connor-r0y

[connor-r0y]

I keep misreading 'hilson' as 'hillsong', and I was really confused on why people on tumblr are suddenly really into christian rock bands. Mind you I have never seen House before.

[connor-r0y]

omgg i meant tom but it autocorrected 😭😭 im sorry!

No need to apologize! I have a lot of requests for him in the queue, so I absolutely will be getting to those, even if they're not first up on the list! Keep your eyes peeled in the next week or two. In the meantime, I have some things written for him already that you can find in my master list through my pinned post!

[connor-r0y]

PLEASE write for tomorrow i know you would absolutely kill it writing for him!!!! 🥺🥺🥺

I'm not familiar with who you're referring to - can you clarify nonny? ❤️

[connor-r0y]

Nobody talks enough about how delicious Tom looked in that one shower scene with his titties out

You're right and you should say it, frankly.

[connor-r0y]

A Primer for the Small, Weird Loves.

Pairing: Connor Roy x Reader

Rating: Mature (Minors DNI, 18+)

Warnings: Mentions of sex, but no explicit detail, existentialism, the usual sort of trauma that seems to follow this man around, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 745

He has grown quieter in the aftermath of the end of the world; content to keep to himself and stay out of the way. It's not a very good story, and it's not a particularly new one. Everything has changed, and yet nothing has. Willa left only a few months after the wedding. The only reminder of an asteroid after impact is the crater it leaves and the stories of the people who saw it. What a sad little fate, to only be remembered for the holes you leave in things. Moths, for example; we take them for granted until they're eating the sweaters in our closets, and then they're more of a nuisance than something beautiful just trying to live their lives.

He is just trying to live his life.

You had been an unplanned development in the story. You'd fallen into his life like you'd meant to land there - on purpose; so few things are deliberate for him. You had approached him at a bar not too far from his ranch in New Mexico, had said you liked his eyes. The way they looked kind of sad, like he was missing something. You told him you hoped you could help him find it, whatever it was. That was seven months ago. Every day he worries you are going to leave. You don't. You move in with him.

On purpose. I am going to love you on purpose.

"I've never really understood poetry." He says, like it doesn't tear him up inside that someone would feel that way about him. Like his heart isn't a war zone, shrapnel on the inside, the wound still weeping and all the lights off.

"It's from a book, I think." You say, because you can bring him to water, but you cannot force him to drink. Fear drives us away from comfort, makes us think we don't deserve it.

He hums in acknowledgement and goes back to slicing the tomatoes on the cutting board in front of him. He's careful, quiet. The knife does not slip. He is still scared it might, even after it has been set to the side, tucked into the sink. Like it might grow sentience and choose to dig itself into the meat of his palm just for the hell of it. 'Who is this asshole, using me to cut up the things he likes into pieces?'

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You're having sex when it hits him, that resounding, thunderbolt sort of clarity that only happens every once in a great while. He's on top of you, his hands on either side of your shoulders. Disheveled, his hair sticking to his forehead, his lips spit-slick and swollen. And he stops - looks at you like he's seeing you for the first time. Really seeing. Knowing someone, wholly and completely.

His hand shakes as he brings it up to cup your cheek, his thumb swiping over the ridge of your cheek bone. The sadness in his eyes is gone, now, in this moment. Replaced by something softer, and a heat, burning at the center of it all like a pulsar.

"On purpose." He murmurs. The words taste unfamiliar on his tongue.

"Yeah, Con." You let yourself smile a little, looking up at him with a dewy sort of wonder. Watching Selenicereus grandiflorus bloom in the pale moonlight. "On purpose."

He kisses you, then; softer, slower. Purposefully. His hands finding your own, lacing your fingers together. Sweet. He is sweet. He always has been, you think, he just had to find it in himself. You helped, in the ways you could. Salve on the bruises, lips on his knuckles. You cannot undo the past - cannot draw the hurt out of the wound with your mouth like sucking the venom from a snakebite. But you can see the holes in your sweaters, and you can remember the creatures that left them there. You can know him to be more than a frustration. Because he is. So much more than that.

He's learned to swallow down bile with the best of them. That sour ache on the edges of your tongue, tingling in its aftermath; makes the backs of your teeth ache, makes your fingers itch. The shoes and the waiting and the dropping. First, then second. Shit always hits the fan eventually - this is real life, there are certainties.

