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wambsgansshoelaces · 5 months

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Something Sweet; Chapter 1

read the prologue here, and chapter 2 here! please leave your thoughts- I’d love to improve! Enjoy!

word count: 1,700+

Black Friday is no different than Thanksgiving for your bakery. Nobody really comes in- it’s just a day of experimentation for you. You have a cake to decorate for tomorrow, anyway, so you’re happily occupied for the day.

You think about the guy from yesterday a lot. You hope that he’s okay, and that he got himself to wherever he was going safely. You catch yourself thinking about him a little too often- you have to admit, you did find him cute.

The cake you’ve been commissioned to make is for some little kid’s birthday party, and your instructions were to make it explicitly Spider-Man themed. You’ve been caught up on the MCU for quite some time- it’s not that good anymore, to be honest- but the Spider-Verse movies were some of the best you’d seen in recent years. You spend the morning dying buttercream red while the sponge cake itself chills in the freezer.

You must be a little too absorbed in it, however, because somebody calls “Hello?” into the back.

When you see him, your heart gives a happy little flutter. “You.”

He looks much better than yesterday. The bags under his eyes are lighter, he isn’t as fidgety, and there’s an air of sobriety about him. “Yeah. Me. I realize we never introduced ourselves..” You can hear paper crinkle in his hands, but you can’t see what he’s holding from over the pastry display. Maybe you were wrong about the fidgeting bit.

“I’m Kendall. Kendall Roy.” He sticks his hand over the counter, and you shake it.

“So that’s how I know you.” His grip is firm, despite his otherwise raggedy appearance. It’s what you’d expect of a Roy. “I’m Y/N. I own the place.”

“Um, can we…?” he gestures back to a booth. You round the counter and you both settle across from each other like yesterday. You can see what Kendall was fidgeting with now- a tiny bouquet of lillies held together by a sloppily tied pink ribbon. “For you. Because I was freeloading yesterday.”

You take the flowers and set them in your lap, smiling softly. “You really didn’t need to. You needed some help yesterday, so I gave it to you.”

He looks down into his hands. He’s not dressed as nicely as he was yesterday- no watch, no dress pants, just sweats and a hoodie. “I have those episodes sometimes, and the wrong people always get caught in them. I really do want to make it up to you.”

“Again, you really did nothing wrong. I mean, sure, whatever you were on yesterday probably wasn’t a good idea, but we live and we learn, right?” You stand, holding the flowers to your torso. “Want coffee?”

“I’ll pay for one, yes.”

You round the counter again, setting the bouquet somewhere safe and you start the coffee machine with some coffee bits you ground that morning. “No, you won’t.”

“I’m being serious.” Kendall hadn’t followed you into the back, peeping over the counter like a puppy separated from its mother. “I have the money to spare.”

“We’re friends. I really don’t mind, Kendall.”

His name, you realize, sounds perfect off your tongue.

“But I do, Y/N.” He peers up at the menus hanging from your ceiling. “You only charge $2 for a coffee? You’re a saint.” He takes out his wallet and tosses a wad of twenties across the counter.

“I’m not taking that,” you say over your shoulder, pouring coffee into two separate cups. “Do you want cream or sugar? Or maybe you’re a honey and milk guy?”

“Just some honey, please. And I don’t care. You’re keeping the change.”

You don’t say anything, sliding him a cup.

જ⁀➴

You’d argued over who’d take the money for another ten minutes before you kicked him out of the bakery for impudence. Kendall, accepting defeat, had scribbled his number on a napkin and pressed it into your hand, and now here you sat trying to figure out what to text him.

Eventually, you settle on keeping it simple; hey kendall, it’s y/n !

He responds almost immediately.

It’s good to hear from you.

A pause.

I thought you wouldn’t text me.

He texts the way he talks, you think.

what makes you think that? i think you’re fun

Well, my first impression on you wasn’t really good, was it?

clearly it was, otherwise i’d have burned the napkin

Ha.

Another pause.

You’re a good sport for taking the money.

what? but i didn’t

Check your purse.

The minute you get the message, you grab your purse from the ground where you’d unceremoniously dumped it on the ground when you got home. All you had to do was unzip it to find the same wad of twenties from before. That bastard.

you’re not serious

It’s there, isn’t it?

how much is this? coffee is $2, you really shouldn’t have

I felt like it. Count it out.

You take a moment to do just that- and end at $5,000.

kendall, this is crazy

Is it? I owe you.

i keep telling you, you don’t owe me anything. at this point, i owe you

Don’t worry about it.

You sit there, blankly staring at your phone. Sure, you knew the Roys were mega millionaires and owned helicopters and yachts and probably seventy different properties, but you would have never expected one of them to drop $5,000 on you so easily. Why you? You’re a baker just barely surviving- what even brought him to your place, anyway?

Actually- are you free this Christmas?

always am

Would you cater dessert for my family’s dinner? You’d get paid well. Then you could actually afford to keep your coffee $2. Ha.

You didn’t know whether to be offended or not.

seriously?

My dad fired the last one after an incident with a pineapple. Besides, your baking is heavenly.

you only had a cupcake, kenny

I had my assistant come by this morning. I’m thorough.

You think back on the morning. Someone had come by and ordered an obscene amount… you’d just taken it as some Thanksgiving work party.

You’d probably have to come in and do a test run. He’s picky.

if you’re serious…

Perfect. Am I allowed another favor?

i think i owe you a hit after all this

Let me take you out to dinner after. And kill any of my siblings. Then we’re even.

જ⁀➴

You wake up the next morning feeling like you stuck a fork into an electrical socket. You’re nervous, excited, nauseous. You root around in your closet for your lucky apron and shove it into your tote for the day. You slide around the hardwood flooring in your socks, organizing things for your day. You and Kendall agreed that he’d come get you at ten and take you to the supermarket for whatever it is his father would request.

