#connor roy x reader

[romeulusroy]

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 1

A/N: This I'd solely based on this fic, which I am in love with :) There is no gif of all four of them that isn't sad!!! 😭

Warning: addiction/addiction mention, abuse/neglect

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 2

You were an accident. Your siblings made jokes about it your entire life, but there was some truth to it. Logan didn't want anymore kids, he didn't want the kids he had, but you were born regardless of what he thought or wanted

Your mother had a short fling with Logan between Lady Caroline and Marcia. They were married, sure, but that didn't really mean anything, and they divorced shortly after you were born

Your siblings were already out the door by the time you came along, but they still adored you, especially as a baby/toddler

The few pictures you have of your childhood, you're surrounded by your brothers and sister, all of them wanting to hold you and play with you

They really do love you, in their own ways

Connor especially loved you. It's his favorite thing in the world to be a big brother fatherly figure to you and Ken and Shiv and Roman. He was so lonely when it was just him. Now he has you guys 💕

You grew up watching your siblings fight and argue and bicker as a means of showing their love, though Connor tried his best to show you what real love was (aka not just swearing at one another)

He didn't want you growing up the same way he had, ignored and terribly unloved. He never wants you to feel the same way he did, does

"Bitch."

"Whore."

"Shiv, Rome, not in front of y/n."

Roman took it upon himself to steer you clear of certain friends of Logan's, friends like Mo, who weren't to be trusted around children. Whenever you asked why, he'd give you some non-answer answer and tell you to get back to your blocks

"Babies play with blocks."

"Then your crayons, I don't know- whatever."

Kendall always had something sweet for you when he has a meeting with Logan. You weren't allowed sweets, not around your father, but Ken could always sneak you something. Even as you got older, and you reminded him you weren't a little kid anymore, he never forgot your favorites

"You know I'm not five anymore, right?"

"I know, I know, just take it."

Whatever kindness they showed you, it could never equate to the love of your parents, especially your father, neither of which were affectionate people

You were an angry kid. Your father wasn't exactly the most loving. In fact, you sensed that he hated you for as long as you could remember. That made you mad and disappointed in yourself, like you'd done something wrong. Like you were born wrong. So you'd lash out. You broke things, you screamed and cried, you hurt yourself in the process, you did all you could to get his attention, and still nothing worked. Nothing.

Rather, it was Shiv who held a frozen bag of peas on your bruises, who wrapped bandaids around your broken skin, and reminded you you were only hurting yourself, the two of you watching the housekeeper sweep up glass or patch up walls, whatever mess you made. She didn't like seeing you like this, knowing it only enraged your father instead of getting the response you were looking for

"Y/n, why do you keep doing this?"

"I don't know."

"There's gotta be a reason."

There were hundreds of reasons, but you didn't have the words for it yet, so you'd shrug, feeling lighter having gotten it all out

You were grounded a lot, for days at a time, your father banishing you to your room when he was sick of dealing with you. It only made you more upset. Nannies quit constantly, so a lot of the time, it was up to him to deal with your antics. Your mother, when she was home, stayed far from either of you, feigning a headache

You didn't have the words to explain all this, so you made a mess of your room. Tore things apart, broke everything in sight. If it wasn't your body that was hurting, it was the things around you. Eventually, he got rid of everything but the dresser and your bed. Everything else was bare. You'd kick and thrash and yell, but you were too afraid to leave

He didn't have to lock the door, though. All he had to do was stand in front of your door for a few minutes, not saying a word, and that was scary enough to get you to stop, at least for the time being

None of your siblings knew about this. When you were grounded, Logan never let them near you. It wouldn't be until years later that Ken or Con even suspected anything like that when you made a passing comment

He saw your out-of-control emotions as weakness. He tried to get your mother to help, blaming her family genes, but she was out of the house long before you got yourself under control. She moved on with her life, leaving you with him to go abroad, live the life of luxury with her flavor of the month. She had no interest in being your mother, deciding you'd be better off with him

One day he called you into his study. You knew you'd done bad. You'd thrown another tantrum in front of his investors, in front of friends, and that was the last straw. Tabloids were already talking about the cuts and bruises you gave to yourself, accusing Logan of abusing you. He was completely embarrassed by your behavior, your newest Nanny dragging you out before any real damage was done. Still, you knew that crossed a line. You were sick with worry. You'd only ever been in his study a handful of times, mostly sneaking in when he wasn't home.

Logan gave you the only advice you'd ever receive from him: Quiet down. It was vague and angry and not very helpful, like most of his parenting ways

Soon after that, you had your first drink. You weren't sure what it was, or why you wanted to try it, only that Roman had left it unattended and wouldn't notice, that it made your family a little bit better so why couldn't it help you?

It was the first time in a long time everything had gone quiet. This fury that sat in the middle of your chest has shrunk. You felt like you could breathe and think without wanting to explode. Without wanting to burn the world down. It didn't taste good, at all, but it helped

You figured this is what he meant. This is what he wanted. It wasn't a lot, not enough to get you drunk, but enough to quiet every mean thought in your head

After that, you found your new way to cope. The tantrums stopped. You were rewarded with your things back. Your nanny remained skeptical, but everyone else saw this is a good thing, a phase you'd grown out of. Shiv especially found relief in this, the sight of those bruises and gashes and cuts enough to make her scared what you were going to do next

Your mother believed it was the strict parenting style of Logan that straightened you out, even happier with her decision to leave you behind

From then on out, you were sneaking anything you could. From your father, your siblings, off the silver platters at parties and dinners and meetings. No one noticed when an extra glass went missing. They barely noticed your existence

Your tolerance grew the older you got, and the anger came back. This indescribable fury caused fights between you and Logan, rarely between you and your siblings. Those moments were the worst, when you couldn't bite your tongue. The alcohol could only do so much, so you turned to other things to take that last edge off

Kendall had coke, you could get weed at school, there were a surplus of pills in the bathroom cabinet. Whatever it took to quiet down, whatever it took to take that edge off, to stop acting this way, you figured it was the right thing to do

Your teens were a blur, a mass, of bad ideas and forced photo opportunities. Going to clubs until the sun came out, calling cars to pick you up, changing just in time for a family dinner to discuss shareholders or to schmooze with old friends of Logans. Always polite, always present, even if you were a million miles away

You weren't sleeping a lot, but you didn't need to. The uppers kept you awake, the downers kept your skin from crawling, the booze leveled everything out

#headcanon #succession headcanon #connor roy #connor roy x reader #connor roy headcanon #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy headcanon #shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #shiv roy headcanon #roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy headcanon #roy siblings #roy sibling reader #logan roy #logan roy headcanon #logan roy x reader

[happy74827]

Just Words

[Siobhan Roy x GN!Reader]

Synopsis: Words can be hurtful (especially to most) but with Siobhan’s “5-star” personality and ability to not care about anything other than herself, you can’t help BUT spill some words. {GIF Creds: @olliviacooke// I took this off of google (fair warning) so I had to dig deep to find the OP}

WC: 2274

Category: Slight Fluff (?), Enemies to… trope {Trigger Warning: Foul Language (I really channeled the Roy family here), Logan}

I did not expect my first succession fic to be Siobhan… but honestly, I’m not complaining 👀 (fyi: this was a request and I stupidly forgot to “answer” so hopefully the anon who requested lovely Shiv finds this 💀)

『••✎••』

Siobhan Roy… mega bitch. You hated her. Well, that might be an understatement; you despised her. From the moment you met her, she was just a total and complete pain in your ass. Not to mention completely and utterly self-absorbed. She had the attitude and ego of a child.

So when you were made to work with her, you were less than pleased. Logan Roy, the only man who could top Siobhan in terms of being an insufferable asshole, had made you a deal. If you and Siobhan worked together to find a solution to the media shitstorm he was currently experiencing, he would put you on the team that handled the IPO of Waystar. It was the opportunity you had been waiting for, so you sucked it up and agreed.

You and Siobhan sat in the meeting, both of you looking like a pair of miserable children. It made Roman look like a ray of sunshine, and that was really saying something.

Logan slammed the door, causing you to flinch.

"Fuck," he said, taking his seat.

"What?" asked Siobhan, a tinge of irritation in her voice. It’s amazing how her mood could shift on a dime.

"Nothing. I'm just a bit tired of this fucking circus."

"Well, what the fuck do you expect? You made a public promise. If you can't make good on it, why not just say so? Why continue this fucking farce?"

Logan narrowed his eyes at her.

"If I wanted to hear that, Siobhan, I would have gone to my wife's bed. I don't need a cunt in my ear right now."

Siobhan rolled her eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ. I'm a realist. You're the one who wants to live in your fantasy world. Just fucking drop the bomb, tell the truth, and let's move on."

"The truth? And what is the truth? That my son’s a psychotic, drug-addled mess? That Kendall is a sniveling, entitled little fuck? A pathetic, whiny, little shit stain who can't do his job because he's too busy jerking himself off to his own sob story? Is that the truth you want to set free?"

Siobhan stared him down, and once again, you were surprised. You had thought the woman was completely brazen, but there were still limits.

"I'm not your therapist," she said.

"No. You're not. And I'm not going to sit here and listen to a woman with the emotional range of a fucking teaspoon telling me how to handle this situation. Now, I need to get on the phone with my PR team. Fuck off, all of you. Get back to work."

You and Roman both jumped up, quickly leaving the room. Once you were safely away from Logan, you took a deep breath and relaxed a bit.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you muttered, "I don't know how she does it."

Roman smirked, "Oh, she's a special snowflake—a real ball buster. You should see her with Tom. It's a fucking bloodbath."

“Tell me about it. It’s a raging dumpster fire, even saying more than two words to her. I feel like she's going to snap my head off any minute. I’m so tired of her bullshit, and she's the least of my worries. The whole family is a fucking disaster. And I don't have time for any of it…. No offense.”

Roman gave you a half smile. "None taken. You're right; I'm the best of a very bad lot."

"Well, at least you're self-aware."

“You fuckers talking shit about me behind my back?"

You turned and saw Shiv leaning against the wall.

"Always," replied Roman. "And it's fucking hilarious."

"Well, don't let me stop you," she said, rolling her eyes. Her eyes then shifted to you.

"I didn't realize we were having a fucking slumber party."

"Just having a bit of a break," you said.

"Oh, well, that's very fucking nice. I'm glad everyone is taking a fucking break because I've been dealing with our father, who is a raging psycho at the moment. You know, while the rest of you are fucking around, the company is dying. It's falling apart, and everyone is too fucking busy to give a shit."

"Come on, Shivvy. Take a breather. You’re starting to act like Kendall… and that's never a good look," said Roman.

"Fuck off, Ro.”

Shiv glared at him, then glanced back at you. The glare made you want to hide, but you refused to show fear in front of her. You had done it in the past, and it only fed her.

"Well," she said, "aren't you going to say anything? Or are you just going to stand there with your mouth open like an idiot?"

"I think I'll take option B. I'd like to live through this," you replied.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"I think it's pretty clear."

"Yeah, I suppose it is. I guess I shouldn't expect someone like you to understand."

"Someone like me?"

“Shiv,” warned Roman, trying to interject. Personally, despite his whacked-out sense of humor, you actually enjoyed his company. He was definitely the least obnoxious of the Roy siblings. “Let’s not get into this now, okay? Just drop it."

"No. No, go ahead, Shiv. Let's have it out. Right here, right now. Let's see if you can handle it."

Shiv stared at you for a few moments, then she smiled. It wasn’t her usual smug, condescending grin. It was different, almost sincere.

"You think you're tough?" she asked.

"No. I know I am. It's a little different, don't you think?"

"Okay," she replied, her eyes darkening. She leaned forward, her face just inches from yours. Roman just looked at the two of you as if watching a tennis match. "You're so sure you can handle me. So why don't you prove it?"

"Prove it? Like, what, punch you in the face? Is that what you want?"

"Although, as satisfying as that sounds, I was thinking we all should just move on… maybe have a drink, talk it over? Yeah? No?”

Shiv just looked at you. "Yeah, I'll pass. I'm not here to make friends, and I'm certainly not here to kiss your ass."

"That's good. Because, honestly, I don't see you as the ass-kissing type. Tom, yes. You? Not a chance. You're the type who wants everything to be handed to you on a silver platter. I'm sorry, but I'm not the maid. I'm not going to serve you or kiss your ass. I'm here because I have a job to do, and I intend to do it. That's it.”

"Oh, right. I see. Well, then, why don't we cut the bullshit and just get right to it. How about you go back to whatever shithole you crawled out of and let the real people get on with things."

