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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

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Clandestine. Part Two.

The affair was always a ticking time bomb. No one could have predicted how big the explosion would be.

Part One. Part Three.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Roy Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. so much angst. sorry not sorry <3

Word Count - 1.7k

Author's Note - thank you thank you thank you for all of the love on clandestine!! it makes me so happy that so many people love reading stewy fics, because there is a criminal lack of them on here. i am more than happy to provide <3 as always, feedback and reblogs are massively appreciated !!

Series Masterlist.

Masterlist. Requests.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your eyes blink open, sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. You’re resting comfortably on Stewy’s chest, both of his strong arms wrapped around you. You yawn sleepily, wondering what’s awoken you.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Oh. That. You check the clock on the nightstand, realising that it’s only 7am. On a Saturday. Who’s knocking on the door at 7am on a Saturday morning?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Fuck, is the noise getting louder? You nudge Stewy carefully, waking him.

“There’s someone banging on your door,” you whisper.

He groans and untangles his legs from yours. He throws on a pair of boxers, and moves to investigate the source of the knocking. You listen intently, curious to know who’s trying to gain Stewy’s attention so determinedly.

The door swings open.

“Ken?” Stewy questions, and you can almost hear the fear in his voice.

“Hey, man. Where the fuck is my sister?”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're half awake and disorientated. Stewy got up to find out who was at the door 10 minutes ago, and frankly, you're getting worried. Against your better judgement, you throw on his shirt from the night before and make your way out of the bedroom.

You enter the living room to be met face to face with Kendall. Shit.

You briefly wonder if you can play it off, fabricate a story, tell him it's not what it looks like!

Apart from, it's exactly what it looks like.

Someone from Kendall's team saw you and Stewy leave the gala together. And now you're here, in his living room, wearing nothing but his shirt. And your shoes are by the front door. And there's a wine glass with your lipstick print on it abandoned on the counter.

There's no getting out of this one.

Stewy wants to scream, yell at you to go back to his room. He wants to pick you up and throw you out of sight, praying Kendall hasn't noticed all the tell tale signs. But it's too late. He has.

"Okay. Uh - what the fuck is going on?"

Kendall asks the question while looking between the two of you like some sort of cartoon character doing a double take. It doesn't require a genius to figure it out, but Kendall needs to hear one of you say it out loud.

"Listen, Ken-"

"Ken, don't get mad-"

You both speak at the same time, verbally tripping over each other. You've never actually discussed what you'd do or say if you got found out. You both just always naively assumed it wouldn't happen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, and look at your brother earnestly.

"Ken, I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. It isn't fair. But you can't get mad when I tell you the truth."

"I'll be the judge of that," he mutters sassily. You decide the backtalk is a result of his confusion, and give him a pass.

"Will you come and sit with me, please? The standing is making me nervous. I feel like I'm on trial."

"You might be. I haven't decided yet."

You can't tell if he's joking. He's certainly not smiling.

Kendall moves to sit down next you. Stewy follows, perching himself on the opposite end to give you space. Close enough if you need him, far enough that it won't upset your brother more.

"Start talking," he commands, still confused.

"It's... well I - we - me and Stewy, we're -"

"Together," Stewy finishes for you. Kendall glares at him, and he decides he'll keep his mouth shut for a while.

"Yeah, we're together," you continue. "We have been for over a year. It isn't just sex, or anything. I'm in love with him."

It's weird to finally bear this truth after keeping it a secret for so long. It feels wrong, but also refreshing - like a bitter lemon on a hot day.

Kendall is scarily silent.

"You're... kidding, right?" he asks, finally breaking through the quiet.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" you question, anger bubbling up. "It's my life, Kendall. It actually doesn't matter who I date. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't make a difference."

He looks at you incredulously.

"You're so fuckin' naive. How can you sit here and tell me this doesn't change anything?"

You go to speak, but he continues.

"You lied to me, first off. Both of you. For God knows how long-"

"Kendall-"

"Let me fucking finish."

You shrink back into the couch, willing it to swallow you.

"You both lied to me. You broke my trust... and uh, that fucking hurts, actually. And then there's the business side of things. You work for Waystar. Stewy is a board member. That's a conflict of interest."

You scoff at him, but then realise he's deadly serious.

"... A conflict of interest?"

"It's against company policy. How am I going to trust you? How is anyone? Information might get leaked. What if I tell you something, and then you tell Stewy? And he tells Sandy and Sandi, and then the Pierces, and all of a sudden nothing is private anymore. I. Can't. Trust. You."

Tears are welling up in your eyes quicker than you can control. You're trying to take deep breaths, begging yourself not to cry in front of Kendall.

"You're breaking my fucking heart, Ken," you whisper.

"Yeah? Well I walked in here this morning, and you broke mine first."

A choked sob escapes you, and the floodgates open. Fresh, hot tears sprint down your cheeks, landing in your lap. Stewy can't stand to sit and watch any longer.

"Okay, man, that's enough. This isn't fair."

"What's not fair is the two people I trust the most both lying to my face for a year. That's what isn't fucking fair."

With that, Kendall stands up and strides towards the front door, slamming it behind him as he leaves. The minute he's gone, Stewy is wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"It's okay, baby," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "He'll come around. We'll be okay. If we stick together, we'll be okay."

His reassurances are only making you cry harder, sobs escaping you uncontrollably. You eventually exhaust yourself, falling into a restless sleep in Stewy's arms on the couch.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You wake up in bed. You've temporarily forgotten the events of the morning, before it all comes crashing back down around you suddenly. Distantly, you can hear Stewy in the kitchen, talking on the phone. You look around the room, and know what you have to do.

You leave the bedroom with a bag in hand, throwing it onto the ground as you grab your shoes. Stewy clocks you, and hangs up the phone.

"Can I call you back? Thanks, man. I'll see you tomorrow."

He runs over to where you're slipping your heels on, precariously balanced against the side of the couch.

"Honey, where are you going?" he questions, panic washing over him at your frantic state. "Wait, have you packed a bag?"

He's trying to catch your eyes, but you keep looking away, desperate to avoid his unrelenting gaze.

"I'm going home."

A pause.

"... This is your home."

You knew he'd say that. It hurts just the same.

"No, Stewy, this is your home. My apartment is across town."

"You haven't been there in months. All your stuff is here. Baby, talk to me. What's going on? Did Kendall get in your head?"

"Kendall's right!" you shout, trying to pick up your bag. Stewy gets there first and grabs it, flinging it behind him, out of your reach.

"About what? He's just in shock, baby! He's confused and he feels betrayed. You don't owe him fuckin' anything. Not after everything that family has put you through."

"They're still my family. I can't lose my entire family, Stewy!"

"What kind of fucking family stab each other in the back? Lie to each other? Sell each other out for business? You're better off without them and you know it."

You know he's right. You're trying to convince yourself he isn't.

"You heard what he said! He won't trust me anymore. No one will. It's shitty, but my job is important to me. I can't be known as the Roy liability."