Were you worried? Not about Logan, no. You were more nervous about the date you had with Kendall than you were about baking. All he had said was to bring something nice to wear after.

The flowers he brought you yesterday sit comfortably on your kitchen counter. They were handed to you perfectly prepared for a vase.

While some part of you wants this to be a romantic date, the other, more rational part thinks this is just him and his ‘I owe you’ mindset.

You live in a townhouse pasted to the back of your bakery. It was great, in your opinion. You don’t need to pay rent- only make payment on the bakery -and you can never really be late for work. It makes your life much easier, and you’re grateful you were able to nab it when you did.

There’s a sharp, sort of erratic knock at your door. You gather all of your stuff, put on your shoes, and greet a Kendall who’s obviously high. He smells faintly of weed, which years in pastry school helped you pick up.

“What the fuck?” is the first thing out of your mouth. “You drove here?”

He blinked. “What? No. Chauffer.”

While you didn’t claim to know anything about Kendall, you could use your critical thinking skills and assume that this was a normal occurrence. What was he trying to take the edge off of? He didn’t seem like the type to do drugs for the fun of it. He was running one of the biggest conglomerates in the nation, even the world. What made him turn to drugs? You feel like you should say something, but you decide on figuring that out later.

Kendall flat-out gives you his phone, saying something about how his father wanted a key-lime pie and he found a recipe if you needed. High Kendall, you note, is much more droll and glum than sober Kendall. Sober Kendall was sweet, witty, and funny, in his own way. It’s like his mind is on autopilot. He stares out of the window blankly.

The car pulls up to the local grocery store and you glance at Kendall sitting next to you. “Are you coming?”

He blinks again, processing. “Yeah. Sure.” You scurry through the store, making Kendall carry the ingredients you picked out for the pie crust and key-lime filling. He follows mindlessly, only offering the occasional ‘yeah’ or ‘maybe this one, it’s bigger’ when picking out fruit.

When you’re back in the car, surrounded by plastic bags, you turn to Kendall. The driver abruptly slams the breaks, and Kendall’s arm shoots out in front of you and keeps you reasonably still, keeping himself from blasting through the windshield by bracing his other arm on the seat in front of him.

“Fuck, calm down!” He peers out of the window. “Cyclists are an epidemic,” he mutters.

“People still do that in the street?” you ask, following his gaze.

“Only dicks. They’re like chihuahuas. They think they’re cars.”

You can’t contain your awe when you pull up to the Roy townhouse. “It’s gorgeous,” you murmur.

“Gets uglier when you meet who’s in it.”

“Okay, Kendall, you’re very encouraging.”

He stops you as you try gather the plastic bags of groceries to take upstairs with you. “Don’t bother. You’ll be great. Go up, Marcia will meet you. I’ll see you later?”

You step out of the car and stare up at the townhouse. You look back over your shoulder and give Kendall a wave, who returns it awkwardly before you make the quick journey up the complex in the elevator.

Marcia greats you with a smile on her face. “Y/N, correct? How lovely to meet you.” She beckons you into the home, heading straight to the kitchen. Other servants have brought up the groceries, and you fish out your apron from your own tote.

You have no idea how you got here, but you’re excited to see where you go.

#succession x reader #kendall roy x you #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #succession fic writer

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successionable · 1 year

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i don't think we're talking enough about how tom and greg rocked up to logan's wake together even though tom was last seen accompanying shiv (back to their apartment, presumably) and shiv was last seen lying in bed alone

#succession #succession spoilers #succession s4 #tomgreg #tomshiv #tom either picked greg up on the way (why??) OR #they spent the night together #also love how when they arrive #tom surveys the kids in one room the old guard in another and then goes to talk to the old guard #while greg tries his luck with the kids #did they discuss beforehand and decide to divide and conquer?#(failing on all accounts but)#we know tom's fave is strategise and fuck 😏#dear fic writers this is your cue #adding THIS frame to my list as well #succpost

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kazanskyy · 1 year

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tom originally planned to go to this year’s company halloween party as mark antony to shiv’s cleopatra (his idea, obviously) but now he’s on the way to a finalized divorce and very much without a costume partner so he just passes the outfit off as “generic roman general” while also making unsubtle nero callbacks that only greg gets. meanwhile, greg throws together a pretty low-effort cowboy costume cus it’s easy and he already had most of it, and really this party is just an excuse to get drunk with tom and have a good time. they don’t think anything of the fact that they spend the whole party in each other’s company until the next day when greg opens his email to find he and tom were somehow nominated for and won the “best pair” costume category for octavius and jedediah from night at the museum.

#implied homosexual by the waystar royco event planning team #tomgreg #succession #was originally gonna make a fic of this but work is A Lot right now and i still got writer’s block so have a text post instead #linds original

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polar-equinoxx · 10 months

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Missing in Action on ao3, a kiss prompt☁️💕

#ms tg #ms art #ms fanfics #hopefully hopefully there will be more art and fics in quick succession #i was in an artist and writers block at the SAME TIME it was not good #but am on the upwards now soooo #enjoy this for now!#icemav #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #top gun #top gun fanart

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tomwambsgays · 1 year

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...do you want some of what you asked for?