“Guys-” Roman started.

"Real people? Real people? You think you're real? You think this is real? I hate to break it to you, Siobhan, but you're not a princess, and this isn't a fairy tale. You're not the queen. Your father isn't the king. You're a spoiled brat, and he's… well, he’s Logan. He's not even a king. He's just a bully."

"Is that supposed to hurt me? To insult me?"

"No, but you seem like the kind of person who doesn't take criticism well. You’re doing a terrible job.”

Shiv stared at you, her lip curled up in disgust. She looked as if she were about to hit you, but the rage was just a facade.

"Well," she finally said, "It's a good thing we're not here to play fucking games, then. So why don't you shut the fuck up and get back to work? Unless, of course, you don't think you can handle it. Maybe you should just go back to where you came from, and let the real people get on with things."

Your nostrils flared. It took every ounce of strength in you not to smack the look off her face. But you knew better. If you started a fight, Logan would take your head off, and that was a fight you couldn't win. So, instead, you smiled.

"Fine," you said. "If that's what you want. I'll do my job, and you do yours. But, just remember, the day is coming when this little charade is going to come to an end, and when it does, it's going to be a lot worse than it is right now."

You didn't wait for her reply. Instead, you turned and walked away, leaving the two of them standing in the hallway.

Once you were back in the safety of your office, you collapsed into your chair and let out a sigh. You had just gotten your first taste of a Roy fight, and it was worse than you had anticipated. The worst part was Siobhan had gotten the last word. It didn't matter that you might’ve won. She had gotten the last good word, and you hated her for it.

As the hours ticked by, you became more and more frustrated. You were angry and bitter. You were pissed at yourself for letting Shiv get under your skin, and you were angry at her for getting to you.

So, when your phone rang and you saw her name, you were tempted to ignore it. You let it ring for a few seconds, then decided to answer.

"Yes?” Your attitude was short.

"Get your shit together," she snapped. “We have a meeting in five minutes. We have a lot of ground to cover."

That was, in fact, false. By the time you arrived, the conference room was deserted, and only Shiv remained. She was sitting at the table, her laptop open in front of her.

"What the hell?" you demanded.

"I'm sorry. Did you want a fucking audience? Because that can be arranged. But, if you don't mind, I would prefer not to have any interruptions."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that we are both here, and we have a job to do. Now, either sit down and help me, or fuck off. I really don't give a shit."

You stared at her, and she looked up from her laptop, raising an eyebrow. There was no audience, and there wasn’t going to be one. So, you had two options. Either walk away and look like an idiot, or stay and possibly get chewed out again. You took a deep breath and sat down.

Shiv just hummed in response, then looked back at her screen. "Good choice."

For the next couple of hours, the two of you worked together, trying to figure out a way to turn the situation around. Arguments arose, shots were fired, and at one point, Shiv threatened to kick you out, but overall, it was a productive session. Logan wouldn’t be pissed, so that was a win.

"So," Shiv said as the two of you left the building, "Did you cool down?"

"What?"

"I'm asking if you cooled down. Do you feel better now?"

"Um, yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I? You know, besides the fact that we were at each other's throats for hours and the fact that we both wanted to kill each other. I'm peachy."

"Mm, peachy." She said the word like it was an insult. "That's a strange choice of words, don't you think?”

“What? The real people don’t use the word peachy, huh? Is it beneath you, Shiv? Do you only use fancy words and proper grammar?"

"Oh, I can be a real commoner when the situation calls for it. It's all about knowing your audience."

"Really? So, is this the commoner Shiv? Should I expect a new side of you?"

"Maybe.” She smiled oddly again. The one that made you nervous. "Maybe not. That depends on you. Do you want to know the real me?"

"No, not particularly."

"Good. Because I'm not interested in showing you. I’m just curious if you have what it takes."

"To what, put up with your bullshit? To put up with a spoiled brat who thinks the world is hers for the taking? Mmm, yeah, I think I've got what it takes."

"Okay, first off, fuck you. Second, you're a piece of shit. Third, I have something to tell you. So, listen up. This is important. Okay, ready?"

You were about to say something, but her expression stopped you. Her voice was low, her tone serious. You nodded.

"I'm a bitch. And, yeah, I have a temper, and I'm not a warm and fuzzy kind of girl. But, that's the thing, I don't need to be. I don't need to pretend that I'm anything other than who I am. I don't have to fake it because I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to go after it. That’s what you need to understand. It's not about what you think you need. It's about what you want and what you're willing to do to get it."

You just stared at her, unsure of what to say.

"So, let me ask you, what do you want? And are you willing to do what it takes to get it?"

You thought about it for a second. "I want a drink. A strong one."

A little comedy never hurt anyone. And judging by her expression, you could tell you had made her smile.

"Well, that's a start." Siobhan had a smirk on her face. "Alright, fine. Let's get that drink. Then we'll see how far that gets you."

"Yeah," you muttered, "I'm sure."

But, as you walked down the street, you couldn't help but think about the question. What did you want?

And what was Siobhan offering?

#siobhan roy #siobhan roy x reader #siobhan roy x gn reader #siobhan roy/reader #siobhan roy x you #succession #sarah snook #sarah snook x reader #shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #shiv roy/reader #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #roman roy #roman roy x reader #succession tv #succession show #tom wambsgans x reader #kendall roy x you #tom wambsgans #roman roy x you #connor roy x reader #greg hirsch x reader #connor roy #greg hirsch #x reader #fanfic #reader #fanfiction #succession fic

[nanabrainrot]

(Don’t) Give Me Lip! [Brat Tamer!Connor Roy]

Brattiness gets you nowhere, but it gets him off at least.

Brat Tamer!Connor Roy/F!Brat!Reader

Warning! This is NSFW and not proofread. It includes: daddy kink, creampie, implied (unspecified) age gap, pussy slapping, and a bit of dom/sub dynamic. Reader is a brat and Connor tried to fix that.

WC: 2271

✎ Love, Connor

It’s not your best moment but his favorite sight: lips split by his cock and throat bulging, head hanging off the bed at you bat at his thighs with useless whines.

You were a bitch. Everyone knew it.

Connor’s girl is a bitch. Her crass lip, scoffs, and fussy attitude. Connor’s girl who whines so childishly to go home, tugging at his sleeve like a mad kid. Connor’s girl who still pouts and pokes her tongue out.

He can deal with that. The way you are in private is enough. It’s just the comment he heard today that bothered him: “He must not be fucking her right if she acts like that.” Followed by someone muttering back, “He probably can’t even get it up.”

The age gap wasn’t the be all end all, but granted you had no grays and his whole head was a mass of gray hair only made the thought simmer, a pot coming to a boil in his belly and stirred by the snarkiness of others. He let you get away with too much.

You’re better quiet like this: mouth stuffed shut.

“Aah, good girl. You’re so sweet like this,” he mumbles between scattered puffy breaths and choked grumbles. He really only told you that you were sweet when you were being fucked good enough to be quiet for once. There was less back talk when you were too stupid to muster up a smart ass quip. You behave better.

That thing you do when you’re all needy pops up just now, bare body twitching with your back against the sheets and whining in squeaks on his wet cock. That back arch. That clench of your toes and unclenching under the thin cotton of your knee socks that you were going to wear to the gym before you gave him lip again.

You wanted to cum. You could cum, if you could palm at your pussy. Your wrists move from clutching at his thighs from where you were batting at them for thrusting too harshly into your little throat - you were seriously going to try and get yourself off?

His hands move from where they were gripping at your tits as you twitched and arched and fly to your moving wrists to lock them by your side. A long whine vibrates against his shaft as you squeal at his sudden movement to deprive you of your orgasm. Each of his hands lock at each wrist to trap them by your hips to the mattress that was steadily creaking as he used your throat as a fleshlight.

“You fuckin’ kidding me? You’re gonna try and play with your pussy after all the shit you’ve been mouthing off all day?” he huffs with a scoff, voice returning to a series of strangles moans as he feels you swallow on his dick. That way you do to get him to cum sooner just to piss him off knowing he wants to keep fucking and fucking and fucking until the sun met the skyline.

“You’re such a - stop swaallowwingg… augh - bitch. Such a brat,” he seethes through clenched teeth tightening his grip so hard your wrists would inevitably bruise, “for no reason. I keep you dolled up and happy and you want to go to the fucking gym in this hooker outfit? Everybody thinks I don’t fuck you right ‘cause you mouth off everywhere all the time.” His hips still, balls sitting on your nose and thick gray pubes tickling your chin. Wrists stuck, you settle for kicking your feet like a tantrum and gagging and squealing. “Stop mouthing off in front of people or I’ll keep fucking this throat like that. Never gonna let you cum, just use your throat like a second pussy ‘til you can’t mouth off…”

A loud little yelp escapes you as he draws his hips back at you pinching his hand that way you do to signify a wordless safeword to go slower, be more gentle. Heaps of spittle coat your face as he pulls back, mascara running down your forehead as you sniffle pathetically with a quivering bottom lip. You pinch again, signifying you want him to let go of your wrists. He does so, raking his hands flat against your arms up to your shoulders then your neck to cup with one hand. His other hand settles on stroking the skin of your shoulder with soothing grazes. The way you were twitching signified you wanted to keep going though, which kept his dick at attention watching the way you tried to steady your breath and form words.

“Con - con, are you really mad a’ me…” you mumbled in broken, breathy words as you twitched.

“No,” he breathed before swallowing to even his breath as his dick drooled your spit onto the hardwood under him, “I think you just needed a lesson; you like to give lip is all…” His eyes glance up to your pussy from your eyes. “If I didn’t love your lips, that’d mean I don’t love all o’ you…” he breathes the last past, removing his hand from your shoulder to touch his shaft.

“Wan’ me to give you less lip, daddy?” you mewl, palms gripping the sheets in case touching yourself got him riled up again and continue punishing you.

“You’re saying that ‘cause you want something, aren’t you?” he smiles. You smile, cheeky, before sliding your tongue across your lips - hungry.

“Maybe…” you giggle, hips wiggling devilishly to draw attention to what laid between your thighs: your neglected pussy.

“If you promise…” he starts with his hand grazing your skin and sitting still on your pussy, cupping it with no pressure to not stimulate you, “I’ll let you cum.”

“No promises.” His eyes darken.

“Brat.”

The first slap makes you yelp loud, hands flying to press at his abdomen as your vision blurred from the sudden abuse of your cunt mixed with your head hanging off the bed upside down (though he was nice enough to support your neck with one of his big hands).

He fucking slapped your pussy.

“Connor!” you squeaked with a gasp at the contact. You let him fuck your throat for half an hour and the most stimulus he finally gives your pussy is a slap.

“You’re being bratty.”

Slap.

“It was a -“

Slap.

“J-Joke!”

Slap.

“Caahnnoorr!” you whined in a high voice, pressing your palms against his midsection to push him away.

“You wanna cum or not? You want me to bruise this throat so you can’t keep mouthing off?”

Slap.

“N-No!”

Slap.

“Oh, you don’t wanna cum? Fine -“

Slap.

“I wan’ah cum, please! I’ll be good! I’ll be good, please! ‘M sorry for being bad, I luh you pleasee let me cum!”

He pauses, his hand still on his shaft, rubbing the tip on your quivering pouty lips.

“Promise you’ll be good?”

You nod into his hand, pressing kitten kisses to his tip pleadingly.

“Promise… cross my heart, daddy, cross my heart…” you whimper soft like a breath or a breeze.

“Okay…” he croons, using the palm cupping your neck to help push you to sit up, “‘m holding you to it, baby.”

You nod, sniffling as you sit up and turn to sit with your legs hanging off the bed, sock-clad toes grazing the hard wood floor between his own bare feet as you looked up at him. It was a sight, a constant one, of your face coated in spit and pre-cum with mascara and makeup ruined and spread across your face. Hair all messed up from the friction of the sheets and lips so puffy from the abuse. You didn’t like being a good girl. It meant he wouldn’t punish you anymore. Promising to be one at least got him to let you cum.

He draws back and sits on a chair nearby, sinking into the soft brown leather of it. He rests his veiny forearms on the arms of it and leans into the back with legs spread - nude with a dripping dick.

“Make yourself cum then.” Your mouth opens and you huff.

“Me? You made my throat hurt!”

“I can just keep fucking your throat ‘til I cum and make you sleep with your throat hurting from being used and your pussy hurting from not being used.”