The meteor hits the ground. It leaves a bruise.

We can still build monuments.

[connor-r0y]

I'm gonna piss myself when I see a Connor fic. (Like a dog when it's happy.) It's rare and I want it.

There is a weird irony to him being completely forgotten in the show and in the fandom. He's one of my favorites - I'm super happy to be The Connor Gal (TM), and I will wear that badge with pride.

[connor-r0y]

passionate sex with kendall - hand holding, face caressing oh my godd been on my mind 24/7

He is everywhere, and he is nowhere, all at once. His hands grasping at your own, pressing them down into the mattress, and his eyes - God, his eyes - peering into your own like you have all of the answers. You don't, but you do know some things; that he prefers cologne that smells like vetiver, that he's been smoking again, and that the slow roll of his hips against your own may just have the power to kill you entirely. It's like this, with him; your entire worldview narrowed down to a pinprick in the span of a moment. Him. Everything is him. His smell, the taste of tobacco on his lips, the roughness of his palms against your own. His stubble scrapes against your skin, makes you sigh and arch into him.

Your mouth tries to wrap itself around the syllables of his name, but all the breath has been punched from your lungs, and so all you can muster is a breathy, choked sort of sound. He's got his lips pressed together, a pinch in his brow - focus, always so much focus from him, even in this. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and the minutes have bled together until they feel like eternity. It just might be.

One of his hands leaves your own, and you feel almost empty from the absence of it until you feel it brushing against your inner thighs, finding the space where you're joined together. The calloused pads of two fingers press firm against your clit, and you moan. He'd usually grin - shit-eating and overly proud - and tease you for a bit, but tonight is different, somehow. A charged sort of energy. He doesn't grin at all; instead, his tongue dips out to wet his lips, and there's something about the sight of it that makes that knot in your belly tighten. His fingers move - slow, slow, slow. Deliberation. The undoing.

"I love you." He rasps out, low and rough. It sticks to your ribs, fills you up. Satiety. You want to say it back, but your mouth isn't working right - everything is bright and fluorescent, the edges of your vision a halo of white. It feels like that one time he convinced you to do coke with him. Everything floral and pretty and sharp.

You don't need to say it back, you suppose, because he's talking again, soothing you. "I know, baby. I know. Just take it."

You don't really think you have much choice in the matter, not that you're complaining.

Release finds you slowly; a buzzing sort of heat spreading out through your limbs, your fingers, your toes. Your body shakes beneath him, and he clings to you - buries his face in the crook of your neck and rocks his hips slower, deeper. Hushes you with words you can't quite make out. Your mouth is dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut as it just keeps going; it feels like you're never going to come down. Maybe you never will. Maybe that's okay.

You don't know when he tips over that edge, you just know that he's shaking against you, one hand clutching at your own so tightly you're sure your knuckles are white, the other gently grasping at your hip. You tremble together. Vibrate at some frequency unknown to anyone but the two of you.

Love, and all these things. Cracked edges and the light spilling out. God, but he is beautiful when he shines.

He slips out of you, and you feel it - this weird sort of hollowness. The aching want for something to last forever. You whine softly to make your protest known, and he does, finally, chuckle at that - a smile with teeth. Happy Ken. For once. For good, you hope.

It took a long time to get him to this point, after everything. Moving on from a dream unrealized. It was a year and a half of carefully building him back up, fitting the pieces back together and smoothing out the edges. He's softer, now. Safer. Home.

"I love you, too." You whisper into the sudden stillness of the room. To his now-sleeping form beside you. "More than, I think, you'll ever know."

You hope you can show him. Someday, maybe.

[connor-r0y]

so Happy to see your requests are open!!! Please please please can I have some Kendall Roy smut, extra nsfw! That man makes me feral 🫠

Hey hey! Sorry it took me so long to get to this! Here's a little drabble! NSFW Content below the cut! Minors DNI.

There is an entire language in his hands. Curled fingers against the meat of his palm, the way the digits flex against nothing when he's thinking; sheer air, riding a wave of mania and adrenaline and looking for love like that because that's the only way he knows how. You could write sonnets about those hands. A guide for how to decipher how he's feeling - how much, how deeply. Observations with no solutions. You do not know how to quiet the buzzing in his mind, but you do know this: you can uncurl those fingers, interlace them with your own, hold him steady. The world keeps spinning, yes, but here, together, you are steady.