#tomgreg #tom wambsgans #greg hirsch #succession #succession fanart #my art #succession season 4 #america decides #i think it's safe to say that tomgregs are thinking of the Same Thing during THAT scene #and it's this #kinda disappointed that “oh it's just coke. they're doing drugs”#so ig i'll just draw exactly what's on my mind #hopefully to inspire some uhhh fic writers to uhhh write an alternate scene #anyway im just happy they're back!! :^)

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achilleanspear · 1 year

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but my heart screams hallelujah

when i hear your battle cry

#art tag #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #cod mw2 #fic writers i beg you write a fic about them dancing after a successful mission and ghost understanding how madly in love he is with soap

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japhan2024 · 5 months

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Hi there! It's me! 😅 Idk if you want to but, could you write some fluff Ianthony while they are writting the Food Battle script? Like they being cute and laughing and being dorks, some sweet shit like that? PLEASE 🙏🙏

Omg you give the cutest prompts, I'm MELTING. I will try my best!!!

Eye contact

Genre: fluff, angst

"Ian, we're so good together. We work. We... I want you to be happy, and stay happy, and I don't know how many times I have to say that I will stay with you forever, but I will say it as many times as it takes."

read on ao3

"The crinkles around Anthony's eyes when he smiles and laughs. His proud little smile when he talks about what they have accomplished together.

Ian looks sideways at him as they hold a Food Battle marathon at Ian's house. Lately, Ian allows himself to 'look' at his best friend more and more. It is hard not to stare, though. Because Anthony is beautiful. So unfairly beautiful. Being in his presence always excited Ian but he never dared to look at Anthony longer than a second.

But now, after everything that has happened... why not? Why not sneak a peek at that chiseled jaw, those inviting curls, and that olive skin, a mature version of his BFF he remembers from school. Ian catches himself sighing. And so does Anthony. As they lock eyes, Ian quickly looks away, smiling down into his lap.

"This scene is so dope, right," Anthony points at them on the screen.

"Yeah, you're right."

It's the next day. They're at Anthony's house to work on the new Food Battle script.

Anthony looks at Ian with soft, admiring eyes. He loves one thing most of all. Above anything in the world. And that is watching Ian's creative process at work.

"This is so dumb. But what if I just give her a comically large piece of chewed gum right out of my mouth?"

"Ew, that's so gross!! I love it."

Ian laughs. Not the reserved chuckle he gives other people. But the hearty, all-out goofy laugh he only shares with Anthony.

"So, the wife dies... Sorry feminism, but the twist is... YOU were the wife the whole ass time!!"

Anthony giggles. "That explains the seven-year pause so well, oh my god. But... If I'm your wife, how does sex work?"

Ian shrugged matter-of-factly. "Duct tape and an empty Gatorade bottle." He makes a plopping sound to match his zany ass explanation and sends Anthony into hysterical laughter.

"Fuck, we have to put this into the script! We might get demonetized, though."

"Hey, if we really cared about money, we would just steal TikTok videos and put them in compilations on YouTube for the rest of our lives."

"True. God, how I love this..." They smile at each other. God, Ian has such unnaturally light-blue eyes. Anthony notices that lately, Ian makes way more eye contact with him than before. Which is amazing, because he's always tried to get more out of him. More and deeper conversations. More emotion! But it seemed impossible.

At parties, Ian is outgoing, and Anthony gladly tags along. But when it's just the two of them, Ian likes to chill out with his thoughts. And that's fine with Anthony, but he can't help but want more. And now, since everything that happened, they finally talk. For hours!

"To think we both forget how great this is, writing together..." The sunlight that comes in from Anthony's window lights up Ian's eyes even more. Anthony wants to stare into them for all eternity. Those moments of direct eye contact send shivers down his spine, make all his hairs stand up and make him want to run some laps out of sheer excitement.

"Do you remember Star Stories?" Ian asks.

"Oh yeah, that shit was wild."

"Do you remember the George Michael one?"

They both laugh.

"Write about what you know, what you know, what you know..." Anthony mimics the old comedy show.

"There's this one bit," Ian says while laughing. Anthony loves it when Ian is so excited about something he already laughs at it before even telling Anthony.

"What?"

"It's when George Michael cries about his band mate leaving, and it's all dramatic, and then he's suddenly like, super unbothered and says "I'm over it." We should put that in. Like I'm crying about my wife for 1.5 seconds and then I'm like, okay let's do Food Battle, biiitch!"

"That's amazing."

"I know, I didn't come up with it."

"Shut up, you come up with brilliant stuff all the time."

"If you say so."

"Let's take a break," Anthony says.

They order some lunch and hang out on Anthony's balcony. They are drinking some flavored water.

"Any new dates?" Anthony asks suggestively.

"Nope." Ian doesn't elaborate.

"Ian, have you even tried?"

"I guess I haven't. But I'm really happy, Anthony. The right girl will come along, I'm sure."

"Or the right guy?" They never talk about Ian's bisexuality but Anthony wants to bring it up. He wants to know how he can help Ian get a date. Above everything, he wants to make Ian happy.

"Or the right guy, I guess. Or just a person in general. But boobs are a plus."

"Are you into man boobs as well?"

"Hell yeah! As long as I can suck on them... oh no, this is a terrible idea..."

Anthony's eyes light up. Ian's terrible ideas are genius 100% of the time.

"Ian, you must tell me..."

"One of the challenges should be a breast milk pump."

Anthony compulsively giggles through his words. "Oh my god! Ian, we can't show that on YouTube..."

"Can I at least suggest it? You'll say 'ew gross' and I will say, "Oh yeah, you're right... damn it!" And I'll look disappointed."

"We will work it in there somewhere."

Ian squints at Anthony. "Are you giving me more leeway because you're still cheesing about our reunion?"

"Maybe."

"You know you're playing with fire."

"Yeah, I know, hahaha."

"By the way, I'm still willing to burn Smosh to the ground with you."

"I think our fire will light up Smosh, warm the place up."

"With our looove," Ian says in his mocking voice.

