in Hob’s arm, the blood welling there. Blinking and finding himself crowded into a side hall, Morpheus panting into his mouth, the hunger of his pretty lips, heat and adrenaline running through Hob’s body, pushing Morpheus against the wall and sinking to his knees in front of his charge, his dear, his prince to worship. The tears that had pricked at Morpheus’s eyes as Hob had taken him all the way down.

Christ.

“Does that bother you?” Morpheus asks, uncertain now.

“I’d have shown you a better time then if I’d known,” Hob says, because doesn’t he deserve to be properly taken care of? “In an actual bed.”

Morpheus lets out a little huff of a laugh, expression easing. “I enjoyed it.”

“And then…” he lets his hand come to rest low on Morpheus’s waist. “You came back for more.” He kisses Morpheus and swallows his pleased sigh. “Hungry little thing.”

Morpheus’s breath shudders, and he clings to Hob’s hair, his shoulders. Hob’s about to roll on top of him again and kiss him properly, maybe more once they’ve recovered themselves, but pauses as a realization sinks in. “Wait. Does that mean—”

“Yes, Hob. You were the first man to fuck me.” He sighs. “Use that information against me if you wish. It is out of my hands, now.”

Hob is reeling with shock, and even more so with arousal, heat flashing through his body at the mere thought that all Morpheus had pretended at, newness and learning and raw, unpracticed want, had been, at least somewhat, real. And he had let Hob have that. Catch it. Had trusted him.

“Never,” Hob swears, kissing his cheek. “I would never. You’ll be my secret. Besides. I don’t think anyone would ever believe me even if I said. Me, with you? A prince? And a gorgeous one at that?”

Morpheus runs his hands over Hob’s shoulders. “You are handsome. And very gallant. I do not see what you mean.”

“Well, that’s flattering. And I won’t tell you to take it back.”

Morpheus runs his tongue over his lower lip, eyes dark where they trace over Hob’s jaw, shoulders, chest. “I have. Wanted you from afar. For a very long time.”

Obligingly, Hob kisses him, and sweeps his hands over Morpheus’s lower back, drawing him close. “You’re a prince,” he says, breathless again with want for this wonderful being. “You can have whatever you want.”

“So,” Morpheus nuzzles at his jaw, “I may steal my way into your bed? You would not mind that, Ser Gadling?”

“Sneak in, or stay, I won’t mind. I’ll give you all my secrets.”

Morpheus hums. “And your loyalty?”

Hob thinks he means it playfully, a continuation of his ruse from before—but it comes out much more serious. His gaze finds Hob’s with a deeper wanting than when he’d swanned into Hob’s tent, all draped fabric and fluid lines of desire.

“You have it already,” Hob murmurs, and Morpheus’s pleased sigh as Hob kisses him is a balm to his soul. “My prince.”

[succcession]

I have a request for Kendall!!!! I imagine him and the reader being on the verge of divorce and him being a possessive almost ex husband and making a scene every time a man breaths near the reader and them fighting and screaming at each other and then having the best make up angry sex of their lives.

Your mind is phenomenal, I hope you like it!

Marriage Make Up

Kendall Roy x f!reader smut 4.1k word count

You tried with Kendall. You really tried. It started with the coke. Which you could look past for awhile. Occasionally, suggesting various detoxes and rehab facilities, always trying to let him know you were there for him. Free from judgment. You knew who Kendall was when you married him, the addictions he struggled with. The trauma. However, the day you stood in front of him, your handmade white dress flowing, a traditional veil being lifted from your eyes to kiss him. You promised yourself you were going to be there for him. No matter what happened.

That was until the coke turned into ignoring all phone calls, never coming home, forgetting birthdays, and daily drunk 3am texts that clearly weren’t intended for you. You threatened Kendall that if this is how the marriage was going to be, you couldn’t be a part of it. But honestly they were empty threats. When you had made that initial promise, you meant it. 

That was until the escorts. 

You were awoken one morning by the ringtone of your phone, slowly blinking your eyes open as the sound grew louder. You threw your arm over searching to find the warmth of your husband's body sleeping next to you. Instead, being greeted by the now too common fabric of the cold sheets. You began rummaging through the pile of king size blankets searching your buzzing phone, eventually answering right before a call from Roman Roy went to voicemail.

“Hey! Seen your husband lately?” Roman questioned. Never beginning conversations with any kind of small talk. 

“Oh yeah…Kendall, my husband” you scoffed. “At this point I have no idea if he is even still alive.”

“Oh he’s alive alright. All over the news actually… Billionaire Logan Roy's son, Kendall Roy seen leaving NYC restaurant with instagram model Claire Hane.”

Roman read aloud the headline cackling after almost every word.

 “That girl is like, known to be an escort! What? Did you stop putting out?” He continued joking.

As soon as Roman had begun reading the headline your heart was pounding. Kendall in the news was rarely a good thing, and with every word out of Roman’s mouth you could feel heat rushing to your face as tears filled your eyes. 

Choking on the lump in your throat you struggled to come up with a respond to Romans teasing. You wanted to act unbothered, like you were as heartless as any Roy sibling, unphased. But the tears already streaming down your face clearly proved otherwise.

 “I…Fuck” you huffed finally managing to get something out of your quivering mouth. Everyone had warned you with patronizing eyes and scolding fingers when you married Kendall that he was inconsistent, unthoughtful, and “occasionally psychotic” his ex-wife even mentioned. However, you always waved their comments off with a smile. “Yeah, I know he has a lot going on, but I’m in love. And he can be really empathetic! I’ve never had someone take care of me the way that Kendall does. And not just with his wallet!” You explained over and over. Now all of your illusions were quickly shattering. Of anything he could do, cheating was not one you expected. Your sex life was great! At least, you thought. Maybe a little lacking lately, but that was hardly your fault seeing as though he was rarely home. Did he honestly need to pay for sex? Your confidence in him and your confidence in yourself were crashing down right in front of you.

“Look y/n, I’m sure it's not you. My brother is an asshole. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s been a shitty husband.” 

Nearly forgetting Roman was on the other line you groaned at what you knew was his attempt to cheer you up. “Thanks Rome, I’m gonna go drink over my failed marriage. Bye.” you mumbled quickly hanging up before Roman got another chance to throw in a heartless joke.

Time appeared to be moving painfully slow after the disheartening events of this morning. After laying in bed clutching your chest and sobbing for what felt like weeks, you eventually pulled yourself into the bathroom. Confronted by your gloomy reflection of swollen eyes, still in shock this was all really happening. That Kendall would really be hiring escorts, and that you would find out from his brother! You decided the only way to distract your distressing mind would be a hot shower. Taking your time to delicately wash your hair and lather every inch of your body with the expensive body soap. Even though Kendall was richer than you could comprehend, you still had a habit of trying to preserve those things, never using too much. However, now all those little things were out the window. Who cares anymore if I’m just using him, you thought to yourself. Obviously he doesn’t.

You dried yourself off slowly taking the time to apply a sweet smelling lotion and your face moisturizer. Taking one last glance at your figure in the mirror and letting out a deep sigh. “Fuck him, I’m still sexy” you exclaim aloud at your reflection. 

“Fuck yeah, you are!” You hear Kendall reply slyly behind you, looking back to see his suited figure leaning against the door frame. His eyes scanned your body from head to toe. You have no problem brushing off his remarks rushing to grab your white silk robe, covering your exposed body from him. Kendall was quick to pick up on your agitated reaction as you brushed past him.

“Okay. Yeah great what the fuck did I do now? Cause I know I didn’t leave any fucking drugs around the house.” he huffed, naturally jumping to defend his actions. 

“Yeah, probably because you’re never here.” You mumbled quietly. You weren’t ready to fight about it. Not yet at least. You still felt too heartbroken to even scream at him, simply just wanting him to disappear until you were ready to confront the reality. 

“I know I’ve been gone a lot y/n, but with my dad gone things at the office are just really starting to pick up and everything with Mattson, I mean…” his voice trailed off as you wandered around the room putting together a comfortable outfit. His rambling excuses eventually stopped when he looked at you and questioned, 

“Uh babe the fuck are you wearing?”.

“God Ken, why do you even care? You’re leaving again tonight right?” you sneered. He’s never home, and then when he is home all he has is work excuses and a problem with your outfit, seriously?

“Um, we're leaving tonight. Waystar Charity Gala. One of my biggest opportunities to make a good impression as CEO. What, did you fucking forget?” He exclaimed. 

“Fuck” you whined holding a finger to rub your temple. 

You had totally forgotten tonight was the charity event, explaining why Kendall was home and finally paying any attention to you. Part of being married to Kendall Roy was putting on a play. Attending various events and red carpets draped over your husband's side performing as his beautiful, dotting wife. Although, honestly you never had to fake it. You genuinely did adore Kendall and it made you happy to make him look good, and brag about his accomplishments to his peers. And you were good at it! Always leaving every man in the room jealous of how happy you made Kendall, and every woman dying to take your place. But tonight you weren’t sure if you could handle that job. You couldn’t even make eye contact with him right now, let alone appear like you’re obsessed with him. 

Kendall walked over to where you were sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at you. You resisted every urge to begin crying again, screaming at him about this morning's headlines. Although it was eating you alive, you knew that sobbing to him wouldn’t work on Kendall. The Roy’s were a different breed, and if you wanted to get to him, you really had to make him feel something. You looked up at his figure towering above you. Giving him soft eyes but maintaining the displeased frown on your face.