“That’s not fair!” you grumble, standing on shaky feet and shuffling to him as he lazily pumped his dick.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied with eyes glazed with lust that ate you from top to bottom. You climb on his lap, hovering your hole over his dick he was still pumping. He really did spoil you, even in bed you never chose to ride him but obliged if he asked - yet you always wound up looking like this as you rode him: lost in pleasure.

Your hands gripping his biceps hard with your lip caught by your teeth to suppress any embarrassingly loud moans. Brows knit with eyes clenched shut as you bounced, tits moving with each effort you could muster to milk him of his cum - use him like a dildo like he used your throat. It never works like that though, as you start to agree with every word he says in your thoughtless pleasure trying to chase the high you were building with every movement that sucked his cock in to kiss your g-spot with his thick leaky tip.

“You like it?”

“Mhm,” you nod vigorously, panting.

“Love it?”

“Mhm!”

“Gonna be good for daddy?”

“Mhm!”

“Gonna be good so daddy keeps fucking this pussy right? So good that daddy fucks you stupid even more than he already does?”

“Uh huh!” you squeak, hips bucking and stuttering to try and get as much of him as you could. Sloppily bouncing as your hips shook and drool slipped out of your puffy parted lips.

“Kiss daddy while you cum. Let you cum on my dick for being so good,” his hand catches the back of your neck hard and pulls you close fast. Your lips clash hard as your hips twitch. Your pussy squeezing him with the hot ridges of your sopping walls - cumming.

You pant, hard, into his mouth. The short and fast breaths escaping your nose fanning the hairs of his top lip, babbling incoherently into his mouth as your tongue keeps darting in and out to try so hard to keep kissing him. “Luh you! Luh you! Ah… lovee you, daddy… I luh you, C-Connor, cum in me? You’ll cum in me, please? Please? I’ll be so good if you fill me up, I’ll be good forever an’ ever… fuck!”

You still, lips hard and still against his as you breath hitches and your convulsing cunt makes a lewd squelch. It sounds like something thick spilling, he could tell you creamed on him by the way your hips kept twitching despite being still and sat on his cock to the hilt with his balls pressed to your ass.

“Stopping? I didn’ cum yet, baby,” he pulls back with that knowing grin before gripping your hips hard and using the force to slide you up his cock. Only to buck and fill you with it again, hard.

You draw back, hands moving from his biceps to sit on his check with stiff arms and staring with wide eyes and a mouth open. You look so beautiful like this.

The hair still messy with spit from facefucking you, tears making mascara coat your cheeks (and forehead from hanging off the bed upside down) and face entirely wet from the spit of having your throat fucked and messily kissing. Trying to be as one as you could be.

Looking at this sight has him following after.

“Cumming.” His hips ram up, balls and dick twitching in your hole as you cream agains, leaving the seat of the leather chair sticky with both of your cum as it leaks out of your convulsing hole.

It’s quiet, no sounds of skin hitting skin or squelching. It’s less about the sense of touch or hearing now, but sight.

He watches your eyes come back from your high as you do that nervous lip bite you do with your palms still against his chest.

“Do I really mouth off too much?”

“A little,” Connor admits, hands stroking your sides in an up and down motion.

He watches your eyes glance away to a lamp nearby, looking shy and guilty as you wriggle on his dick.

“I’m sorry…” you hum in a soft voice.

“‘S okay,” he smiles sweetly and pecking your cheek, “just watch the lip in front of others okay? Heard someone say you talk like that ‘cause I don’t fuck you well enough.”

“Are they crazy?” you huff, “I act all irritable because we’re not in bed 24/7. If you fuck me before those stupid meetings or parties or whatever they are, I’ll be more agreeable…” you glance away. Embarrassment flares again, your stomach fluttering.

“Connor, it’s just hard seeing you all handsome giving out attention…” you mutter, leaning to nuzzle into the nape of his neck, “makes me all jealous…”

You can’t see him smile from where you’re hiding in his shoulder, but you feel the smile as presses sweet kisses to your hair and his hands squeeze your sides reassuringly.

“I got a gala next week, Tuesday at 8. I’ll fuck you 3-6, sound good?” You nod into his shoulder, rolling your hips lazily to relish in the contact as his member softened.

You really were more agreeable, hanging off his arm all giddy and smiley the whole gala. Sometimes rewards work better than punishments.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

my first connor fic !!! sry if my characterization isnt the best its all dirty talk anyway tho so like pardon me. theres almost no connor fics in the tag so here u go old man fuckers <33

#nana writes succession #connor roy x reader #connor roy x you #connor roy x y/n #connor roy x you smut #connor roy x reader smut #connor roy x y/n smut #succession fanfic #succession x reader

[succcession]

Maybe you could do a Connor Roy Smut Headcanon??💗 Really been living your work

Currently rewatching and I forgot how much of a genuinely sweetheart he is!

Sweet Connor who is always buying you insanely expensive gifts imported from all over the world but hidden in each item would be a page long handwritten love letter explaining every detail of why he chose it for you.

Despite claiming to be an old fashion type of guy, I think he would loveeee sexting! Send him a random picture of your ass, and you would get a 2 min long voice message back from him describing how hard you make him and how lucky he feels.

His lap is actually the comfiest place to sit.

Wants you to sit in his lap while he sucks and teases your nipples and you play with his hair.

Innocently sitting on his hips right below his lil squishy tummy as you two chat about your day. But would quickly becoming your grinding on him as he squeezes your hips pulling your tighter to him

I believe with my whole heart he is amazing at foreplay. He spent year fucking girls just for his own pleasure, now he really likes to take his time. Covering your face and neck with kisses before he was even trying to get your shirt off. 

This would occasionally lead to him almost ruining the moment. You would be begging him to put it in already, and he would dramatically  respond something like “I have to take my time…i don't know how much i have left”

Really Really likes lingerie! Especially if it's super feminine, anything with lots of lace, flowers, and pink

Always coming home to some lacy set placed on the bed with a little card :,)

Please give this man some praise. Tell him how good he feels inside of you, how nobody can fuck you like him, and as basic as it is, pleaseee tell him he's the best you've ever had. He won’t be able to stop blushing and will hide his face in your neck but you can tell how much he loves it as he starts pounding you harder.

Gentle loving sex 70% of the time

Intense passionate pounding the rest

I think he would probably want you on top a lot. Of course he has no problem being on top but loves watching you ride him as you use his cock to make yourself cum, his large hands squeezing your ass helping to guide you up and down 

Also loves doggystyle!

Wouldn't get rough with you too often but when he did, he was usually taking you from behind one hand pulling your hair as the other wraps around your neck. Not squeezing just using it as leverage to fuck into you harder

Shutting him up from conspiracy theory rambling by unzipping his pants and pulling his dick out

Would get a vasectomy just to cum in you as much as he wants

I don’t think he would be a big fan of degradation, calling you his little slut would make him feel “like your pimp” he would state

Aftercare would sometimes be you holding him in your arms reassuring him how much you love him and how happy he makes you as you lightly scratch you back with your nails. He just gets so worried that he doesn’t truly please you so your soothing voice reminding him would almost make him cry T_T ugh he's so cute

#succession season 4 #succession #succession smut #succession headcanons #connor roy #succession connor #connor roy smut #connor roy x reader

[soitbe-soitis]

Request Guidelines

I'm dusting off the old ask box in anticipation of coming back to this space very soon. Welcome, friends both new and old! Requests are currently CLOSED.

PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT WITH MY BLOG IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Please be respectful when sending in asks! I'm a full time university student, and I am employed part time, so there may be delays between you sending in your request and when it is filled! If you would like to confirm whether or not I received your request, please feel free to do so.

I accept both SFW and NSFW asks. For NSFW asks, it's okay to request pretty much anything, and I'll let you know if it's something I'm not comfortable with. As a general rule of thumb, anything that cannot be practiced safely, sanely, and consensually will be a hard no. Additionally, most fetish content will probably be a no. This isn't to kinkshame anyone, far from it, this is just a boundary that I have. If you're unsure, feel free to request, and as stated above, I will let you know if it is something I am uncomfortable with.

I write for the following characters:

Kendall Roy

Roman Roy

Connor Roy

Stewy Hosseini

Tom Wambsgans

Greg Hirsch

Shiv Roy

Multiple characters per request is okay! If you're unsure whether or not I'll write something, please feel free to ask.

#succession #succession x reader #kendall roy x reader #roman roy x reader #connor roy x reader #stewy hosseini x reader #tom wambsgans x reader #greg hirsch x reader #Shiv Roy x Reader

[camillecrellin]

— Succession Masterlist

Who I write for: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Greg, Willa, Stewy, Naomi, Lukas

KENDALL ROY

Kendall's Eldest Daughter Headcannons pt2

ROMAN ROY

n/a

SHIV ROY

Acquisition

Break up

The Hardest Decision

CONNOR ROY

n/a

GREG HIRSH

n/a

WILLA FERREYRA

n/a

STEWY HOSSEINI

n/a

NAOMI PIERCE

n/a

LUKAS MATTSON

n/a

#succession x reader #kendall roy x reader #roman roy x reader #shiv roy x reader #connor roy x reader #greg hirsh x reader #willa ferreyra x reader #stewy hosseini x reader #naomi pierce x reader #lukas mattson x reader #succession #hbo succession #succession hbo

[kissingrhi]

pls send me traits and things about u and i’ll give a succession character i think would be the most into u and why (and maybe some cutesie headcanons) i’m bored

#succession x reader #kendall roy x reader #roman roy x reader #shiv roy x reader #connor roy x reader #yeahhh buddy #not just the main 4 but i don’t feel like putting all those tags

[writeroutoftime]

Hi!!! 💕 I see that you open your requests & I’m so excited! And I also saw that you just finished succession so I just wanted to ask, do you have any interest in writing for any of the men from there because I have such a soft spot for Connor even though I know nobody writes for him. Completely fine if you have no plans to though I just wanted to ask!

Hi there! Aww thank you so much! And yes, oh my gosh I'm stilling lowkey reeling over the ending of that show - it was so good!

Honestly, I have always kinda considered it, so you know - let's try it! I can't promise how "in-character" they'll be, but I'd love to give it a shot! So, if you want to send in a request please do! (and it doesn't have to be from the drabble list)

That goes for anyone else too! I'll give writing for Kendall, Roman, and Connor a shot! Let's see how this goes! ❤️

#ask #roman roy x reader #kendall roy x reader #connor roy x reader

[damianwaynesbelovedsposts]

prompt list 

requests or open!

1: “i think i might be in love with you”

2: Saying something flirty mid-fight which catches them off guard, giving you the perfect oppurtunity to strike

3: "I won't go easy on you" and "I don't want you to"

4: "Didn't know you liked being pinned to the ground this much"

5: “Do you want me to slow down for you?” 

6: “I can keep going.” 

7: “I fucking hate you.”

8: “Oh, fuck. say that again.” 

9: "hold my hand" and "absolutely not"

10: "Oh, come on! Don't act like you care!"

11: Never do that again. Please"

12: "Say it, you love me."

13: "Because I want to hear it from that pretty mouth of yours."

14: "Please don't push me away, I love you."

15: "What if someone sees us?"

16: "But I don't care about what anyone else thinks”

17: "You're not my dirty little secret. And I never want you to think that."

18: "We should kiss, Right now."

19: "I have a key, it's not breaking an entering,"

20: "who's apartment are we in?"

21: "Shh! They’ll hear us!"

22: "Get behind me"

23: “Come over here and make me.”

24: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

25: “Your mouth says you don’t like me but the way you stare at me tells me everything I need to know.” 

you can also make up something an request it if you’d like<3

#x reader #damian wayne x reader #connor kent x reader #wally west x reader #peter pan x reader ouat #bart allen x reader #jon kent x reader #jonathan kent x reader smut #jon kent x reader smut #injustice damian wayne x reader #roy harper x reader #batkids #dick grayson #tim drake x reader #jerome valeska x reader #jason todd x reader #damian x reader x jon #jonathan kent x reader #beast boy x reader #beast boy #mattheo riddle x reader #tom riddle x reader #raphael santiago #raphael santiago x reader #mattheo riddle #tom riddle #alec lightwood x reader #alec lightwood

[vclvetfleur]

Obedient

Pairing ▹ Roman Roy x Fem! Reader

Synopsis ▹ After graduating college, you had a hard time finding anything. You were living paycheck to paycheck, until your old college roommate tried to help out with getting you an interview at her job, Waystar Royco. After a mix up, you find out that you were interviewing for Kendall's little brother, Roman. The more time you spent with him, you realized his whole facade of being the weird noisy arrogant douche was just to cover up really dark issues. But how much of it can you take til it just becomes way too much for you? You had your own stuff to deal with.