He doesn't need to voice his exhaustion - you can see it written across his face that it has been a long, likely painful day; the droop of the corners of his mouth, the heavy hood to his eyes. And his hands. Always his hands. You cross the room in a few quick strides, there in an instant to hold him up, to be his rock. Whatever he needs. 'Whatever you need.' Whispered into the sticky-sweet press of lips. Damp and sliding. Searching. Hands curling into the lapels of his suit jacket. 'Whatever you need.'

"You." He murmurs against your lips. "Just you. Just this."

It has to be enough.

You don't know how or when you end up on the couch, but suddenly you're there, pressed against the cushions. Your feet touch the arm of it on the other end, the leather smooth against your skin. He's all forest fire fury here, passion blurring the edges where you end and he begins. His lips have found your neck, and you hum softly, tilt your head to the side. Something warm settles low in your belly, pools there. Familiar and sweet.

"Kendall." You breathe as his lips drag unceremoniously down your stomach, to the hem of your pants. He wastes no time. He never does. Always efficient. Capital letter and period and the breath between the sentences. Purposeful.

"I'm gonna eat you out." He says. Looks up at you to see if you have any objections. God knows you do not. The heat is buzzing now, dispersed throughout your limbs, swallowing you up and dragging you down.

It never gets old, the way his brown eyes - leaves on the top of a pool in the thick, sticky heat of july, the copper tang of sucking a papercut clean - meet your own as he settles into his worship. His tongue pressed flat, licking a long, deliberate stroke up the length of your sex. It makes your knees feel shaky, makes everything feel like it's being brought up in technicolor.

Want. Want. Want.

'Whatever you need,' but all he's ever really needed is you.

[connor-r0y]

A sneak peek for the Kendall girlies (gn):

He has his hands folded into yours like you'll keep them safe, keep them steady. Like he doesn't trust himself - not fully, anyways. Loving him is like this, sometimes. Filing down his edges, smoothing out the crumpled pages of his form. Ironing it out, letting it air dry. Like the psyche is comparable to a suit, like you can simply dry clean the hurt out of someone. Some days you wish you could. God, do you wish you could.

His kiss is like survivor's guilt; hungry and sad, a maelstrom seeping out, bleeding through the pages. He mashes his lips against your own like he has something to prove, and there is a part of you that desperately, desperately wants to ask what it is. His life has been a cycle of proving himself, over and over, scrabbling, nails digging in for purchase. There is no ladder to climb, here. You can love him for the simple act of being, and he doesn't need to win your favor. You kiss him just to kiss him and ask for nothing in return.

He doesn't know how to deal with that.

[connor-r0y]

Hello, I am the person who requested the Tom fic you just posted, and !!!! 😭❤️ thank you so much. Your writing is beautiful! 💜💜 Thank you!!! 💜💜

You're so welcome! Thank you for sending in a request! If anything strikes you in the future, feel free to come back to the 'ol askbox! ❤️

[connor-r0y]

tom wambsgans NSFW with inexperienced reader… maybe a virgin… how would that go… spare change? spare change?

Lux in fine omnium rerum.

Pairing: Tom Wambsgans x Reader

Warnings: Unabashed smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, brief criticisms of purity culture, porn with feelings, AFAB reader (She/Her pronouns)

Word Count: 1,528

NSFW Content below the cut. MINORS DNI.

When she had met Tom, he had been blossoming into the disillusioned grandeur of his newfound CEO-dom; still optimistic, his hope not yet desiccated like those that had came before him. An unexpected victor in the fight that had once only had three contenders, outsider to husband to powerhouse. A triumphant rise to the top. And though he had to reckon with a messy, tumultuous divorce on top of this blooming power, he had hardly regarded it as a failure; he was free, at last, of all ties to the Roy family. They existed only in name on the side of the building now. And sure, he was a puppet on strings, piloted by a Swedish asshole with some weird, egomaniacal god complex, but at least he had room for movement now.

Movement that, by sheer happenstance, led him to her.