“Are you seriously this upset over me being busy? God I know, I’m sorry for being the world shittiest fucking husband!” he scoffed “ But I’m trying to take over a fucking company here y/n. Now, you knew what you signed up for when you married me, so we’re going to this fucking gala. And you’re going to be my loving wife, okay? You’re going to look beautiful, and you’re going to make me look good. Can you do that? Can you be a good girl for me?” his patronizing tone sinking deep into your chest. You knew he was half serious, half just attempting to intimidate you, and the good girl he had to throw in hoping it would finally get to you. And it did. Sending heat straight to your center. You gave a slow nod in response, not breaking eye contact. Although, this response was not enough for kendall as he roughly brought a hand under your chin “Say yes Kendall, thank you Kendall”. You repeated his words gently and even turned your head to leave a gentle kiss on his palm. His entire demeanor softened, you could easily play into his game now but you were already planning ways to get back at him throughout the night. 

Your dress for the night was a striking dark blue, a slight shimmer radiating from the bottom, drawing all eyes down the velvet fabric that formed around your body nicely. The plunging neckline, a lower cut then you would usually wear. You nearly forget about Kendall as every head in the crowd turned in awe at yours and Kendall's arrival. Your beauty quickly becoming the topic of the event.

 As you made your way through the party, Kendall snaked his arm around your waist breathing deeply into your neck, recognizing his favorite perfume of yours. Smirking as he whispered “You’re so good to me.” His words sent a chill down your spine. How could he so easily say things like that while he had another life going on? Your brain jumped between wanting to slap him, and completely surrendering to his touch. You wanted nothing more than to leave a soft kiss on his lips, lean your head into his shoulder and mean it. But you refused to give in so easily, letting his hands wander your body without returning any of the attention. 

 It seemed as though you had a spotlight on you, the way your dress glistened softly, your light smile drawing in awestruck gazes from every direction. Kendall analyzed every man who let their eyes linger on you as you passed by, his grip around your waist growing tighter with the minute. Although, he wasn’t saying anything you knew the increased attention surrounding you was driving him insane. Of course, Kendall's ideal night consisted of having the most desired woman in the room but tonight felt excessive. With men who had never spoken to him in his life stopping to shake his hand, clearly only for a chance to gain proximity to you.

You grabbed a champagne glass from a waiter before turning on your heel away from Kendall commenting “I’m going to go mingle.” 

“What are you-” his question, cut off by quick disappearance into the crowd. 

It was easy to charm the kind of men you find at these events. Whether they were married or single, younger or older all you had to do was act interested in their lives. Listen to them talk about how much money they make, throw in an innocent giggle and they’re easily under your control. Which made it easy to flirt with random billionaires throughout the room, but made for little true entertainment. Reminding you what you had first admired about Kendall. Although others rarely saw it, Kendall had depth. You two often would stay up till early hours in the morning pouring out endless streams of emotions to each other. He enjoyed deep conversations and sharing his daydreams. Kendall was made of much more than just Waystar inheritance money. Every other man in the room felt so…simple, so facile compared to Ken. 

It wasn’t long until Kendall found you in the crowd again, eyes locked on some investor as he did his best to swoon you. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, lightly letting your hand graze the man's bicep. 

Kendall formed a tight fist as he felt a trigger go off in his head. Kendall spent his whole life competing. He definitely wasn’t going to let your attention be stolen by anybody else. In his mind when he put a ring on it, he won you. Besides you hardly paid attention to the people at these things, why tonight did you decide to put on such a performance while brushing off all of his advances? The jealousy of your lack of attention was piling on him like a ton of bricks. He knew he had been extremely negligent in the marriage department lately, and as much as he probably deserved to be cheated on after everything he’s done in his life, he didn’t think you would be so quick to throw yourself at other men.

He made his way over to you and the man stood in front of you, quickly sliding in closely next to you. “Thanks for keeping her company, man. Keep up the good work.” Kendall joked aggressively.

“Ah anytime, we’ve all seen what a busy guy you are, hate to see you leave this beautiful thing all alone.” The man scoffed back lightly, referencing today's news. You were always impressed by rich men's ability to be mean to each other without actually fighting, it was as if cryptic trash talk was their second language.

“Oh, I guarantee I can keep my wife very entertained” Kendall asserted. 

You observed the two men wind each other up, pleased that your simple yet effective plan of making Kendall jealous was working. Eventually, the other man let up, leaving you two standing alone. Kendall’s chest was heaving in front of you, his large eyes scanning the room, and you could sense that he was trying to calm himself down. Resisting from making a scene. He knew he needed to stay longer, that he should spend the entire night networking with strangers, gaining the trust of possible donors, anything to earn respect as CEO. But as his anxieties regarding your displeased attitude began growing more unignorable, he wanted nothing more than to drag you out of the venue. Away from everybody's eyes, and against only his. Protected. 

Kendall wasn’t saying a word to you, and you took your opportunity to wander off again to search for anyone semi handsome you could pretend to care about. However, your first step away from him was interrupted by a rough grip on your hand. You turned hesitantly, knowing you will be met with his distressed eyes, “I’m done with this fucking game. We’re leaving.” 

The fighting began the second you walked into the apartment building. Not even making it past the lobby before Kendall was yelling out “So are we gonna fucking talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about Kendall? How you clearly have no desire to even be married to me? Why don't we start there!” You explained only to be met with a stunned 

“What?”.

“You’re never fucking here Kendall! And if you are here you’re high, mad at me for being upset that my husband only ever sees me when he's coked out of his mind!”. You had never yelled at him like this, shocked at the amount of anger you could feel swelling in your chest. 

“Oh and now you don’t even want to have sex right? You can just hire someone for that too! I hope eventually you can spend enough money on pussy and drugs to actually be happy Kendall!”. It was harsh, yes. You wanted to hurt him. Hoping maybe your words could compare to how it felt reading the headline.

“Fuck you. Okay, what the fuck are you talking about y/n?” 

“The news, Kendall! I’m not fucking stupid! Everyone has seen your recent little public affair. Obviously, I don’t make you happy so please lets just do whatever the fuck we have to do to end this! I don't want anything from you, I don't care, I just don't fucking care anymore” you aggressively stammered on, raising your hands in defeat.

Kendall was sitting on the bed watching you pace the room. He didn’t realize that his dinner last night had made so many news articles, but they weren’t lying. He did meet up with an escort, thinking that fucking someone he didn’t care about might actually help him blow off some steam. But by halfway through dinner he had already made up his mind that he couldn’t follow through with it. Sure, she was beautiful and listened to him rant about work and his ex-wife. Nonetheless, his interest faltered with every coy giggle she let out. She wasn’t sarcastic like you, she didn’t push back or tease him. It was as if you were the only one bold enough to treat him like a real person, not just a possible paycheck. He left the restaurant with her but only to have her dropped back off at her apartment, giving a soft apology while still paying her the originally intended amount. He thought he could be like his dad, not give a fuck about anyone, use anything for his own pleasure. But he was positive his dick wouldn’t have been able to get hard all night, and trying only would have made it miserable for her and him.

“I didn’t fuck her.” Kendall finally huffed in response pushing himself to stand in front of you “I couldn’t fuck her! I’ll be honest with you y/n, I wanted to. But we never even made it past the fucking restaurant! I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You never leave me side y/n and I know I fucking put you through hell and back! I’m really fucked up, but I didn’t fuck anyone else!” 

You weren’t sure whether to believe him. Regardless you would still be upset that he considered it. But there was something oddly sweet about a man who could buy any woman not being able to go through with it because of you. Kendall had slowly been stepping towards, and your hands laid gently at your side, unsure of what to do with all the information in your head, only to be met with a rough kiss from Kendall. You pushed him away exclaiming “Kendall, what the fuck? I’m so fucking pissed!” yet you were met again by his tight grasp around your waist and his lips returning deeply to yours. This time unable to resist the urge to give in and kiss him back.

“I know. You should be pissed. But I love you, I love you y/n.” he muttered in response against your lips. The sound of your shared panting filling the room as the passionate kiss continued. Kendall walked you backwards until you collided with the wall behind you. 

“So fucking mad at you Ken!” you growled into his mouth as you both clawed each other's clothes, his arms raking down your backside squeezing your ass roughly and brushing the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders. Letting the fabric pool around your waist his mouth was quick to begin leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down your neck, stopping to nibble gently on the skin between your neck and shoulder. You threw your head back as his mouth made contact with your nipple, he sucked harshly, pulling the skin lightly with his lips, and then soothing the sensitive bud by tracing circles with his tongue. His other hand working to undo the zipper holding up the remainder of your dress. You attempted to steady your shaking hands and loosen his belt and dress shirt but the feeling spreading from your nipples to your pussy was already causing you to struggle. When your dress pooled around your ankles, Kendall wasted no time in lifting you into his arms, legs instinctively wrapping around him as he sucked on your bottom lip. You could feel his bulge pressing firmly into your center as he trapped you tightly between him and the wall. His hips grinding, desperate to buck into you, causing a yelp to leave your mouth every time. 

He moved his hands swiftly, lowering his dress pants enough to pull his cock out, rubbing the large bead of precum that was forming on his head between your folds. 