Notes ▹ I decided to finally start a series about Roman. There is not enough fan fictions about him. There's going to be talks about past traumas and unhealthy coping mechanisms. I plan on making the character have deep rooted trauma as well, but hiding it a lot better than Roman, not as well though. There will be triggers for past child abuse, implied (c)SA, mentions of EDs and some substance abuse. Regardless of the heavy tones, I hope you have fun reading. This is mostly a therapy writing thing.

.・。.・゜✭・.Playlist ・✫・゜・。.

Chapters ▹ Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20

#succession #succession hbo #roman roy x you #roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfic #roman roy #hbo succession #kendall roy #tomshiv #shiv roy #siobhan roy #connor roy #logan roy #tom wambsgans #greg hirsch #fanfiction

[romeulusroy]

Venom (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

((SUCCESSION FINALE SPOILERS))

Characters: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Matsson, Tom

Word Count: 1,477

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: This is omg y'all!!! Y'all aren't ready ahhh!!!! That's all I can say :P Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

You watch them, horrified. Kendall stop! You’re yelling, trying not to let them hear the crack in your voice, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to hear. He spits venom at your sister, calling her two-faced, saying terrible things about her. She pretends it doesn’t hurt, pretends it doesn’t kill her. The kinds of things Logan would have said. Stop it, now! None of them hear you. None of them see you. You’re invisible now, like you’ve always been. The baby, underestimated from day one because of your order of birth. Roman says something, something you’re not hearing, but seeing. Watching. About his kids. Low blow. Kendall goes for his neck. There are moments like this where you watch your father instead of your brother. Such an angry, bitter, paranoid man. With his hands around him, you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. His name is on the tip of your tongue. Logans, but that is the wrong man before you. This is Kendall. You get between them, prying his hands off Roman. In doing so, you’ve put yourself in the line of fire. His eyes are so wild, so angry. Get off me! You yell, pushing him away, but he’s too strong. He’s too powerful. He holds you against the glass, his hands around your throat, hungry enough to bite. Rabid. You can’t breathe, fighting him off, unable to make any noise. Finally he realizes it’s you. You, not Rome, not Shiv, you. His baby. He lets go immediately, stepping back, stuttering. You can’t help it, the tears begin to run down your cheeks. You saw fury in his eyes, purebred wrath. If he wanted, he could have killed you. Just like Logan. You push through them, out the door, down the hall and towards the elevator. Kendall calls your name quieter now, defeated, ashamed. You don’t turn back. Sniffling, you wait for the doors to close, trying to catch your breath. You dial the number. I knew you’d call. . . 

They turned on one another. They’d decided he would be their successor. The three of them, after Roman disappeared. You were the only one he talked to on the phone, Caroline losing the power to guilt you. You weren’t her child. That was to your advantage. She put him on with strict warnings not to upset him, saying he was fragile. He sounded softer, beaten down, but as defensive as ever. Ken and Shiv are on their way, you warned. I know. He didn’t have enough in him to fight or to joke. He was all facts. Are you okay? Me? I’m fine. You knew he wasn’t, but you weren’t going to go there to see him. You had plans. For now, you had to take his word for it. You weren’t going to ask him for his vote. Quite frankly, it didn’t matter anymore. They could pretend they still had precedence, that the crown they wore could protect them from a beheading. Their heads rolled just the same when dismembered from a body. In fact, it was the crown that weighed them down. They forgot this, racing with one another about who could get to him the fastest. It wouldn’t matter in the end. When would they realize this? When would they accept it already? I have to go, call me if you want, okay? What are you doing that’s so important? Just meeting a friend. 

What about Tom? Tom? He is nothing. You shouldn’t but you laugh. Your drink is strong, his even stronger. But you trust him, you believe him. He can’t be backstabbing everyone. Besides, the x’s have been removed. Yours in their place. You take a look around the bar. Expensive. Oskar and Ebba keeping to themselves off to the side. They come when he says so. They sit when he says so. Now he’s holding a pen. Would you do the same? Your whole life, all you’ve done is follow. Follow your brothers and sister into any war they brought between them and your father, into every media frenzy and disaster because they convinced you it was always in your best interest. It wasn’t, though. It never was. In the end, it was always you getting hurt, taking the blow, having your name smeared across the headlines. From the moment he saw you he’s been trying to save you. They would hold your head under water and tell you they were helping you be a better swimmer. They were trying to kill you, drown you, just so there would be one less body in the pool. You were doing this for you, for them too. To show them that you weren’t just some lap dog they could order around. You were just as much a Roy as any of them. More so, even. You were smarter, you were savvy. You could get what you wanted, you always had. 

Going in, you were meant to warn them. That was the plan. Always. The deal seemed enticing, it was the cherry on top, but you couldn’t hurt them like that. You would not turn into them. But, then they decided on Kendall. Without consulting you, without even asking. They had decided for the family when there were still two more to consider. You knew what Connor would have done, you all did. He would have put up a fight, but in the end would have agreed. You? You were going to warn them. You were going to put out the fire before the house burned down with them in it. Instead they called you from the car that morning, on their way back, telling you he was next. He would be in charge. Had they even considered you? Roman laughs. The baby doesn’t get to be in charge, ever. Kendall chuckled. You didn’t get a vote or say, it was decided. You bit the inside of your cheek, letting the conversation fall. They spoke around you anyways, making all these big decisions without you. It was fine, you decided, hanging up. It was fine. You would tell them when they got here. It wasn’t technically a secret, they just hadn’t asked. That was all. So, you accepted that Kendall would take over. After everything you’ve been through, after everything they put you through, at least there would be an ending. Your phone rang, but you ignored him. Fine, you though, at least it’s staying in the family. You weren’t about to turn bitter. You weren’t about to turn vengeful. 

And then she threw the plan away the minute she could, believing that Tom would be Matsson’s CEO. You were going to tell them, really. As soon as that glass door closed, you were going to spill your guts. About him, about the deal, about everything. You swear on your father’s grave, you were going to tell them. And then he put his hands on you, around your neck, and any alliance you had was over. Any good graces you had left vanished. You wanted them to burn in that house. You wanted the whole world to burn. You put up with enough. With too much for far too long. He’s been trying to save you since you met, giving you outs from the maze you were in. You couldn’t leave them, they were your family. Now? Now they were nothing. They were strangers. You watched the bruises form in the reflective doors all the way down, listening to him carefully. If you still want it, it’s yours. Good. What about Tom? Like I said, he is nothing. Nobody. All you have to do is sign.

Roman and Shiv came back from that meeting, his stitches bloody. She wears a knowing look, the kind that says she thinks she’s won. He signed in front of everyone, in front of Matsson, who signs the stack of legal documents after. I’d like to announce my CEO. Shiv steps forward, but you come up behind her, around Roman, to Lukas’ side. Please welcome, Y/N Roy. Everyone applauds you as you sign your name. Roman’s jaw hangs open before catches himself, then looks to your sister. Her lips remain in a tight line. Tom looks surprised for the both of them, trying to get close to Lukas, but is unable to with all the cameras. Thank you, you whisper to him. You deserve this. You are the most capable Roy. You would have told them, you were going to, but this tastes so much better. You don’t care that your skin till hurts, still burns from his touch. You don’t care that your brother drifts away or that your sister storms off. You don’t care that Kendall is nowhere to be found. You don’t care about them anymore, they never did about you, not when it came to this.  

You win.

#writing #succession #succession imagine #succession x reader #succession fic #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #roman roy #roman roy x reader #connor roy #connor roy x reader #lukas matsson #lukas matsson x reader #tom wambsgans #tom wambsgans x reader

[happy74827]

Only You

[Kendall Roy x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Kendall never had anyone that he could truly rely on. But now, he has you, and that's all that matters {GIF Creds: Honestly i couldn't find who made it… just know that I didn't}.

WC: 753

Category: Lime/Spice, Slight Angst

I just finished Succession tonight and my heart literally hurts so much for Kendall, so I had to write this to ease my mind.

『••✎••』

“Kenny…” You sigh into his neck, his teeth nipping at your ear.

His hands travel from your thighs to the dip of your back and up, pulling the thin fabric of your dress over your head and off, tossing it onto the floor.

He grins, kissing down your jaw to the swell of your breasts. You can feel him, hard and thick through his jeans, pressed against you, and you need him. Need to feel him inside you. Need to feel his skin against yours.

Your breath is shallow and hot.

Kendall kisses the hollow of your throat, your pulse hammering against his lips. He takes your chin in his hand and makes you look at him. You stare into his eyes, deep and brown, the color of the earth. He stares right back, and you can feel his heartbeat, fast and in time with yours.

You lean in, pressing your lips to his. He kisses you back, softly at first, but then, hungry, devouring, as if he were a starving man.

You unbutton his shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and push him down on the bed. He pulls you on top of him, and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. His hands are warm as they caress your body, sending tingles up and down your spine.

He needed this; you knew it, just like you needed it. It was only a matter of time before he broke down before he let you back in. He needed someone to be there for him—someone who loved him unconditionally and would stand by him no matter what.

His touch was gentle and loving. The way he held you, kissed you. It was almost as if he didn't want to let you go. As if he was afraid of losing you.

Your heart ached for him. Ached for the man who was lost and alone, the man who had no one else. Nothing else.

With all the hot garbage and corruption within Waystar, Kendall could always rely on you. You were his constant. His anchor.

He would never admit it, not even to himself, but he was scared. He was scared and alone, and he needed someone.

Roman couldn’t give him that. Shiv could barely stand to look at him. His mother? Well, she wasn't the type.

And then there was you. You had been by his side, supporting him for as long as he could remember.

He didn't know when he had started to notice you, started to love you. But he had. Rava couldn't fill the void in his heart. No woman could. But you could.

You had been there for him every step of the way, no matter what. When the shit hit the fan, when his father cut him out, when his family betrayed him, you were there. You were his light in the darkness.

The night that Kendall told the world his father was at fault for the cruise ship disaster, the full turnaround he did on the presser and the aftermath had been hell. Logan had thrown a tantrum, screaming and shouting and threatening to cut him off completely.

For a little while, it seemed like he would, too.

But you had been there for him.

Kendall had broken down, sobbing, after it was all over. When the weight of it all had finally hit him, he had felt guilty and ashamed.

You had sat with him, comforting him. You hadn’t judged him. You hadn’t told him it was his fault, that he was wrong. You had simply listened.

And that had meant the world to him.

When he had finished crying, when his sobs had subsided, he had kissed you.

He hadn't planned to. But the look in your eyes, the concern, the compassion, the love, he couldn't help himself. It was a soft kiss. Tender. Loving. He had cupped your face in his hands, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

After that night, everything had changed.

You had become the only thing he could count on.

You were always there for him, no matter what.

Now, as you lay together, the sheets twisted around your bodies, your bare skin touching his, he knew.

He knew the person who would always have his back, who would never leave him, was you.

And that was why he had given you his heart.

Kendall didn't need anyone or anything else.

He only needed you.

Just you and only you.

#kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy/reader #kendall roy x female!reader #kendall roy x you #x reader #fanfic #reader #fanfiction #succession tv #succession show #succession #roman roy #roman roy x reader #jeremy strong #jeremy strong x reader #shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #connor roy #connor roy x reader #logan roy #stewy hosseini #kendall roy x oc #succession hbo #succession fandom #succession fic #succession fanfic #headcanon #blurb #angst

[nanabrainrot]

Threshold v. Tolerance [Brat Tamer!Connor Roy]

You love to get a rise out of him. Just don't be surprised when he wants to get a rise out of you too. BratTamer!Connor Roy/F!Brat!Reader

Warnings! This work is NSFW. Implied bondage and dom/sub themes (reader is tied up and left with a wand while Connor does work). Usage of a safe word. Reader is a crybaby.

WC: almost 2k

✎ Love, Connor

Bringing you out was a mistake on his part and he should’ve known better; it was always a blame game he played with himself given how he knew your fussy nature when in a sour mood. But you’d been in a sour mood all week – your grating scoffs and huffs at any of his suggestions for business deals (mostly just said out loud to himself, but attitude is attitude) left him only wanting to give you more space. Just the opposite of what you wanted.

And what he can’t provide can be substituted like Splenda for sugar. Circa nine o’clock is when he realized that you had been gone for a long while, different from your typical place by his side all fussy and agitated. Even if you were bratty, at least you were bratty with him. But no. Unnaturally, at the side of whoever the fuck that was, you were docile. Tame. Lame like a calm cat, limp in the way you leaned against the back of the sofa. Contented. More content than you’d been all week - with some random fucking man beside you.