In the beginning of their relationship, things had been sweet, if chaste; his job was demanding, and often required a large swathe of the time he would have preferred to have been spending with her. There were dinner dates, sure. Shared nights at his penthouse, sleeping in the same bed and yet, somehow, miles apart. Stolen moments of intimacy that seemed almost clumsy, juvenile, when compared to how things used to be with Shiv. But she was not Shiv, and it was unfair to compare the ragged beast of what they had - certainly not love - to what this was. Better. Sweeter. Warmer.

Needless to say, sex was not a topic that was broached. Not for a long while. Not for a lack of wanting on either of their parts - there had been more than a few times that Tom had thought the moment to be right; kisses turning hot and heavy, open-mouthed, sharing the same air. Hands under shirts, clumsy and grasping. Only to be interrupted by a business call, or fatigue, or some other inane distraction. And indeed, there were many nights that he laid in bed alone, staring at his ceiling, one hand on his cock and her name in his mouth.

They were both, mercifully, patient people.

And now they're here, finally. Him standing in naught but his boxers at the foot of the bed, fingers tucked under the waistband, getting ready to pull them down, gazing at her bare form with all the dewy-eyed wonder of a man smitten beyond comprehension. Masculinity, sure - pomp and circumstance and muscle and posturing and whatever. But tenderness, too. Warmth. Care. Adoration.

There's something roiling within her, muddying the waters of her self. Is there a graceful way to broach the topic? Is it even worth bringing up now, after everything? What is the importance of the title, save for posturing for purity culture? Virgin. A title made for chaste women in loveless marriages. A porn category at the bottom of a page. The wet dream of White Anglo-Saxon Protestants everywhere. Pure. Whole. Whatever.

But maybe he cares. Maybe that's something that's important to him. And she would rather have him know than not, so she unceremoniously blurts it out, "I've never done this before."

He pauses for just a moment, his brow knitting together for the briefest flicker of a second before his expression has smoothed out, neutral again. "Okay. That's okay. Do you - Do you want to do this? With me?"

Duh, she wants to say, I wouldn't be here if I didn't. But he's asking sincerely, and that feels impolite. Dismissive. "Yes, Tom, I'm sure. I want you. I want this."

"Good." He says, a dopey sort of smile on his face. Relieved, maybe. "That's good."

The mattress dips with his weight as he comes to sit on his knees between her thighs, one hand coming down to support his weight. She watches, enraptured, as he brings the other up to his mouth. The firm muscle of his tongue runs from the heel of his palm to the tips of his middle three fingers, the skin now slick with spit, and she hardly has time to process how the sight makes her stomach feel taut because he's cupping her cunt with that hand now. Fingertips pressing against her entrance.

"Gonna get you nice and ready." He murmurs, his voice warm. "Let me know if you need to stop for any reason."

And she doesn't have time to voice her understanding, because he's slowly - so fucking slowly - crooking his fingers into her. To the first knuckle, then the second, crooking, searching. She whines when he presses against her g-spot, and he hums, seemingly pleased by her reaction, before paying attention to the spot with deliberation. It leaves her vision blurry, her lips parted with the weight of her breath. Brow furrowed together, fingers curled into the sheets - debauched.

"That's it, honey. Just like that. Feels so good, doesn't it?"

She manages a nod, she thinks, or at least some vague approximation of it. Her head is tilted back against the pillows, and she can feel the tension rising in her abdomen, a spring coiled tighter and tighter. Her heels dig into the edge of the mattress, her hips moving against the rocking of his fingers as if of their own accord. Everything is white-hot and electric.

"Are you going to cum for me?" His voice is so low; the filth dripping with tenderness that's intoxicating. "Hm? Gonna cum on my fingers, pretty girl? Can't give you my cock 'til you do that, honey."

His thumb finds the swollen bud of her clitoris, and she knows she's a goner; her muscles are so tense she's trembling, and he's looking at her with such determination in his gaze - his brow knit, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"That's it. Let go for me, honey. You're so fuckin' tight, I can feel it."

She surrenders to the heat, lets it swallow her up. Her back arches off of the bed, fingertips grasping at the sheets with an intensity that borders on desperation, her body jerking involuntarily as the full force of the first orgasm she's ever shared with another person slams into her. She's sure her lips form the shape of his name - she's sure it's the only syllable they know, here and now.