"Trust me, honey, you're the least likely to be named the Roy liability."

"That's not the point! You're not listening to me. I'm the youngest, I've had to fight for respect every fucking day of my life. I'm finally where I deserve to be. I can't throw it all away for... for love!"

Stewy flinches like you've punched him in the gut. He takes a step back and leans against the kitchen island, trying to keep his balance.

"What happened to 'you and me against the world', huh?" he murmurs.

"I think I got too wrapped up in this - in us. I was stupid to think it could work. We both were."

"I wasn't," he replies defiantly. "I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew it would be really fucking difficult and I loved you anyway."

Stewy swears his hard breaks so hard, the both of you hear it shatter. A silent tear rolls down his cheek, big brown eyes filled with sadness.

"I'm not sorry for loving you," you whisper. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but never for loving you."

"If you meant that, you wouldn't be giving up."

You duck your head, unable to look at him any longer.

"This isn't giving up. This is... quitting while we're ahead. If we keep going, we'll just end up having a huge, horrible, public breakup," you stop, and take a deep breath. "I think we were always doomed to fail."

Stewy thinks about the diamond ring that sits in a box in the top drawer of his nightstand. Doomed to fail.

You finally look up at him, and all the air leaves your lungs. You've never seen him look so defeated, so vulnerable. You're the cause of this. And you hate yourself for it.

You pad across the kitchen and pick up your bag from where he threw it, before stopping in front of him.

"I don't regret you, Stewy Hosseini. I never will."

With that, you stride out of the front door, closing it gently behind you. Stewy is left, cold and empty, in the apartment that no longer feels like home.

so... part 3??

Stewy Tag List -

@shawty-writes-a-little

@616wilsons

@justacaliforniandreamer

@isuspectitwasthenargles

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m0ssyjasp3r · 6 months

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this fits him so much

#hbo succession #succession #succession hbo #stewy succession #stewy hosseini #succession season four #omgomgomg #i love him #kendall roy #kenstewy #text post

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urban-10 · 2 months

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#kendall roy #roman roy #hbo succession #succession #tom wambsgans #tomgreg #greg hirsch #roman roy succession #suck session #kenstewy #stewy hosseini #stewy succession

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noelsghost · 11 months

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kenstewy. if u even care

#succession #kendall roy #stewy succession #stewy hosseini #kendall succession #kenstewy #succession hbo

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bowieandqueen11 · 11 months

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Stewy Hosseini Being Jealous Would Include...

Request: hiii could you do jealous stewy headcanons? i love your writing!!

Thank you so much, that’s very kind of you!! I’m so sorry if this is awful, I need to get used to writing for Stewy but he’s literally a bisexual icon I feel so seen, this gif literally altered my brain chemistry <3

Also I hope you don’t mind, I did this one as F!reader but I’m happy to write another one for any other gender as well!

Warning: strong language, mentions of drugs, and this one is quite NSFW guys, so 18+ please!

My god I don’t think I’ve written much NSFW in the last couple of years, so I’m pretty nervous!! This will probably be a rare occurrence, but I thought I’d do a special treat for Jealous!Stewy ;) I’m still genuinely so scared to post this lmao

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

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Jealousy is an emotion that doesn’t sit well with Stewy Hosseini. Not at all. I feel like Stewy isn’t the guy to play around once he has an actual, solid, going steady partner; he’s grown up as a big mama’s boy, and that’s kind of rubbed off on him - well, when he’s not out partying and doing drugs in the unsavoury bleak bathrooms of New York’s nightclubs, that is. As the relationship grows stronger and stronger, so too does Stewy become more and more possessive: to the point that backhand tactics such as trying to woo you over into whatever supposedly lucrative deal Waystar’s in the throw of at the moment feels incredibly personable.

What can I say? They know how to hit the man where it hurts. To pierce him, sliding that muddy knife in past the decorum, past the old-money mixed with new guise, past the Wall Street asshole façade, right into his soft heart. The Roys are toying with him: acting as if he’s going to chase that twenty four gold carrot on a string, and if he won’t, they’ll just find another way to coax him into the darkness.

He’s affronted. He’s annoyed. But Stewy has had many, many years to learn how to handle and best utilise fly-swatters. His parents raised him to be better - to be extraordinary, fearless, level headed, clear cut. This man does not show off his cards unless he has to, and although his heart is beating ferociously at the sight of you being swindled by another man, he keeps it firmly from slipping down to his sleeve.

He almost laughs out loud when he realises that it’s fucking Tom Wambsgams the siblings have sent over to woo you. Shiv must have been training him again from the way he watches, hawk-eyed, as Tom swings his arms by his sides and leans over onto the bar, blocking your view of the rest of the room. Training your eyes back to his beady eyes, letting out that whale of a laugh that nearly makes Stewy shudder into his cocktail.

It’s grating on him, the way he’s acting. And Stewy doesn’t appreciate the feeling.

He drops the empty glass of on some passing waiter’s empty tray, and then struts over to the encounter like a cocked peacock; he makes sure to straighten up his watch on the way over, to fix the lapels of his jacket so they were perfectly straight. He wanted to look immaculate before he walked onto the stage and joined the performance again. You glance up at him with a knowing grin as he walks over to stand just slightly behind your back. He winks at you for a second, teeth scraping against his bottom lip before he inclines his head and looks up at a nervous looking Tom. He places a hand firmly on the small of your back: it’s something he’s always done, at parties, conventions, meetings - anywhere the two of you are supposed to split up to both mingle and network. It’s just a small reassurance he started: he’s still here, always in the know, always knowing what’s going on, everything’s still good. He’s always got your back.

His fingers hitch slightly, catching in the back straps of your dress, and you can feel his nails scrape against your skin in an almost imperturbable fashion. But you notice how uncharacteristically stock still he’s standing from the corner of your eyes; his chin is tilted down at a furious angle, warning you of trouble to come. Wambsgams seems to get the message, his smiling stare dropping quickly into an almost aghast open mouth look of shock as he tries to recollect himself, not realising that Shiv had sent him packing into the fucking lion’s den.

You were Stewy’s S/o. You were Stewy’s fucking S/o, and everyone at the company knew that meant you were off limit. He chewed his bottom lip, trying to stop himself from looking panicked, but internally already getting ready to slam Cousin Greg against the wall for allowing himself to look like a complete fucking moron in front of like, thirty of the most important people in the whole entire world.

Stewy, as usual, just keeps his eyes centred squarely on him. He smiles, oozing charm: radiating appeal, magnetic in the uneasiness he draws in. His eyes never leave Tom’s as he presses a kiss against your hairline, obviously unimpressed by Tom’s attempts to encroach on what is his. What he tries, desperately hard, yet seemingly with so little effort at all, to keep separate from this fucking mess of a family. But you can tell, despite how much he’s trying to compartamentalise the feeling of jealousy and vexation that’s crawling along his skin, it’s eating away at him. Niggling under his skin. It makes you feel... it makes you feel astounded to realise you’re the only person able to sully his impeccable standing. The only person from his personal life, since Kendall disappointed him yet again, he’s allowed to encroach so intricately towards the walls he’s built around his working life. The only person in this room he would be frustrated if he disappointed. Probably the only person in this room who hasn’t disappointed him as well.

