Kendall Roy Imagine - Blog Posts

Sever (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Kendall, Logan mention

Word Count: 1,515

Inspired By: Absence by Rio Romeo

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: Nervous to post!!! I thought I might try writing like I used to with my absolute favorite trope lol. I don't know how it'll go and tbh I expect this not to go well, but what can ya do? I didn't make it as dark as I used to write, but I'm definitely up to giving it a try! Let me know what you think my loves!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Resentment sleeps between you. Like a baby, its breath is slow and deep. Peaceful. Blissfully unaware. It pushes you to the opposing edges. There is an ever growing abyss in the middle of the mattress. One wrong move, and you’ll slip. Sometimes, in moments of bravery, you’ll hold your hand out. Pebbles will crack off, falling down, and you hold your breath. You never hear the eventual plop of it hitting the bottom. It goes on forever, the only infinite you can count on. You’ll grip the side, watching the inky black as it stares back at you, and you’ll wonder where it all went wrong. When the crack, so small, so insignificant, tore itself in two, into this. He remains incurious. While he sleeps his body is unmoving, unphased by what lies between you. He remains still, content, his back turned to the cavity, to the truth. This is not a feeling of dread or fate, merely a glimpse. A recurring nightmare that you will fall in. beneath you will collapse. You’ll call for help, but he will choose not to hear you. Lately, it seems, you're going unheard. Your concerns, your fears, your feelings, your screams. You will cry out and no one will be there to grab you, pull you up, hold you. No one will be there to tell you it’s okay, you’re okay. Instead you will fall for forever. One day, however long that takes, centuries later, you will land next to those pebbles and every bone in your body will shatter. They will combust. Turn to dust. You will be a pool of yourself all because he is choosing not to see reality for what it is. Because he thinks this is okay. Because he thinks you’ll get through this. You can’t get through this. It’s too late. It’s always been too late. 

It’s not only resentment. Resentment is the product. The product of ignorance, of anger, of dismissiveness and stupidity.  His own ego. A perfect concoction. A deadly poison you drank with enthusiasm. Everyone in your life knew before you did. They could see that crack, that hairline fracture, but you didn’t listen. He wasn’t always like this, you’d tell yourself. Maybe, maybe not, but it’s what you have to say, over and over, until the words are carved into your skull. Part of you is still fighting for him. Making empty promises to yourself. If he comes home, if he comes home and flashes that familiar smile, you’ll give it another try. If he remembers those flowers you like from that one shop. If he brings you coffee in your mug, the only mug you drink it from. If, if, if. He never does any of this. He never will. You’re trying to resuscitate something that is already dead. Dead and buried, you throw yourself on to the casket. Begging him, it, anyone who will listen: please, this one time, this one time let him show you that you are more important than any of this. All of this. This whole world. Instead he is door slamming and muffled screaming and highs and lows that are unpredictable. He is kissing young, hot strangers and drinking into oblivion. He is exactly the man you married. He always has been. You’ve been fooling yourself the whole time. 

You pretend to be asleep, pulling the covers over your head. His alarm is loud and furious, like his father. He dresses and redresses, caught in a loop. Forever burdened to live the same morning over and over. Insecure, unsure, there is a pile of dress shirts on the floor. A pile you used to pick up, rehang. A pile that used to disappear before he came home. A pile you’d like to set fire to. Forever trying to impress blood that wouldn’t care if he swam or drowned. He hums to himself, tying his tie, checking himself over. You count the minutes until he is gone. Dressed, shaved, cologne so thick you could choke on it. He picks up coffee on the way when there is a perfectly good, perfectly expensive machine, sitting in the kitchen. His phone, fully charged, is already vibrating with missed calls, missed texts, missed connections. You used to wonder if he had your number blocked or muted, every opportunity to reach out going straight to voicemail. Now you don’t wonder. Now you don’t call. Now you wait for him to leave, for the front door to carelessly bang shut before you start your day. You step over the pile of clothes in the walk in closet. You ignore the double sinks in the master bathroom. You leave the bed unmade. Instead, you make your coffee. From the machine. With your favorite mug. You linger in the kitchen, living room, what would have been the nursery. All the places untouched by his presence. This is more your home than his, but it is both your names on the paperwork. Both your names in the engraved wine glasses. Both your names in those vows. You sip and sit and picture a life much happier than this one. 

Maybe in another lifetime. 