He's cooing something at her, his voice warm, but she can't make out the words. It matters little, anyways; he's peeling off his boxers and all she can think about is the thought of him inside of her, the rightness of union. He's clambering back onto the bed, grasping one of her hands in his own and gently pressing it down against the mattress.

"You ready for me?" He asks softly, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

"Please." She offers up in return, because she's certain if she doesn't feel him within the next ten seconds, she's going to perish. Blood replaced with the heavy clawing of such immense desperation that she doesn't know how to comprehend it. "Please."

The stretch stings, but it's not unpleasant. She exhales slowly through her nose, and he pauses once he's fully seated within her, his pubic bone pressed against her sex. His thumb runs over the back of her hand in a soothing gesture, his gaze set upon her with a tentative sort of hunger.

"Take all the time you need." He dips down to press his lips against her own, covering her body with his. She feels safe, here. "There's no rush."

"You can start moving." She says after moment, the words thick against her tongue.

He complies with her request with little in the way of hesitation, setting a slow, gentle pace. It feels like he's somehow seeped into every part of her; the spaces between her ribs, the alveoli of her lungs, the marrow in her bones. Tom. Tom. Tom. His name on her lips like a litany. He has become the very air she's breathing. There's nothing else.

"That's it. Taking me so well, honey. I'm - You're so tight. Not gonna last long. Fuck."

She wraps her legs around his waist, her hands squeezing against his, their fingers interlaced. Their eyes are caught on one another's, a wordless exchange happening. Novels in the span of moments, all without the movement of lips.

"Fuck. I love you. I love you. I'm - Shit." He groans, long and ragged, the movement of his hips stilling as he buries himself into her wholly. She can feel every twitch of muscle, the involuntary jerking of his hips as he spills himself.

She clings to him as he gently lowers himself down against her, her hands tracing idle shapes against his back, the space between his shoulder blades. The only sound in the room is the heaviness of their shared breath. There doesn't need to be anything else. Not when everything feels so right.

"I love you, too." She whispers against the crook of his neck. Hardly the first time the words have been exchanged, but something about this feels concrete and consequential. "So much, Tom."

"So much." He echoes, his lips finding her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "So fucking much."

[connor-r0y]

About the Author

Hey, dad. It's me, Connor Roy, your son.

Who the hell are you, anyways?

Hey there, you can call me V! I'm in my 20s, and I use she/they pronouns. In my free time I love to write. I've been writing fanfiction for a decade, and have been a part of the Tumblr ecosystem for nearly just as long. Though the fandoms I enjoy change as I stumble to and from various interests, lately most of the spaces I inhabit have been related to prestige TV with hard-hitting themes.

The tag I use for personal commentary is #She speaks. If you would like to only see fic content from me, feel free to filter out that tag.

Fast facts with V

I write because I love creating enriching, engaging experiences for people.

Other interests I sometimes dabble in include baking, programming, crocheting, and digital art.

I am a huge enjoyer of The Velvet Underground, Belle and Sebastian, and The Smiths.

I hate cling peaches.

My favorite color is gold.

I cannot dance.

What's your writing method like?

My method is that there is no method, to be quite honest. I am fueled by neurodivergency and whimsy, and little else. I find that I like something, I make that franchise or piece of media my entire personality for an undetermined amount of time, I psychoanalyze all of the characters until I feel like I can get a good look into their noggins. I make a Spotify playlist, I dissociate, and sometimes there's a fic at the end of all of it.

If there was one piece of advice I could give to people looking into getting involved in fic writing, it would be that what you write does not have to be 'good'. It is absolutely okay to write for just yourself - the act of creating anything in the first place is a precious thing. Making art is delightful, and simply by existing, it is 'good'.

Are you anywhere else on the internet?

Right now, Tumblr and AO3 are the only places I inhabit online. I do not plan on that changing in the foreseeable future. You can find my AO3 here.

Can you write X?

Probably, yes! You can find my request guidelines here, and my masterlist here. Please be aware that there is, in most cases, a queue of requests, and it might take some time for me to fill your ask.

Do you have any DNIs?

Please do not interact with my blog if you fall under any of the following umbrellas: Minors, Those who propagate or engage with beliefs and content that promote discrimination for any reason, Fic writers and artists that write/draw and/or engage with content that contains underage characters, and all other items that fall under what is considered to be a 'Basic DNI' list. I am allowed to block anyone at any time for any reason. Conversely, you are allowed to block me.