He wasn’t about to let that go so easily.

‘Wh-whoah! Hey man! Uh - didn’t mean to- to come raining on your parade, ha ha!’ He gives the two of you a tight lipped smile as he exhales, slowly trying to dispel the awkwardness of Stewy doing nothing but blinking at him by reaching hesitantly towards some of the nibbles lining the bar. He picks up one of the cocktail sticks: a melting lump of brie scattered with some chopped fig, and twirls it between his thumb and pointer finger.

Stewy just cloaks himself in that fake, eat-shit looking grin, and Tom’s eyes widen in obvious fear. You’re busy trying not to bust a gut from laughing as Tom throws a not very sly look behind his shoulder at Shiv, whose holding a champagne flute in one hand and bust talking to one of Nate’s work colleagues to really care. She just purses her lips and crosses her arm, waving one of her hands in his general direction, obvious distaste lining her features at the sweat beading on her husband’s forehead.

‘It’s okay, man’, Stewy finally chips in, putting the poor bastard out of his misery. ‘Don’t want you to choke on that canape though. You know’, he takes a step forward, leaning towards Tom ostentatiously, ‘I’ve heard that Logan’s started setting up cheese traps around the office to see how many rats come scurrying in for the kill.’

‘Ha ha! Good, good one, man! You got me, you little prick. You got me, that was so... so good.’ Tom’s pretending to laugh, but he dips his eyes and reaches up to loosen his collar at the same time. He’s starting to be unable to take the heat: to take Stewy’s scrutiny, his piercing, all-knowing gaze. It always amazes how quickly Stewy can manage to flip the tables back onto the Roys. You wince as Tom barks out another short chuckle, and you’re not the only one: Roman’s lounging on the back of a settee nearby, resting next to an oblivious Kendall who’s currently scrolling fervently through one of the news feeds on his phone. The two of them may have been obligated by daddy dearest to be here, but Roman was adamant he was going to add a spark of chaos to the stifling air.

‘Hey! Yeah, little bitty fucking titmouse!’, Roman yells over to Tom, who sighs heavily at the usual repeated annoyance. ‘If you take old Stewy boy over here into the toilets he’ll snort coke off your tits and the two of you can finally kissy kissy like you always dreamed.’

‘The bathroom’s currently occupied.’ It takes Stewy less than five seconds to respond, taking his hand off your back to cross them both professionally in front of his legs. ‘I believe I saw Gerri go in there a while ago with a very presentable looking young man.’ He doesn’t even look over at Roman as he guts him, choosing instead to drop his head down to yours and raise his eyebrows in a knowing look. He’s won this battle too.

Roman spills some of his beer as he darts his eyes up to the vaulted ceiling. He pretends to look around, before letting out an incredulous sounding hyena giggle. ‘Yep, well. Looks like pigs haven’t fucking learnt how to fly yet.’

‘I think, maybe’, Stewy points out towards the empty floor leading to the sliding balcony doors of Shiv’s apartment, ‘if you do a running start, you might be able to this time.’ He finally chooses to glance over at Roman with a level stare, and the younger siblings shrivels under its intensity.

Roman frowns, and in his scrabble down to sit back on his seat he spills even more drops of amber liquid over his hands; the feeling of something lukewarm hitting his brand new hand-sewn suit jacket is enough to finally rouse Kendall away from his phone. And let’s just say, when he sees Roman licking bits of alcohol off his fingers, and then follows the trail down to spot the wet patch on his own arm, he’s not very impressed. Thankfully, everyone being momentarily distracted by the head wrestling match that seems to be going on between the two brothers offers Tom enough of a distraction to slink off.

‘Yep... yep, it’s all good’, the words slide off Tom’s tongue as his eyes flicker anxiously between the two of you. ‘Okay. Well’, his voice rises, ‘I’ll just go see how the old Golden Girls brigade is doing over there.’ He juts his thumb over towards Karl and Frank, giving one last obnoxious laugh before he leaves, stage right. You watch him go; his head whips down as he passes by the chaise lounge, as if he’s swearing violently to himself.

Stewy rolls his eyes, before placing a stern hand comfortingly on your shoulder. He squeezes. ‘You alright baby?’ Once you give a nod of assurance, he rubs the bottom of his chin absently. His eyes seemed to glaze as he finished. ‘Good. Good. Come on love, we have work to do.’

At first you think he means the two of you have to go to some other clueless presidential candidate (if you had to hear Connor Roy talk one more time about his nuclear attack bunkered ranch you were going to explode), but you were surprised to feel Stewy’s arm wind tightly around your waist. You were locked against his swaying hip in a tight vice, and he smugly passed Shiv’s raised eyebrow with a faux blown kiss in her direction as he lead the two of you towards the elevators. He massages against your hip bone, not saying a word as the gold-crested doors closed and the two of you are alone. For a moment, as he looks nonchalantly around the small space, you’re worried some line has been crossed today. But then you feel his hand slide down... further... further, teasingly caressing the top of your thigh, and you thank god Cousin Greg didn’t try to escape into the elevator with the two of you. He smirks as he feels you flutter your legs shut next to him, but he’s quick to tut tut and grab onto the meat of your leg, pulling them apart again and making your shoes slide nosily across the metal floor.

His hand dips down to rest at the bottom curve of your buttocks as the door slides open, shoving his other into his trouser pocket as he leads you out towards the car. It’s a long drive to get back to your hotel room for the night, but as soon as the doors have closed and you’ve nearly run to the bedroom you don’t even have time to unstrap your heels before the man’s on you. He shoves you firmly down onto the bed: his face is straight, unreadable, but his mouth is lined in an almost too intense frown as he refuses to look at you. He just slowly loosens his tie, before throwing it onto the chair in the corner. The tension is palpable, but you don’t even dare to hitch your breath and break it, just crawling backwards and watching the man on your raised elbows. He languidly takes off his cufflinks, placing them neatly down on his chiffonier, double checking they’re perfectly straight. The smug bastard even leans down to check his beard in the mirror, tilting his head side to side before he finally, finally decides to wander unhurriedly over to the edge of the bed.

'You okay there baby', he asks, as if he doesn't know what he's doing.

'Yes, just - fuck Stewy. I need you. Now.'

He steals your breath before you even have time to think. He lunges, famished, and shoves your legs apart so you fall backwards onto the comforter with a satisfying thump. You can feel a knot tighten in the base of your stomach as he’s quick to fill the space left, biting at your ankles as he grabs onto the bottom of your legs and lifts them squarely over his shoulders. His hands are soft, so tender, yet they claw into your skin as he begins to knead the muscles of your calves; his lips are well versed in ravishing you, and so they know exactly where to bite onto the side of your knees and leave the most devastatingly beautiful teeth marks. He’s unstoppable as his mouth licks and latches and moves like smooth butter further and further down the inside seam of your right thigh. You yelp when you feel his other hand reach up to grab and squeeze onto your breast, running the gap between his thumb and pointer finger past your nipple.