When you’re done, you wash it by hand, leaving it in the sink to dry. It remains the only proof of your existence. Undisturbed the rest of the house remains. Even the cushions you curled into have resumed their correct place. This house isn’t the only thing rejecting you. Like a foreign organ, a transplant, everything and everyone knows you don’t belong. He doesn’t want you here, why should they? Back in the bedroom you dress. The clothes wait and watch, but you can’t stand to touch them, look at them. More proof of his failings. You could tell him all the ways he was important and impactful until your lips were blue. He wouldn’t listen. He needed to hear it from them, from him. Your side of the walk-in closet is pristine. You take down a few shirts, a few pairs of pants, moving mindlessly. You remember first moving in, wondering how you could fill this huge space? Now it felt cluttered, suffocating. His things were everywhere. He was everywhere. You found it in the corner, unused. He always promised a big getaway, wherever you wanted, just the two of you. How many years was that? You hoped against hope, every anniversary, every birthday. He had the means, just not the care. You wanted to stop, but you couldn’t. The dreams you had for your marriage, your life, they’re still alive. Naive, stupid, it didn’t matter. You were both. You don’t have time to fold them all, the want. You never expected it to go like this. You never wanted it to. But one more night in that bed would kill you. Your spirits, your desires, every foolish idea and notion about what love is and was and will be. One more night against that drop and you might just fall in. 

Toothbrush, toothpaste, soaps and conditioners and scrubs. You live two totally separate lives. You only seem at the beginning and the end. He is the sun. Sunrise, sunset. You grab everything you can, zipping it shut. On the edge of the mattress you wonder if you should leave a note, to explain. Explain what? Haven’t you said everything you can? Haven’t you cried and asked and put it every possible way and still, still he has not done one thing to show you that he is listening, that what you say matters. Absorbed in bloodlines and successors and medieval rituals his father loves, the bloodshed. You can’t do it anymore. You can’t be second, or third, or fourth in line for his attention, his priority list. You’ve put up with it for far too long. You know your silence, the absence, will be more impactful than anything you have ever or will ever say. You gave him his ultimatum and he refused to change. Now it is your turn to act. Rolling the suitcase out, you turn off the light. If you didn’t know it, if you were a stranger looking in, you’d never even know you existed. The things you’d need were packed away. The only thing that remained of you was your mug. That he could keep, as a reminder. Next time he chose them over someone he was supposed to spend his lifetime loving, caring, hearing. Next time, when he tripped over himself to impress his father. If there was a next time, that mug would stand for everything he ruined. He messed up. He ignored. Next time, he should think twice. You leave your keys on the table, watching the crack in the mattress shrink just a bit. It can’t be fixed, this can’t be fixed, but it knows you’re doing the right thing. 

So many years you spent married to Kendall. So many years you could never get back. But you’d have more after. After him. After this, you’d find real love. Whatever this was, whatever it had been, you were kidding yourself. You know this now. Will he?

Pyrexia (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

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

Word Count: 1,387

Requested: Hii! I love all of your baby Roy sibling fics, especially your new one with Rome. I love protective Kendall so so much, especially in the election so when he sticks up for Shiv against Tom. Could I request something with protective Kendall (maybe the other siblings if it suits) where they look after you while hurt or comfort you or something similar? If not that is fine!! Thank you so so much <;3 - anon

Requested: ohohoh!! Maybe roy!sibling being very sick to the point where they go into self-isolstion mode not contacting anybody and their siblings worry about them? Adore your fics and I always get really excited when you post a new one!! Hope you are recovering well from the tattoo! - anon

Warning/s: sickness

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: I hope you don't mind my loves, I combined your requests. I hope you like it!!! Thank you for such kind words my loves!!! My tattoo is healing perfectly!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Your mother used to run the bath ice cold. She’d guide you in, even as you shuddered, even when you cried. She placed a stern hand around your shoulder, ever so lightly pushing you deeper into the water. She’d pour it over your head, warning you to close your eyes. You played with cups, filling and refilling, too old for toys. You’re never sure how long you stayed there. She’d leave you there, the bathroom door shut, until your teeth were chattering. Clicking out of your skull. Sometimes it was one of your siblings who stood you up again. Your mother had fallen asleep, drink perfectly in hand, on the couch. Sometimes she would leave the house, forgetting all about you. Rarely would she find her way back to you, years it felt passing you by, wrapping you in a towel. Those times were your favorite. Falling into her, smelling her perfume and favorite drink on her breath. Mostly though, it was one of your siblings pulling you from the bath. They’d pick out mismatched pajamas and tuck you in beside them, hushing you to sleep, wet hair sinking into the pillow. You’d still be shaking, freezing, and they would wrap you up tight in as many blankets as they could get. 