“Ah, sorry, excuse me. I’ve had such a great talk with you and you have my cell of course – I just need to tend to my girl. She’s feeling a little tired, so I think I’ll bring her back,” Connor started in that rambling tone he did when he was scrambling to find a way out. You look none the wiser to the way you were affecting him, your half-lidded eyes watching the light fixture of the large ballroom just keep reflecting and bouncing off the warm lights of the sconces littered along the wall. The man beside you notes your tiredness, Connor observes, as he places his arm around you to lean your head on his shoulder. He’s grinning, a brilliant white smile, and his head probably swollen big with the ego of getting you to relax. You smiled a little, eyes finding Connor with a glint of mischievousness. You didn’t move from his shoulder then as he strode fast and harsh toward you so he decided now, hours later in bed: you shouldn’t and couldn’t move at all.

Tiredness was your explanation. You were a borderline insomniac and the two of you often took Ambien together before bed due to the tire refusing to take you both lest a little pill soothed you to sleep. Fine. So be it.

“Stay in bed since you’re so tired,” he hums, back to you as he continued to type without any haste. Clicking through little tabs, reading glasses sliding down the slope of his nose toward the bright screen that cast a halo around where you could see only his back. Indifferent. Uncaring, as you were at that charity ball. You whine into the ball of panties in your mouth, soiled with your own slick from the hour ago he spent pressing the bullet vibe hard into you while his hand choked you in and out of consciousness. To edge and back. Over and over. He’s so unforgiving, you always forget that he’ll go so far to relay that odd discipline unto you when you cross a line until the line of pain and pleasure blurred. Testing your tolerance and teasing the threshold of what just barely stimulated you: the hitachi wand stranded at your clit.

But you’d only really been acting out because he was being neglectful. His attention had to be divided with you then the calls then the emails then the meetings, messages, and everything between. You were aware of your greedy nature when it came to him, your relationship filled with your neediness and his desire to sate your selfishness in hopes of getting your attitude to dwindle yet always failing and resulting in this: you were weeping.

The ball of soiled cotton in your mouth served as a gag for finally wanting to admit it rather than insinuating it with scoffs and huffs, your mouth twitching as drool dribbled down your chin to meet the salty tears that trickled pathetically. You looked to him, brows knitting and unfurrowing as you tried to catch his attention with loud whines through the panties. As usual, nothing new. But looking at his screen, he’s too absorbed. From where your hands are tied you wriggle your hands to snap one of your hands earning a pause from him to register. A snap of the finger usually meant slow down and two meant you wanted out.

Another snap.

Connor stood, the chair scraping back as he turned to you with a serious expression of concern. His crew socks grazed the floor with his lazy shuffle as the bed dipped next to you and he untied your hands from the knot made with his tie, then his hands drawing down to the hitachi stuck between your thighs and turning it off as you panted when he pulled the panties from your mouth to discard them haphazardly to the plush carpet by the bed. You lied there, limp with your chest heaving, and sniffled through little sobs. The guilt welled in his belly, fluttering under the fabric of his white tank that was grazing your nude skin as he drew you in to cradle you with hands under your upper back and knees. His eyes are soft, a soothing abyss that soak you in consolation as you palm at the fabric on his chest with little mousy whimpers that he could barely make out but hearing: “I-I’m sorry I made you mad… I wanted your attention all week and I-I… ah should’ve said I wanted attention… don’t be mad… jealous… I love you,” you sniffle weakly, “forgive me? Forgive me, Connie?”

His lips meet your hairline, a long kiss, before mumbling, “Of course I forgive you. Always do… you just want me to only look at you, huh?” He murmurs into your hair in between pecks. He feels you nod, smushing your face into the nape of his neck like you were embarrassed. “You want attention now, baby? You wanna tap out?” he breathes, trying to soothe you. A shake of the head as you press clumsy, wet kisses to his neck as he sighed before letting you back on the bed.

He never tired of looking at you, it always served to at least get a twitch from his cock and now with the way you were babbling pleads for stimulation as you pawed at his pajama pants to free his hard dick. His hand, warm and thick, meets you hair to pet it as you keep tugging at the elastic waistband of the pants. “Shh, I got you. I’ve always got you, baby,” he cooed, his chest tight with guilt and pleasure as he mounted you with the tank remaining on as the pants settled on the carpet. You clutched his shirt with a tight grip and tearful eyes boring into his like a pleading puppy – a kicked one with a treat looming over it.

“Want it inside?” he breathed.

“Uh huh…”

“Promise to tell me when you want my attention then.”

Your eyes soften and mouth drawing into a little sheepish smile as you airily murmur, “Cross my heart, Connor…”

His face might be the eighth wonder of the world, the way his angular and pointed features soften like butter and mold into that crass face as he drew a strangled moan when his tip pushes past a ring of muscle twitching and swollen with arousal. Drenching him, so wet every movement made a squelch thanks to the number the hitachi did on you. Your hands rest on his pecs and thighs settle on his as you watch him with eyes like you’re seeing the aurora lights for the first time. He’s a good man. He’s a great lover.

“Inside… Cum inside it…” you choke through a strangled breath. You always pleaded for his cum to act as a lubricant as you mewled and grinned at the noises it made. He’s smiling back as you keep smiling up, enamored with every shadow of his aged face. “Cum already? You’re always so greedy about my cum.”

Your head meets the mattress as you arch back as grip the fabric of his shirt harshly as you groaned at the way he stilled his hips at the hilt, balls resting against the meat of your ass. He forces his dick to twitch inside, making your body tremble in surprise at the way the veins of his member met the ridges of your pussy. He was right: you loved his cum not in the way you loved breakfasts or walks in the park or Christmas but loved his cum in the way you love to breathe, walk, and blink. It was a necessity you appreciated and the grossest drug you’d ever done. He draws back, the thick meat of him sliding out of the dripping hole with ease. A low groan. His voice so scratchy and hoarse, it made you whimper.

He was so sexy. You’d never fail to wonder why he ever bothered feeling jealous; he might as well suspect you choose a can of spoiled wet dog food over a Thanksgiving feast.

“You like it?”

“I love it,” you sighed with half-lidded eyes that were locked into his face.

“You love it? You’re such a cute girl,” he hummed with a smile.

“I love you,” you mumbled in a strangled voice.

“Yeah? Really?” he huffed, thrusting deeper and harsher into your sloppy hole.

“Really,” you whined.

“But guess what?” he choked, struggling with the words as he held back his looming peak. You hummed in question, only to be cut off with your own gasp as he realized your own peak was impending too.

“I love you more.” His dick twitches, precum dribbling and the wanton squeak you give as you slipped over the peak at the sensation only served to make him spill himself into your warmth as you gripped at his shirt with tight fistfuls while you twitched. He could watch you cum a million times: your eyes squeezed shut with your mouth agape as it opened with a silent scream and your body twitched while you gripped onto him like a lifeline. The way you relied on him for not just pleasure but for normality, for contentment, drove him insane.

He sometimes wondered why he kept getting jealous, knowing that you always sought him out and rarely slipped away to be alone. Almost every moment you were sending him message after message, picture after picture, to keep him with you.

Every couple seems to think they love the other more.

There are few whose love teeters like yours and Connor’s, unsure of who was more obsessed than the other. You only acted out from a place of needing attention, divulging attention on stupid boys in passing to get a rise out of him only because you didn’t know how to ask him to do this without some punishment being attached. No matter how bratty you seemed to be, you always reverted to that compliant little angel when he was done with your punishment.

Hair spilled around your head like a halo as you bathe in the aftershock of your orgasm with eyes closed and a lazy smile, he stares down at you. Jealousy be damned, he’d always forgive you for being a brat. You were an angel all the same, even with your sharp tongue.

#connor roy x reader smut #connor roy x y/n #connor roy x you smut #connor roy x you #connor roy x reader #nana writes succession #succession x reader #succession fanfic

[bowieandqueen11]

Get You Out / Roman Roy Imagine

Request: i am in love with ur works!! could you write a roman roy x reader where they first say “i love you” or truly express their deep feelings for each other? again, i would die for your works they are so good 🌟😭

Thank you so much sweetie, that’s very kind of you!! Season 4 is kicking my ass so I wanted to add a little sweetness to it, I hope you don’t mind! :)

Okay so I am very very tired as I write this so it might be terrible but I hope you guys manage to enjoy it anyway ty ty I am so very tired and pre-grieving <3

Warning: strong language, mentions of childhood physical/ mental abuse, funeral setting and general grieving, mentions of blood/ injuries!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @cinematicnomad.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Roman Roy didn’t want to be a mausoleum any longer. 

It had started at the funeral. As his childhood best friend, Roman had managed to squeeze the other siblings into allowing you to sit in the front row with them: Connor had been thrilled, Shiv uncharacteristically accepting, and even Kendall in his own way had been sweet as he clapped your back and ushered you in to sit on what felt like it’s own stifling plank of coffin wood. Roman had spent the whole hour squeezing your hand in a death grip, his knuckles burning a haunting white as he sat pressingly close to your side. Sometimes you couldn’t bare to look at him through the service: his face breaking your heart as it sunk into a face as sullen as a sunken grave as Uncle Ewan pressed on in his critique masquerading as a scorned brother’s eulogy. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, and raised your middle finger to forgivingly run over his top lip, trying to soothe his scowl. He couldn’t look at you either, but you figured another ounce of pressure against your palm was sure enough to crack bone.

Then came Roman’s turn, and you prayed to everything you could think of to be lenient to him as he walked towards the austere steps of the pulpit, his father lying cold and stern from where Roman lumbered haggardly beside him. Without even meaning to, your hands clasp together and your fingers kiss against your lips as you watch Roman’s form clamber up towards the front of the room. He keeps looking back, piercing you, and only you, with those sunken, empty eyes. Pleading. Begging. Terrified. All you can muster is an encouraging nod as the showman his father forced him to be tries to break through his grief, his hands clasping onto the edges of the lectern. Yet he can’t even manage to look around the pitying room, too focussed on fumbling with his pink cards of unheard adoration as he flicks through them. You go to get up then, noticing the way Roman keeps pleadingly looking straight in your direction as he flicks through the words he knows, deep down, that his father would never have listened to anyway, but Kendall places a hand on your shoulder and keeps you firmly next to him.

You weren’t sure if he were giving his brother the chance to mourn, or if his embarrassment would just add to his back pocket arsenal of blackmail.

Once Roman started waving his limp hands, beckoning you to come and save him from drowning in the next wave of misery he had spent so long conceitedly treading the water of, the distraction of his face crumbling was the only thing stopping you from ripping Kendall’s fingers off your shirt one by one. Thankfully for Roman you’re the first from the sibling group to reach him, and he collapses onto your body as soon as your gentle hands touch the trembling expanse of his back. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’, he sobs into your shoulder, gripping the back of your jacket like it was the last tether connecting him to the living world. He was pale, sickly looking, fading like a phantom as he raised his hands to his face and tried to cower himself away from the overseeing stare of his father. In life, in death, in him. Always watching. Nothing but fury and abhorrence stinking its way out from that decorated box. Roman tried to shield himself from it, but even he couldn’t stop his father’s rigged game. It was too late, even as Shiv grabbed onto his shoulder and wept messily with him. The dagger had pierced skin. The poison dripped in. He couldn’t save himself. His father was too busy rotting inside him to stay within his coffin.

Somehow, everything felt worse when you tucked him into your side, and he managed to stagger back to the pew by leaning against your waist. His coat seemed too big for him: made him seem even more infantile, flooding him in the fashions his father had chosen as he collapses down next to you again, and pretends the whole room isn’t laughing at him. He doesn’t care. He’s used to it. He’s the jester after all, isn’t he? This is what he does. Deflects away, makes people laugh, acts the fool so he can break down in private. He winces, shaking his head and looking down at the ground, knowing he’s fucked up again. Acting the fool or the king, Roman Roy just can’t seem to get his character right. And when it crumbles away, the world is left seeing just how fucking pathetic the real him actually is.

He tries to hide away from the scorn, utilising the gap between Kendall and his sister’s rounding, corporate winning speeches to furl his hands to his chest like a new born, and lay his head on your lap for a moment. Surprised, you raise your hand and let him. In the most sincere gesture of trust Roman’s given since his father died, he smushes his lips against your thigh and squeezes his burning eyes shut, wishing the two of you were thirteen again, and the world didn’t seem to cast him in shadows every time he snuck back out your bedroom window. For a moment, you glanced your fingers back and forth over the stubbled hair by his ear, allowing Roman the freedom to just weep. As you feel the tears pierce your trousers and soak warmly against your skin, you try to control Roman’s wracks of shaking by leaning down and whispering against the shell of his ear. 