“Fuck Ken!” You exclaimed as you felt his head pressing firmly against your slit. Kendall usually enjoyed taking his time, slowly working his cock into you, trying to make you as wet as possible before bottoming out. However, now you could feel him pushing in with no hesitation. Grunting as your lips squeezed tightly around him, giving you no time to adjust, only pulse as he pushed deeper. His cock had never felt so swollen inside you before. You weren’t sure if it was the time apart or the passionate argument but your pussy was yearning for every inch of him inside you, and to completely submit to his hold. But your brain still had the lingering thoughts of his actions.

“Why Ken? Fuck- why do you have to be like that? Why can’t we just talk?” You managed to moan out 

“I don’t know why I’m so fucked up y/n” he grunted into your ear pushing the final inch of his length all the way inside of you. Both of you let out a sigh in unison as your bodies aligned perfectly together. Your legs spread wide for him as he held your ass in his palms, grinding deeply into you. With each thrust his pelvis softly nudging your clit driving your pleasure further.

Backing away from the wall, while maintaining his tight hold around you, Kendall walked your conjoined bodies over to the bed. Laying you down harshly against the edge of the mattress, pulling your hips quickly to meet his, pushing his dick deep back inside you. He collapsed into your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your chest. He fucked into you at a brutal pace, you were unable to controls the cries that left you lips each time his thick head brushed against the sensitive spot along your walls.

“Ken please- I need you” you whined scratching your nails down his back searching for anything to hold onto while the knot in your stomach tightened. 

“I want to be better, baby. I can be better for you. I promise” He groaned deeply into your neck, his words so easily seducing you back into completely trusting him again.

“I want you home Ken, I want- ughh you” you managed to moan out breathlessly. As your orgasm drew closer, so did your thoughts about missing Kendall. You just wanted to tell him how much you loved him, how much you needed him but all that left your lips was a loud cry as you felt your pussy finally release on his cock. 

“You’re making me cum! Fuck Ken oh my god, wait wait I-…” you yelped.

Your hand reached between your legs pressing your palm to his stomach as your overstimulated pussy throbbed harshly around him. He maintained his brutal pace, holding your hips in place as you squirmed against him.

“Just a little more baby, you can take me. That’s my girl” he cooed, his hands straightening your legs over his shoulder. His hips snapping against your ass, eyes never leaving yours. Watching in adoration as your eyes shut closed, but your mouth remaining open, drool falling down your chin as the pleasure slowly became too much. 

With a few more powerful thrusts Kendall was releasing deep inside you. Allowing himself to collapse completely into your warm body. Shallowly grinding his hips to ride out his passionate high. Waiting until he felt your walls stop throbbing around him. Allowing both of your breathing to relax before he eventually pulled out with a long sigh. Kendall looked down at you fucked out face. His thumb brushed your cheek gently, then ran it along your bottom lip. He thought you always looked so beautiful with your cheeks flushed pink, hair wildly flying around your face. Arms reaching up searching for his protection. He wasn’t ready to give up on another marriage, not when the make up sex was like this, he laughed to himself. He gathered you in his arms scooting your bodies up the bed, until he was comfortably holding you.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

[starsandsugars]

You roll like thunder

PAIRING: shiv roy x reader

SUMMARY: after the gala ends, shiv needs somewhere to let our her frustration. she knows just who to call to get her sense of control back. (NSFW - 18+)

TAGS: friends to lovers, friends with benefits, dom/sub undertones, degradation + praise

Notes: I want shiv to be mean to me <3 enjoy and please send in requests!

-

Shiv Roy walked into your life like a storm rolling through in the middle of a drought. She was dangerous and every breath felt like a promise that she was going to come through your life and change everything.

She knew it too, she must. No woman walks with that level of confidence or speaks with that level of ease if she doesn't know just how powerful she is.

That's what everything is about for Shiv- power.

Maybe that's why you let her come over when she calls you in the middle of the night after the stupid Waystar Gala.

She always goes to these events and comes crawling to you once they rattle her sense of control. She gets around her family for too long and they always find a way to take that spark away from her, stomping it out with a fierceness that manages to shock you no matter how many times it happens.

It's been true since you met Shiv her first year as a political consultant on the hill. You were working in a nonprofit nearby at the time, and your paths crossed on many occasions. At first you just nodded politely at each other but as the years went by and you both climbed the ranks you became more friendly to each other.

You met for lunch to discuss business and eventually that morphed into talking about your personal lives. You knew she was dating a man named Tom who she loved, but worried wanted her to settle down to quickly. You told her about your then recent breakup with your ex girlfriend that caused you to have to move all your stuff into a new apartment.

That somehow turned into you showing her your apartment. During your tour one of you seems to have let your resolve slip because before you know if her hands around your throat and your neighbors are banging against the wall for you two to shut up causing you both to dissolve in breathless laughter.

You agreed it was a one time thing.. then a two time thing, then a three time thing until you both stopped deluding yourself by trying to label it.

Shiv was your friend and you had sex from time to time when she wanted to blow off steam without scaring away her boyfriend. It was perfectly normal and for that point in your life it was good. You were too busy for attachments and even your best solo efforts don't come close to make you feel as good at Shiv does.

As long as you didn't think about the fact that she was technically cheating or that you were maybe definitely beginning to get real feelings for her it was perfect.

When you moved to New York for work it stopped being an after work drink and a hookup and turned into butterfly inducing texts telling you she wanted to come over while she was in town.

You knew it was wrong but you opened the door with a smile and your best underwear on every time anyway.

When she moved to New York it stayed relatively the same. You thought they would get more frequent but it seemed being a newlywed kept her more occupied than you had imagined. You can pretend it doesn't bother you as long as you don't look at the ring.

But no matter how busy she seemed to be with work or her husband or whatever new trainwreck her family had caused- she always came crawling back in times like these.

Maybe crawling is the wrong word. Prowling seems like a better descriptor.

She shows up at your door with that cocky grin, usually toting some little gift or a bottle of wine. She walks in, acting entirely innocent as she tells you to get glasses or meet her in your living room. From the moment she enters it's about making sure you both know she's in charge.

Tonight when you open the door, your eyes widen. You knew it was a gala but you hadn't been prepared for just how good Shiv would look in the gown. It hugs her curves just right, her updo bringing out the shape of her face and the glimmer in her eyes. Your voice catches in her throat as she walks past you effortlessly.

"It's late." You comment, trying to pretend like you wouldn't let her come over at any time for any reason. It's bullshit and you both know it, but she humors you anyway.

"And yet you let me in." She says, grinning at you as she slides her eyes over your pajama clad figure. You felt a little underdressed even though you knew that was silly. She has a way of doing that, of entering a room and setting the new norm.

"What, did you have plans?" Her voice lilts as she talks, almost like she's mocking you. "Don't tell me I'm interrupting a very important booty call."

She walks into your living room, leaving you no choice but to follow her as she settles comfortably on your couch. She crosses her legs as you sit across from her.

You raise an eyebrow at her, not surprised anymore by this kind of game and instead all too happy to play back.

"Why, are you jealous?."

She laughs at that, seemingly delighted by your testing her.

"Jealous?" She repeats, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. "Please. Can you even cum without me there to help you?"

She's trying to rile you up, reminding you of the time you confessed your then boyfriend couldn't make you cum and neither could your vibrator. She had taken all too much pride in that and you're pretty sure you climaxed five different times that night.

You just shake your head at her affectionately. She's trying to get a rise out of you and you enjoy making her work for it.

"I take it the gala went well then?" You say after a moment hoping she will admit her reasons for coming over.

You stand and approach your bar cart in the corner of the room. As you pour each of you a glass of red wine she sighs.

"They're idiots, all of them." She grumbled, watching you as you approached her once more. She looked at you with that expression that told you she was getting impatient, her fingers tracing over her lips in a clear effort to rile you up.

It works, and your stomach clenched at the sight.

You sat beside her, handing her the glass of wine which she takes with a smile.

"Thanks, sweetheart." She says, swirling it around before taking a sip. "You always know just what I need, huh?"

"I try." You respond, leaning in until your thighs are touching. "I like to make you feel good."

She raises a hand to gently card through your hair, brushing the hair back away from your face from a moment. She seems to be almost admiring you, and she leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

When she pulls back her grip in your hair tightens minutely.

"How about you get on your knees for me then, pretty girl?" She releases you and leans back against the couch, legs spreading wider.

Your heart speeds up in your chest as you nod, placing your glass on the table before sinking to your knees in front of her.

You slide your hands up under her dress, resting on her thighs as you look obediently up at her. She looks like a goddess from this angle, already beautiful face shining with a kind of power that made your stomach turn.

You knew the two of you were equals where it mattered but in the twilight hours when she spoke to you in that commandeering tone all you could think to do was obey.

"Good." She says, reaching down to pull the plush fabric of her dress up until it's resting around her hips. It's not lost on you that she's still got her high heels and gown on while you're sporting your pajamas. It's also not lost on you that she's wearing simple, lacy panties that match her dress.

"You wear these for me?" You tease as you slide your thumb under the waist band of them, watching the way the touch makes her flush just slightly.

"No. But you're going to take them off anyway." She says, taking a sip of her wine as she watches you easily.

You comply immediately, tugging them down her legs and draping them on the rug before running your hands back up her legs.

You begin to press kisses up the sensitive skin on the inside of her leg, feeling her shudder as you finally reach where she wants you. She wastes no time, putting her hand in your hair once more and pressing your forward.