Anthony kicks him fondly.

The bell rings: their lunch has arrived.

"I'll go get it," Anthony says, leaving Ian with his thoughts for the moment. He still can hardly believe how invigorating it is to work with his best friend again. It doesn't feel like work at all, they are just hanging out. This is them.

"Here is your gluten-free bagel," Anthony says with a tucked-in chin.

"Well have fun eating your vegan salad of misery," Ian counters.

"At least we are pretty and healthy!" Anthony uses his girly voice. He hasn't in quite a while.

"That voice takes me back."

Anthony laughs.

"For real though," Anthony continues in his normal voice, "you're becoming fitter by the day, the gluten-free diet is working, or are you also running again?"

"I'm hella running, dude. Every morning."

"That's awesome. I'm so happy for you, it used to be such a big part of who you were in high school."

"Yeah, it makes me feel so much better. And if I skip a day, I immediately feel worse. So it's kind of an addiction by now. Gotta go faaast!"

As they eat their lunch, a group of birds flies by. They are shimmering, bright green but their call sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

"Wow."

"Did you know birds have one hole for everything?" Ian suddenly says.

Anthony raises his eyebrows and snorts. "What?

"For everything." Ian looks him in the eye again. That sends Anthony and he doesn't recover from laughing until a few moments later, while Ian repeatedly says "It's called the cloaca, man, the cloaca!"

"Why are you so fucking funny, Ian. You're the funniest person I know. And that's saying something, with all our employees at Smosh."

"Aww, thanks Anthony! I think we just share a kind of humor. My jokes don't land like this at the office." He chuckles.

"Kids these days..." Anthony scoffs.

"Hey, come here, your hair is messed up. I'll fix it for you," Ian says suddenly and comes up to Anthony, closer than he expects. He puts the wayward curl that the wind has blown in Anthony's face, back on top of his head. "That's better. Now you can go back to being pretty again," Ian jokes.

"I love it when you do that kind of stuff," Anthony murmurs.

"What?"

"These little gestures of affection. I appreciate it so much."

Ian doesn't look him in the eye now. Anthony feels bad.

Because he knows.

He knows Ian likes him.

For all those years he's liked him. And he has sometimes taken advantage of that. Flirted with him so Ian would do work for him, that type of stuff. But he hasn't done anything like that since they reconnected. And he isn't planning to. This time, he wants to give Ian what he deserves. To truly appreciate him.

"Hey." Anthony takes Ian's hand.

"Don't do that," Ian tries to look the other way, but fails. They lock eyes once again.

"I'm being sincere, I promise," Anthony says. Ian blushes.

"That means a lot," Ian says. "Now cut it out with the sappy shit, you know I'm bad with that."

But Anthony holds onto Ian's hand stronger.

"It's not sappy, Ian, it's the honest truth. I love you."

Ian swallows. "Yes, and I love you, bro. I love you... and it's hard sometimes, you know? It's hard because when I look into your eyes, Anthony, I see... I see something I want to have. And it's this close, man. But I'll never have it and I've accepted that a long time ago."

"Come here," Anthony says softly, and pulls him into a tight embrace. He whispers: "I've done you wrong for so long, Ian. I want to give you everything... Anything you want. You can have it, whatever it is."

"Don't play with my feelings, Anthony."

"I'm not, I promise."

Ian slowly lets go, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Remember the staring contests?"

"Oh my god, those were always terrible hahaha."

Of course, Ian would break the tension.

"But this doesn't feel like a staring contest. We can finally look at each other honestly. Damn, it does feel good."

"Yeah."

"But Anthony, we have a script to finish."

"Fine. But promise me you're staying over tonight?"

"Fine. Idiot."

"Dumbass."

They go back inside.

#Ian's day #Ian day #fanfic #fan fiction #ianthony #this was my last fic for ian's day! I hope yall enjoyed! The fics I have read so far are stellar!! yall r incredible!#and the art!! jdshksdgjd #ian's day is already a success #and there's the writers who will post later in the day!! so excited!!!11 #AND ARTISTS

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declanscunt · 5 months

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kenstewy fic recs?

oh god… so many… first of all anything and everything by ao3 authors leoandsnake (especially tsd i & tsd ii) and stewyonmolly (im particularly fond of lesbian kenstewy & their senses series)

MORE RECS UNDER CUT!!!

coefficient of variation by trill_gutterbug

summary:

"No, it's not—I just want to. It's not like, a thing, you know?"

"You want to lie here slobbering on my limp dick while I read forty-seven thrilling pages of Macroprudential Policy Regulation, but it's 'not a thing.'"

Kendall's face, already hot, pulsed feverish with a livid mix of embarrassment and arousal. He shut his eyes. "Something like that, yeah."

Telemachus’ Detachment by magnoliabud

summary:

There’s one thing Logan hasn’t used against Kendall yet: his relationship with Stewy. Kendall decides to jump in front of it.

Or: thirty years of something.

Set from the middle of Series 3, after the shareholder’s meeting.

tenderness of heart by strangeluvz

summary:

Stewy,

My assistant said that you told her if I wasn’t using my phone “to at least send a fucking letter or some shit” and I don’t know whether you were joking or whatever but here. You know that being online is bad shit for me man. So here’s this: I’m OK. Is that good enough? Do you need a stool sample or something too? Vial of my blood? Let me know

Kendall Roy

Kendall goes offline. Stewy sends him letters.

we’ll meet in even greater darkness later by moonrocks

summary:

Kendall isn’t exactly sure what Stewy’s doing here, if this is a booty call for old times’ sake or there’s something else they need to discuss. Maybe Stewy’s just doing him another solid. Since his dad died, it’s been hard to be stagnant in his apartment all alone. Between the studio in LA and the corporate retreat in Norway, Kendall has actively avoided it, but the election is coming up, and there’s nowhere to run now. He’s in the bullpen and the beast is rearing its ugly head.