Do you do commissions?

No, and I do not plan on that ever changing. I do not accept donations for my fics, either. If you like my work and you'd like to show your support, consider reblogging my fics so that they can reach a wider audience! Comments are also immensely appreciated.

[connor-r0y]

CONNOR-R0Y MASTERLIST

Current as of 2/19/25. NSFW content is indicated with a * next to the listing.

SUCCESSION (2018 - 2023)

Kendall Roy

Cuddling Headcanons

College!AU With Nerdy S/O (*)

NSFW Drabble (*)

Roman Roy

General Smut Headcanons (*)

Funeral Drabble

Cuddling Headcanons

Getting Off in Front of His Partner (*)

NSFW Blurb (*)

Shiv Roy

None yet.

Connor Roy

None yet.

Tom Wambsgans

Smut Headcanons (Post-Shivorce) (*)

General Smut Headcanons (*)

Tom with an Inexperienced Partner (*)

Greg Hirsch

NSFW Alphabet (*)

Stewy Hosseini

None yet.

SEVERANCE (2022 - )

None yet.

[connor-r0y]

Request Guidelines

Requests are currently CLOSED. There are currently 36 requests in the queue. Requests are filled on a rotating basis, with priority given to the oldest requests in the queue.

Looking for my masterlist? Find it here. Want to get to know me? You can do that here.

PLEASE NOTE THAT I AM CURRENTLY ON HIATUS.

Rules for Requesting

🌻I accept both SFW and NSFW requests. Consequentially, this blog is 18+ ONLY. Minors interacting with the blog will be blocked.

🌻I do not write fetish content. If you are unsure if something falls under this umbrella, feel free to ask! I don't bite, and I would rather have you ask me than send your request in only for it to remain unanswered. This is not meant to kinkshame anyone. There are just a lot of topics under this umbrella that I, personally, do not feel comfortable writing.

🌻That being said, I reserve the right not to fill any request, for any reason. I'm doing this for free, and there is no requirement or expectation for me to complete requests - that is why they are requests. Maybe it's something I'm uncomfortable with, maybe it's something I'm not in the right headspace for, maybe it's something I'm not confident in writing.

🌻If you're not sure if I received your request, please feel free to ask! You can either DM me, or ask via my askbox. I do have a life outside of this blog, and thus it might take me a while to get to a request - please check whether or not I received it before sending it in again. I also have a considerable backlog of requests, and older asks have the highest priority (some are unanswered from 2023, as I took a break from this blog for a while).

🌻Please be kind and detailed in your requests! Being rude is a surefire way to make me disregard your ask. Open-ended prompts are fine, but please specify what character you want, and what format you're looking for.

Just as a general piece of information - if you are only looking for fic content, and would like to avoid non-fic content from me, please block my general talk tag, which is #she speaks. Reblogs are tagged with #Faves.

Who I Write For

SUCCESSION (2018 - 2023)

🌻Kendall Roy

🌻Roman Roy

🌻Connor Roy

🌻Shiv Roy

🌻Greg Hirsch

🌻Tom Wambsgans

🌻Stewy Hosseini

SEVERANCE (2022 - )

🌻Mark S.

🌻Irving Bailiff

🌻Helly R.

🌻Burt Goodman

I am in a wide variety of fandoms, and I am willing to expand out as things strike my fancy; I'm a bit variable in what captures my attention right now, though. If there's something you want to know if I can add to the list, it can never hurt to ask.

[connor-r0y]

Firstly, your writing is amazing!

I'd like to add to your request list... Something with Roman, please! I really liked your blurb about him, so maybe something similar to that. I'm not sure if you prefer more detailed requests or not, so I'll keep it simple and maybe return another time :)

Roman jerking off in front of reader, maybe, or reader talking to or taunting him (in an affectionate way, but still the degrading that he likes) while he touches himself?

Firstly - thank you so much, that genuinely means the world to me! Detailed requests are delightful tbh - oftentimes when things are too open-ended I get too many ideas and then I end up getting nothing done haha. As requested, here you go! NSFW BELOW THE CUT. MINORS DNI.