You don't hesitate to give in, greedily licking at her clit until you feel the slight quiver in her legs. That's your queue to double down, urging her closer to that sweet spot. You move your fingers up, teasing along her folds until you can press one of your fingers in just as you flatten your tongue against her sensitive button.

She groans at that, the noise sounding like a siren song to your ears.

"Yes, just like that." She purrs, twisting her hand further in your hair while her other hand moves to pull your shirt down so your breasts are exposed.

You continue your ministrations, speeding up your tongue as you add another finger. You speed up and it begins to pull those high pitched noises from her as expletives stream from her mouth.

"Right there. Don't stop." She says, hips beginning to react in time with your movements.

When she cums it's like your world stops rotating. The sounds she only makes when she's truly vulnerable like this, the whimpers and moans and the way your name rolls off her tongue like a prayer- that's what you live for. You help her ride through it, feeling the same pride you always do at having made her feel good.

Once she's satisfied she pulls you away by your hair and just looks down at you. You can't do anything but look up at her with big eyes and a rapidly beating heart. She seems to find solace in whatever she sees in your expression.

"Come here." She says, pulling you up until you're straddling her lap. She takes your chin in her hands, turning your face side to side so she can see the way her slick glistens on your face. She hums, satisfied, and you get a little satisfaction from seeing she is still struggling to catch her breath.

"You look so pretty like this." She says, stroking her thumb over your lips and slowly pressing into your mouth as a show of dominance. "Bet you'll look even better when it's your turn to cum, huh?" She asks, free hand trailing down to grab at your ass. She pulls the fabric of your shorts down roughly, sliding her hand over your panties to tease you.

"Do you think you can handle that?" She prods.

"Yes." You respond immediately, much less concerned with your pride than you are getting rid of the desperation between your legs. "Yes, Shiv."

She grins at you, slipping her finger under the fabric to just barely brush at your clit.

"Beg for it then." She says, as dominant and demanding as always. You knew she wasn't going to make it easy, but you couldn't help but whimper anyway.

"Please. Please, I need you."

She seems satisfied with this, and pressing a finger into you. You moan immediately, starting to move your hips against her. She wastes no time in picking up the pace, adding another finger and fucking you quickly before you can even adjust.

Before you know it you're a shaking, whining mess on her lap. Her mouth moves from your neck to your nipples, giving you the attention you always crave from her. You know you're just a pawn in her life but when she touches you like this you feel like the center of her world. By the time she's worked you up to an orgasm, you feel like the center of the universe.

"You're so wet." She laughs against your skin. "Bet you've been dripping since I texted you. Even though it was the middle of the night bet you were practically shaking with how bad you wanted me. God, you act like you're so innocent but really you're the biggest slut I've ever met."

She says, dropping her other hand to circle your clit as she curls her fingers in you. She must feel you tighten or maybe she just sees the look on your face but she begins to try to talk you over the edge.

"Come on, cum. I know you can. I want you to, be good and do it for me." She urges and with a bite at your neck you do, spilling over the edge and into the hazy area where you feel like you can hardly steady yourself. You pant and shake as she finishes plastering kisses all over you, pulling down to look at you. She slips her fingers in your mouth so you can lick the cum off before pulling away and smiling at you.

"This was fun." She says, quickly downing the rest of her wine and standing up to readjust herself. You can hardly think straight but you stand on wobbly legs anyway, attempting to right you're close enough that you have some semblance of self respect.

"Leaving so soon?" You ask, even though you know this is her way. She gives you everything you could possibly want except even a sliver of real intimacy. She must see the disappointment in your eyes as she returns and runs her hands over her arms.

"You know I'm busy, dove." She says, using the pet name she only ever uses when she knows she's getting away with something. As if to distract her from this she presses a searing kiss to your lips before stepping back.

"I'll see you around, okay?" She said, and then as soon as she came she's gone with the door shutting solidly behind her.

You sigh as you sink back onto the couch, enjoying the feeling of warmth from where she was sitting. It's not her, but it's close enough.

Shiv Roy rolls like thunder. If you want to be with her, you have to accept that the storm leaves just as suddenly as it rolls in. It moves on from town to town while you're left trying to soak in what's left of the rain.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

angst w happy ending/fluff + fake dating + “was any of this even real” with stewy PLEASE 🙏 honestly i will take ANYTHING stewy but i feel like this fits him…

Play Pretend.

44. "Was any of this even real?" + h. Fake dating + 4. "Marry me."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested. this is a part of my campaign to become your favourite stewy writer x

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing

Word Count - 810

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

You never meant for it to go this far. Neither of you did.

Stewy had cruised into your bar one night, and you'd hit it off. Several whiskeys later, he's making you an offer you can't refuse.

He proposed that you be his girlfriend for any and all events that he had to attend with a date. In return, he promised to help connect you with some important people in the art world. You'll have a gallery of your own in no time, he'd said.

That was 8 months ago.

At first, it was fun. He'd send a fancy gown to your apartment, request that you be wearing it by 8pm sharp. He'd pick you up in a shiny car, and keep you on his arm all night. It was like you were living in a whole different world. You enjoyed it.

But the more you two pretended, the realer it became. You spent hours laughing, teasing each other, talking the nights away. You got to know each other, bared pieces of your soul. Now, it's bordering on something more.

You've fallen head over heels in love with him, and he sees you as a fake date.

You're stupid, and you know it. You should have known from the moment you met him that his charm would wear you down. That beaming smile, the grey streak in his hair, the way his hands were always warm. You'd fallen hard, and there was no going back.

You're panicking. You're scrambling around, looking for the eject button. You know if you keep going, you'll reach a point of no return. So, you do the only thing you can think of. You cut it off.

Can't do tonight, you'd texted. No explanation, no apology. You felt guilty, of course you did - you know he needed someone at the gala with him. But you were trying to protect yourself.

You'd expected him to reply fuck you then! and be done with it. But when has Stewy Hosseini ever been predictable? Instead, he's banging on the door of your apartment so hard you're worried he's going to break it down.

"Sweetheart, what the fuck is going on? Open this door before I kick it down!"

"Don't kick it," you yell back. "You'll ruin those Louboutins I know you're wearing."

"Open. The. Door."

"Aren't you supposed to be at the gala by now?"

You know it isn't exactly mature to be yelling through the door at each other, but it feels easier, somehow.

"Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? Just tell me what I did and I'll fix it!"

That's your breaking point. You swing open the door to be met with Stewy in a navy blue suit, dressed up to the nines.

"You can't fix it," you murmur.

"Let me try," he begs, moving closer to you.

"Look, Stewy. Thank you, for everything, really. But I'm done. I can't do it anymore."

You sound so sure of yourself. His heart shatters so hard, he wonders if you hear it break.

"Was any of this even real?" he whispers, looking at you intently.

"... What?"

"Was any of this even real? I mean, I know it wasn't at the start, but I thought... I just... Nevermind."

"What did you think?" you ask gently. He isn't making sense, and it's putting you on edge. He's usually so assured.

"I thought - I thought this was something. I know you were my fake girlfriend, but I thought you were at least my real friend."

"I am your friend," you reassure, wrapping your arms around his middle instinctively. "That's why I can't do this anymore. Because we're friends. It's not fair."

You're holding onto each other for dear life. You both think this is the last time you'll get to do this.

"I thought you loved me," he whispers into the top of your head. "How stupid was I?"

You pull away to cradle his face in your hands, looking at him carefully.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"No, Stewy. Say it again. Please."

"I said, I thought you loved me. Guess it was all just pretend," he laughs dryly, no real humour in it.

"Oh my god," you chuckle. "We're so stupid."

"Speak for yourself," he mutters.

"I do love you," you laugh. "I thought you didn't love me. I thought you were just pretending."

"I don't think I was ever pretending."

With that, you lunge at him, smashing your lips to his. He tastes like peppermint and smells like his woody cologne and it's everything you've ever dreamed. He pulls back to wrap his arms around you, spinning you around the living room.

"You know, I think we should just skip the rest. What's the logical next step? Marriage? You wanna marry me?"

"Easy there, Casanova," you tease. "Take me on a real date first."

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

State Of Disgrace (smut)

Summary: Being a Roy is harder than it looks.

Shipp: Kendall Roy x Cousin!Reader, Roman Roy x Cousin!Reader

Words: 2699k

Disclaimer: SMUT! it's not really proofread, I have to say, but I kinda like the way it came out.

I was five and he was six. We rode on horses made of sticks. He wore black and I wore white, he would always win the fight. 

I used to shoot him down.

Being a child was easy enough. Being a Roy child, however, was a bit more capricious than a regular household.

My mother died in childbirth. She was a lovely woman by the eyes of friends, a gold digger by the malicious judgements of others. Nevertheless, for me, she was nothing but a stranger. My father was Alistair Roy, the youngest brother of my uncle Logan, who tragically also died of extreme sadness due the loss of my mother. 

Some called it depression. I used to call it his swan song.

I moved in with Logan Roy at the raw age of two. Before that, I'd never even met him. My father, before his tragic passing, was just like uncle Ewan, you see. He avoided any further familiar contact with the capitalist monster and ruler of the empire of disgrace Waystar was to them. 

Uncle Logan was not a warm man. His wife, Caroline, was even worse. So, every warmth needed by a two year old was entirely given by my older cousins — whom I had also never met before — and Roman.