(Set sometime between 4x04 and 4x08).

some little language by strangeluvz

summary:

Stewy says, “Dude, sometimes. I think I, like, love you so much, it physically hurts.”

Kendall replies, without thinking, “What the fuck.”

Post-canon: Kendall goes to Stewy. Stewy’s arms are always open.

Make Good by Springandastorm

summary:

"I don't think…" Kendall trails off. His shoulders hang heavy.

"You don't think, or you do?" Stewy asks, the usual smooth scale of his voice a little softer, like he's talking Kendall off a ledge somewhere.

"I think I'm pretty fucking hollow."

"Yeah. My voice echoes when I talk to you." Stewy agrees, leaning a little closer and knocking his shoulder into his. "That's okay."

a current under sea / picked his bones in whispers by ingwertee

summary:

God, he’s been picking up the pieces for a mopey, strung out, kicked puppy version of Kendall for over a year now. Kendall’s sudden surge of confidence, however unjustified, turns him on, reminds him of the Kendall he had started to think only existed in his daydreams.

a little of the collapsing space by ohtempora

summary:

“I’m not gonna say you should have told me,” Stewy says. “You absolutely should not have told me fucking anything."

what did you tell me, mary by harukatenoh

summary:

In which Kendall and Stewy attempt to answer: what have you got in your fucking hand?

i figure you with love by alaczije

summary:

Stewy manages to do a decent job of forgetting about Kendall, and him-and-Kendall, and all the neuroses contained therein, until the pap photos leak.

Luxe / Redux by orestesfasting

summary:

He’s not sure what he’s more angry about, is the thing. The betrayal or the subsequent lie.

Or—maybe that’s not quite true. He knows which one he’s more angry about, and he knows that rationally it should be the other one. But needless to say, if Kendall had told him the truth about why he did what he did, Stewy wouldn’t be heading to his place uninvited at 11PM on a Saturday night, brimming with righteous fury like the proverbial woman scorned.

#succession fic writers are some of the insanest most talented ppl on the planet #when i was going through my bookmarks last night i was like. for the amount of kenstewy fics on ao3 (about 400?) ive bookmarked / kudos #about 1/4 of them.#which is a lot for someone as picky as i am #also… ive written a bit of kenstewy my ao3 is linked in pinned post :)#kenstewy #succession #fic recs

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a-little-nerdy-dude-with-wings · 6 months

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Now that it's complete, thought I'd share my fic 'Lost Dog' one last time.

Gerri, Kendall, Shiv and Connor realise that Roman is missing from the funeral and find a nearly dead Roman at the protests. Gerri refuses to leave his hospital bed, realising that her feelings for Roman were more intense than she thought, whilst the siblings deal with the fallout of Roman’s breakdown and the upcoming sale to Gojo.

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wambsgansshoelaces · 5 months

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Something Sweet; Chapter 3

Kendall Roy x Reader

a/n: read the prologue here, chapter 1 here, and chapter 2 here! as per, please enjoy and leave your thoughts x

anyone sick of this picture of jermey strong yet? i’m not

Word Count: 2,203

Over the next week, Kendall drops by the bakery every day. He comes in, heckles you while you work, and then makes you take a break to give you lunch. You don’t know why he brings you food- he’s literally visiting you at YOUR bakery -but he does.

Every Sunday, you’re closed- it’s the only day you can get away with taking off. Even though you’re not open, you’re working anyway, doing a run through of the menu that Marcia sent over.

Groggy and mad at yourself for getting up so early, you sit in the walk in freezer for a moment before getting started. Marcia’s requested all sorts of things- tarts, cheesecakes, pies, cookies, brownies. It’s a ridiculous amount for you to make yourself, but you’ve done more in less time.

As you’re whisking together a batter for a carrot cake, your phone rings. You wipe your hand on your apron and pick up the call.

“Open the door,” Kendall says flatly.

“What happened to ‘Hello, Y/N, how are you’?” You go back to whisking.

“Hello, Y/N, I know you’re having a fantastic time in there. Now let me in, please.”

“We’re closed. Sorry, you’ll have to come back later.”

“Are you always cranky in the morning?”

“Just this one.”

“I have to go to work soon. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“Hold on.” You hang up on him then make your way to the front to let him in.

“Thanks.” Kendall’s nose is tinted pink from the cold. “What’re you covered in flour for?”

“Carrot cake.”

“How’d you get it on your face?”

“Who’s the professional baker here, me or you?” He follows you back to your workspace and doesn’t respond. “I thought so.” You spray the pan you plan on using with oil and look at him over your shoulder. “Not that I don’t love your company, but why are you here so early?”

“Do I have to have a reason?”

You snort.

“I wanted to ask if I could help with anything,” he amends, adjusting his scarf. “Can I? Later?”

Kendall watches as you pour the batter into the pan. “You? Do work in a kitchen?” you tease.

“I want to help.”

“I’m going to be doing this all day, so probably. You’ll be on oven duty. I’m paranoid of burning myself.”

“Promise to let me in next time? Before I get hypothermia, preferably?”

And you do. He comes back at 5:30 with two paper cups of hot chocolate.

“Kendall, do you just forget that I own a bakery?”

“I like bringing you things.”

You take the cup and take a sip. “Well, don’t stop.” You drag the back of your hand over your eyes. “There’s a tray of cookies and a pie crust baking. We can start on a cake together.”

