threewords8letters-imyours

[threewords8letters-imyours]

pairing: carter baizen x blair waldorf - gossip girl

summary: set during high society (1x10) what if blair found carter instead of nate

warnings: smut

The bar is empty, tucked away from the chaos of the cotillion. The string music hums faintly in the background.

Carter Baizen leans against the bar, the beginnings of a bruise already blooming at the corner of his eye. A glass of scotch sits untouched in front of him. It wasn’t like he had gone looking for trouble, not tonight anyway. But trouble had found him regardless, and in the form of Nate Archibald’s fist no less.

He doesn’t look up when the door clicks open and closed, or when heels click steadily closer towards him. Blair Waldorf sweeps into the secluded room like she owns it, her silver cotillion gown trailing behind her. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask for permission, not that she would anyway. She simply picks up a fresh glass from the bar, fills it with ice and presses it firmly against the growing bruise on his cheek.

He flinches from the sting.

“You don’t have to do this,” Carter mutters breaking the silence between the pair, his voice low. “Just because your boyfriend decided to punch me in the face when I danced with you.”

Blair doesn’t even try to meet his eyes, the glass stays firm against his cheek. “Nate’s not my boyfriend.” She scoffs, her dark eyes rolling in annoyance.

The revelation made Carter pause, just enough to really see the woman in front of him. “Trouble in paradise?” He almost smirks until Blair pushes the glass slightly harder against his purple skin. Blair let out a soft laugh, no amusement behind it, just bitterness. “It’s not paradise,” she says, clarifying her failed relationship with Nate, “if you’re always cleaning up after someone else’s mistakes.”

“I don’t think Nate meant to hit a nerve,” Carter says, almost defending the man who’s fist struck against his eye.

“Nate doesn’t think.” Blair’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “That’s his problem.”

Silence fills the room.

Carter lifts his fingers brushing against hers as he gently takes the glass from her grip. Their eyes lock, and something ignites between them. “Thanks Waldorf,” he says quietly, breaking the unsaid tension between the pair. Yet, she still doesn’t move from his side.

“You should stay away from Nate,” her gaze quickly flickers from his blue eyes down to his lips and up again.

“Why? Is he planning to hit me again?” Carter arches an eyebrow, amused.

“He’s confused.” Blair chuckles, shaking her head. Then she speaks again, her voice quieter, more direct. “He thinks something’s going on between us.”

“And should we prove him right, Waldorf?” Carter glances into her dark eyes, a devilish smirk gracing his lips.

Blair, to her credit, doesn’t flinch away. Instead, she looks at him, not sure whether she wants to slap him or kiss him or possibly both. Her chest rises slowly with her breath. She thinks of Nate’s betrayal with Serena, only wanting her when he thinks she’s moved on. She think of Chuck’s games and his incessant need to win. She thinks of the way both of them look at her like she’s a prize.

Her brown eyes don’t waver from his gaze.

“If you’re going to kiss me, now might be a good time, Waldorf.” Carter says, the corner of his mouth slightly tugging upwards. His blue eyes hold a mix of mischief and something softer underneath.

Blair leans in and presses her lips firmly to his, it’s not soft or hesitant like he expected, but with frustration and desire mixed together. Her hand catches the lapel of his jacket, seductively pressing her lithe body hard against his. Carter freezes for a moment, more out of surprise than anything, but then his lips part when Blair’s tongue traces Carter’s bottom lip before slipping inside, their tongues sliding over and around each others. His hand finds her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

“I have a room upstairs,” he says, lips brushing against hers with each word, the invitation an offer, not a demand. When they finally break apart, Carter doesn’t stop. His lips just trail from Blair’s mouth down to the curve of her neck, planting slow, heated kisses that leave a trail of fire in their wake.

Blair blinks, her breath catching as she contemplates her next move. The world outside, her ruined cotillion, the mess between Nate and Chuck, a random person documenting their every move, fades away into nothing.

She bites her lip to stifle a moan when Carter’s tongue brushes against a particular spot of her neck.

•

The elevator chimes softly, sliding open to quiet hallway of the Plaza Hotel, the cotillon below long forgotten about. Carter steps out first holding Blair’s hand, leading her towards his hotel room. With a quick swipe of his card, the lock clicks open, the pair moving inside quickly.

The room is dimly lit with the city’s glow that spills in through the windows.

Carter leads Blair further into the room before turning to face her, softly brushing a loose tendril of her chocolate hair from her face before leaning in once again, capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

This is Blair Waldorf, this what girls like Blair want… gentle and careful touches.

Little does Carter know, that underneath her cold and stern exterior, Blair isn’t that kind of girl.

Before he can pull away from her, she deepens their kiss, her hands sliding up to entangle in the back of his blonde hair, pressing their bodies closer together. Blair takes the lead from him with confidence that takes Carter by surprise, but he’s more than willing to follow. Carter’s arm circle around her waist, gently toying with zipper between her shoulder blades.

There’s no going back.

Without breaking their kiss, her fingers slide down from his hair towards his neck, deftly pulling his bowtie free before her nimble fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt. She pulls the fabric apart, revealing the hard planes of his chest, exploring his skin with her hands.