Roman and I had the same age, me being just a couple of months older. We grew instantly attached  hip to hip, so much everyone else started to call us "the twins". It was not, however, a praise title, but a Shakespearean war name, for ever since we'd got enough motor skills, we began to explore the vast world that extended to the huge grounds of our mansion. Then Siobhan came, a needy, smiley little girl that resembled her father so much. Connor and Kendall were excited with their new sister; I feared the small ounces of attention I gained daily would be threatened by her charming toothless smile and spikey gingerish hair. And Roman, as much as he was also happy with the new sister, shared the same inconscient dread, the crumbs he used to get from his mother as the youngest slowly fading away. That's when we got more and more agitated, gaining a few more reprimands as soon as another nanny would quit. 

I particularly remember a day where Roman and I distracted the nannies for one minute, fleeing to the pool area. It was a windy day; the crystal water trembled and rippled, the soft movements catching my clueless attention like Narcissus was caught by his reflection. However, instead of languishing away, I came too close, my balance still in development. 

The water received me with the cut of a thousand blades, cold as the feeling of danger that felt like a punch in my stomach. Roman's screams rang in my ears and, after almost half a minute submerged, it began to resemble a sorrowful howl, like a wolf pup. I was four, too young to fully comprehend what was happening, too old to suppress the memory of peace that instilled in my heart. I was no longer the sad little orphan, the spare suitcase that couldn't find its place.

Roman's howls were gone. In an instant, I would lose my sight as well. The deep, vast blue of the pool water and the tiles, the reflection of light on the surface above me were the only things I could see. My lungs, a few moments ago burning up with the invasion of that intruder substance, were now obsolete and dispensable. My body felt feeble and, for a moment, I was only pure conscience. 

It was right at that moment that Roman's face came to my mind. How could I ever leave him? We were parts of the same molding, made of the same matter. How could I allow him to carry the guilt of my accidental death for the rest of his life? 

That was not my call, though. I couldn't swim. If it wasn't for Connor, who was bringing some girl over to the infamous little pool house and heard Roman's cries for help, I would be dead and buried. I can still remember the feeling of the water being launched out of my lungs through my sore throat, the desperate sound of coughing and the tears that stained Roman's face while he stared at me still in panic with the prospect of losing me. That's precisely when I just knew we belonged together, as kindred souls, platonic or not.

Unfortunately, I would also find out later in life I would do anything in my power to feel that kind of lugubrious peace again. Furthermore, that state of disgrace would also bring me closer to another one of my cousins. 

Seasons came and changed the time. When I grew up, I called him mine.

He would always laugh and say

"Remember when we used to play?"

Restless adolescence. I began sipping on drinks when uncle Logan or Caroline weren't paying enough attention, developing quite a taste for neat whiskey. At thirteen, I drank (and cursed) like a middle aged sailor. At fifteen, all the alcohol was locked up and the waiters were instructed to keep an eye on me at parties. 

It was also the age of fickle flings and steamy makeouts with any boy who gave me enough attention — or enough booze. Never been much of a fan of stimulants, but the barbiturates… They were my bestest friends, knocking me out sometimes for a whole day, making the world seem distorted and distant from my usual cold reality. There was no one left to acknowledge my problems; Connor had moved out, Kendall was at Harvard and Logan had sent Roman to a military boarding school to try and cut a bit of our almost symbiotic connection. Shiv was penetrating the fearsome gates of puberty, so no one was able to keep a two minute conversation with her anymore. The nannies or maids weren't paid enough to care, and Logan's corporative minions only extended their attention when I used business vocabulary. Once I realized that, I began to read every piece of news, fully understand what meant to rule a media conglomerate and excerpts about corporate business. It was brain porn to me. Knowledge was as addictive as the drugs and booze, and I was a junkie craving attention like a moth to a flame.

Caroline left, leaving Shiv and I as the only girls in the house. I chose to take a step to the spotlight, being able to impress whoever tried to sink in deeper with my knowledge and grownup words. She's so mature for her age. So clever. So smart. She's got class conscience. Little Y/n Roy is all grown up! Logan noticed my sudden interest and stimulated as much as he could without showing any favoritism on my behalf, bringing me to Waystar with him sometimes, allowing Gerri to guide me on whatever I wanted to know and understand when it came to business. That actually brought me closer to the blonde, austere woman; I sought a motherly figure to tend to my emotional needs like a junkie with a needle. 

I was also surprisingly good at corporative game. It was like playing poker, the one who pretends the best gets to count the cards and win. Board vision. I began to, as my Sherlock Holmes books expertly instructed, actually observe more than just see. 

A peck with the teeth in the nails. A quick lick or bite on the bottom lip. Dilated pupils, nostrils flaring. Avoiding eye contact. All signs of discomfort or vice versa became crystal clear to me, showing up like Christmas lights. That also taught me to be an even better player, and I became a virtuoso of deceit. The difficulty of interaction I had with people I hated had faded completely and now, at sixteen years old, I felt absolutely nothing but a huge void that came with being in control of all my feelings. Sentiments made me weak, I had learned. It clouds the judgment and proliferates like maggots on rotting flesh. If one loses control over it, it's gone. 

That should also include vices, so I mannered my consumption, elaborating some sort of twisted diet with small albeit enough doses. Being in control  was exhilarating, and I felt as if I was at the top of the world. Drinks? Only in parties of sorts and reunions, and a single glass. Drugs? Just to keep me concentrated or calm, nothing more. Uncle Logan began to see my improvement, and a conversation about business school had been approached. 

After a while, however, it started to get a bit dull, always knowing the right thing to say or what everyone wanted to hear. Defiance and rebellion were in my veins. Uncle Ewan told my dad he wasn't going to marry my mom; uncle Logan, so I've heard, forbid him to bring her into family gatherings. Many scenes were detailed crudely by the press over the years, painting my parents as the villains of a dynasty and uncle Logan as some sort of Zeus almighty. For weeks, I expected the perfect opportunity for misbehaving. Nothing serious enough to reach my uncle's ears, but to, at the very least, assure my conscience I was still the same Y/n Roy, daughter of Alistair and Giorgiana Roy. I was in paradise craving the forbidden fruit without even knowing how it would manifest.

Until Kendall came back from Harvard for Thanksgiving holidays. 

He looked different then, somehow cooler, more confident and laid-back than he usually was. It was kind of comic how attractive Kendall could be when he wasn't looking like he had a pine tree up his ass. After dinner, I managed to suggest an innocent gathering in my bedroom to talk about college and news from the world outside the golden cage we were usually trapped into. 

"Hey, you should try this" he suddenly pulls a small bag of cocaine from his pocket, waving it in front of my eyes like a plate of meat to a starving dog. "Seriously, this is the shit."

I laughed in contained mockery, knowing that, if Kendall somehow felt diminished, he would slip through my fingers like sand. Instead, I watch him prepare some lines to blow using one of my school notebooks as support. Two lines after and I can no longer see the greenish of his irises, black englobing everything. If possible, he looks even more confident, this sort of bellicosity making him even more appealing to me. 

I switch my crossed legs from position. His now dark eyes accompany the movement, narrowing. I'm wearing a short skirt, and the way I move my legs makes me look like I'm recreating that one famous scene from Basic Instinct. 

He stares in silence for a few seconds, studying my face, seeming to be gathering the guts to do something. 

"Do you like what you see?" I suddenly ask, new acquired courage, one of my hands traveling through my dressed body. Kendall shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath trying to restrain himself. I wait for no response, pulling one of his hands and placing it right on one of my breasts, the warmth of his touch allowing a small sigh to escape my lips.

"Y/n… what uh… what game are you playing here?" He tries to organize his thoughts, but I purr like a kitten as if that simple touch of his feels like the grasp of a flame in the coldest winter. "Oh, fuck… don't… don't do that, come on."

"Don't act like you don't want it to happen. I don't see you removing your hand" I crawl in his direction, stopping from inches of his mouth. "I want you, Ken."

"Y/n, this isn't right, I mean, I'm fucking older than you, we're cousins…"

"So? So what? Come on, Ken. Don't you ever get tired of being a fucking model to this family? Daddy's little toy soldier?" I jolted forward, sitting on his lap. He doesn't stop me. "I fucking want you. How many were brave enough to say that to your face?"

I lick my lips as I rub my hips against his and a low grunt echoes on his throat. He looks almost helpless; it's pathetic. I can feel his dick getting hard underneath the dark denim pants, and that gives me some sort of enigmatic power, like I'm a form of Venus. Kendall's hands lift my skirt, moist visible in my underwear, almost staining his pants. 

"Fuck, Y/n… how are you so wet already?" He pushes my panties aside, losing his patience and ripping it apart, making me giggle. I start humping against his pants while kissing his jawline, touching his lips with mine for the first time. He tasted like minties, cigarettes and a bit of the whiskey we drank after dinner. After that, he finally decided to let go; his tongue invaded my mouth with passion, and he made me lay down on the floor, towering over me. I pulled his shirt, throwing it across the room, sucking the sensitive spot on his neck that caused him to let out some sexy moans with his deep voice. My cunt was pulsing to the point it started to actually hurt a bit.

"I need you, Ken." I said, starting to unbutton his jeans. 

"What a greedy little thing you are" he pulls my hands away, trapping them on the floor above my head by my wrists. With the free hand, he took his dick off his pants, the tip glowing with precum. 