“Y/N, you should take a break.” He watches as you repeatedly try to untie your apron and fail. “How long have you been doing this for?” He approaches you absentmindedly, single-handedly untying the knot that kept your apron up and pulled it over your head.

“Since you left this morning.” You sigh. You knew you weren’t pacing yourself correctly, or at all, really. But this was important to you.

After shucking off his coat and dropping his scarf on a table somewhere, Kendall returns with a barstool and sets it by your counter in the back. “Sit.”

You clutch your apron in your hand. “But I still-”

“I’ll do it. Sit down, please. You’re stressing yourself out.”

Sighing, you drop yourself into the stool. Kendall gives you a hesitant pat on the shoulder before the oven timer goes off.

“Don’t you dare,” is all he says before finding a stray towel to take out what’s in the oven and set them on the counter to cool.

“Wanna try a cookie?” you ask him, gesturing to the tray. “They’re always better hot.”

Before he does, he drags another stool up next to yours and hands you a cookie. He sits down with one of his own held in a napkin. “Cheers.”

Out of all the sweets you bake, cookies are both the easiest and one of your comforts. This batch is no different. The chocolate melts on your tongue, and the cookie itself is soft and sweet and you wonder why you don’t make these for yourself every day.

“Y/N, you’re going to make me fat.” Kendall all but inhaled his cookie. “You’re fucking amazing.”

You give a little smile, feeling your face heat. “That means a lot to me.”

He gives your knee a nudge. “What’re you doing here in New York? Why aren’t you in France or some other Michelin country?”

You shrug. You don’t really know, yourself. “I dunno. I guess I don’t really like the idea of being a private chef or some jackass in a restaurant that serves dollops of cream and calls it classy.” You meet his gaze. “I like the idea that good food brings good times, so that’s what I try to do. For everyone. Besides, I have the most control over my life if I own my own shit and don’t have to work and break my back for some creep fifty years out of culinary school.”

“That’s noble. Much better than what I do, anyway.”

“What do you do? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t really want to know.”

Kendal scoffs. “I don’t really think I know what I do, either.”

“Well, do you like it?”

“Not really.”

“Then why do it?”

He abruptly stands. “What was that you were saying about cake?”

You frown, miffed at the obvious pivot in conversation, but you decide not to say anything. You clearly hit a nerve.

“Would you mind getting a fresh bag of sugar from the pantry?”

He obeys, setting it next to you on the counter. You toss him a spare apron, hooking yours over your head. “Wouldn’t want your fancy clothes to get dirty.”

“Do I have to?”

“You’re not going to die, Kendall. The paparazzi isn’t secretly in the oven hood waiting for you to look like a blue-collar man.” You tuck a clean towel into the waistband of your pants, letting one end hang out.

After you both wash your hands, you find a bowl to mix your dry ingredients in and hand it to Kendall. “The ingredient measurements are on a sticky note on the cabinet above your head,” you tell him, pulling out another bowl for wet ingredients.

“What’s a ‘wee bit of salt’ supposed to mean?”

“I didn’t think it could get simpler than that.”

“Y/N, how the fuck do you make anything edible like this?”

“Just listen to the sticky note, Kendall.” You crack a few eggs into your bowl, throwing him a glare. “Baking is about heart, not numbers.”

“Cheesy,” he mutters.

“You’re in my kitchen, Kendall. Have some respect,” you tease.

“I will if this thing doesn’t end up hot garbage.” He slowly fills the dry bowl, making sure to follow the instructions scrawled on one of the many sticky notes you pasted on the row of cabinets above you.

“You don’t have faith in me?”

“I have faith in you, not me, and last time I checked, this was a team thing.”

You whisk together the eggs and the buttermilk, oil, and vanilla you added while Kendall was whining.

“You’re good at this. This is like your sixth sense- it’s your thing. I feel like I’m making a bomb.”

You roll your eyes. “Quit being a drama queen and dump your bowl into mine. You get to whisk while I find something to make frosting with.”

“How benevolent of you, Your Majesty,” he says flatly. “Do we need to take a trip to the store?”

“No, it’s fine. We can just use bought frosting. I’m too lazy.”

You toss him a whisk, and he fumbles before sloppily catching it. “Don’t standalone mixers exist now? Or are we living in the twentieth century?”

“What fun would it be if I didn’t make you put elbow grease into it?”

Once the cake is out of the oven and you’ve lathered it in frosting, you scoop out more premade frosting in a different color into a piping bag. “This is the fun part,” you tell Kendall.

“Maybe you should do it, then.”

“No, you have to! It’s your first cake.”

“Um, if I have to.” He takes the piping bag from you. “What do I…?”

“Do whatever feels right. It doesn’t have to be fancy or anything. This cake’s for us.”

“Okay. Don’t look.” Kendall stares at you until you’ve averted your eyes. You look at him instead. He’s gripping the bag way too hard, his knuckles turning white. His tongue pokes out of his mouth, his focus unwavering. “Quit staring,” is all he says for several moments.

You snort, lean back against the counter, and stare down at your feet. A few more moments pass, and he sets down the bag and stares at the cake for a moment.

“I don’t think I want you to look.”

“What? Why not?” You begin to turn, but he gently nudges you aside so that he’s in between you and the cake. “Kendall!”

“Okay. Listen.” He looks up at you. “I don’t actually think your head is that big. I just ran out of space.”

When he doesn’t move, you brace your hands against his torso and rise onto your toes to peek over his shoulder. Once you catch a glimpse of the cake, you burst into laughter.

“Y/N!”

“It’s beautiful!”

It’s a stick-figure drawing of the two of you. Your head is lumpy and misshapen, neither of you have hair, and Kendall’s cross eyed. The frosting came out inconsistently, some lines thicker than others because of his death grip on the piping bag.