Carter’s hands are surprisingly gentle as they trace the delicate fabric of Blair’s gown, as he gently tugs the zipper down down, until the silver dress pools at her feet, exposing her pale, smooth skin and the black lace of her lingerie beneath.

Where Carter’s touches are gentle and careful, Blair’s are bold and deliberate, her hands tugging against his leather belt, undoing the buckle and buttons until his pants fall to the floor alongside her dress. But her hand continues, slipping beneath the waistband of his Calvin Klein’s, palming against his growing thickness.

“Blair,” he murmurs, a warning, his voice thick with lust. She pulls back just enough to meet his darkened gaze. Carter walks her backwards, guiding her towards his bed, only stopping when they reach the edge. His blue eyes search hers, and she notices a brief flicker of hesitation on his face.

“Are you sure, Waldorf?” He asks quietly, his hands gently cupping her face, thumbs stroking against her cheekbones. Blair rolls her eyes before pushing him down on the bed, quickly moving to straddle his hips, her hands settling on his stomach.

“I’m sure.” Blair begins to move, rolling her hips slowly against Carter’s, the thin barrier of their underwear doing nothing to hide the growing wet heat between them.

A small moan leaves her lips when Carter’s hardness catches against her clothed core.

Blair Waldorf was so much more than he ever expected and he’s completely captivated by her.

To regain control, Carter expertly rolls them back so he lands in between her spread thighs, looking down into her dazed face. Carter pulls back to pull the thin, black material down her shapely pale legs. Pulling down his own barrier, one of his hands slides between her legs, gauging her readiness and Carter can only groan when his fingers slip between her slick heat.

With one hand braced beside her head, Carter watches her face when slides his tip down and around her wetness. “Cart-” Blair’s annoyed whisper cuts short when he guides his thick member inside her, her dark eyes closing, lips parting in pleasure, her velvet walls stretching deliciously around his girth until he’s fully sheathed inside her.

His movements are slow to start off with, letting her adjust to his thick size, his cock never fully dragging out of her before pushing back in. It doesn’t take long for Blair to meet his thrusts halfway, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm.

Her hand curl around his neck to pull him closer, her lips seductively trail along his jaw, down his neck, her teeth gently scraping against the delicate skin before her tongue soothes the reddening mark.

Nothing about the woman beneath him was delicate. She’s breathtakingly wild.

She wraps her legs around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, her back arching pulling him in deeper with every rut of his hips, her lips brush against his ear, her voice desperate and breathless. “Harder…” she moans. “Carter, please…”

Carter obeys her command without hesitation. His hips snap forward, setting a merciless rhythm, her nails scraping down his back, still meeting him thrust for thrust.

The carnal wet sound of their skin continually meeting filling the room alongside Carter’s groans and Blair’s breathless moans, only fuels his desire for her.

“Carter…” Blair’s head falls back against the pillow, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word she knew. Carter can both see and feel she falls apart underneath him, her walls flutter around him, drawing him in deeper, her body twitching as pleasure courses through her.

She’s beautiful.

The combination of her saying his name, almost begging for him, and the feel of her walls convulsing around him finally pushes him over the edge, his hips jerking when he empties himself inside of her, with a groan of her name falling from his lips.

•

Their bodies are still warm, both of them tangled in his sheets, the room thick with the scent of sex. Carter lays on his back, chest rising and falling as he tries to steady his breath, a lazy hand resting against Blair’s thigh.

“Okay,” Carter says, still breathless from their latest round of sex. “I did not see this coming. I always thought you were this prim and proper princess, Waldorf.” Blair just hums in response, not bothering to correct him.

Carter turns his head towards her, smirking as he glances down. “Maybe even a little boring in bed.”

She doesn’t reply to his words, she just swings one leg over and straddles him in a single, fluid motion, her wild hair falling down her shoulders, eyes narrowed in outrage. “Boring?” she repeats his words with mock offense.

Carter laughs, wide-eyed and entirely amused. “I said maybe, Waldorf.” Blair leans forward, slowly, until her face hovers just inches above his. Her fingers seductively glide down his chest, before giving his nipple a hard pinch. “Ow, Jesus!” Carter yelps, half laughing, half wincing.

“Take it back,” she orders, eyes gleaming with mischief when she readjusts above him. “Waldorf,” he gasps, hand flying to his chest. “You’re definitely not boring.” Blair smirks, slowly pressing down on his hips just to make him twitch beneath her.

“You’re not at all what I thought.” He looks up at her, still breathless from their coupling moments before.

“And yet,” she murmurs, leaning down until her lips brush his jaw, “you can’t stop looking at me like you want to be inside me again.”

“Is it that obvious?”His hands slide up her thighs, fingers curling possessively on her skin when she settles fully on top of him, his hardness sliding between them.

She nips his shoulder, her teeth quickly scraping against his skin. “Please,” she whispers, voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re practically begging.”

“I don’t beg,” he says, his voice strained, a flicker of a grin tugging at his lips.

Blair’s body buckles when she sinks down onto him, moving above him with slow, sensual rolls of her hips, her hands braced on his chest for balance. Blair’s smirk is wicked. “We’ll see.”