He finally rested between my legs, the feeling of his head against my entrance making me a bit nervous for the first time that night. I got even more wet just with the expectation, and just when I was about to rush him, he entered me without a warning, a loud moan escaping my lips. My nails carved the skin of his hand, and he hastily quieted down my whimpers with a sloppy kiss, letting go of my arms and allowing me to wrap them around him.

"You okay?" He questioned, his gorgeous green eyes looking so sweet, so concerned, that I actually felt slightly guilty of using him to achieve my own whims. With a smile, I nod, and he moves painfully slow inside me, my breathing intensifying. It hurt at the beginning, but soon, the pain started to give in, and my hips began to synchronize with his own movements like an intricate dance, sweat accumulating on my forehead. My whole skin felt hot, feverish, and my hands grabbed Kendall's ass to pull him closer, my legs wrapped around his lower back.

His breathing changed, and he squeezed my skin so rough I was sure it would leave bruises tomorrow. 

"Y/n… fuck, wait… I'm gonna…" his body began to tremble as he fastened his movements, and a louder grunt came out of him while he poured himself inside me, leaning his forehead against mine. 

Our breaths mixed up, sweat dripping out, and a now pleasant and new pain between my legs. He laid on top of me until he became too heavy to endure, rolling his body sideways afterwards, laying on the cool marbled floor. I turn down on my stomach to face him, the cold white marble alleviating the pressure on my low abdomen. He looks herculean with his hair all messed up, face glistening with small drops of sweat and a peaceful manner in his eyes, eyes no longer darkened by the drugs, but clearer like leaves on springtime. 

We kissed a few more times, talked about trivialities, and he left soon after, placing a kiss on my shoulder, too hasty to record and too soft to ignore.

The matter was hardly discussed afterwards, and I never mentioned he was my first, not even when it happened again, and again. For many years, I told no one, the secret feeling like a little barb around my lower abdomen every time I saw him. 

Until I felt safe enough to share it with Roman. But that's a story for another time. 

[cloud-based-and-rainpilled]

Using all my bisexual powers to write a tomshiv/tomgreg oneshot smut fic with a reference to Temple Grandin; talk about Succ Sundays!

[hughiecampbelle]

How Cruel Is That? (Shiv Roy x Fem!Reader Oneshot)

Character/s: Shiv

Word Count: 1,258

Inspired By: Good Luck, Babe! - Chappell Roan

Requested: Not requested, but taken from the prompt list anyways :) tease + wedding ring

A/N: Alternatively titled So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings lol. Do I love Shiv? Of course. Am I here to show my appreciation for her with the help of Chappell Roan? Also of course :P Kinda on a roll with fics so don't be afraid to request!!! The angstier the better! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist / REQUESTS ARE OPEN

When you look at her, you know exactly how the night will play out. It will be poetic. It will be Shakespearean. It will be everything you could have ever wanted. Your wedding ring will find its place on the nightstand. It will wait, patiently, quietly, until you’ve decided you’ve had enough of this fantastic world and decide to return to reality. The living. It slips back on without a fight, without resentment, and you consider yourself lucky. One day, maybe soon, maybe not, you imagine your ring refusing your finger, as if it knows what you’ve done, as if it will take the a moral high ground. It will break out in hives at the very thought of you. It will whisper everything it has seen to the man you promised yourself to, and your father, and perhaps even her father. It will all come crashing down. Though, a small part of you, too small to name, dreams of that day. With nothing left, no one tied to you by vows or blood or name, you could finally choose. Not the way you did roses or hyacinths, cream or egg shell, but truly, really choose a life for yourself. One worth every sacrifice, every heartbreak, every night spent as his wife. 

Her dress will fall to the floor. She will step out of her heels. Her hair, her makeup, all of it the very essence of perfection. Impeccable. In these moments, you’re seventeen all over again. Your pulse racing, heat rising to your face, questioning if this is happening as it has happened so many years since. You’re hidden in the back of the summer house, your skin hot from the sun and sea. You try to kiss each and every one of her freckles. You’re trying not to laugh too loud on her flowery bed, the mattress soft. It leaves the two of you sinking into one another. You’re as still as possible, pressed together beneath the bushes in the garden, grass prickling into your back. Even the moonlight cannot conceal what you two have been doing. Between kisses she will smile and giggle (a sound that makes your very insides melt) and ask you if you’re alright. You sense that she, too, has been taken back. All those times you should have been caught. All those times you weren’t. When you can find your voice, you promise you’re better than that. You’ll find yourself grabbing at her, unable to touch enough of her, unable to get enough of her. You thank God for her, for this moment, never sure you will get to do this again. You must live as if this is the very last time. You must savor every moment.

Her perfume, always the same scent, has become a comfort, an aphrodisiac. Licorice, bitter, and woods, natural, and her. All of her. You never liked his cologne. It was never right. You tried to find one that smelled of her, that resembled her, but nothing could substitute. Nothing could compare. Her voice is icy, her words frozen over, and you wish every night for hypothermia. She leaves her ring on. It has become a recent accessory, a new staple, though she’s made it clear it changes nothing about your dynamic. Still, she leaves it on. You catch yourself eyeing it when it catches the light. She doesn’t have a routine as you do, an inner reasoning, a way to compartmentalize. There is no division of worlds. In her life, there is him and there is you. In yours, there is him or there is her. A decision you still have not made. You are not her forbidden fruit as she is yours. She does not separate you and him. She has always loved you. She has only recently started to love him. You hope, foolishly of course, her love for you is greater than his. You know she is much more important to you than your husband ever will be. He is an obligation, a duty, a responsibility. She is frivolity. She is passion and joy and love. True love. Not just the empty sentence you find yourself reciting back to him. This is more than a couple of silly letters taped together haphazardly, forced between your teeth so that you might later gag them up when the time is right. No, this is not that. 

For now, you’ll have to wait. For now, all you have are your memories, your hopes of the future, all your expectations of tonight. For now, you must be patient. Across the room, you keep an eye on her. You wait for the right moment. It comes. She moves, so do you. You turn away from him, trying not to look at her directly as you both make your way to the bar. She is the sun and you hope, you pray, you might fly too close. It is worth being burned. It is worth setting your life aflame. He doesn’t take notice. He never does. Instead, he closes the gap in the circle, acclimating to a conversation (a life) without his wife. You wonder if he would even miss you. Sure, the beginning would be rough. He would have to fend for himself. But he can hire help. He won’t have to lift a finger. The only catch is that he’d be going to bed alone. He’d manage. He always does. You take note that her husband doesn’t notice her lack of presence. You would, you want to cry. You would notice everything about her. You bite your tongue. Where there are eyes, there are lips. You stand beside her, asking for another drink, leaving enough space between you. She fills the gap. Her arm falls by your side. Pathetically, you reach out just a little, the tips of your fingers touching hers. She remains stoic, even bored looking, but you can feel her hand wrap itself around yours. She squeezes it. Once. Twice. Three times. You breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes you find yourself questioning if any of it was real. Was that a stolen glance? Is she following you? Is her hand really on your thigh under the table? You wonder if it’s all in your head: a singular grand delusion, an epic between you and the idea of her. This, though, reminds you it’s real and so is she. Shiv looks at you for a second, less than, and flashes a knowing smile, before letting go and grabbing her glass. 

She leaves you gasping for air, heart racing, palms sweating. She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t check on you, but she doesn’t need to. Her smile said it all. It spoke every word, every reassurance, you needed to hear. She’s been waiting for you. She will wait for you, tonight, in a room between yours and hers. She will find you. She will undress you. And you will become young again. Naive, and blushing, and full of nervousness. You will be hers and she will be yours. It told you to go back to your husband, to be doting and affectionate, but to remember that she awaits you. She always will. It isn’t right. You know this, you’re no fool. Cheating on him with the woman you love. But nothing in this world is right or fair or just. If it was, you would have ended up with her instead. You would have been her wife, not his. But you’re not. You don’t think you ever will be. How cruel is that?

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Hurt/ Comfort Shiv request by any chance?

Runaways

Siobhan Roy x Reader

Oneshot

Summary: Siobhan’s just a bit stressed.

I’m so sorry this took so long! I won’t make excuses LOL

Also, I’m really sorry because this one just feels so subpar. I’ll do better next time I promise :,) Regardless, I hope you enjoy x

also x2 I changed my pfp again she’s just so

Word Count: 2.758k

The glass in her hand shatters on impact, shards flying everywhere.

“Shiv!” you exclaim, one of the pieces of glass lodged in her palm.

“Fuck, fuck! I didn’t mean to, I swear,” she cries back, lunging for a paper towel.

“Are you alright? Your hands are all shaky,” you murmur, taking the roll from her, dropping it on the counter, and taking her hand instead. You carefully step around the mess, Shiv following. You pad into the kitchen, still delicately gripping her hand, and root around in the medicine cabinet until you find gauze and cleaning alcohol.

“Just stressed,” she mumbles, gripping her wrist with her other hand.

You hum disapprovingly, gently prying out the shard of glass and flicking it into the garbage. Quickly, before the blood can trickle out her palm, you wipe at the cut with a cotton pad soaked in the alcohol. After you clean it, and it’s wrapped, you look up at her. “How stressed?”

Shiv stays quiet a moment. Even though you’d been dating for over a year now, she still had trouble opening up and letting herself be vulnerable. Chewing on her lip, she replies quietly, “Dad pulled back.”

Her hands are trembling again. You take both of hers in yours, pancaking them all together and stroking the tops of her hands gently with your thumbs. “I don’t know what that means, love. Elaborate.”