Your hips buck up against him, but he’s quick to shut that down. He runs his hand down your side until his palm is placed flat against your belly button, holding you down against the warming sheets. He needs to be in control again.

His beard has that familiar scratch that you know is going to leave a burn tomorrow, but god, by the way his free hand unlatches from your ankle to the side of your hip, pushing at your waist until you’re lifted slightly up from the ground and he can slide his hand under to squeeze your buttocks, does it make it all worth it.

With your legs now straight up in the air, he tugs them closer around his head, as if daring you to move away from him again. You squirm, but happily oblige, enjoying the pressure of his lips nibbling against your panties as he rolls the bottom of your dress up your legs. He gently takes your clenched hands and places them on the bed either side of you, spread eagled without even lifting his head to look. He squeezes your fingers gently, before fisting your hands into the duvet. It’s a warning: a warning that this is going to be rough. That, as his nose presses into your groin and he props his knees up properly against the edge of the bedframe, that this may be so fervent, so passionate, so ferocious, that the bed might slam back into the wall so loudly it might shatter. That you might scream out his name so mewingly between the fingers he’s shoved into your mouth, that he may have to pay off the hotel clerks the next day for all the damages and disturbances caused during the night.

But by god, if it isn’t worth it. Because he loves you with everything he’s got. And gosh, if he isn’t going to show you tonight that all those fancy pants asshole he comes into contact with aren’t up to scratch. They’re not nearly on the same level as him.

He knows how it feels to lose: his family, they once lost everything, and built this life up again from the ashes. But tonight, he wins. He wins. As he hears you groan, he realises that he’s already won.

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nicolettemarionette · 10 months

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Business with Pleasure

Pairing: Kendall Roy x Reader x Stewy Hosseini Description: Stewy is preoccupied when Kendall comes to him with a pitch. You don't seem to mind the intrusion, though. Words: 1K Rating: SMUT (more under the cut)

Warnings: Cursing, drinking, implied drug use, smut, age gap, semi-public fondling, exhibition, teasing

A/N: A horny reimagining of S1E3 because I'm a slut for Kendall and Stewy ;)

Part 2 up now!

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It's a party; Kendall Roy had attended more parties than he could remember. From lavish galas filled with pissing contests of charitable donations, to tedious mixers spent appeasing disingenuous executives from billion dollar corporations, to ragers mixing copious amounts of recreational drugs and hard liquor. The gathering he finds himself at now resembles the latter - pharmaceutical helpers being handed around like party favours as soon as he steps onto the threshold.

He swallows down the itch to indulge, manoeuvring his way through the coked up crowd. A thick curtain separates him from a private room and the familiar laugh of an old friend. He's prepared, thoroughly confident in his approach as he pushes into the red-lit space.

Then he's unprepared for the sight of you; eyes half lidded, makeup smudged, lips swollen, hand gripping the older man's wrist, fingers hidden under a silky dress, hips rocking of their own accord. Kendall tears his eyes away, clearing his throat, "Stewy."

"Kendall," Stewy doesn't move his arm, despite your cheeks flushing at the intrusion. He merely raises his brows, "Kinda in the middle of something here."

"Yeah, well...we need to talk." It's curt and a clear indication for privacy, which Stewy wilfully ignores, his breath ghosting over your neck as he bends down to breathe in the familiar smell: a luxury fragrance he'd gifted you. Sweet, floral, delicate, just like you.

"Then talk."

Kendall frowns, then sighs exasperatedly, arms crossing over his chest as he looks everywhere but the lavish love seat you're sprawled across. "Okay, so you know how everyone kinda...hates you."

Stewy hums, "Uh huh. No, that's not something I'm aware of. Do you hate me, sweetheart?"

His fingers touch you again, lazily sliding over your pussy, grazing your clit, drawing a soft whimper from your lips. You shake your head pathetically in response to his question, though you're sure it's rhetorical. In reward he applies more pressure, a shit eating grin plastered to his face, corners of his eyes crinkling and the edges of his lips turned up; thoroughly amused as he watches Kendall's gaze going up and down your body so quickly he would've missed it if he hadn't been directly looking at him.

His friend swallows thickly, then states, as loudly and clearly as he can, "Well, people do, hate you. Private equity, getting their meat hooks in, chiselling your profit like uh, like a vampire locust fuck."

"What is this? Is this a roast cos...if you haven't noticed I kinda have shit to do." Stewy punctuates the sentence by dipping his fingers lower, groaning at how easily they slip into your entrance. He always knew you weren't as innocent as you feigned - from the auspicious smile you'd given him the first time he took you, in the restroom at some pompous art exhibition, and now this. He's embarrassingly hard.

The tension in the air is thick and hazy, hanging over you, heat blooming in your stomach with every deliberate stroke of Stewy's fingers against your walls, the man watching only adding to the searing desire. Kendall Roy is an easily recognisable man. You chance a look at him: tall, impeccably dressed, strikingly handsome, far older than you.

Dark eyes meet your own, momentarily, a certain hunger within them, teeth digging into his lips, "Right, well, I'll cut to the chase."

"Okay."

"How about instead of taking us over, you give us four billion dollars; I stay boss, you stop raiding shitty companies for scraps, you invest for once in a blue collar corporation that's currently..."

He trails off at the sight of Stewy's fingers pushing into your mouth. The way your lips close around them, suck them, Kendall definitely isn't imagining your tongue swirling around them. And he's definitely not picturing those lips wrapped around his cock.

His oldest friend gives him a knowing look, waiting for him to elaborate, which he does, stammering out the rest of his pitch, "Yeah, right. You know, it's currently undervalued by some unfounded concerns about its leadership, i.e: the 'Lord Fuckleroy' here. But, you invest, the story twists, happy ending for all."

Stewy pulls his fingers from your mouth, trailing them down the valley of your breasts, brushing over your pebbled nipples, before ghosting over your thighs, toying with the fabric of your shift. "Obviously, I don't usually take minority stake in a company."

"Yeah obviously, because you're..." Kendall starts, then sighs. It's becoming increasingly hard for him to focus when Stewy's edging closer to your core again, the way your breath hitches telling him he's reached his target again. He folds his arms, "How about for once, you make things bigger? You know, with your old pal?"

Stewy suddenly plunges his fingers deeper than before, curling them and you can't help the needy cry that leaves your lips. He outright laughs, the sound dark and gruff as he shrugs to his 'old pal', "Bro, I can't even begin to think about this. But if I could, to sell it, I'd need boning stock."

"As long as we remain in control."

"Well," Stewy pauses when your hand finds purchase in the expensive fabric of his suit pants, self-restraint wearing thin, his hips chasing your touch, thrusting his fingers harder into you. "Effective control, okay. I'm also gonna need a board seat."