•

Carter stirs awake, when his hand brushes against the sharp sting of the fresh bruise against his eye, a sharp reminder of Nate’s punch from the night before. He winces when he rubs the tender spot lightly.

His hand reaches out beneath the sheets, only to find the bed cold and empty beside him.

Blair is gone.

Carter runs a hand through his hair, memories of the night before rushing in, the multiple rounds of passion they’d shared that he stopped keeping count between the third and last.

Carter smiles to himself, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face.

Blair Waldorf is definitely full of surprises.

[threewords8letters-imyours]

Thunderbolts* dir. Jake Schreier | 2025

[threewords8letters-imyours]

summary: a trainee in the red room survives her training and begins working with winter soldier. over time, their brutal sessions turn into something deeper.

pairings: winter soldier x blackwidow!reader

warnings: nothing just yet

word count: 2k

notes: might be a part 2

You had watched on as the Winter Soldier easily killed the two trainees before you. The girl before you had barely moved onto the mat before the metal armed assassin twisted her neck, her body dropping heavily down to the cement floor, her remains already forgotten by the various handlers in the room, her death meaningless.

This isn’t training. It’s a cull. To see which girls would progress to the next stage of the program.

You’re next.

The cold of the Red Room floor seeps in through the thin soles of your shoes. You inhale slowly through your nose, straightening your spine as you step onto the mat, locking eyes with the man waiting for you. His expression remains the same, his blue eyes blankly staring at you, staring through you.

You can’t help but notice how handsome he is.

It almost doesn’t make sense that he’s here, in a room that reeks of sweat, blood, and fear. His features are sharp, symmetrical, classical, almost like he belongs in a different time. You can’t see any humanity in him.

The only sounds in the room are the whispers of your handlers as they study the pair of you.

He moves first. He’s fast. You quickly duck under a blow that was meant for your temple, the rush of air brushing against your cheek. You pivot, sweeping your leg toward his knee, but he anticipates it easily, stepping aside with brutal efficiency.

Every counter is precise. Every strike punishing. A sharp kick lands in your ribs, pain flares with in your chest, your breath knocked out of you but you stay upright. You will not go down.

A dance develops between the pair of you. Strike, block, dodge, repeat.

You know it’s a calculated risk, but you launch yourself at him anyway. Twisting mid air, your legs move up to wrap around his neck, hoping to bring him down, just like how you were taught. It was the same maneuver you’ve seen the older Widows execute flawlessly. You’ve practiced it a hundred times in training. But this isn’t sparring, this isn’t another girl in the program.

This is the Winter Soldier.

Before your legs can securely lock around his neck, he catches you mid-air, his metal hand gripping your thigh, the other around your hip, and with terrifying ease, he throws you off him, like you weigh nothing.

You fly through the air, pain exploding through your back and shoulder as you slam into the mat. The breath is knocked clean from your lungs, your ribs are definitely broken if they weren’t before. But you roll through the pain, twisting back onto your feet. One hand plants on the ground, your knees bend with one of your legs extended behind you. Your body trembles with pain and adrenaline, blood dripping from your lip. But you’re still alive.

You glance up to see him, but he’s already watching you, something flickering behind those pale blue eyes. Not approval, definitely not mercy, but something akin to interest. You launch forward before he can decide what to do with you.

You attempt to strike him again, hitting fast and low but he deflects each strike. You quickly duck under a swing of his metal arm and land a blow to his ribs. It doesn’t move him, but he registers it.

“хватит.” Enough. All it takes is a single word from one of the handlers and almost immediately, the Winter Soldier obediently takes a steps back. The dance between you two is over. For now.

*

It’s been weeks since the cull. Weeks since you saw him snap a girl’s neck like it was nothing. Weeks since he threw you across the room and you got back up. You had been one of the only girls to survive the Winter Soldier, so as a result, you train with him almost daily. There’s no introduction, no names exchanged, you only know him as ‘Soldat’. Soldier. He never speaks, but you’ve started to understand him in his movements. Like the smallest tilt of his head means again and a sharp exhale through his nose means you’re too slow. You’ve learnt the tells in his fighting technique, if he twitches his metal shoulder, it means he’s about to throw a punch, that when his left foot slightly shifts, he’s about to spin. But he’s also been learning you too. The way you strike, how your eyes briefly shift before you move. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still faster and stronger than you.

You’re both already breathing heavily, circling each other, sweat dampening your skin as you try to predict the other’s next move. He lunges towards you, you’re barely able to block his punch, but somehow your hands wrap around his forearm, and use the leverage to launch yourself upward, your legs flying toward his neck. It’s the same move that failed you on your first day, the one that got you slammed into the mat, broken-ribbed and humiliated. But this time, your timing is perfect. Your legs securely lock around his neck, and with a surge of momentum, you twist your body and pull him down. The Winter Soldier slams into the mat. And you’re the one still standing.

The moment doesn’t last long.

A cold hand wraps around your ankle like a vice and with one savage jerk, you’re quick to follow him to the floor. Your back hits the mat hard, your eyes close when pain blooms in your chest, a pained groan escaping your lips.