‘We’ll get out of here soon Romie. We’ll go home soon.’

This seems to kickstart something in Roman; he begins to feel his father’s lashings for showing such weakness close over his throat and choke him out for the second time that afternoon. Home. He doesn’t have a home. How can a crypt have a home, when its too busy housing someone else? Like a puppet being twirled by the unknown strings of a marionette, his fingers seem to clench in resistance against the pull as his limbs clunkily begin to move against you. He rolls back up to sit rigidly again, like someone placing a plank up a scarecrow and placing it back in it’s empty field to decay. A warning for scavengers. 

He doesn’t even glance at you again for the rest of the night. His heart’s already bleeding, bruised, swelling with poison. He can’t bear to have it broken by allowing even a sliver of hope that he might be able to escape from his father’s abuse trickle through his solid walls. 

You manage to lose him at the funeral reception, too busy in a heated discussion opposing the morals, and the behaviours of the so called next president Mencken to notice Roman slipping out of the room like a kicked stray. It’s only when you’ve resorted to your last idea: asking Gerri if she knows where Roman’s slinked off to, that you notice your phone ringer has been turned down. As you slide it out of your front pocket, your stomach nearly flips backwards when the home screen lights up with a new message: ‘8 missed calls from Roman Roy.’ You’re out the door before Gerri can even finish her sentence, wagging a disapproving finger at Kendall he comes waltzing towards you in a show of concern, throwing him a look of pure derision that his face immediately falls and he staggers a step backwards, knowing not to push his luck with another member of the family tonight. Mencken throws out an insulting goodbye as your handle grips the door, and with a final middle finger thrown in his direction, you’re running down the stairwell and racing back towards the beckoning call of the city’s darkness.

You call him again while you’re sitting, waiting, trying your best not to swear at the driver as he swerves through traffic jams and slams to a break at red lights. Roman picks up almost immediately, and you can tell by the quiver in his voice that he’s finding it difficult to swallow through the tears that drip like poison down his throat. ‘I fucked up Y/n. I fucked up. Please... I want to go home. Please. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.’ His voice keeps wavering in and out of static, as if he’s shivering and can barely hold the phone up to his ear. He sounds lost. Confused. He wants you, and what can you do but swallow your own grief and answer his call once again. As you race through the downtown lights towards the area the demonstrations had been held, you relent into an old habit of Roman’s you had picked up from an early age: picking at your nails until they begin to bleed, dripping down and running through the cracks of the frigid, foul-smelling leather.

It had been approximately forty minutes since you had found him wandering down the avenue, limping past the chained gate of the old clockmaker’s shop. He had been leaning against the piss-stained hollows of the wall, using the uneven brick to hold himself up. Whether it was due to the extent of his injuries: the blood trickling down his face and blinking into his eyelashes, the bruises beginning to swell up in familiar places along his patchwork-esque arms, or the fact that his whole body was convulsing in shudders he couldn’t control, even Roman didn’t quite know. 

‘Yn.’ It was curt. A simple acknowledgement, in the way one might greet a business acquaintance, once he saw your bleary eyes amidst the neon shadows. You stopped in your tracks, frozen in place at how decrepit he looked: hunched over, grasping his stomach, his face sallow and sunken and littered with a new collage of bruises. 

‘...Y/n.’ His voice howled. A call for help, an indulgence as you came wandering down the sidewalk, taking his battered form in. 

All Roman did know was that as soon as he felt your arms sink themselves around his shoulders, he wanted to bury himself underneath your skin and let himself die there.

The two of you decide the best course of action is to bring Roman home to your apartment, fearful about the consequences of leaving him alone for the night. You make him take the subway home, believing it best to sink back into normality: to escape the tombs of his father’s helicopter cockpits and enclosing limousine backseats, where nothing but sickness and tears and abuse had ever come to fruition. Roman, surprisingly, doesn’t complain when you bring him down the tunnels and lead him onto a seat littered in what seemed to be the breadcrumb leftovers of someone’s lunch. He doesn’t even seem to notice as the train speeds away from it all, too busy keeping his untrained eyes focused on a poster ripping off the other end of the wall, some genitalia graffiti sprayed over the remains of a Waystar film industry next big summer blockbuster hit poster. The bile rises like warm blood at the back of his throat at the sight of it, and as he leans forward he grabs onto your arm. You manage, just in time, to place your palm at the top of his forehead and stop him from lunging forward and hitting the train’s pole, but the would-be pain just seems to dissipate instead into his muscles as his face screws up, beginning to weep again. You shrug off your coat and wrap it first squarely, securely around his shoulders, before tucking it around yours as well. You want him to feel safe, and he seems to appreciate the gesture as he leans his sniffling head down onto your shoulder, letting you reach over and caress the side of his cheek in the oh so familiar way you used to rock him back and forth when you hid in his father’s pool house as children. 

By the time you actually get home, Roman’s exhausted. He doesn’t manage to get further than through your door before he trips over his own feet, a long queue of pent up swears bubbling out of his mouth as his already stinging hands hit the floorboards. You go to help him up, wrapping one arm around the underside of his belly and heaving him back up against your chest, but he waves you off. He wants to stay here for a while. A lapdog, of course, always feels most comfortable on the floor. 

‘Fuck! Oh, for fuck’s sake’, you mutter as your phone vibrates for the umpteenth time that night. You fluster as you cut the phone call off, adding it to the long list of curt text messages from Shiv, long winded but caring speeches from Connor, and even the occasional nods of concern from Willa. The latest offender seemed to be Logan junior, who had tried to call you for the fifth time in ten minutes. His name lights up again, illuminated by the what used to seem like a friendly glow of the picture you had taken of him by the pool of a family trip to Morocco several years ago. Now, the sight of his killer edged smile, of the glint in his squinting eyes seemed almost repulsive to you. ‘Kendall, for all I care you can go fuck yourself sideways with your own dick.’

Roman laughs hoarsely at that, making you turn your head and notice the way he’s dragging himself like wounded prey on his hands and knees towards the small cupboard where you keep your coats. He swings the door open with a shaking fist, and you follow in his supplicating, servitude crawl as he makes his way in between a rack of jackets. He’s hiding again, nesting himself away from the world, withdrawing to try and keep the only part of him still struggling to survive safe. Drawing himself down to hide within his father’s grave. 

You draw apart the fringes of raggedy winter coats, and threads of brand-new high-end boutique suits to join his little nook, which he openly accepts by scooting himself backwards until he hits the edge of the wall. He crosses his legs beneath him, trying to sit all prim and proper as if he were a school child caught doing something wrong; he raises his arms up to his face to try and shield the blows he knows he deserves for fucking it, yet again.

‘Please, Y/n, just please. Just fuck off. I fucked it. I... fuck. I’m a fucking moron.’

‘What did I tell you about calling yourself a moron’, you chide sternly.

You wouldn’t let him be buried along with Logan. You refused to allow the old bastard to win. Piece by piece, you were going to tear the splintered blade of his father’s daggered tongue out of the crevices of Roman’s body. You were going to win. You were going to be stronger than Logan Roy’s hatred.

Placing your hand gingerly on his wrist, you just allow it to settle there as Roman tries to wince away from you. It takes a little while: a couple of minutes, maybe fifteen, maybe an hour, you don’t know, and you don’t care. But the cracks in the foreboding, eroding stone walls began to break apart; Roman’s weeping slowly descended into bleary-eyed sniffling instead, his closed fists slowly beginning to open like blooming like Narcissus daffodils sprouting, reaching up towards the sunlight from where they lay sprinkled across the forgotten grave. His fingers tentatively sought you out, and once they gripped onto your forearm he broke open like a sepulchre. 

‘It’s true though. My dad was always fucking right, like one of those fucking witches from ‘Macbeth’ - you know the ones that stirred cauldrons that talk in riddles and shit. He always knew what I was. I’m such a fucking embarrassment’, he starts, once he realises that you’re not pulling away from him, but instead offering him something he rarely ever receives in his life. Acceptance. Relief. An overwhelming spring of kindness.

‘You mean the evil ones that controlled everybody? That does sound like your dad.’

He hits you with the side of your shoulder and snorts, but the movement is a relief to you. He’s not too far gone yet.

‘Roman, you didn’t do a thing wrong. You’re grieving, and that’s completely normal - it’s expected. It would be fucking weird if you weren’t a mess right now.’

He sobs at that: a harrowing, gut wrenching warble, and he deflates. His whole body seems to sink in on itself like a black hole, refusing to let you go. He drags you in with him, until the two of you are laying on the floor in the foetal position, your knees tucked up against each other in a kind of wallowing solace. You dare to kiss the tip of his nose, using the sweet way his eyes close shut and his face wrinkles as an excuse to run your pointer finger over a gash that splinters crimson red above his eyebrow. Gashing open at your touch, the wound reopens and makes Roman wince, but he doesn’t recoil from you anymore. 

‘You should run. Run the fuck away from this family while you still can. We’re all so fucked. I’m fucking - I’m done. I’m dead. This is it for me.’

He opens his eyes again, and allows you a chance to see properly that day just how awful he looks. Empty. Bloodshot. A haunted house. A man fighting for control against the tendrils of his father that grasp into his gut and seem to be squeezing. He mewls, and some irrepressible fury at Roman, at Logan, at the lifestyle and choices of the Roys seems to burst out in sharp whips from your tongue.

‘You can’t do that to me. You can’t say that. How fucking dare you.’

Roman opens one eye again, eyebrow arching upwards in a tired confusion. You place a palm against his shirt, in the dip between his shoulder blade and where his heart should lie, trying to stop your lips from quivering. 

‘When, in the last thirty years, have I ever fucking run away from you? When have I ever left you to deal with all this shit alone, and this is how you repay me?’ He starts then, his head whipping back in surprise, but he doesn’t break your gaze as the rush of burning hot tangled fury and worry comes boiling out of you. ‘The first thing you do, instead of coming to me, is to go and get yourself trampled on? You can’t- you can’t do that. Not after Kendall - I thought - I thought, I thought you were dead-’ Your cutting words are silenced by a sob so forceful it makes you hiccup, and you raise the back of your free hand to your mouth to try and shove the words, the sobs, your fear, your anger, the truth back in. Roman’s face falls, the sound of you beginning to sob only making him feel worse.

‘I wouldn’t do that... I wouldn’t’, he begins to make excuses, but you just shake your head, feeling your breathing grow more rapid as the start of your avalanching panic attack finally begins to take its grip on your throat.

‘You’, you warble out, feeling guilty at the way Roman’s the one having to lift his trembling hands in placation, and wipe away the tears that crease your eyes with the corners of his thumbs. He does it so willingly, and so tenderly, that you feel your heart just pierce with an even more righteous anger at the indifference and mistreatment his father heaped upon his kind shoulders. You finally get it, as the affection and the tenderness his father had smothered in the cradle comes flooding through the exhausted lines of his face like a mosaic of shattered light, why he’s so downtrodden all the time. It fights against the forces of his father, flooding past the reckless cruelness of his brother, to shroud him in a sublime patchwork of all the people he’s dared to love. He apologises, the cracks of him seeping through, and it nearly destroys you entirely. 

‘You mean so... so much more to me than you even fucking know, Roman.’

That won’t do. He can’t deal with that admission at all.

He cries like a beaten child, recoiling away from your words: ‘I’m sorry! Fuck!’ He grabs at your free hand in an uncomfortable mirroring of the way you had done to him earlier. His moves are far more frantic though: like a bird pecking at your skin, a sword slashing through the tendons of your muscles, barbs shooting against your fingertips as he tries to latch onto you. ‘I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t- I don’t deserve this.’ 

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant. Did he seriously believe that he didn’t deserve love, or the sorrow that innately follows in its footsteps, like the soft treads of a child waiting patiently behind the closed august doors of his father's office, never to be allowed entrance?

‘They’re all laughing at me, aren’t they? Hickory-dickory, watch how the fucking fool falls.’ He hides his face behind his stout fingers for a second, a child scorned.

‘No. No, they’re not’, you manage to lie between thick swallows.

‘You never made fun of me.’ He sounds so infantile, so defeated. So drained of all life. ‘Thar’s why I always loved you. You’d never do this to me.’

His voice cracks, hoarse and low as his face balls up, and you know it’s the first thing Roman’s said in months that hasn’t been absolute bullshit. It’s his truth. The one thing Logan hasn’t been able to tear out of him. 