“You remember, ages ago, at that dinner. He pulled me aside, told me he wanted to name me the successor.”

You do. She’d worn a cute dress, and a necklace you’d gotten for you. After she’d come back from disappearing into her dad’s office, she was giddy and all smiles. The polar opposite of what she was now. “Not anymore?” you ask carefully.

She shakes her head, pulling her hands from yours and instead tucking her head into the crook of your neck and biting back a sob. You pull her close to you, doing your best to soothe her and whisper kind things. “I’m sorry,” is what you repeat, over and over, stroking her hair. Shiv eventually pulls away from you, her hand instead sliding down your arm to lace your fingers with hers.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she whispers. “I tried everything. I did everything for him. And I’m still not enough.” Despite her steady breathing and neutral expression, tears are welling in her eyes. Her grip on your hand is also way too tight, but you say nothing and drag her to the couch. She waits for you to sit down and recline your legs so she can climb on top of you and bury her head back into your neck. Your hands flit to the small of her back, rubbing slow, soft circles.

“Shiv,” you begin, after a long pause. “Why bend over backwards for him? Your time is valuable. You’re so worthy and deserving of so many things. He just doesn’t see that, so I think it’s time you move on. Let go.” You play with her fingers. “You’re more than enough for me, you know.”

She sniffs. “But he’s my dad.”

“And you’re his daughter. People always forget that he’s responsible for your relationship with you, too. You deserve the world, not nothing.” You press a kiss to her forehead, and her grip on you tightens.

“You’re good at this,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry.” She pulls back, unintentionally straddling you.

“For what?”

“You’re so good. You’re always there for me, you always know what to say… and I’m just here.” She leans forward to plant a kiss on your lips. “Tell me what I can do for you. I want to do more.”

“Take it easy. That’s what you can do for me,” you say back, hands still sitting on her back. One of them drifts up to cup her cheek as you give her another sweet kiss. “I know it hurts. It’s probably not going to stop hurting for a bit. So just take it slow. Lots of breaks, okay? Don’t push yourself so hard.”

“You know I can’t do that.” She slumps back against you, head tucked under your chin. “I have shit to do.”

“Then just do it one bit at a time, okay? Enough of that ‘all at once’ shit. You’re stressing yourself out.”

She sighs. You know she’s probably not going to listen to you. Regardless, this was progress, the two of you talking. Her letting you know what’s on her mind. The night goes by deliciously slowly, the two of you curled up together in bed rather than the couch. You savor every second of her skin on yours, of the sounds of her soft breathing, every breath fanning across your neck and face. Shiv’s clingy now, but you’re happy about it. Despite all the pain, you were getting closer, but since you hated seeing her hurt, you were kind of conflicted about it.

You wake up to Shiv gently shaking you. “Baby. Wake up.”

You groan, not opposed to her waking you up, but a bit frazzled. “Yeah, yeah. Yeah?”

She laughs a bit, peppering kisses across your cheeks and to your lips. “We should get out of New York.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“We should pick everything up and leave. Run off to Italy or something. Forget about everything here.”

“Is this because of yesterday?”

She’s silent for a minute, pulling you into a cuddle and raking her fingers through your hair. “A little. But I’ve thought about it before, too.” Her fingers play with the soft locks sitting on your head. “I just think, since I’m so sick and tired of everything here…”

“And leave our jobs? Your family?” you question, leaning into her touch.

She scoffs. “I’m rich enough to not have to worry about money for the rest of my life. Besides, we can find jobs wherever we go. It’s a perk, having the name.”

“You have the name,” you remind her.

“And I’ll use it for your sake. I’ll get you whatever the fuck you want.” She sighs dreamily. “A job, a house on the beach, the option to never have to lift a finger again, in your life… Baby, I don't think you realize. You could ask me for Saturn and you'd wake up to its rings around your fingers.”

“Shiv, this is kind of a massive decision we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t. Everything’s in line. I don’t give a shit about anything here except you. Let’s run off and travel the world.”

You sigh, shifting so that you’re looking up at her. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Her fingers trail down your jaw. “Okay.”

༝༚༝༚

One day, a few weeks later, you go to visit Shiv at a cafe on her lunch break. You’re sitting in your usual booth, and she’s fiddling with a pen as she stares down at her notepad.

“Sometimes I wonder why I fucking chose politics as a career,” she mutters, jotting something down before quickly scribbling it out.

“I still think you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Am not.”

She’s far too absorbed in her writing for her to pay attention to you anymore. The little scab on the palm of her hand has almost completely healed, but since she’d forgone reapplying gauze or a bandage, she picks at it absentmindedly.

“Shiv, quit that. You don’t want to infect it.”

“I won’t,” she says back, distracted. She’s somehow picking with the same hand the scab’s on, jotting down her thoughts with the other. “This is important.”

She was never this unattentive with you. Ever.

“What is?”

“A pitch for Dad.”

“I thought we talked about this.”

“I’m not doing it for him,” she says unconvincingly. “It’s for… other stuff.”

“You’re usually a much better liar than this.” All she gives you is a funny look before going back to the notepad. “If you’re busy, I should just head home. I have some work to do, anyway.”

“No, no, you can stay. I don’t mind.”

“That’s not the point, Shiv. You clearly have something important.”

She glances up at you again, only briefly, before ignoring what you said and going straight back to work. Through gritted teeth, you tell her goodbye, leaning across the table to kiss her on the forehead.

She says nothing as you walk away.

You walk home, enjoying the chance to stretch your legs. You’re still turning over her proposition, although you’re not too sure if she’s still serious about it. Or if she ever was in the first place. Even if you’re cautious about it, you think it’ll be a step in the right direction for Siobhan. A step in the right direction for the both of you, taking her away from the constant unnecessary stress and pressure. Taking her away from the piece of shit that was her dad.

She texts you, curtly apologizing about lunch and telling you she’d be home in the evening.

i love you, she sends.

You don’t need to send anything back. She knows you love her more than conceivably possible. But you do, anyway, and you hope it makes her smile.

When she does come home, she’s uncharacteristically quiet, only giving you a small kiss on the lips before going to change. You get up and follow her. Something’s wrong.

“Everything alright?” you call after her, watching her shuck her blazer off, motions choppy, unmotivated.

“I think you’re right,” she says back, voice weak. “I’m burning myself out.”

“So,” you murmur, coming up behind her and looping our arms around her waist, “let’s do something about it.” You kiss her neck, making her giggle. “There you are.” You kiss her jaw, then her cheek. “Were you serious? Do you want to leave everything and just… run away?”

“Yeah. I’m so fucking serious.” She turns so that she can set her hands on your shoulders. She gives them a squeeze, smiling. “I know what I want in life, and it’s not day after day of bullshit and lying and scheming. It’s just you.”

You kiss her, letting your lips linger on hers, savoring her soft gasp. “Then let’s get you what you want. What did you say, Italy?”

“It doesn’t have to be Italy. We can go wherever,” Shiv says, hands moving to cup your face, kissing you again. “I just want to be with you.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

She pauses, grin splitting her face. “Really? I thought it’d be harder than that.”

”No. I want this. Just you, the world at our feet.” She interrupts you, smashing her lips to hers. You laugh into the kiss, gently deepening it before you pull back and continue talking. “And you don’t have to fucking work with your father anymore. Much less be around him.”

“Let’s not bring him up anymore.” Shiv pulls her blouse off, shuffles to your side of the closet, and takes one of your sweaters. “Or any of my family. I want a nice, clean, break.”

“We can manage that.”

She changes completely into pajamas, before dragging you to your shared bed, her laptop already open. “I already have an entire itinerary.”

“Of course you do.”

Shiv’s lying on her stomach, scrolling through the notepad on her computer. “It’s January, so we hit all the tropics first. Go down to the Caribbean ‘til March. April we go sightseeing somewhere historic or something, like Greece, then we go do all the European bullshit ‘til summer, when we go to Iceland, Greenland, the Netherlands…” She pushes herself up onto her hands and deposits herself into your lap, cheek pressed to your thigh. “Or we could just fuck off to to Switzerland and live in the Alps.”

You laugh. “Honestly? I’m happy with all of the above.”

“I kind of just want a cabin in the mountains. Have our groceries delivered, we both work from home…” She trails off, pulling your face to hers for a kiss. “I might ditch the itinerary. Start looking on Zillow.”

You give her an affection-laden look. “It’d better have a good view. And a fireplace. And only one bed.”

“So demanding,” she teases, sighing contentedly. “Are we being serious about this? Like, actually? We’re both going to quit our jobs and run off?”

“I mean, I’m not saying no. You’ll be happier… anywhere but here.” Your thumb strokes over her cheek slowly, savoring the feeling of her skin on yours. “And I’d do anything to make you happy.”

Shiv comes to you a few days later, trembling, tears welling in her eyes. You’d just woken up from a nap on the couch after a run.

You sit up, pulling her down into a cuddle. Once she’s comfortably curled up against you, your fingers idling on her jaw, you speak. “What’s wrong? Why’s my girl upset?”

“I told him. I told Dad.”

“Told him what?” Your lips press gently to her hair. Shiv’s still shaking, so you take her hands in yours, squeezing them gently.

“That I’m done. I’m done playing the fucking game, I’m done bending over backwards for him.” She shifts away from you for a moment, readjusting, but keeping her arms wound tight around you. “I told him not to call me again. And that I’m leaving, soon.” The trembling has stopped now, but a tear slips down her cheek. You kiss it away, her face turning a deep pink at the contact. She’s smiling, though.