Your eyes shoot open when he rolls on top of you, straddling you, one of his knees between your thighs. You freeze when his metal hand hovers over your throat. You’ve seen what that hand can do. You expect him to crush your windpipe and squeeze the last breath from your body.

But he doesn’t.

His palm fits perfectly over your throat, fingers curling around the sides of your neck with a touch that is far too careful for someone trained to kill. The breath catches in your throat when something inside you shifts. You’re burning, an intense throbbing and uncomfortable heat pools in your belly, right between your thighs.

It feels good, too good.

You can only stare up at him, his blue eyes staring at you, no longer through you. His eyes briefly flicker down to your full lips. “Ты учишься.” You’re learning. His voice is rough and deep. The words are Russian, but the accent is unmistakably American. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him speak. The sound of his voice intensifies the burning sensation in your core. His hand lingers a second longer, his metal thumb gently strokes along your jaw before he lets go. He rises from the floor, his movements are smooth and silent, and he walks away like nothing happened.

You stay on the mat, eyes wide, your hand drifting to your throat.

*

You open the door to the suite you have been given, it’s extravagant with gold against marble, white drapes drawn tight, darkness and shadows filling the room. A man eagerly follows you inside, he places wet kisses to your neck, his hands gripping your waist tightly. You softly giggle, turning in his arms, guiding him towards the couch that’s been placed conveniently in the centre of the room.

“Aren’t you an eager one?” He murmurs, eyes brazenly rake over your body. You just smirk before pushing him down onto the sofa. You swiftly climb into his lap, straddling his legs, the silk of your dress riding high on your thighs. His hands roam instantly, greedy fingers brush underneath your dress, inching the material further up.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mutters. “I bet you taste better than you look.”

“Why don’t you find out?” You lean in, keeping your hands pressed tightly against his shoulders, your lips brush seductively against the shell of his ear. You tilt your head back, preparing for the next move, your eyes catching something moving in the darkness. Before the man can say another word or his hands can grab anything more, a crack fills the room. The sound is sudden and violent. The male body beneath you jerks, before his head slumps backwards on the sofa. Dead.

Unbothered, you slip off his lap and rise to your feet, adjusting the hem of your dress with a flick of your wrist.

The Winter Soldier walks into the dim light, silent but radiating a different kind of energy that you can’t place just yet. He looks at the body slumped on the sofa, then back at you, his eyes dropping to the short, silk black dress you were given to wear tonight. “You let him put his hands on you,” the Soldat’s voice is low. His American accent more noticeable now that he has started to speak English to you during missions.

“That was the whole point,” your hand slowly brushes down your silk dress as you step closer to the assassin. “He thought I was his for the night. He never saw you coming.”

He says nothing, his blue eyes just follow the trail of your hand, before slowly dragging back up your body. Unlike the corpse on the couch, the Soldat’s attention causes your body to react, an uncontrollable warmth spreading through you.

“Were you jealous?” You ask, stepping even closer to the dangerous man, your eyes flicker to his mouth. You don’t flinch when his metal hand presses against your throat, fingers spread, caressing your skin. He steps closer to you, his head tilting down. “I don’t share.” His grip tightens, just slightly, but not to scare you, but so you can feel it. His touch sending a heat rushing straight through you, desire pooling in between your legs.

*

The safehouse is silent.

One dim lamp in the corner throws long shadows across the floor. The walls are cracked, the air smells faintly of gun oil and sweat. The mission is over. The target is dead. You’re both just waiting now, extraction is scheduled for a few hours from now.

You sit by the window, patching the shallow cut on your arm. The blood’s stopped, but the sting lingers. Soldat’s across the room, in a wooden chair, boots planted wide, his elbows resting loosely on his thighs as he sharpens a blade with almost mechanical precision.

The mission was not supposed to go like this. It should’ve been simple. Get in, seduce the target with the Soldat making the kill, silently, under the radar. Yet when the target had touched you a little more intimately than the others, Soldat blew his cover, resulting in a knife fight and a bloody mess than neither of you would ever include in your report back to your handlers.

You watch him, memorising the curve of his shoulders, the way his brown hair falls near his eyes or the quiet whirring of metal when he flexes his arm.

“You’re quiet,” you say softly. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge that you’ve said anything.

You stand slowly, walking across the room toward him. He doesn’t look up, not until your hands settle on his shoulders and you swing a leg over his lap, lowering yourself onto him, straddling his thighs. That gets his attention, you gently take hold of the blade, placing it on the table. His steady gaze meets yours. You rest your hands lightly on his chest, feeling the slight shift in his breath underneath your palms.

“You didn’t like it.” You lean in, voice barely above a whisper, tilting your head slightly as you stare into his blue eyes. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean. He knows.

“You’ve been on missions like that before, with me, with the others,” you continue, never breaking eye contact. “Seducing the target, having to get close, to touch them just like this.” Your hips roll forward, just a little, just to remind him what it looks like. What it feels like. His jaw tightens, his hands clench on the arms of the chair, knuckles white and metal frozen.

“But you didn’t like it this time.” You keep your voice low, but you lean closer, pressing your chest against his, whispering in his ear. “You don’t care when it’s someone else, but when it’s me… you moved for the kill before we were ready.”