A cold bath will break this fever, you can still hear her voice. So clear, so sure, so far away. You weren’t sure if it really did work, if any tricks she pulled out of nowhere actually worked, or if it just made her feel like she was doing something, but you tried again anyways. It made you feel like you were four years old again. Chubby little hands splashing through the water. Despite yourself, the ache in your little bones, you could find a small ounce of joy. This time it was your tub, massive and pristine, filling up. Your wet pajamas falling off your body, drenched in sweat. You had to hold on to the edge just steady yourself, dizzy, lightheaded. You weren’t about to be sick, there was nothing left in your stomach. Please work, you begged whoever would listen, please let this work. You grit your teeth, stepping inside. All the way up to your chin, you sink deeper and deeper. Holding your breath, you dunk your head under, the cold kissing your burning cheeks. It makes you shiver. 

You catch your breath, leaning your head back. You half expect to hear your mother through the door, her shrill voice, on the phone, talking nonsense. She’d stick her head into the doorway, checking if you moved a muscle. You lay completely still trying not to grin. They weren’t always happy memories. She wasn’t always there when she should have been, but this you could laugh at. How ridiculous it all was. Forgetting about your child in the bath? How many pills was she on? You think of your brothers and sister pressing the back of their hand to your forehead, looking at you with startled eyes. You were so fussy, pushing them away, beginning to cry. You just wanted to feel better. That was all. You wanted to feel like yourself again. You remember little, everything is a haze. Kendall called Connor over when you stirred in his bed, when you became hysterical. Big brown eyes watching you, fearing for you. They’d always calm you down. They’d always find a way. He never minded that your hair was wet, that you’d whimper in your sleep, in your fever dreams. You were his baby. Always. 

Your fingers prune. The cool settles. Your cheeks are still burning, your forehead on fire. You don’t remember climbing out, draining the tub. You don’t remember settling there on the bathroom rug, towel wrapped around you. Your muscles ache, your joints flare. Even if you wanted, the bed was too far. Besides, you’d been camped out on the couch in front of the tv for days. All your things remained untouched in the living room. Your phone, put on silent, in between the cushions. Cups lined the coffee table, an army of half-finished drinks. You think you’re dreaming when you hear his voice again. Y/n? Y/n? Come on kid, let’s get you up. Gentle hands guiding you up, those familiar eyes startled, scared. You forgot you gave him a key. He holds you close, your skin dry. How long were you asleep? He waits while you get dressed, painstakingly slow. Everything hurts.

You don’t have the energy to ask him questions, you can barely pull your shirt over your head. Why was he here? How did he know you were home? Wasn’t he supposed to be at work, with dad? Patiently, he waits outside the door, checking in every few minutes. You must look awful. His expression looked pained, as if looking at you made him hurt. I tried a cold bath, you start, but never finish. He nods, bringing you into the living room. You’d collected every blanket you could only to kick them all off, too hot for your own skin. He sits you down, trying to figure out what to do first. Indecisive, he grabs your phone and all the cups, putting them in the sink, grabbing a charger. You hadn’t noticed all the missed texts. From him, from Connor and Shiv and Rome. all of them worried about you. I’m sorry, I was so tired, I didn’t- It’s okay. His tone is so gentle, so tender, his expression melting into an understanding smile. No one’s upset, we were just worried, that’s all. 

He gets you capfuls of medicine, orange and berry-flavored. Thick, syrupy, sticky. You feel like you’ll throw it all up again. He tucks you in, pulling the covers over you. You look so small, so little, like you did when you were a child. You sleep the same way: restless. The fever dreams are vivid and scary and every time you wake up, he’s there. He’s always there. The tv changes, and his jacket is left on the other side of the couch. There’s a bowl of soup before you that is first steaming and then cold. He’s on the phone, speaking quietly. To your brothers, your sister, even your father. They are all worried. Just a fever, he assures them, though the lines on his forehead tell another story. Every once in a while he places his hand to your forehead. Slowly, so slowly, you seem to be cooling down. You’re not eating or drinking, just sleeping. In and out. The lighting has changed, the sun has set, and though you insist, he has no intentions of sleeping. 