You nudge him aside and use your phone to take a picture of his work of art.

“Let’s not talk about this again, okay?”

“I think it’s great. Should be in the Louvre.”

You’re both standing with your sides flush against each other, making it easy for him to bump your shoulder with his. “I look like I eat glue.” He gestures towards frosting-Kendall.

“At least you don’t look like your brain is about to leak out of your ear.”

You both laugh loudly, the noise echoing through the kitchen. It’s a few hours after dark, and your eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of their sockets.

Kendall helps you put the various assortment of sweets you’d made during the day into the freezer so you can reheat them and sell them tomorrow.

Somehow, you both end up sitting on the floor talking about nothing and everything. Conversation goes from whether you’re both cat or dog people to a game of never have I ever. You sit there for a couple of hours, until Kendall glances at his watch and quietly says that he should go.

He helps you to your feet, taking both of your hands. “My place next time, since I wrecked yours?” he asks, gesturing around you at the kitchen. “I have a bunch of old movies on CD. I’ve been meaning to take a day off, and… it’d be nice if you were there.”

“Tell me when you get that day off.”

You smile up at him, and he just stares straight back at you, a tired longing etching the lines of his eyes.

He leans down towards you, stopping when your lips are barely touching. You don’t move, hoping he does something. Anything.

Instead of bridging the gap between your mouths, he pulls away and disappears into the dark street, calling a soft ‘goodbye’ over his shoulder.

You stand there, dumbfounded. He clearly likes you, you think, but there are some moments you share with him that make you think the opposite.

You think back to when you kissed him on your porch. That’s all it was, really- you awkwardly pecking him on the lips while he stood there ramrod straight- then leaving.

Those couple of moments give you a queasy feeling.

You decide to stuff it away and instead shut down all the machinery and lights in your bakery. Kendall, at some point during your conversation on the floor, had insisted he cleaned while you sat there and continued to speak to each other. You could just go straight to bed after your nightly routine.

As you’re brushing your teeth, your phone pings with a message. It’s Marcia. You’d given her your number before leaving that day.

Y/N,

I hope all preparations for Christmas are going according to plan. I’d like to invite you to tea a few days from now. Please, allow me to treat you for your hard work.

Regards,

Marcia

You stare at the screen. Inviting the pastry chef to tea? Was this normal in the upper tax brackets? You wouldn’t know- you’d never been a millionaire before.

It made sense that she sent text messages like they were emails, though.

You send her a polite text message back, accepting and thanking her for the invitation.

No matter how much you try to convince yourself that Marcia is just a kind employer, you just won’t stop worrying that she’s not.

#succession #kendall roy #succession hbo #succession fic #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy x you #succession x reader #succession fic writer #wambsgansshoelaces #something sweet

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teamkenbaby · 1 year

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update to my previous post: a little over 24hr post kenstewy hug and there are many more fics.

kenstewy nation: we are being fed. thank you fanfic writers for your service

#succession #succession hbo #succession season four #succession spoilers #kendall roy #kenstewy #stewy hosseini #thank you fic writers #kenstewy brainrot

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willthelies · 1 month

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Updated Intro and Fics

If you've wondered what you can do to demand a ceasefire in Gaza, I have links you can use to contact your representatives in Congress, British Parliament, Canada's Parliament and Australia's Parliament, plus links for upcoming UK and US protests, boycott targets and many more ways to help.

Byler and Hilson writer on AO3, 20s, focusing mostly on my own and others' fan works on this blog, as well as Snoopy when he's evil.

My most popular and most complete fic so far is Critique Week. Mike and Jonathan both visit Will at art school in Chicago, Byler ensues, I don't really have a better summary than that.

Fics I'm currently working on:

Exactly who I'm supposed to be: birthdaygate fic, Will tells a lie for each letter of the alphabet and discovers shrooms as the Party prepares to take on Vecna. About halfway done with this one now! Fic playlist here.

Demodog Store: bywheelclair Unicorn Store AU. After Will drops out of art school, he reconnects with friends he hasn't seen since junior high-and desires he'd thought were buried in his past. Will Byers fancast with Reese Gonzales in this fic.

Like the seed pods of a dandelion is the latest installment in my byler Parasite AU. The Byers brothers insinuate themselves into the lives and home of a wealthy family. First chapter out now.

Nobody is ever missing: Succession crossover where lesbyler reconnect through the Pierce and Roy families. Willa Ferreyra=Willa Byers in this fic.

The Brotherhood of the Traveling Pants: Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will pass around a magical pair of pants in the summer of 1986. Will Byers=the Greek goddess Artemis in this fic. My latest chapter sees the culmination of Dustin's plot at the Creel Harrington House.

My one Hilson fanfiction right now is Vampires Within, a Hilson vampire blizzard fic that's also an AU of Werewolves Within (2021).

#JUST UPDATED HALF MY FICS YAY!#seasonal affective writer's block officially ended #ao3 writer #resources #hilson fanfiction #byler fanfiction #lesbyler fanfiction #bywheelclair fanfiction #succession fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #house md fanfiction

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blorbocedes · 2 years

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am I a galex writer now. am I someone who writes galex for fun now. what is this. this came to me fully formed, much like Athena's birth after Zeus. inspired by conversations with @boxboxlewis

Alex smells good. Alex always smells so good. It's like, floral and sweet, like jasmine scented and then as George kisses the side of his jaw, the crook of his neck, the musk of skin and salt that's just Alex underneath it all.

They'd sat down on the couch to watch Netflix because George pays for the subscription to watch The Crown, and he had googled multiple times that he knew what that entailed. It was very date night of them, not that they did date night.

His other hand drops to Alex’s crotch, over his jeans. He's not hard yet, but George can fix that in a matter of minutes.