He stills.

You can feel the tension radiating off him, like he’s fighting something inside himself, considering the repercussions. Finally, his hand moves, the one that makes you feel safe. The metal hand rests on your thigh, fingers gently squeezing your flesh.

“I didn’t like it,” he says. His flesh hand comes up next, finding your waist, curling around you with quiet possession.

“Tell me why.” you whisper, your body on fire with his touch.

“Because they don’t touch you like I would. I would touch you gently,” His thumb brushes against your skin where your shirt has ridden up. “Until you beg me not to.”

Both of his hands settle on your waist, encouraging you to slowly roll your hips. Your hands tightly grip the wooden frame as you rock softly against him, every rhythmic motion sending warmth radiating between your legs, your eyes closing in pleasure. Without breaking the rhythm, his human hand cups your cheek, his mouth captures yours, lips parting when he deepens the kiss, your tongues sensually brushing together. You move in time with each other, the gentle rocking weaving seamlessly into your kiss. When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling.

“What can I call you?” You murmur against his lips.

He blinks like he’s been caught off guard, eyes drifting away as if searching for something lost. After a moment, he answers softly, “I think my name was James.”

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“James.”

[threewords8letters-imyours]

summary: follows lifeboats, succession 1x03

pairing: kendall roy x ofc

warnings: smut

“Have you been here before?” Kendall asks, pulling out her chair and gently guiding it in before sitting opposite her. Elizabeth’s green eyes glance over the swanky restaurant, triggering an old memory from their past. “You know I have, you brought me here, one of the first places you took me when we were old enough.” She raises a gentle eye brow at him.

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Kendall clears his throat, reaching for his glass of water.

“I unfortunately remember everything when it comes to you and us.”

A short silence falls between them, both of them briefly lost in their shared past, before she leans back, eyes narrowing playfully. “So what are we celebrating tonight? The Stewy money? You know I know about that, right? Because I do technically work in your PR department.”

He let out a genuine laugh, setting his glass down. “Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m the man, but… if there were a man, hypothetically, he might look a lot like me.”

Elizabeth softly rolls her eyes at his pretentious comment. “You’re modest, very humble.”

“Yeah, I solved the debt issue. Private equity money.” That old gleam returns to his eyes, the same one from every time he landed something big and wanted her to see him shine.

“So yeah,” he starts to say, fidgeting slightly, tone faltering. “Uh… all this, it’s just made me think about everything. And, well, you know, like… here’s where I’m at.”

He takes a deep breath, the real genuine Kendall shining through. “I love you.”

Elizabeth softly smiles back, but she knows the man sitting in front of her. Kendall doesn't know how to not chase something, whether it’s a person, a drug, or a win. It's all the same high to him. And right now, he’s still riding the wave of saving the family company from a $3 billion collapse. He’s high on victory.

“And I…” Kendall trails off, encouraging her to say those three words back to him.

She reaches across the table, fingers threading through his. “You know I do Ken.”

“So say it?” Before she could answer, the waiter arrives with their plates. Kendall leans back, lips press together in a tight line, watching the server set the table.

As soon as they were alone again, he leans forward, his voice low, direct. “I want you to move in with me.”

“Kendall…” Elizabeth wants to say yes. But she can’t. Not when she doesn’t even know what this is between them. They kiss, they fuck, they fell asleep next to each other more often than not. But there’s been no conversations, no boundaries, no clarity. Just the vicious cycle of old feelings and familiar habits.

“I don't know why right now, but say you say you don’t want to,” Kendall says quickly, pushing past her hesitation. “And, uh, and that would make me unhappy. But, I also wouldn’t believe you, I think you do want to move in with me. But if you don’t, uh, one of us, meaning me, is going to be unhappy, I just don't see why it has to be me.” It was confident. It was arrogant. It was so Kendall.

Elizabeth doesn’t say anything at first. She leans back in her chair slowly, uncrossing her legs under the table. Hidden by the tablecloth, she removes her foot from her heel with a soft, nearly soundless movement. Kendall doesn’t notice at first, until her foot slides and grazes the fabric of his trousers, slow and deliberate. Elizabeth gleeful watches when Kendall’s fingers tighten around his glass, her eyes never leaving his. She presses the ball of her foot lightly against the hardening bulge in his pants.

“You really don’t like not getting what you want, do you?” she murmurs, voice smooth, almost amused. Her foot moves in a slow, sensuous strokes against him, and Kendall has to close his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.

“Check please.” Kendall raises two fingers to a nearby waiter.

•

The door to Kendall’s brownstone slams behind them with a hollow thud. Elizabeth barely has time to shrug out of her coat before his hands are on her, pulling her in, lips crashing against hers with a kind of desperation that makes her knees weak. Her fingers deftly unbuckle his belt, the leather becoming loose around his waist. They didn’t make it far, the stairs to the left of the door become their landing point. Kendall awkwardly presses her against the uneven surface, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he kissed down her body. His hand slips in between her thighs, stroking over the damp silk of her underwear, watching her eyes flutter as her hips arch up into his touch.