Despite Kendall's attempts to ignore the situation, the nervous rubbing of his neck gives away his discomposure. Still, his voice is strong, "Oh I'd force it on you, dude, for the optics. Shit hot CEO has some hot shit new money for investment. Yeah?"

"I'm not necessarily totally opposed to this notion."

"That's right, and luckily I speak Stewy. And that's Stewy for 'I've got a raging hard on for this." The moment the words leave his mouth he sees a barely suppressed bearded grin.

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle a fucking minority," Stewy gestures to the sizeable tent pitching in the CEO's pants, brows raising comically.

Kendall grimaces, adjusting his stance, "Oh, uh, sorry. But we're good, right?"

Stewy moves his fingers quicker, focusing on that spongy spot inside that has your face contorting with pleasure, pushing you towards orgasm and then his hand returns from your sticky thighs to pick up his glass. He raises it, "Yeah, we're good."

He rolls his eyes when you whine at the loss of contact, frustrated with his teasing. He takes a long sip of the bitter liquor, then before Kendall turns his back, adds, "But, just a thought. Why don't you...hang back for a bit? Celebrate?"

The insinuation clouds the air and before Kendall can even answer, he's being cut off, "I don't think-"

"What do you think, sweetheart?" His pet name has you in the palm of his hand, half smile on his face. "You want Ken to fuck you?"

You look nervous for a moment, but it quickly fades with the offer of being shared between two of the most powerful men in the city, "If...if he does."

"She's been practically soaked since you walked in. And you and Rava are done, right?"

"We're..." Kendall thinks back to the hurtful words exchanged, the emptiness of his bed. It's been weeks without contact, his sex drive through the wall. "We're separated, yes."

"And the banks not fucking you anymore, so how about you do some fucking of your own," as if he needs anymore convincing, Stewy's fingers are teasingly pulling the thin straps holding up your breasts. "Come on, it'll be just like old times."

Kendall tilts his head, looking past his friend to search your face for a moment, wondering if you're lust drunk or just fucking wasted. Then, he decides he doesn't really care. "Fuck it, yeah."

✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦

A/N: This is my first time writing in a while and this is quite short and probably riddled with mustakes buttttt would totally be up for a part 2 if people want it. Any feedback is much appreciated :)

#succession #succession hbo #kendall roy #roman roy #stewy hosseini #succession smut #kendall roy smut #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy imagine #kendall roy x you #stewy hosseini smut #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini imagine #stewy hosseini x you #kendall roy x stewy hosseini x reader #kendall x stewy #stewy succession #kendall succession

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bettercallwexler · 1 year

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this is stewy and his cat pishi…. if you even care (cc: @doodoocumfart)

#stewy hosseini #stewy succession #kenstewy #kendall x stewy

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doodoocumfart · 2 years

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Like fear, come to my life.

I’ll come like blood in your veins.

Come with me.

#stewy succession #stewy hosseini #kendall roy #kendall x stewy #kenstewy #succession fanart #succession #succession hbo #Kendall Roy fanart #Stewy Hosseini fanart

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inknopewetrust · 11 months

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𝐔𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐝 [𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮]

summary: grief puts those in its grasp in precarious positions: those of loyalty, and those of spite and those with love, well, they flounder amongst the hurt. [WC: 1.8k]

pairing: stewy hosseini x fem!roy!reader

warnings: angst, exes to lovers (potentially!), language, vignette on grief and love lost.

quick links: masterlist [a/n: possibly part I of a small vignette series of stewy and fem!roy reader. thoughts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!)

Entombed in marble, the note reverberated throughout the church in poetry.

The scaffolding of grief had been built. Sitting in rows for as far as the eye could see, a family rested scorched amidst the sorrow.

You felt like a stranger in the room.

The suddenness of pain revels in the commonality it inflicts. A sweeping, precipitous moment of immense breadth swallowing the weak for what they are: people.

And the people inside that room—ornately defined by cultures and individuals who gave so much to a city where one human can overtake and limit their worth— were flooded by an insurmountable loss that could only be explained by the static of a draining phone and the choppy voice of your sister’s estranged husband.

Those two words, simple, rolling off his tongue with difficulty and a wish that the call would drop and everything would go back to the way it was before he walked away.

“He’s gone.”

The tone in his voice had remained buried in the darkest parts of your mind. You felt as though you could hear it clearly as the small conversations of visitation began to settle and you couldn’t bear to look at the center of the alter.

The sudden ringing in your ears suffused every sense you were able to muster in that moment.

But your ears rung. Manicured hands began to shake and tempted you to stand and run away because grief worked in silly circles. The disbelief that something could occur so quickly, the naivety of realizing that the world was suddenly different than the one that existed before, and the pain of faltering to the idea that even if he was Satan, he was still your father and grief felt indebted to it.

It was lonely, grief.

Even while hundreds of people spoke of their condolences, loneliness of death weaved itself into your bones and pulled you underneath the surface where bubbles of hope had long ceased. Everyone from Gerri to Colin to Frank to Karl, each face with the same look staring into your eyes with a pity you asked not for but knew belonged in your heart all the same meant little when the world felt tipped on its axis.

And for the cruelty of the man, it was difficult to understand.

Kendall was holding his life together by a thin and shallow thread and remained so as the priest wallowed on about the supposed amazing man Logan Roy was.

But even with an estranged family, Kendall was never as lonely as he appeared to be. He wasn’t like you. You, left alone to fiddle with your hands as Shiv sat without Tom and Roman sat beside Conner and Willa. The paper between your fingers became crinkled—the only partner you had in a moment like this.

And how you wished it wasn’t the case. You wished you weren’t some lonely pretender who sat sorrowful at a wretched man’s funeral but there you were... strangely obliterated by the idea that life can turn in an instant and the Aeneas of an institution can vanish without so much as a goodbye.

It felt comical and tragic at the same time—the poets of civilizations past would be aching to tell a story such as that.

And Kendall had reiterated such on that fateful day on the yacht because those who would write biographies were watching. Those who would ultimately shake their heads and scoff at the compounding confusion of losing a belligerent soul and making it appear as though a Saint had passed.

Whatever was to be done in the moments following the death of the patriarch, history would be watching. As much as you hated the idea of history looming over the raincloud high above you, he was right. The institution built by Logan Roy did not need to be littered with the historical fact of the middle, forgotten child losing their sanity at his funeral due to loneliness that had, in truth, nothing to do with Logan dying but the unity death brought with it.

However, you could argue, Logan was the crux of that loneliness. He had fostered it, just as well as your mother had when she left the four of you to fend for yourself against the vultures. Now Conner, Kendall, Roman, and Shiv all bask in that same attitude as if was normal to be a carbon copy of the most antithetical person to ever exist.

You hated that being in the room; sharing the same last name, and sitting beside them meant you were likely no different.

And that is why you could never have what the world granted everyone else: happiness.

Loneliness was the path of salvation for those with the last name of Roy. Happiness, or love, whichever one truly came from the actions that preceded it had become foreign for decades of the power hungry struggle of men and women before you.