Kendall should have known. He should have known because you always do this. You didn’t want to bother anyone when you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t want to worry anyone. It was easier to self-isolate, to crawl back to sleep and re-emerge when you were back to yourself again. He cleaned up the kitchen, the bathroom, and threw in a load of laundry. Anything to get this nervous energy out. Finally you calmed down a bit, your dreams becoming less and less vivid. He still remembers those long nights when you were a kid. Your wet hair, your baby breath, the colorful pajamas. How he’d sit and wait and worry until your fever broke, until the coughing stopped, until your shivering subsided. Your mother would check on you in the morning, but he watched you all night. He was your big brother. He had to protect you from everything. He should, at least, but he can’t. So he waits. He checks on you. He gives you more medicine, hating to wake you up. He assures everyone that it’s nothing, he’s got it handled. Even Logan, so unlike himself, was as concerned as he could be. No one had heard from you in days. They’re getting better, he says, and you are. He’s thankful. Grateful. Relieved. In the morning you’ll eat something. You’ll drink tea and water. You’ll talk with him about work, about Rava and the kids, about your family. You’ll laugh and for the first time since he got there he’ll see you through the sickness. You’re getting better. He wasn’t there in the beginning, but he’s glad he could be there now. He’ll  always be there for you.

Succession Preference: Baby Introducing Their First Date

Requested: 2nd preference: how would each sibling react to their baby sibling (reader) introduceing their first date (gn neutral if possible) - anon

A/N: This is just too cute to imagine!!! I love it!!! I hope you like it my love!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Connor is so excited to meet them. Unfortunately for you, the whole family is over for dinner and insists on meeting your date before you go out. You were hoping to sneak out after drinks, but before dinner. Connor won't let you get away with that, though. He's eager to meet them. Really. Unlike the rest of your siblings, Connor fears no ill intentions. He truly wants to see the best in people, even the people trying to date his baby sibling. When they get there, they're immediately taken into the living room. You have no time to warn them at all. He doesn't intend for it to be an interrogation, but Connor asks them a lot of questions. Are they in school, what do they do for work, do they have any siblings, pets, what is their family like, what are their intentions with you, etc. This is just a first date. You like them, you want things to go well, but this is definitely not the type of deal where they should be meeting your family. This is not going well, not if they're with Connor the whole night. Your date just smiles and nods along. When your brother is satisfied, he winks at you before you go, telling you "they're a keeper". You thank him, getting the hell out of there before he asks anything else.

Kendall doesn't like this at all. He goes to your father, asking if he's heard about this little date you've got planned for tonight. Of course he does. Why would Kendall care? No, no he has to put a stop to this. He thinks his father has lost his edge. He tries to bribe you with money and alcohol and shares in the company for you not to go. You try to remind him that you're an actual, legal adult. That you can see whoever you want when you want and he can't stop you. You also remind him that this is a first date, it could be nothing special. It definitely won't end in marriage. You don't know that, he warns. What are you talking about, Ken? You were never this way with Shiv and Rome. He wants to tell you it's because you're his baby. Shiv would date whoever she wanted and didn't care what anyone thought. Roman rarely dated and when he did it was never that serious. But you? You're his baby. He watched you grow up. He can't let you go that easily. He just can't. He doesn't care if this person is some supernatural genius or the next president or the bringer or world peace, he will not let you go with them. You're just a baby, his baby.

Shiv accidentally and not so accidentally crashes your date while you're on it. You and your date go to a very local, very popular cafe that just so happens to be near Waystar. You didn't even think about if you would run into your family, you just picked it because it was a nice place. Shiv spots you laughing and smiling across from someone who most definitely is not a friend, at least not a friend she's ever seen. Hey kid, she says, dragging a chair over with her. Who's this? Wanna introduce me? If you could crawl under the table and hide, you would. Instead now you have to sit and smile as your sister quite literally interrogates them. What do they want with you, what are their intentions, do they respect that no is a complete sentence, do they know who your father is, etc. You want to die. They have this look in their eyes that screams help me, but you can't do anything. Every time you try to get her to go away and move on, she blatantly ignores the hints. When she's done, you swear it's taken forever, she leaves with her coffee and a wicked grin. Your sister doesn't like anyone wanting to date you. As far as she's concerned, you're too good for them. You'll always be too good for them. All of them.

Roman doesn't like them at all. He doesn't even give them a chance. He makes fun of them, he points out their flaws, he picks on them. They come up to meet Logan just for a second before you go to dinner. You don't know that Roman is there until you come out of the bathroom and see your date being taunted by him. Immediately you defend them, hissing at your brother to stop it. You send them down to the lobby, needing to talk to your brother. What the fuck are you doing? You ask, ready to kill him. He was going to scare them off forever. You really liked them, you wanted things to go well. Them? You like them? Are they paying you? That earns a slap to his arm. What is wrong with you? He laughs. How much time do you have? You just roll your eyes. You'll have a big fight about it after, but for now you have to go downstairs because your date is waiting for you. Roman would never put this into words, but you dating means you're all grown up. He doesn't like that thought very much. What happened to the baby he used to rock to sleep and the toddler he held on his shoulders? Suddenly you wanted a partner? Nope, not on his watch.