“Shit, Ken…” Elizabeth watches on as Kendall settles between her legs, bunching her dress against her lithe waist, his fingers trace along the delicate line of her stockings before finally hooking his fingers into the band of her underwear and swiftly pulling them down her legs. He gently kisses the inside of her thigh inching higher until he presses his tongue flat, slowly parting her slick folds from her opening to her swollen clit.

She tangles her fingers in his short hair, the other cradling the back of his head, holding him close, while her hips writhe and grind on his face. Kendall lets out a groan of appreciation, lapping at her sensitive nub until her thighs tremble on either side of his head. Elizabeth tilts her head back in pleasure, moaning Kendall’s name.

Despite the pleasure that was building up in her core, she needs more.

“Stop,” she murmurs, Kendall’s head instantly lifts between her thighs, his sad hazel eyes confused, the lower half of his face glistening with her essence. “I need you, inside me,” Elizabeth commands as she takes hold of his tie, bringing his mouth to hers, tasting herself on his lips. “Right now.”

Kendall effortlessly lifts her in to his arms, his pants are pooled around his ankles as he awkwardly shuffles them to the closest soft surface. She lands on her back on the chaise and he goes down with her, covering her body with his own. He pulls her dress off with even less finesse, both of them laughing as the fabric catches for a second before he yanks it free.

His mouth traces down the column of her throat as he whispers, rough and breathless, “You know we’re together, right?”

“Are we?” She whimpers, grinding her wet heat against his hardening length, his thick tip rubbing against her bundle of nerves.

He pulls back just enough to look at her like her question had stung more than he’d let on. “Yeah,” he says simply. “We are.”

She raises an eyebrow as if amused, though her eyes betray the heat that’s currently building within her. “You’re married.”

“Seperated,” he growls, lifting her suddenly. She gasps, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist when he sheaths himself fully inside her. “Jesus fuck, you feel incredible.” He whispers.

“You’re really trying to have this conversation now?” she asked, breath catching in her throat when he starts to thrust, not giving her any time to adjust to his size.

“Don’t fuck around with me, Liz,” Kendall mutters, lips brushing her jaw, her cheek, her mouth, one of his hands pressing against the column of her neck.

She laughs, low and wicked, her nails scraping down his clothed back. “You want me to say it that bad?”

“I want to hear it.”

She moans loudly as he pounds into her harder, setting a unrelenting pace.

“Say it,” he whispers again, almost begging now. “Say we’re together.”

She stares up at him, his lips are parted and his skin flushed and damp. There was something vulnerable in the way he looks down at her.

“We’re… something,” she teases against his mouth.

“Wrong answer.” The hand on her throat moves to behind her head, gripping the edge of the chaise when he fucks her harder into the cushioned chair. Her legs wrapping higher around his waist, pulling him even deeper if that was even possible.

She laughs breathlessly, breath hitching when his thick member hits that sweet spot, she tangles her fingers into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. The couch creaks under the intensity of their fucking. The pad of Kendall’s thumb rubs against her pearl in circular motions, pushing her over the edge. Her body begins to convulse in pleasure as she falls apart underneath him.

“Yes,” she cries out. “Fuck, yes! Yes, we’re together!”

He lets out a pleased groan and presses his face into her neck, biting lightly the dip in between her neck and shoulder.

“Fuck, Liz, I’m going to-” he pants when Elizabeth’s walls continue to flutter around his cock, the rhythm of his thrusts falter, his body jerking when he empties himself inside her.

Kendall drops his head to her neck, his hot breath fans against her damp skin, raising goosebumps along her collarbone. She can feel him, still half hard inside her. “I love you, Kendall,” She lifts his head, her full lips softly meeting his, a stark contrast to the desperation and frantic fucking that had just occurred. “I always have, always will.”

Kendall’s hand gently carts through her blonde hair, brushing away the damp tendrils from her face. His smile covers his entire face, his hazel eyes sparkling.

“God, I fucking love you too.” Kendall whispers. He kisses her again with such reverence, his body beginning to move again inside her, the rhythm of his hips tender, making up for lost time.

[threewords8letters-imyours]

summary: austerlist 1x07

pairing: kendall roy x female!oc (elizabeth kellman - Gerri’s daughter)

warnings: none

Elizabeth didn’t move from where she stood, half in the doorway, Roman’s text still lit up on her phone. Going to need your help. She had no idea what he meant by that until Kendall appeared in the dark, slapping his hands against the glass like a man possessed, absolutely deranged. “Family therapy, family therapy, family therapy!” His voice echoing throughout the kitchen.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Elizabeth is all too familiar with the erratic nature of Kendall’s drug abuse, having sat a front row seat to many of his relapses.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Logan demands when both Kendall and Roman enter into the shit storm that is the Roy family. Roman doesn’t even pretend to have an answer. He shoots Elizabeth a sheepish look, lifting his hands in surrender. She couldn’t tell if it was guilt or just Roman being Roman. Either way, she doesn’t blame him. Kendall’s choices are his own.

“I’m off my nut, folks. Off my fucking nut.” Kendall doesn’t even spare her a glance, not even once. She follows him with her eyes as he stalks to the fridge, cracking open a beer with a casual recklessness.