It radiated throughout the room like Godzilla’s goddamn rays when the priest had ushered his final prayers and you couldn’t even put your hands together and bow. Beside Kendall, Shiv had extended her palm to rest on top of his as they prayed like the good servants of God they were, and you wished someone had sat beside you and done the same even for split second. Conner had Willa, Shiv still had Tom in the small capacity that she did, and Roman was so beside himself with romance that even he couldn’t admit that he needed someone too.

How you ached for a hand to grace yours; how you yearned for someone to place an enduring kiss on your temple and say that they loved you even if you couldn’t believe the truth behind it.

So the loneliness of that vacancy simmers.

The cynical heart hears the organs begin to play and your siblings rose from their seats as it was time to pretend that you enjoyed the service and you wanted the sympathy of others as they shook your hand and gave you hugs outside of the church. But you didn’t want those hugs. You didn’t want those hands.

You wanted one hug. You wanted one pair of hands. You wanted one sympathetic moment and one sympathetic kiss and pretend, for one simple moment, that nothing had changed.

Dad wasn’t dead. Waystar wasn’t floundering in a shallow grave and the maggots of sheep herding to its demise wasn’t going to come next. Sorrow didn’t exist. You weren’t alone—hadn’t been alone.

Across the aisle, donning a black overcoat and three-piece-suit, the simple moment waited. There was little that could have been done feeling maimed by actions unseen but it had been five months of radio silence between you both. One car ride home and the whole thing imploded like a fucking rocket ship.

The congregation stood in solemn stature as the row of family filed out first. Kendall, followed by his small brood, then you.

You took one last look at the coffin that held the once formidable Logan Roy.

Flowers resting on the top, the flag of Scotland draped over it.

For a man so powerful, the weakness of death was hard to ignore. Wilting away in a box for the rest of eternity while the world continued to spin without him. And yet, there in that room and within your own heart and mind, Logan Roy was twisting a footprint of pain deeper than it had before.

Dad died without anyone truly loving him.

You did not want to die like your dad.

Stewy Hosseini was a lifeline. He was a chameleon of couture culture and finessed fashion but within the idealized image of an investor, there was a man who cared for the people who couldn’t say the word ‘love’ or ask for help when they needed it.

Stewy Hosseini was a good man wrapped up in a world that had people one step from going over the ledge but always looked for a solution to solve it. He was a good friend of Kendall even if the stubborn prick never noticed it when it mattered. He was a charming bastard who did lines in public restrooms and put his feet on conference tables during important meetings.

He was the only one to say what he meant without ever getting burned by it but left you shriveling to ash in the corner.

Stewy Hosseini was that solitary hope.

As you looked away from your father's casket, you were frightened by the realization that what was once an outlet for relief had become something to depend on. That five months of absent feelings created a void of indescribable pain that found an outlet in your father’s demise.

You weren’t lonely, no. You were filled with a love that shouldn’t exist with someone who shouldn’t have looked at you the way he did and the yearning for comfort only exacerbated the want.

Maybe he should have taken the deal on Paxos. Maybe he should have said yes, that the package that was tied with a perfect little string matched the black little box that sat in the drawer beside the bed but he didn't.

As you turned toward the aisle to follow the precession, you couldn’t even get your eyes to cast forward because he was right there. Across the way and a row down beside Sandy in his wheelchair and Sandi in her Hillary Clinton pantsuit.

You clutched the program tightly in your hand. Lip trembling, you watched your feet take you away and there was a second in time where you were alone before another hand inched its way into your palm and around your hand.

Some people would never know the absence of love.

They would be grown into it with a kind mother and good family that loved her because they were an innocent child who was not afraid of being the hand that met a lonesome one in the middle of a grand church.

Shiv’s hand crept into yours as the memories of Ewan’s harshness, Kendall’s stoniness, and her fierceness waddled to the background.

Her eyes met yours and for a minute of the day, you felt seen.

And down the aisle, Stewy wished it was his hand comforting your own.

One where he could trace a finger over yours and feel the ring that was supposed to sit there. He could hear the Phantom in that cathedral now:

'You've been asking me for three fuckin' years son so yeah, I'll even throw in my goddamn blessing if that makes you so fucking happy.'

Maybe he should have said yes and everything would be different.

But a Roy would always swallow their pride in moments of need and Stewy Hosseini would always chase the money. There were moments before: a bliss, a fight, a phone call. And then there were moments after: a funeral, a short escape, and a board meeting. But the seconds that lingered in between those events were always shroud in the belief in the former:

A Roy was a Roy, and a Roy never floundered until it was too late.

comments, thoughts, and reblogs are always appreciated. thank you for taking the time to read my lil 'ol fic.

Tagged: @mini-ranger @prettybirdi

#x reader #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x you #stewy hosseini x fem reader #succession #stewy succession #fanfic #fanfiction #x female reader #fanfic writing #fic #one shot

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616wilsons · 1 year

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stewy hosseini x (roy) reader headcanons!

one-shots will be coming soon! i thought i would try hcs first just to get a feel for writing on tumblr. lmk if you would want me to expand on any of these and there will def be more in the future. please enjoy and feel free to comment anything! also, would you guys want me to share my stewy playlist and why i chose each song...? enjoy lovelies <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @lukas-matsson @chaithetics @violentdelightsandviolentends @missdromeda

1. doing the buttons of his shirts because he gets distracted rambling about something

2. (secret relationship) texting each other during meetings! he def sends really flirty texts like “you look amazing today.” you would have to text something like “stop trying to eye fuck me across the room. people are going to talk” and he replies with something like “and i care because...?/let them talk” you roll your eyes in response and he just smirks watching you read it

3. you: “are you serious?” stewy: “as a heart attack” ;)

you: *eye roll*

4. (pre-relationship) him being jealous (and crushed) whenever you bring a partner home to meet the family and you being jealous (and crushed) whenever you find out he’s in a relationship.

5. him smiling when he sees you’re calling and answers the phone by saying “hey, pretty girl”

6. him randomly sending or bringing you flowers for no reason even before you’re together. you ask him about it years into the relationship and he says he wanted to make sure you always felt appreciated even if he didn’t always say it. (your relationship def taught him the most and how to be a better partner cuz before you he was kinda a wallstreet douche but on the inside he’s a softie)

#stewy hosseini #stewy succession #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini x roy reader #arian moayed #arian moayed fanfic #stewy hosseini fanfic #succession #succession fanfic #succession x reader #succession headcanons #stewy hosseini headcanons #headcanon #new writer #first post

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 10 months

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Clandestine. Part Three.

It's better this way. At least, that's what you're telling yourself.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female!Roy Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - cursing. allusions to smut. angst. mention of death. quick mention of drug use.

Author's Note - it's here, you guys. part three !! thank you so much for all of the continued love on this series, it makes me so happy. there'll definitely be at least a couple more parts after this one, so don't worry!! i'm a sucker for a happy ending ;)

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Part One. Part Two. Series Masterlist.

Main Masterlist. Inbox.