"Okay." You murmur, not quite sure what else you're supposed to say here - too much and you risk scaring him off. He's skittish, a still-tender wound, blossoming into all of this. Dipping a toe in the water. "Okay." He echoes, looking more like a ghost than a man. His slacks discarded somewhere across the room with his boxers, his button down still on. A safety blanket, maybe. Security. You're content to watch. His eyes screwed shut like he's terrified to open them, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Hair falling in his face. Laying on the bed next to you, as much distance between the two of you as you could realistically provide without falling off the edge of the mattress. His free hand shakes against his thigh, the other moves lazily over himself. He'd told you, once, that he liked something darker; a haze around the edges of the want, something murky and unknown. You cannot form the words in your mouth - not right now, not the first time you get to see him like this. The venom isn't there, not in the way he wants. Because he's beautiful. Really, he is. Nothing about this is unholy or wrong or vile. This is rapture. Splendor. A feast. His free hand darts out towards the middle of the mattress, palm up, fingers twitching. An offering. Silently, you slip your own against his, fingers interlacing gently. Loose. Offering him up the opportunity to run if he wants it. He squeezes tighter. He wants to stay.

[connor-r0y]

While I agree that things in the US are rapidly moving in a direction that is both deeply alarming and unsettling, I do want to provide a voice of reason amidst all the doomerism really quick:

They want, more than anything, to overwhelm you; that's what these first few weeks are about - throwing as much shit as possible at the wall, seeing what sticks, and trying to scare the shit out of you. They want to make you feel small. They want to make you feel helpless. Don't fall for it.

There are already multiple lawsuits underway against things Trump has done in the last two weeks. (See here.) People are doing things, but these things take time, and they face the same uphill battle as all legal challenges. What can you, as an individual, do? Write your representatives. Take care of your community members. Participate in mutual aid programs. Spread awareness in your community. Create art - truthfully, creating things is a huge form of resistance.

Every day or so now, I see people linking a bill or resolution in the senate or house that sounds fucking terrifying at face value. It's important to remember that in the 2021 - 2023 session of congress, only 11% of bills made it past committee, and only 2% were enacted. There's a really great resource called Govtrack that breaks down the likelihood of being passed, lets you track actions on that bill, as well as view the text and co-sponsors. Take, for example, the newly introduced bill in the House proposing the abolishment of the Department of Education. It sounds terrifying on the tin, but if you look further, you'll see that despite having 27 cosponsors, it has a forecasted 0% chance of being enacted, because it has been repeatedly reintroduced since 2017.

There are definitely reasons to be vigilant and aware, but fear is just giving them what they want. Stay informed, but don't lose hope.

Stay safe. Take care of one another. Take care of yourselves. Take action where you can. We are going to get through this, together.

[connor-r0y]

Request Queue

Accurate as of 2/1/25. All requests are ordered from oldest to newest. Oldest requests have highest priority. Requests span from 2023 - present. Subject to cuts where necessary.

Stewy Hosseini

Stewy x Roy!Reader, Roy family discovering their relationship.

Kendall and Stewy threesome with reader.

Stewy x Roy!Reader smut.

Stewy x Reader Slowburn.

Stewy x Reader, She falls hard, he falls harder, happy ending.

Stewy pining for Reader.

Kendall Roy

Kendall and Stewy threesome with reader.

Kendall trying to get reader pregnant.

Passionate sex with Kendall.

Kendall x Reader, with reader hooking up with Tom on the side.

Nonspecific Kendall x Reader smut.

Kendall falling for a reader from opposite background.

Tom Wambsgans

Tom x Intern!Reader.

Tom x Reader, expounding upon affair.

Reader having an affair with Tom while they're dating Kendall.

Tom x Reader x Greg, threesome.

Tom x Reader, stealing someone Greg is interested in.

Praise kink smut.

Separated!Tom x Reader, smut.

Finding out reader is pregnant post-honeymoon.

Healthy marriage with reader.

Tom x Reader x Greg, SFW

Tom x Inexperienced!Reader

Roman Roy

Fluff headcanons.

Tatooed!Reader

Healthy marriage with reader.

Side note if you've read this far - if anyone wanted to throw even a singular request my way for Connor or Shiv, I would owe you my life. I have so many requests for Tom content and zero for either of them.