Alex shifts, taking the ministrations George was putting on his neck patiently before gingerly pushing him off.

“Let’s just watch something, yeah?” Alex asks, pointing at the telly that wasn't even on.

Oh. Of course. George had gotten overly excited. They're supposed to wait until the Netflix movie meanders off into mediocrity and boredom before they can start getting hot and heavy. There's rituals to this, the articles had varied on when to start the chilling part of Netflix and chill, some stating the movie was not necessary at all but clearly George has found the grave error of his ways. He turns on the first movie that's recommended, it is completely cliched and played over; but Alex seems enraptured.

They end up finishing the whole movie.

They don't have sex.

Alex sees other people. George is strictly monogamous, not that Alex is aware. They've never talked about not seeing other people. It works for them, if George accepts it, and he’ll accept Alex in whatever form he comes. If George doesn't think about it, it honestly doesn't even bother him that much. George just has to be better than everyone else so that once Alex has had his fill of the world, he’ll come back to George. It's a doable goal.

Alex and George grab dinner outside, after work. It's a cozy sort of restaurant, dimly lit warm lighting with greasy food and free flowing alcohol.

Well, it's actually a pub.

But they serve a mean spaghetti carbonara. They talk about the work day, down a few pints, Alex touches his shoulder twice while laughing and it makes George feel warm inside – like he scored a point on an imaginary scoresheet he keeps track of.

Their knees are touching, in the uncomfortable stools by the counter but it is also dark enough and hidden in the shadows that George feels emboldened enough to put a hand of Alex’s thigh, over the thin polyester material. He spreads his fingers, trying to take as much space as his spidery hands allow, lay a claim he doesn't have.

“D’you wanna head back to my place?” George tries to ask casually, but can't keep the heat out of his voice. Or the hope.

Alex looks at him, considering, and for a second George thinks he’ll say yes. “It's just – I've had a long day.” Alex grimaces, scratching his neck he does when he's uncomfortable.

George removes his hand to hold his empty pint glass, trying to outtalk the sting of rejection, casually and smoothly.

“No worries, mate, honestly. I get it. Long. Long days. And also work. Yeah. Everyone hates work. Ugh, what a bummer, right? That ol’ nine to fiver.”

George has this part memorized. Alex’s grip on his hair gets a little too tight, his voice hitches, sometimes if he's very lucky there's a quiet ‘Georgie’, but his hips jerk, hits George in the back of his throat – who has a gag reflex but forces himself to hold down as Alex finishes inside his mouth. It's like solid, tangible proof that he's doing it right. George swallows dutifully, as recommended by Comsopolitan’s 69 Sex Tips On How To Keep Your Man. #57 If you spit, you might as well quit.

George keeps a water bottle beside because Alex doesn't like kissing the taste of himself. He gets it, it's gross in theory. He doesn't actually get it, he likes the taste of Alex in his mouth, but he can understand theoretically why someone could be opposed. He gargles the taste, it's not very sexy but it is efficient and allows him to catch his breath.

Alex, completely spent, lies down on his back and George can see the swell of his chest up and down. The small tattoo on his hip of a flower, that George covers with his hand every time. The warmth of his skin, how pale and undeserving George’s pasty hands look in stark comparison. Alex is like his dream boy. George climbs on top of him and kisses the corner of his mouth. Alex groans, still overstimulated.

“Shh. You don't have to do anything. Can I just — can I look at you?” George asks hoarsely, he's been hard since before he's had Alex in his mouth, it's like a Pavlovian response at this point.

Alex nods in a ‘have at it’ sort of way, and George jerks off just staring at Alex under him, who has his eyes closed. Just him. Just his.

Alex doesn't reach out to help, but George is so strung up he barely needs it, before he's spilling over his own hand. Before he can wipe it against his shirt, a drop or two land on Alex’s chest, over the smooth expanse of his sternum, and in one swift movement George instead of wiping it away, licks it away clean.

“Sorry.” No goodnight kisses then.

“S’ fine. Close the door on your way out.” Alex mumbles sleepily.

Alex is kissing him, Alex is kissing him and this is all George wants. His skin feels like it's on fire where he's being touched, where Alex’s hand is on his neck, and it is embarassing to sport a semi from just a few minutes of kissing but he is, he is hard. His eyes are closed but he's imagining Alex is looking at him with dark eyes, like he's worth something.

“Eager, isn't he?” A distinctly female voice asks, breaking George’s immersion that it's just them.

“Yeah. Always.” George can hear the laugh in Alex’s voice. And the illusion shatters completely.

All the fond gazes and little inside jokes and the fact that Alex doesn't even touch George unless his girlfriend is down for a threesome, that when confronted with Lily being right there George can't pretend that Alex is his, that this is anything more than a pity fuck. George stares at the paused Netflix movie screen and he feels so, so far away, wedged between Alex and Lily while he's the only one shirtless, disheveled, always wanting too much.

Alex smells like jasmine because of Lily’s perfume. He imagines Alex going down on her and it's too much, and kissing her afterwards. It hurts in the way things he can't have hurts; the emptiness of longing.

“I’m – I’m sorry. I can't do this.” George shakes, getting out of Alex’s wonderful wonderful hands and collecting his shirt from the ground.

With his dignity and rapid shrinking half hard dick, George leaves, and unsuccessfully tries to hail a taxi – which doesn't stop -- thinking him to be some sort of pervert.

#galex #f1 rpf #my fics #exquisite george suffering #lie back and think of England baby #please tell me if you like it 🥺👉👈#I'm not a galexer so everything is stolen from better writers #what if George was actually Tom from succession #the flower tattoo... is of a lily

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