"-and I know it's a fuckin' tough challenge, but I think we can do it. We've got people on our side, and I got a call from Lawrence this morning - I'm gonna see if I can convince him. So, we definitely need you in that fuckin' meeting."

Silence.

"Are you even fucking listening to me? Hello?"

"... What?"

"I said, we need you at the Board Meeting this afternoon. Kendall made me promise I'd show up with you."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Roman looks you up and down carefully, brows quirked in curiosity.

"The fuck is going on with you? You've been super weird these last couple of weeks."

That confirms your suspicions that Kendall hasn't told anyone about that day at Stewy's apartment. You were wondering if he had, nervously trying to play detective around your siblings.

"I'm just... tired. I'm fine. Don't worry about me, okay?"

Roman doesn't look convinced, but nods anyway.

"Just... you know, I, uh - I'm... I'm here. If you need me. You know that, don't you?"

You smile softly at his awful attempt at affection.

"I know, Rome. Thank you."

"Come on," he says, jumping from his chair. "We better get to that meeting early, Ken wants to talk strategy."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're sitting silently, heels kicked off, curled up in an expensive leather chair. Kendall and Roman are talking business, the complex jargon going straight over your head. You're in a world of your own, completely detached from your current reality, when you hear it.

Rome says it off hand, not thinking anything of it. You watch as Kendall flinches ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. Your throat tightens, your heart kicks up in your chest. Then, he says it again.

His name.

Stewy.

"I know if you push him the right way, Ken, Stewy is fully on board. We got him, I know we do."

Stewy.

Stewy, Stewy, Stewy.

The word plays on repeat in your mind, like a stuck record. Kendall's eyes flick to you, as if to gauge your reaction, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. You haven't spoke since your argument, deciding that the silent treatment was the best course of action. You know it's torture for Kendall, but you're both stubborn. Neither of you is willing to back down first.

"Uh - yeah, yeah, I, uh, I think, maybe. I think maybe he is. I don't, uh, I don't know."

Rome is oblivious to Kendall's reluctance to speak on the subject, clearly.

"Well, can you fuckin' talk to him? You know you're like the only person in Waystar he'll listen to."

Kendall's eyes are darting between you and Roman frantically. You can read him like a book.

"Yeah, I'll, uh, sure. I'll talk to him."

You scoff under your breath, but he hears it.

"You got something to fuckin' say, Princess? Huh?"

Princess. You haven't heard that one in a while. Your childhood nickname. It started off as a sweet endearment, but now, it's thrown in your face when the boys want to get under your skin.

"Fuck you, Kendall," you bite.

"Uh... Did I miss something?"

"Fuck off, Roman," you and Ken say simultaneously.

Any other day, you'd laugh about saying the same thing at the same time. You'd joke about how in sync you are, how you share one brain. Now, it just makes you infinitely sadder.

You're about to make another sarcastic remark when Sandi and Sandy enter the room, cutting the moment short. You're not sure if you're grateful or spiteful.

One by one, the Waystar Board members file in, taking their seats at the table. You're holding your breath, sitting at the edge of your chair, waiting for the inevitable. You can predict it now, the way you're going to feel when he walks in - chest tight, lungs knotted, fists clenched.

Stewy walks in, and the opposite happens.

You exhale your held breath, and relax slightly. The tension leaves your shoulders for a moment, your lip gets released from in between your teeth. It's like seeing him has cured you, even temporarily. As if he's your own brand of medicine, your personalised prescription.

His eyes catch yours, and you have a silent conversation. So much is said in such a short time.

Hi. Hi. Are you okay? No, are you? No. Not at all.

The room is oblivious to this emotional exchange - except for your older brother. Kendall watches your every move like a hawk. He's trying to figure out if the two of you are still together, still sneaking around behind his back. You haven't spoken to him since he stormed out of Stewy's apartment, meaning he has no idea about the events that occurred after his departure.

The meeting goes off as usual, full of tension and sniped remarks. You don't listen to a word anyone says, too focused on keeping your attention away from Stewy across the table. You're determined not to look at him. You know that if you do, he'll see right through you. He'll know how you really feel. And that is something you're not at all prepared for.

"Okay, well, if no one else has anything they'd like to cover, I think we're done here. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone rises from their places, shaking hands and having quick discussions before leaving through the tall glass doors. You stay put, in no rush to exit. Kendall approaches Stewy, and you watch the exchange with a clenched jaw.

"Hey, uh... can we, like, talk, maybe? I think, yeah, I think we should talk."

Stewy takes a long, hard look at Kendall, before chuckling humourlessly.

"I've got nothing to say to you, man."

Your brother stays stuck in his place, staring at the floor beneath him. As Stewy leaves, he can't resist running his fingers across your shoulders gently. You look back at him, but he's already gone.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Home doesn't feel like home anymore.

Everywhere you look, you're reminded of Stewy.

You're in the kitchen, and all you can think about is the time the two of you slow danced in the middle of the night, slipping and sliding on the tiled floor. There's a half finished bottle of wine on the counter, abandoned in favour of gliding around the room in your socks. Stewy clicks on some low, jazzy music, and pulls you into his arms. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the bathroom, and you can't stop thinking about when the two of you took a bubble bath together, lavender scented steam filling the air. Your back is pressed to Stewy's chest, sitting in between his legs as he massages the shampoo into your hair. He's humming softly, a song his Mother used to sing when he was a child. There's not an ounce of tension in either of your bodies. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the living room, and you can't avoid the memories of curling up with Stewy on the couch. He always lets you pick the movie - sarcastically rolling his eyes at your choices, but never protesting. You sit there for hours, bodies tangled together like two pieces of the same puzzle. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the bedroom, and you can't stop picturing the way that Stewy would take you apart and put you back together again. Before him, all of the sex you had was quick, transactional, impersonal. But it was different with Stewy. With Stewy, it felt like you had all the time in the world. It was tender, loving, connected. He genuinely cared about your pleasure - learning your body inch by inch, memorising it like a sculptor. You allowed yourself, for the first time ever, to let go. You put your soul in his hands with full faith. Lying there, limbs intertwined beneath the soft sheets, there was no doubt in your mind. You belonged somewhere.

And now that safe place is gone.

Home doesn't feel like home anymore, and it's all because of him. You could move at the drop of a hat, find a new apartment tomorrow if you wanted. But you can't. You can't leave all of these memories behind. As painful as they are, they're all you have.

You turn on the TV, and flick to ATN News. They're running a story on a young baseball player that tragically died in a car wreck, aged twenty four. You sit and watch the whole segment, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen. When it ends, you turn it off, and sit in silence.

You sit there for hours, in the quiet, just thinking. About everything. The number twenty four keeps circling around in your head.

He was twenty four. Twenty four years old. He hadn't even got to live properly. Life is so short. Life is so unpredictable. God, anything could happen tomorrow. Twenty four. Twenty four. Twenty four.

You glance towards the clock on the wall, which reads 10:24. It feels like a sign.

All of a sudden, you're sick of waiting. Sick of being told how to live your life. Sick of trying to conform to these ideals that people are placing on you. Fuck them. Life's too short. You have to start living for you.