“We are?”

“I was going to surprise you. But it wouldn’t have worked, either way. I can’t just spring that on you.”

“How strangely insightful of you.”

She snorts. “I’m extremely insightful all of the time. The better surprise,” she says, pulling herself closer to you, “is that I got us both higher paying jobs in Norway. I found a cute little house, two first class plane tickets… I could get us work visas in, like, an hour. Just say the word. Tell me you want this, too.”

You don’t say anything for a minute, letting your eyes flit over her perfect face. “I do. I do want this.”

“Then… should I?” Shiv’s eyes never leave yours, all sparkly and sweet. Your heart swells. You were never going to say no to her in the first place. You don’t think you ever will.

You leave a kiss on the bridge of her nose. “You should.”

"By the way," she murmurs, chewing on her lip. "I infected the scab."

"Siobhan!"

"I was just nervous, okay?" She slides off of you, off the couch, and in moments she's fishing things out of the medicine cabinet. "Not that I can't do it myself, I just like it better when you do." You follow her, taking the rubbing alcohol from her outstretched arm.

"What, you're afraid of the sting?" She says nothing, offering you her hand and a cotton pad. You take it from her, soak it, and gently wipe it over the tiny, open wound. "You know, I thought this would happen. So I got you something."

You gently push her aside, reaching into the medicine cabinet yourself. You find what you're looking for, taking a bandage out of it.

"Oh my god, you asshole!" She laughs, a joyous, glorious sound.

The day before, you'd been looking through your various steaming services, trying to find something good to watch. You're both bored of the generic copy-and-paste trash dramas, no effort nor passion put into them. While on the hunt, you'd come across the entire Peppa Pig discography. She'd all but squealed, telling you it was her favorite show when she was a kid.

Instead of watching something engaging, you'd spent the rest of the night on cartoons.

The bandage you'd pasted to her palm had a badly printed picture of George and his dinosaur plastered on it.

༝༚༝༚

The fire crackles. A blanket’s pulled over the two of you, keeping you pressed flush together. Your face is buried in her chest, her hand idling at the nape of your neck.

She’d told you, during your first few weeks here, that she was the most at peace she’s ever been in her life.

“Would you let me take your last name?” she asks suddenly into your hair, not even opening her eyes. You smile.

“That’d make me happy,” you reply truthfully, nuzzling into her.

You can feel her smiling into your skin. “So if I asked you to come with me, down to the courthouse, for a ceremony, and I asked you to wear white…”

“Yes, Siobhan. I’d say yes.”

She giggles, unable to keep her lips off yours.

[beegomess]

Random Imagines || Other characters

I take you to other universes through writing.

Obscenities will be with *

Just Ride | Kendall Roy - Succession But I see her, in the back of my mind | Kendall Roy - Succession

[succcession]

The Man

Kendall Roy x f!reader (smut) 1.1k word count

Summary: Soft mornings with Kendall escalate to him making you squirt for the first time

Ashtrays full of cigarettes, half full champagne glasses, and last night's clothes were thrown across the floor. Ruins of the party that had ended only hours earlier, were illuminated as the orange sunrise flooded Kendalls high rise apartment. Mornings when Kendall could smell your vanilla perfume, hear your soft breaths, and reach over to find you seemed to have been making his entire life feel easier. He didn’t wake up in a panic thinking about mergers or acquisitions, everything was lighter.

Kendall leaned over, hovering above you as you slept on your stomach, tracing his fingertips lightly over your spine. He could have spent hours studying every part of your body. Caressing you, leaving light kisses on every freckle. You hummed lightly at the familiar feeling of Kendalls soft fingertips embracing you. He had a routine of waking you up by leaving light pecks from your shoulder, up your neck, and to your ear before whispering “Good morning” followed by an ever changing list of pet names. You would throw out a soft “morning love” before he was already getting up to get ready for the office. 

However, today your boyfriend's touch lingered a little longer, and instead of his usual brief “good morning” he stopped to cuddle into you.

“Mm Ken, don’t you have to go into the office?” you murmured, leaning back into his touch. Moving yourself closer until your ass was perfectly situated against his slowly growing bulge.

“I have some time” he whispered. “You know, I would spend every morning like this if I could. Fuck Waystar, this is all i want.” 

Ken had been increasingly more affectionate lately. Sending flowers to your apartment, scheduling surprise dates. He knew if things went well with taking over Mattson, Waystar would take over his life even more. Maybe even as sole CEO. Until then he was making sure to spend every second with you.

As you laid comfortably in Kendall's arms still half asleep, you couldn’t help the small sighs that began leaving your lips. Kendall trailing light kisses up your neck, his hands brushing softly from around your waist to the small mound above your pussy. You could feel his now painfully hard bulge grinding slowly into you. Your brain was silently begging for Kendall to move his fingers further down. However, he continued his almost innocent movement of rubbing soft circles and leaving light taps above your center. You turned your body towards Kendall, staring into his eyes briefly before moving to kiss him. Before you could catch his lips, his hand that was previously teasing you was softly cradling your face as Kendall brushed his thumb against your check. You watched his eyes flutter from yours to your mouth and back to meet your eyes again. Your heart aching with butterflies as he peppered your face with warm pecks, his morning stubble lightly scraping your chin. 

Yours and Kendall’s lips finally met in a sloppy, half asleep kiss. His hand quickly returned to where it had been previously, this time pushing your thighs apart, and letting his fingers gently rest on your folds. Kendall could feel how soaked you were. Your pussy, already aching at the thought of his large cock stretching inside you. The light pressure and small circles he was rubbing into your clit, causing you to moan into his kiss.

“God, I love how you sound for me. Already so wet and ready for my cock.” He said as his fingers slowly began to spread your lips apart. He tapped lightly against your slit encouraging a small yelp from you as you moaned  “Feels so good Ken.” He dragged your wetness from your slit up to your swollen clit in a long stripe before slowly dipping two fingers into you deeply. Giving you no time to adjust to the satisfying full feeling. Kendall sucked tenderly on your bottom lip as you attempted to kiss him back deeply. But with every movement it became more difficult to ignore the pleasant tension building in your pussy. He pumped his two fingers in steadily, curling them slightly as he dragged them back out, hitting the sensitive spot in your walls everytime. You couldn’t control your squirming as you began grinding your hips into Kendalls hand desperate to feel him deeper. He removed his fingers slowly from inside and you quickly whined at the loss of contact. He pushed himself up so that his back was against the headboard, swiftly dragging you with him so that he was holding you in his lap. You felt like his toy, and you loved it. Legs spread wide open, completely vulnerable to his touch. 

His fingers eagerly returned to stroking inside your walls. The intensity at which he was pumping his fingers into you quickly increased, and everytime he curled his digits to make contact with the sensitive ridge inside your walls, the overwhelming sensation urged you to close your legs. His tight grip held your legs open, his free hand holding your face as he sweetly cooed in your ear “such a good girl. You look so pretty spread out for me.”

“Please Ken- don’t stop, don’t stop” you were so close, and you could feel your eyes rolling back into your head. The room filled with the sounds of your breathy moans, and the wet slap of kendall palm making contact with your clit drawing more liquid out of you and around his fingers. 

“Yeah?” Kendall questioned “You want to cum baby? I want you to cum all over my fucking fingers.”  His dick was straining painfully hard, pressed against your ass and he was fighting himself from roughly flipping you over and pounding into you until you begged for his cum. But he was loving watching your eyes roll back, seeing the sweat build on your forehead as you desperately pushed your hips forward into his hand. So needy for him. 

“Omg, I’m- I’m gonna cum” you breathed out. Feeling you tighten and squirm against him, Kendall tightened his grip on your thighs pleading into your ear “cum for me baby. That’s it, good girl.” Your orgasm flooded your body harder than expected as you threw your head back into Kendall's chest, clenching around his fingers and screaming his name. “Shsh it's okay, it’s okay. I got you, pretty girl” Kendall hushed, leaving kisses on your forehead as you rode out your high. 

When he finally removed his fingers they were practically dripping. You looked down shyly to find a small wet circle on the sheets directly beneath you. “Oh my god…did I? Did you make me?” you stammered slightly embarrassed at the thought of what your boyfriend made you do. 

“Did you think your boyfriend, who is… the man, couldn't make you squirt?” he exclaimed confidently.

[gemsofthegalaxy]

succ sunday fic posting blitz

hi everyone happy succ sunday. have just an exorbitant amount of TomGreg from yours truly!!!

Updated:

Husband Privileges - TomGreg accidental marriage and staying-together-for-publicity au, roughly 43k, 7/14 chapters posted

Best Mistake - TomGreg sugar baby au, roughly 49k, 12/18 chapters posted

And the little one said... - TomGreg/Tom&Shiv pregnancy au, roughly 29k, 8/13 chapters posted

New!:

Oneshot:

a pretty boy like you - At his behest, Tom agrees to fuck Greg so he will be prepared for prison. Tom finds it bad, amazing, transcendent, and heart-wrenching all at once. 1 chapter, 3,092 words. consensual but not safe for sane

Chaptered:

Keep Coming Back - divorced Tom/single dad-and-stripper!Greg au. roughly 50k, 4/21 chapters posted.

[ravawrites]

where do you guys read your fanfic mostly? or do you not mind where its posted.