‘You-’

‘I love you, you fucking asshole.’ Although he’s weeping against the creaking floorboards, his incessant pounding against the door’s of his heart finally seems to be getting somewhere. They begin to be opening. The slant of sunlight began to seep into the vault’s ornate chambers. He was beginning to feel the warmth.  He knocks his forehead tenderly against your own, until your salty tears tread quick trails down your cheeks and melt into each other’s mouths. 

‘I fucking love you too, you asshole. Thanks for finally noticing.’ You try to smile, and you can feel the pressure of Roman’s lips rise against your own.

‘Fuck you, I’ve been too busy to profess fucking love confessions if you hadn’t noticed. But I thought I was pretty obvious too, dipshit. At least we’re both fucking stupid.’ He laughs then, leaving you no moment to reply as he leans up on his elbow and bends himself down over you. His mouth fall clumsily over your own, damp and plump from a full day of crying, but the sting of the salt against the dry cracks of his lips don’t deter him. It was as if he had been replaying this moment in his mind, over and over and over since the two of you were children. This thought - the idea that he would finally get here was the only thing that had kept him grounded. Kept him sane. And so he kissed you as if you were a dream: a mirage, a living ghost that would disparate as soon as he let go. He cups the bottom of your chin, allowing his cold tears to fall over the bridge of your nose as he lets you breath life into the shallow halls of his once lifeless tomb.  

When he finally pulls away, neither of you seem to be able to muster up the courage to speak. He looks bashfully, youthfully shy as he hides his gaze from you and falls back onto his side, although his tongue is prodding the edge of his bottom lip as if in disbelief. You tuck your nose further against his, and he sniffs as you raise a hand to cup his cheek. You’re careful not to press the pads of your fingers against the forming bruise that seems to bloom across the furrows of his eyelids. He languidly blinks, exhausted, but the harrowing loneliness that had spent it’s life chiselling its way into his heart was finally beginning to lift. 

A new dawn was coming. A new chance to recreate himself. A new opportunity to try and burn away the ghosts that lived in the crevices of his brain.

‘We’ll do tomorrow together, right?’, he asks, his voice so quiet and muffled you could barely hear him. You press against the edges of his bruise, and he sighs against the corner of your top lip.

‘Together, as always. I promise. I’m going to get you out, Roman. I’m going to get you out.’

#succession #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #succession season 4 #succession imagine #succession spoilers #kendall roy #shiv roy #logan roy #connor roy #kieran culkin #x reader

[chaithetics]

i absolutely adore your stewy fic and have re-read it 50 times already 😭😭 would love a small sequel based on the 9th episode of him supporting the reader during the funeral and butting in to defend her/hold when she breaks down without caring about what other think, im not kidding when i say i’ve read it 50 times i can’t believe i’ve found a fic this good that’s touched the part of my brain obsessed with stewy and starches it to well i adore you

Don't Let Me Go

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Author's note: THANK YOU SO MUCH NONNIE! I ADORE AND LOVE YOU! Every time I think about this request or read it, I'm kicking my feet and twirling my hair. This is so sweet and just the highest praise ever! WOW. I appreciate you, it was so sweet and I really hope you enjoy this! Please let me know what you think and feel free to message me! I love grief-related shows/movies (I love to be in my feels) so this was quite the interesting one. I apologise for any sadness this fic causes. I have more requests that aren't sad dw! Always open to Stewy requests as well. This can be read as a stand-alone/sequel to Furtive Hands. This also HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD lol. I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter/content warning: established/secret relationship, GRIEF, GRIEF, funeral, some fluff but just funeral grief and supportive Stewy.

The last week had been miserable, there was no other way to describe it or to do it justice. It should be raining, that would make sense for the funeral of such a commanding and depressing man, there also should’ve been thunder and lightning. Now that would’ve done justice for the thunderous man that your father was but maybe there was no thunder in the sky because it all left with him. 

You’re sitting in the backseat of the car with Shiv right in front of you as you wait for your brothers, both of the Roy daughters are dressed head to toe in black and a fine picture of grief. You’d gladly taken the backseat, it was worth the small risk of motion sickness, it meant it would be easier to distance yourself from any potential, yet inevitable drama. 

Shiv had a glassy expression that was hard to read, you picked up that there was something there that wasn’t just grief. You sat up a bit and leaned over closer, so your arms were resting on the back of her seat. 

“Are you okay?” You asked softly. 

Shiv’s head quickly turned to look at you, grief was there, some unshed tears in her eyes and she looked like a deer in headlights. Her lip trembled for a second and then she sighed and her blue eyes pierced yours. 

“Full disclosure…?” 

“Go.” You immediately replied and Shiv’s body moved more into your direction. 

“I really uh, fucked things up… Ken found out and Mencken, well he’s a form of stabbing a knife in return.” She breathed out and her eyes quickly left yours as she looked down at her body. “And I’m fucking pregnant, I-I told Tom and well he thought it was a fucking tactic.” She humourlessly chuckles as her eyes move to focus on the ceiling of the car. 

“Holy shit, Shiv.” You moved closer off your seat to rest your head on the top of the back of the seat dividing you two and put your hands out to hold hers, squeezing them softly and doing your best to genuinely smile for her. “I’m sorry, that’s a fucking lot. But congratulations! Congratulations? Should I be saying congratulations? If not we can go and sort it out, I’ll go with you if you want. Anything you need.” 

Shiv nodded as she kept her hand in yours and used her free hand to rub at her face a little. “I thought about it but I’m going to keep it. It’s fine. Thank you though. I’m planning to tell mom and that today so yeah.” 

“Thanks for telling me.” You responded giving her hand another squeeze and she nodded. After a few seconds, she let go of your hand and turned back around in her seat and not long after that your brothers joined you both. 

*******************

It had been an awkward car ride, you’d sunk into your seat, looking out the window as Roman and Shiv argued. You didn’t say a word, Kendall had eventually intervened and called for a truce which was agreed upon. Kendall had discussed Rava leaving the city with the kids which you thought was justified and you struggled to not call Kendall out, having to bite your tongue and fully focus your gaze on the windows. Right now was not the right time for sibling arguments. You’re sure that Kendall saw your pointed expression before looking out the window again. 

This had been tougher than you’d imagined. Roman had immediately broken during the speech, everything that hadn’t come out of him did then. Kendall had taken over, with a speech that had been well received but genuinely made you uncomfortable. Ever since you’d all sat down you’d been close to Roman, one hand gently on his back and the other hand holding his, he had a tight grip on it but he was doing slightly better now. Well, he was visibly. 

Each sentence that comes out of your sibling’s mouths feels like a blow and the casket is haunting you. Not as much as Roman though you suppose, if he wasn’t firmly planted onto the pew and with a pale, iron grip on your hands you thought you’d maybe float away. Or maybe you’d just sink down with the pressure of all the eyes, tears and smirks. 

As Shiv speaks, you know she’s right, her words about being his daughter have never been easy and it’s starting to get hot. Too hot. Sure there are hundreds of people in the church but it’s too hot even with that, you’re starting to overheat and your thoughts are overcrowding your brain. 

You look at Roman, your hand on his back and your other one holding his hand. You bite your lip, trying to force tears not to come. Unsuccessfully though. 

“I’m sorry, yeah, um I’m sorry Rome.” You let go of his hand and quickly move to squeeze past Connor and Willa in the pew. 

All of their eyes follow you in concern, you start to fidget with the corner of your sleeve while trying to regulate your breathing as you walk off to the side of the Church. You don’t know where to go, it doesn’t feel like anywhere is an option but it feels like you just need to leave. Anywhere but here, home or any place that’s ever had that title. Your mind is racing with that train of thought and another million ones, none are easier than the last though. It’s becoming overwhelming,  impossible. Your heart is beating so fast you can hear it and you can feel it beating so quickly it’s trying to carve itself out of your chest. It’s all so claustrophobic.  

An arm grabs you and you turn around to see that it’s Connor. 

“Hey, hey. Are you okay?” 

“It’s just a lot, I don’t think I can be- I don’t really want to be in here right now.” You quietly say, trying not to choke on the inevitable sobs. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” 

Connor’s gaze is focused on you and it’s gentle. Which somehow feels more intense, it amplifies the feeling of being under a microscope. You tug at your sleeve again as you feel the tears starting to get worse, you try to bite your lip as tightly as possible to stop the incoming sobs from arriving, to distract from the emotional pain with something physical. 

It doesn’t work though. 

You start to step away from Connor as your crying can now be heard, Roman stays frozen in the pew still trying to find some of his abandoned composure. Kendall’s noticed that this isn’t a toilet break and that Connor’s intervention isn’t cutting it and starts to make his way over. 

Kendall quickly realises that he’s not the only one who’s noticed and who is making their way over. Kendall’s compassion for you is still somewhat intact but today, controlling the narrative and putting out fires is his priority. 

“Stew, go. People are going to talk.” Kendall sternly whispers with a disappointed look, doing his best to communicate his point without drawing anymore attention to the scene. 

“Let them talk, I don’t fucking care Ken.” Stewy spits out with widened eyes. 

“You don’t want this story to break today, trust me.” 

“If it broke today it would drown in the rest of the funeral, Roman and the fucking GoJo numbers. You know that. Everybody does, it’s why Shiv and Matsson leaked it today.” 

“Follow the money back to your fucking seat.” 

“The money isn’t my priority here. She’s my partner.” Stewy says, Kendall scoffs and they both quietly walk over towards you and Connor. But you’ve been too overwhelmed to have noticed any of that interaction or them joining you and Connor in your weird corner towards the back of the church. 

“I need to- it’s so hot in here. It’s really fucking crowded, I know that you want a good turn out at a funeral but this is- it’s so unnecessary you know?” You cry out rambling and Connor’s concern shows more. You hadn’t publicly broken over your father’s death yet and Connor hadn’t seen you cry since you were a child. 

“Yeah, sure. Sure. A lot of people”

“It’s just so hot in here. I need cold air. Maybe some wine? Do you think there’s uh w-wine around? It’s a church, there’s bound to be wine, it’s Catholic- Holy Communion and all… Fuck.” 

“I don’t think there’s wine here you can drink.” Connor’s voice breaks a little.  

“I can’t do this, I don’t want to be in here. Connor please? Just I don’t know- I don’t fucking know.” You sob out and the tears and sobs just don’t stop. Connor puts his arms around you and does his best to keep some composure for your sake. 

Kendall and Stewy have now come over, Connor’s arms are still around you but you feel a hand on your back. One that rubs a little circle and you recognise that little pattern, the pressure, the touch itself. 

“Stewy?” You whisper out between a little sob.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is soft and gentle as he continues to rub your back like he has a dozen times over the last several days. 

“I just- uh. I just, it’s so hot and claustrophobic. I needed air.” You’ve now left Connor’s arms to press yourself into Stewy’s side, his arms quickly replacing Connor’s as they wrap around you. You’re too overwhelmed to even consider or worry that your tears and makeup might be rubbing on his blazer. 

“I know.” 

Kendall is standing in an attempt to shield the rest of the world from this interaction, Connor’s hand is on your shoulder now. Stewy looks at Connor, tilting his head slightly towards you. Stewy smiles at Connor and nods, silently communicating that it’s okay and Connor can go back, which he does after squeezing your shoulder softly. 

“Can we- can- I need to go outside. I need air.” You muffle into Stewy’s side. Kendall pointedly looks at Stewy. 

“I know baby, I know. But there’s a lot of people outside still and cameras still.” Stewy says, as he rubs at your back comfortingly. Stewy isn’t worried about people seeing you both out there but about people seeing you in this state and it being immortalised in the media. 

“Fuck.” You mutter and the sobs become louder, more painful and desperate. 

You knew today would be hard, nothing was easy with your father. But you didn’t expect today to be so awful and to feel so trapped, he was gone, you shouldn’t feel like this but you just felt vulnerable, like the defenseless kid you were trapped in your childhood. Under a microscope for hundreds to zoom in on your pain, today wasn’t suffering just for your father’s amusement. 

“Yeah. We can get some air at the cemetery and take the long way back to the reception? Stop off somewhere if you want?” He asks softly. 

“We all came together-” Kendall starts. 

“I know-” Stewy quietly interjects. 

“I think I’ll go with Stewy, Ken.” You say quietly, you peek out a little from Stewy, puffy faced and wet with tears. Kendall doesn’t look super impressed at that, you can tell but he just gives a small nod.

There’s something about Stewy, his mere presence is a salve on your soul. Being buried into his side, being able to try focusing on the scent of his cologne instead of everyone and everything else is helping you remember how to breathe again. Your lungs remember how it all works again with Stewy at your side. 