“Just like all the papers said,” Kendall slouches down at the table next to Connor. “Your dreams have come true, congratulations.” Elizabeth’s eyes don’t leave him, it’s like watching a train wreck, she can’t look away. Her heart painfully thuds behind her ribs, and she realises she’s been holding her breath. Not out of shock, but because this isn’t new. Not to her, she’s been here before. She’s been sat next to him on cold bathroom floors, talked him down, tucked him in when he finally came down. She knew the rhythm of his relapses. This was the freefall stage.

Logan’s anger quickly falls back on Shiv, berating her choice of marrying Tom, to the extent that Shiv leaves the kitchen crying, Tom awkwardly following behind her. She hadn’t really known why she was invited out here to Austerlitz. It had been last-minute decision, a call from her mother, followed by one from Logan himself. “You’re family, Mouse,” he’d said, in that gruff way of his. He’d called her that since childhood, one of his backward terms of endearment born out of a throwaway comment he once made to her mother. “She’s quiet, timid. Doesn’t bite back. Like a mouse.”

Elizabeth barely registers the feuding family behind her. Her eyes are transfixed on the forest outside, zoning out her surroundings. She doesn’t flinch until she hears Marcia’s voice. “Logan, Logan, no!”

The sudden panic in Marcia’s tone made Elizabeth turn just in time to see Logan lunging forward, his fury barely contained, his face twisted in disgust. His demeanour doesn’t scream violence, it oozes from him, as he advances toward Kendall, who simply leans back on the kitchen counter, beer in hand, looking like he might laugh. She steps forward quickly, instinctively, sliding between them. Her hand presses flat against Kendall’s chest. He doesn’t react, but his body stills beneath her palm.

Marcia stands next to her, replicating her stance but for Logan.

“You’re a fucking nobody,” Logan snarls, his words low and venomous, like he wanted each word to hurt. Elizabeth’s eyes never leave Kendall’s face. “A fucking nobody,” Logan repeats, shaking his head in disgust. Then, finally, he turns and walks away. For a second, silence swallows the room. Roman, Kendall and Elizabeth are the only ones remaining.

Kendall smirks, his grin never quite reaches his eyes, and takes another swig of his beer. Elizabeth snatches the bottle from his hand. “You think this is fucking funny?” Her voice cracks with exhaustion as she places the bottle down on the counter behind her.

Kendall slowly blinks at her. His mouth opening, but whatever excuse he has ready never makes it out. Elizabeth inches closer, stepping in between his legs. Her hands reaching up, cupping his face with more force than tenderness. She tilts his face down towards hers, forcing him to meet her gaze. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing nearly all the hazel she loves. Elizabeth doesn’t flinch when Kendall pulls her hands away from his face, rough and dismissive.

“Where did you find him, Roman?” Kendall scoffs under his breath and turns away from her.

“Do you really want me to say?” Roman, still lingering by the kitchen, shifts awkwardly, trying to catch Kendall’s gaze.

“Roman,” Elizabeth said again, more firmly this time. She has no time for his bullshit.

“Some sketchy house, lovely decor by the way, newspapers on the windows, full shebang and with three dudes who definitely thought I was a narc. Crack pipe still bubbling when I got there. The whole place didn’t particularly give me good vibes.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rome.” Kendall snaps, his bloodshot eyes flickers to the younger man.

“Why? It’s not like she can’t tell. I mean look at you,” Roman waves his hand around in Kendall’s general direction. “You look disgustingly pathetic.” Elizabeth’s gaze flickers over Kendall’s disheveled state. His sweat stained shirt creased, the uncontrollable twitch in his jaw and his pupils wide, bloodshot and unfocused.

“I can’t do this again, Kendall.” Kendall has only relapsed for less than 24 hours, but Elizabeth has already had enough to last her a lifetime.

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” he laughs harshly. “It’s been three years since I’ve fucking touched anything.”

From the doorway, Roman makes a subtle move to quietly slip away. “Don’t,” Elizabeth says sharply, catching him before he could escape. “Stay. I need someone to be my witness.” Roman freezes like a deer in headlights. “Cool, yeah. Great, fucking awesome,” he mutters, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“Yes, Kendall, three years of nothing and you think this is just a little slip? Roman didn’t find you at a bar, having a glass of fucking rosé. He found you in a random house with blacked-out windows doing fucking crack in the middle of fucking nowhere!” Elizabeth says, her tone full of disbelief while she tries to stare at Kendall’s avoidant gaze. “You told me you were better, that it would be different this time and I stupidly believed you.”

“I am better,” Kendall stammers, the words can barely leave his mouth.

“You’re high, Kendall,” Elizabeth lets out a bitter, hollow laugh.

“Yeah, and, uh, you’re really ruining it right now,” he says bluntly.

She stares at him for a long, heavy moment. Then, without another word, Elizabeth turns sharply on her heel and walks out of the kitchen. Roman watches Kendall for a beat, Kendall’s lifeless eyes staring at the space his first love stood. “I must’ve missed the memo that you two were a ‘thing’ again or whatever, congratulations on that though.” Roman says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s see how long it lasts this time, but going off this conversation, not very long.”