You're pulling on your shoes and grabbing your keys before you can even process it. You call the number for a car, but no one answers. Fuck it, you'll run across New York City if you have to. If it means you get to hold the man you love in your arms again.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The knocking on the door is so loud, Stewy's half convinced he's about to be murdered. He swings open the heavy oak to be met with the sight of you, looking like you just ran a marathon.

You stand still for a moment, staring at each other, as if you can't believe what you're seeing. You're here, in each others vicinity again. It'd be so easy to reach out and touch him.

So, you do.

You barrel into Stewy, jumping into his arms, throwing yours around his neck. He catches you easily, holding onto you as tight as he possibly can. You wrap your legs around his waist and press yourself even closer, as if to merge both of your bodies into one being.

You breathe him in, and it's the first time you've taken a full breath in weeks. He smells the same as he always did, musky and woody and expensive and yours. He still smells like he's yours.

You don't realise you're crying until you pull away from him slightly, and see the wet spot on his t shirt. He puts you down and closes the door, locking it behind you. He grabs your hand and leads you into the kitchen, parting from you to pour two glasses of wine.

You jump up onto the counter and part your legs, Stewy coming to stand between them instinctively. He places a hand on each of your thighs, warmth seeping through his palms. You're face to face, unsure where to start.

"Baby," he breathes. "What are you doing here?"

He sounds unsure, almost scared. If only you knew how frantically his heart is beating in his chest.

"Life is too short," you reply quickly. "Way too short. I could literally die tomorrow."

Stewy looks at you carefully, brow quirked in confusion.

"Honey, are you on drugs? Because they're really not good for you, you know."

"Says the man who did coke off my ass last month," you tease defiantly.

He fights back a smile, but it curls at the corner of his mouth. You grin at him, hands moving to play with the hair at the back of his neck.

"I'm not on drugs," you reassure. "I was just watching the news, and it kinda put everything into perspective. Life is so short and so fragile. Why am I wasting mine trying to appease my family, who'll never be happy, no matter what I do?"

He smiles at you softly, nodding as you continue.

"I just - my whole life, my brothers have just done whatever the fuck they wanted. Especially Kendall. But I make a choice for me, and all of a sudden I'm the villain? How is that fair?"

"It isn't," he agrees, squeezing your thighs in reassurance. "They're all hypocrites. Do you know how many stupid decisions I've watched Kendall make over the years? They think they know everything, but they don't."

"I mean, look at them. Roman is incapable of affection, Kendall's ex wife hates him, and Connor practically bought Willa. My Dad's on his second wife, not including the countless mistresses he's had. None of them know anything about love. They don't know a thing."

"I think you're the only person in your family capable of love," he chuckles.

"I'm starting to think you might be right," you laugh.

You lean forward and press your forehead to Stewy's, exhaling the tension from your shoulders.

"I'm really sorry," you whisper. "For everything. I treated you horribly, and none of it was your fault."

"It wasn't your fault, either. You know that, right?"

"I don't know. It's so hard to get a view on things when they're happening. But when I took a step back, it gave me a clearer look. And it made me realise something."

"And what's that?" he murmurs.

"I realised that I cannot live a day without you, Stewy Hosseini. I don't want to."

"Thank God," he breathes in a laugh. "I've been going fucking crazy here without you."

You beam a grin at him, so bright it's a wonder that the lights don't shatter.

"I love you, and I won't apologise for it," you confess. "Whatever the consequences are, I'll accept them. Nothing can touch me when I'm loved by you. You're like my own personal armour."

"Man, we're the worst," he laughs. "We could love anyone in the world, and we just had to choose each other."

"I'm gonna choose you everyday, I'm afraid," you tease. "There's no going back now."

"I wouldn't want to," he murmurs. "I don't want to go back."

"Me neither," you whisper against his mouth.

Stewy leans forward and captures your lips with his, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You get completely lost in each other, revelling in the feeling of being back together. You feel like you can finally breathe again. The other half of your heart has returned.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The two of you are tangled among the sheets, limbs intertwined and hands linked. You run your fingertips in mindless patterns over his chest, the sprinkling of hair tickling you, making you smile gently. Stewy's playing with your hair, soothing you softly. His heartbeat is lulling you into tranquility, relaxing you completely. This is paradise, you're convinced. Paradise.

"It can be like this forever, you know," he murmurs into the top of your head, kissing you tenderly.

"I know," you reassure. "And it will be."

Stewy can't stop thinking about the diamond ring still sitting in his nightstand. After your fight, he thought he'd never get to see you wear it. But now he knows he will. And that makes his heart flutter uncontrollably in his ribcage, like technicolour butterflies trying to escape him.

He pulls you impossibly closer, trying to breathe you in. He never wants to let you go. You don't want him to.

"We should tell them," you say suddenly. "Fuck the consequences."

"Are you sure, honey?"

You sit up in bed, looking at him carefully. His hair is mussed, shoulders relaxed, lip bitten between his teeth. He's never looked more beautiful.

"I'm sure. I wasn't, before. I think that's why I tried to push you away - I was trying to force myself into doing something I wasn't ready for. But almost losing you has made me realise that you're it for me, Stewy. You are my first and only choice. You are the only thing I'm sure of."

Stewy's chest swells with emotion, throat tightening, eyes welling. He's determined not to cry, but fuck, he's close.

"Do you know how many times I've dreamt of you saying those words to me?" he chokes out. "I love you. Fuck, I love you so much it makes me ache."

"I love you," you whisper back, cradling his face in your gentle hands. "I love you. I'm never letting you go again. Not ever."

You kiss him softly, basking in the feeling of his lips on yours. You get lost in each other once again, both of you in disbelief at being back in each others arms.

"Let's tell them," you whisper against his mouth. "Fuck the consequences."

"Fuck the consequences," he grins. "It's you and me, baby. You and me against the world."

You feel as if you're floating, levitating, powered by the sheer force of your love. Nothing can touch you. You're invincible, when you're in Stewy's arms.

He knows this is it. This is the moment. He makes his decision, and reaches his arm out to open the top drawer of this nightstand. His pulse quickens, body practically vibrating with anticipation. As he pulls it open, your phone rings, the shrill tone piercing through your peace.

You go to decline it, but notice that it's Connor's name lighting up your screen. There's a weird feeling in your stomach, suddenly.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetheart. It's Connor. Where are you?"

You cast a glance towards Stewy, and he shakes his head softly, silently communicating. Not yet. We'll tell him in person.

"I'm at a friend's place. What's up?"

"I, uh, I don't... I don't really know how to, um... you need to come to Dad's apartment, ASAP."

"Wait, what? Why?"

There are a million scenarios swirling around in your head, clouding your mind, overwhelming you.

"He's, uh.. I just, um, I don't-"

"Spit it out, Con."

A pause. He takes a deep breath.

"Dad's dead."

Silence.

Your heart breaks. Stewy hears it happen.

Stewy Tag List

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