“Do you want to sit down again before it ends?” Stewy gently inquires now that he’s noticed that your breathing is a bit more normal and the sobbing is more contained.  

“Sit with me?” Stewy nods. Kendall scoffs quietly but audibly and takes one of your hands and walks back to the front row pew of Roys, Stewy’s hand is gently on your back as he follows. You sit at the furthest end from Kendall, sandwiched between Willa and Stewy. Willa offers you a small but gentle smile and you press into Stewy’s side as he holds your hand in his. 

“Snot siblings.” Roman says as he finally looks at you, leaning across to give you a tissue. “Courtesy of the old Gerr-bear.” He adds as he refuses to look at the woman behind him. 

“Oh, thank you.” You whisper quietly and he nods looking away, just across from him. 

You’re aware that there’s more attention on you now over your little breakdown and at the development of Stewy coming over and then being at the front Roy children pew, Willa’s there of course but not even Tom or Rava are. You can tell Stewy’s aware of this as well as you look at his handsome side profile, he notices you staring and smiles at you, his arm around you squeezes you softly and he brings the hand of yours that he’s been holding in his lap up for a soft, sweet kiss. 

“Just breathe.” He whispers quietly as your hand in his goes back into his lap. You take a deep breathe, even consumed in your grief and the horror of this day you are so grateful for him. 

Despite the context, there is something freeing and peaceful about that. Being able to hold your hand in front of hundreds of people, kiss it and sit next to you. Stewy feels it deeply in his soul and while you perhaps can’t appreciate that right now, you can feel it too. 

****************

You didn’t stay to receive condolences like Kendall did. You immediately left with Stewy, ignoring the pointed and curious looks from everyone as he had an arm around you as you both quickly walked, he held the door open for you and you both sat in the backseat. 

As soon as you both were in and that door closed, you couldn’t help it. You just started crying. It was so overwhelming. 

“Hey, hey baby.” Stewy whispered into your hair as he pulled you tightly into him, he pressed some soft kisses to the top of your head. “I’ve got you.” He said softly. He was so soft with you today. But Stewy was always soft with you. 

Stewy held you tightly for the rest of the drive and when the car got to the cemetery you tilted your head, so you were still pressed against his chest and looked up. 

“Everybody knows now.” He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, it was a fact either way. 

“Yeah-” 

“Are you okay with that? I’m sorry-” You asked quietly, letting out a little hiccup. Tears still in your eyes. 

“I don’t fucking care who knows. I love you. You baby. The whole world can know and there’s a lot going on today, I think this will be the least of anybody’s concerns or key takeaways. I just care about you.” 

You lean up to give him a soft kiss on the lips, which he eagerly but gently returns. 

“I love you too.” 

“That always helps.” He says and you let out a dry chuckle at that, as you bite your lip looking out the tinted window. “Should we try one of those exercises?” 

“Exercises? I don’t think we can fuck in your car at the cemetery when everyone is here to dispose of my dad-” You say with another dry laugh but some more tears come to stain your cheeks. 

“No, no, no baby.” Stewy chuckles and flashes you a charming smile. “Those like grounding, breathing, you’re an amazing professional ones? Oh the colour one! Um, what’s something purple you can see?” 

You look at Stewy in awe of his sweetness despite the douchey exterior most have to deal with. Your eyes briefly skim around the car and the sea of people in black outside. 

“We’re at a funeral, everyone’s wearing black… Where’s the purple Stewy?” You ask in a tone as teasing as possible but a small sob comes out of you. 

“Well you know I have nothing against outfit repeating but I’d worn a purple blazer to the wake- that wasn’t even a week ago baby. There’s a line, and it would’ve crossed the line. With the turtleneck and trousers and a purple blazer it would’ve looked like I was wearing the same outfit. I can’t do that, not in a week, let alone for two death-related events. People would know.” Stewy rambles on. 

You can’t help but laugh at his ramble, only he would be acutely aware of that and have considered this all in great detail. You laugh into his blazer and nod. He wears a large smile on his face as he notices that this seems to have cheered you up somewhat. There’s still tears but that’s to be expected, he’s just glad that there’s somehow some smiles and laughs in there as well. 

You press yourself into him tightly, inhaling his comforting scent and presence. “Don’t let me go. Not out there, in here. Ever, please.” 

“I’d never dream of it, baby..” Stewy says softly as he presses a kiss into your head and then you both leave the car holding hands.

#stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x you #stewy hosseini imagine #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini x f reader #stewy hosseini x roy!reader #stewy hosseini fic #stewy hosseini fanfic #stewy hosseini fluff #succession #hbo succession #succession s4 #succession hbo #succession roy reader #succession fic #kendall roy #roman roy #connor roy #shiv roy #siobhan roy #arian moayed #arian moayed fanfiction #arian moayed characters #successionfanfiction #succession fandom #fanfic #teamstewy

[marasch1nocher1e]

leaving work late

⋆ smut (18+)

⋆ kendall roy x fem!reader

it was a long day at work, a really long day. it just wasn’t normal for you to not be home by 4pm, but now its 5:33 and you’re outside of your apartment. to make matters worse, you had a ton of work to get done tonight. you were buzzed in and as you made it to the elevator, you thought of how you really wouldn’t be able to do anything if you didn’t dedicate whatever you have left of your day to your work. you sighed as the doors opened to your penthouse suite, where you saw your man sitting on the couch reading the latest forbes issue.

“oh, your’re home,” he puts his magazine down, marching towards you, ,“where’ve you been?”.

you set your things down on the ground. “work,” you answer, removing your blazer,“they fucking extended the meeting last minute and then some, so now i’m home. late”. you make your way to your office, room with a bookshelf and a full pc set up. you lay in your chair, the cat walking up to you. she nuzzles your leg, but hops on your lap shortly. “uh, can i get you some, uh…some tea? you seem tense”. kendall is talking to you from the door frame. tea sounds really good right now. you clasp your hands together and mouth a small and yet desperate “please”.

“i’ll prepare it to your liking”

you’re more relaxed now, you like that he takes care of you. he brings back a cup of mint tea. you place your pet cat down, to avoid any accidental spill from hurting her. she goes to her bed in the corner. “thank you, ken,” you say, as you go to take a sip. the taste is…different. you ignore it, but its strong. it tastes really good, though. you recognize the taste. you look at kendall, who’s picking up the cat’s toys.

“clover honey”

“annnnnd?”

you take another sip: “lavender”. he walks up to you with the box full of cat toys, setting it down next to your desk. “very good,” his praise tickling your ear as he leans down to your ear and slightly lower to your neck where he presses his lips. at that point, you’re typing a report, but the sensation of it causes an aching between your legs. “kendall…,” he isn’t stopping, “ken, i’ve gotta work”.

“we both know you don’t wanna”

and he’s right, you don’t. “you already work so hard,” he adds. he’s kneeling at your feet now, you’re looking down at him. “so, what should i do instead?,” you ask, softly to match his volume. he smirks, tugging at your pants. “you let me take care of you,” he answers. he stands up, his hands on both sides of your face and immediately plastering his lips to yours. your hands are free and as he kisses you, you reach for his belt and undo it. he doesn’t let you finish as he pulls you up and now you’re standing.

he kneels again to undo the button on your pants, pulling them down. he pushes you to the empty space left on your work desk. he kisses up your legs, practically forcing you to part your legs open. he starts to pull your underwear down, successfully getting one leg of yours fully out if it, the under hanging off your left foot. you make your way to the desk, now on it. he wedges your legs open and it’s an aggressive type of desperate the way he places your legs over his shoulders. you brace yourself, but that doesn’t prepare you for his tongue licking up your slit. he does it once more, adding some kisses to it. his kisses start at your clit, ending somewhere in your labia. he loves doing it, he loves tasting you, and he loves the noises you make when he’s doing it. he almost moans against your flesh, licking you up. you taste amazing to him and he finds himself wanting more and more.

you are quieter than you usually are, maybe due to the exhaustion you’re feeling from work. the tired, “ken…”, that falls from your lips makes him stop and stand on both feet. he’s rubbing your clit with three fingers in a small circle and an occasional u-shape past the ball of nerves, spreading your remaining juices around. “what is it, girl?,” he says, he keeps doing it and you realize its really only serving to tease you. it keeps you feeling flustered, he knows just how good this feels to you. before you can even answer him, he shushes you. gently, he places his other hand on your chest, shushing you.

“breath, baby. undo those buttons for me”

you’re still wearing your work blouse, you’d forgotten about it. you rush to do so and it hits you how out of character it is for you to be this desperate. it’s usually kendall begging for you, its never even remotely the other way around, but here you are: laying on your work desk as your boyfriend rubs your sopping cunt. once they were undone, immediately his free hand grabs your right tit. your breathing hitches, when suddenly his fingers rubbing you move lower, plunging deep into you. his hand on your breast pulls your bra down. he pinches your nipple which makes you whine. he knows how sensitive these areas are for you, it brings a tear to tour eye feeling how overstimulated this makes you.

“poor girl,” he teases, “what do you want from me, baby? you can tell me”

as he says this, his fingers are still pumping in and out, curling slightly when they go in. your voice is weak and he can’t understand what you’re asking of him. he begins to genuinely feel bad. his hand that was once on your breast, moves to cup your cheek. his thumb swipes underneath your eye, getting the developing tear before it can stream down. “aww, baby,” he coos, it made you cringe and almost sick hearing how sweet his voice was,“you still want more?”. all you could really do was nod, you were too stunned by your own upcoming orgasm to speak. he snickers and you can see him remove his belt as he does. your legs were dangling, but seeing him reach for his belt made you put them up on the desk.

“oh, honey. you’re getting ready for me?”

you nod once again, looking at him below the belt. you see that you don’t need to help him get it up, he’s good to go. as he wraps his arm around your thigh, using his free hand to grab hold of his cock. he groans, as presses his uncircumcised head against your swollen clit, throwing his head back when he begins to slight it down. feeling him touch your most sensitive areas once again, brought noises no short of irresistible and desired upon both their lips. “fuck…,” he moans twice, the second moan louder than the first as he’s now pushed deep inside you. you try to be quiet, but his steady rhythm was making your insides melt and noises ever so soft. everything spilling from your lips was slutty, but kendall’s were sluttier.

“ugh, fuck, baby,”

he wouldn’t dare look at you. there was this slight submission in gaze. fucking you desperately, wanting you to take charge in whatever way possible. he wants you to encourage and praise him till he cums. he likes when you hold him as he thrusts deep in you. you settle for the praises, somehow his movements become needier. he’s the first man to make you cum, the first who knows what it takes to get you there.

you tug on his arm sleeve, indicating just how close you are to climaxing. that submissive expression vanishes and in its place, its a conniving smirk. his head tilts up once again. “mhmm, i wanna cum inside you,” he begs and groans, putting your legs over his shoulders, “let me cum in that pretty cunt, honey”. now you’re encouraging him. you’re telling him “cum inside me” and “cum for me”, he can’t help it. you’d long since reached your orgasm, but feeling his cum paint your insides drove you wild. feeling this rather big load spill outside of your pussy? even wilder.

kendall catches his breath, coming back to you and spreading your pussy only slightly. seeing his cum spilling brought slight shame to him.

“oh, uh, sorry. i’m sorry”

you shake your head, you were so fucked out and all you wanted was nothing more than to hold him. reaching for him, he becomes receptive to your advance and grabs your hand. he guides you to the nearest couch where he lays on top of you. he’s only there for a minute, as now its starting to hit you his jizz is still fully coating your vagina. “ken,” you say,“i should probably get washed up, no?”. he nods, getting off of your chest. “you can finish up some work as i get the water going and while you bathe, i’ll try and help out with your work and clean up the area”.

you smile, there’s warmth in this smile, the warmth only he brings out of you. “thank you, ken,” you say to him, you kiss him, “i love you so much”. he messes your hair even more than he already has, saying,“i love you too”. he does as he promises. he runs your bath, does your work. it wasn’t until next morning that you realize how much of your work he really did. you slept in, almost late and cursing yourself. you walk to your office, only to find kendall asleep with his head down and fine that the monitor is on. its your email account, with recent messages sent to your boss titled “annual report” submitted at 3:47AM.

#succession #kendall roy #kendall succession #kendall roy x reader #x reader #smut #kendall roy smut #marasch1nocher1e :: kendallroy #shiv roy #roman roy #connor roy #tom wambsgans #greg hirsch #tomgreg #succession fanfic #fanfic #smut fic