[threewords8letters-imyours]

I’m afraid that what her friend has suggests that she’s met with someone close to you already. Who!? Well, we don’t know. But someone inside…

[threewords8letters-imyours]

in honor of the upcoming season, have some Kendall Roy being fine as hell

[threewords8letters-imyours]

Ken vs Logan || SUCCESSION || 4x02

[threewords8letters-imyours]

pairing: kendall roy x elizabeth kellman (daughter of gerri - female oc)

show: succession ep1x10

warning: none

Elizabeth Kellman flicks the last of her cigarette into the gravel when she spots Kendall speaking to the waiter Logan had publicly berated at Shiv’s wedding reception.

She approaches slowly, catching the tail end of Kendall’s hushed, desperate plea. “…I just wondered, you don't have a connection for some powder, do you?”

“What are you doing, Ken?” The sound of her voice causing the two men to slightly break away from each other.

Kendall flinches slightly. “Uh, nothing. Why don’t you, uh, get back inside? It’s cold out here.”

She ignores the deflection, stepping in close. Her fingers smooth down the front of his lapel, before resting against his chest. “Come back with me,” she whispers, her tone and touch affectionate.

The young waiter shifts uncomfortably, stepping forward. “Is everything okay-”

“Can you, I don’t know, like, fuck off?” Elizabeth doesn’t even turn fully to him as she cuts him off. Her side eyed glance is enough.

He recoils, eyes wide, and quickly backs away.

“No, hey, man, you don’t have to…” Kendall starts after him, arm reaching out, but the waiter’s already gone, walking fast into the night.

Elizabeth watches him go, then turns back to Kendall.

“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“You didn’t have to beg him for drugs like a teenager at some frat party,” she shoots back, arms folding tight across her chest, the night’s chill settling into her bones. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t care how pathetic you look, as long as you get your fix.”

He exhales sharply, already irritated. “Not tonight, okay?”

“No, tonight. Because I’m not doing this again, Kendall. I’m not cleaning up another one of your fucking mess.” Elizabeth says, almost pleadingly to the man before her.

“Don’t act like you’re above me,” he snaps. “You’ve been here every step of the way.”

“I know,” she says, eyes sharp. “That’s what kills me.”

“I love you, Kendall,” she hesitates and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, but no less cutting. “I love you so much it’s actually fucking embarrassing.”

She huffs a bitter laugh, almost ashamed of herself. “I love you even when you don’t deserve it.“

He laughs bitterly. “Right. Here comes the speech.”

She steps forward, ignoring his condescending comment. “You say you want me. You say you want to get better, to get clean. But every time I get close to you, you find a way to push me away.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break.”

“No,” she says. “This is your modus operandi. You fuck everyone over until they’re done with you.”

He flinches, only slightly, but she still sees it.

“And guess what?” she says, voice shaking now, her rage boiling over. “I’m done. I’m done loving you. I’m fucking done with you. I’m done.”

Kendall goes quiet. His fingers twitch, like he wants to throw something, cause a scene. His jaw tightens, shoulders rigid. “You, uh, you don’t mean that,” he mutters.

“I do… I have to.” She softly mutters, the last part almost to herself.

“Bullshit,” he spits. “You’ve never been done. You always come back. You’ve been addicted to me since we were kids.”

He steps closer, voice low and venomous.

“You like the mess. You liked it when I was with Rava and still calling you, still fucking you. You liked being the secret. You fucking loved it.”

His words land like daggers, calculated for maximum damage, they’re mean, deliberate, desperate to make her hurt the way he does.

“You fucking loved it,” he repeats, sneering. “Loved how dirty it was, how I made you feel, how I made you cum.”

“Is that what you really think, Kendall?” she asks, her voice low.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t love it,” he murmurs. His hand grazes her throat, glides down slowly, deliberately, over the soft hardening peaks of her breast. It lands on her hip. He pulls her in, close enough for his breath to touch her skin. His pupils are blown out, through drugs or lust she doesn’t know.

She doesn’t stop him. Not yet.

“You miss it,” he says, voice husky. “You, uh, you miss me.”

She stares at him, breath shallow. “You really think that’s what this is?”

Kendall leans in, mouth brushing hers. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Instead, she grabs the front of his coat and kisses him hard, mouth opening against his, their tongues sliding against each others. He groans into it, clutching her like he might float away into the abyss without her body against his.

When she pulls back, her lips are swollen, but her green eyes oddly calm.

She runs her fingers along his jaw, tilting his face just enough to look him dead in the eye.

“You talk a big game about me being addicted to you,” she whispers, breath warm against his cheek. “But I think we both know who has the addiction issues.”

Kendall doesn’t speak.

She lets that hang in the air, then gently pushes his hand off her hip and steps back.

And just like that, she turns, walking off, leaving him stunned, his lips parted, and his chest aching in a way he can’t name.

He turns in place, searching for something, anything, and that’s when he sees the waiter again. Hovering by the treeline, unsure, scared, but still there. Still waiting.

For a split second, Kendall stands frozen. What does he do? He should go inside, follow her, beg her to try again, that he’ll change...

But the itch is too much. And in the end, he chooses the easier, quicker fix.

He steps off the path and follows the waiter into the dark.